A week or so ago, the uncle I hate most came over with his wife (my aunt, obviously) and started flapping his gums. He said quite a few things I don’t really remember now, but one thing stood out. Well see I mentioned that I do have plans to go overseas for further studies or for work (I’ve not decided yet; probably both) in the next few years. The ass responds:
I suggest you get on that soon, because you’re almost thirty and of course you’ll have to get married, right?
Now let me be honest. I don’t want to think I’m susceptible to society’s demands, but sometimes there are things that are difficult to shake off. Part of me believes the bastard’s words. There’s a tiny voice in my brain that keeps saying, “you have to be married by thirty”.
Well tonight it hit me: WHY THE FUCK DO I HAVE TO?
The world can impose all of its dramatic timetables and demands on me, but there’s no one who can physically force me into anything. I suppose the stigma of dying a spinster can be difficult; I also have to say my parents will probably nag me till the end of time if I stay unmarried, but other than that, who’s got any means to stop me from STAYING SINGLE?
No one. No fucking one. That’s the answer.
My life DOESN’T end at thirty. Well not unless I die or something. Barring literal death, my life doesn’t have a “thirty years” cut-off date. I can go off and do everything I want. I suppose this is one of the reasons why I’m always anxious. I keep thinking I have two years left to achieve the things I want to achieve, but that’s not true. I can be a graduate student at forty, and no one can fucking stop me. Because it’s my life.
You may say this is common sense, but sometimes it takes a bit of time for the epiphany to hit. I can go ahead and relax, because I’ve got my life ahead of me. There’s no “30 years and you’re done” rule. That’s for chumps.
I’m not a chump. I think. I hope.
So yeah. I don’t want to be overly optimistic, but I’ve just unlocked a level, I think. And that makes me happy.