A MELANCHOLIC FORTY

This is it… the big 4-0!

They say that age is just a number; I guess I’m a believer of that expression that (physical/psychological) “life begins at forty”. I’ve been anxious about it for two years already. I sort of wanted the hands of time to stop, but who could do that anyway?

I didn’t think ten years ago that I would still be basically in the same situation. In the scenario that is my life, “then” and “now” barely differs. I honestly thought that it would be completely dissimilar. But, as I said, the physical and psychological aspects are truly distinctive.

I completely stopped trying to return to regular exercise. Aches and pains throughout my body are more severe, especially that part where a bone underneath was once broken, and an area of the scalp which has been stitched now has a certain numbness. When you’re involved in a major accident after the age of 25, it will never really be the same again. The average person is past their prime and the healing factor slows down exponentially. Getting hospitalized because of a virus would have a better chance of recovery but one would already need a steady intake of immune boosters constantly thereafter. And I experienced both in the past decade.

I know now that I surely won’t be mistaken for a teenager anymore like I was when I was 34, and a few other times before that. 34 was the last time. It’s one of the most flattering, sweet-sounding compliments one could say about another individual. Being considered younger-looking than your real age is generally euphoric, if said sincerely.

I can’t say that I’m very happy now; maybe I’m just “content enough”. The problem with me is that I tend to compare my present standing with others, especially with childhood peers, former classmates and even relatives. The more materially prosperous they are, the more I am inclined to distance myself from them. I don’t need to elaborate on how “poles apart” we are now compared to them and what we once were. I noticed that envy creeps into me at each encounter, so I avoid the trigger of that tendency altogether. I veer away. I tried but I can’t change what’s been (un)done and I don’t want the burden of the blame. Maybe being successful is not that good for me.

I have achieved nothing. I own nothing. I AM nothing.

And of course I know I’m partly to blame.

Neither a “cool friend” nor “that buddy at work”; not a “favorite cousin” anymore.

I guess that teaches us humility.

I have no one.

Maybe a mild dosage of “destiny”, if you will.

And maybe, hopefully it’s just not time yet.

Because I have always been bad at making friends or having relationships; even though I have always been, and still am, very loyal. Although I tried several times, I think I’m not supposed to look for her anymore. She may or may never come at all. I have to accept that. And because it has always been difficult for me to read in between the lines,

I guess maybe I will always be alone.

But I am me.

And I’m glad it’s hard for me to change that!

I am grateful that I have learned the value of living quietly in one corner.

I only wish for peace of mind.

And I just want to be a better version of myself as we go along.

So God help me.