About growing up and all that

In less than an hour, I turn 28 in Spain (I’m already 28 in India). Although it’s a perfect number, I must not so secretly confess that it’s not a least bit flattering to grow older (if not wiser) as a woman. To top that, 28 is not even a multiple of 3, which would have made a world of a difference if I were turning a multiple of 3. For some strange reason, I have always loved my ages when I turned 18 or 21 or 24 or 27! Nonetheless, I am going to be officially older. Period. This means I am well over the age of a student eligible for the Euro rail pass and also surpasses the age thats deemed appropriate for child bearing back home. Although, more “modrun” women my age would allow me two more years before rolling their eyes at me.

Ever since you are a kid, your birthdays are days to feel extremely special because somehow its equally important to other people. For instance, your classmates awaiting an eclairs or mango mood, if they’re lucky a pencil too maybe? Your best friends awaiting to see your expression when you open their thoughtful presents. Your grandparents watching you beam at the sight of money they offer you. Your parents awaiting the unique opportunity (an excuse rather) to take you out to eat (Going to “Swathi Restaurant” was a tradition for any birthday, or anniversary). All of this, makes you like the most important person in the world. Given that most of the day is usually spent in everyone including yourself revelling in the fact that you were born on that day really sets your expectations for birthdays very high.

Then everyone grows up. Except parents, of course. So, they are still the first ones to wish you and force a present on you even if you don’t need one anymore (just the thought of receiving a present from them is good enough when you’re 28, trust me!). Of course, I’ve had a new entry in my life in the last 5 years and that’s my husband. He gets nervous more than excited just at the thought of which friend’s husband he has to live up to in terms of surprising me or at least that’s what he claims. Although, I am more than happy with his owl earrings and coloured loops. Given that you’re a year older, it seems rather odd that on your birthday with a nervous husband and parents who still treat you like its your first birthday (although its immensely cute), while nobody else cares just as much. I am not really sure if there are other people out there who can relate to this, but probably this is what growing up feels like. Anyway, happy birthday to me! 🙂

P.S – As always, I will make my list of resolutions, most of which I won’t keep up beyond the weekend. Oh, did I just say I’d grown up?

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