Going on 30
I know, I know. What’s the point of putting out a year-end blog months into the next year? Magpa-Pasko na. But I just couldn’t break tradition after so many years of doing this… even if I had such difficulty figuring out what to say. I’ll just keep it short.
My 2022 can be divided into two parts: the half when I was a carefree twenty-something and the half when I was thirty and anxious. When the movies make such a big deal about turning thirty, I didn’t necessarily buy it until I found myself having a nervous breakdown, fearing my life was in shambles. That’s a warning to all the twenty-somethings out there. Thirty is that bitch.
There really isn’t much to say that hasn’t already been said. I mean that literally — I went through 2021’s essay to see if it would somehow inspire me to write something, but all it did was remind me that everything still holds true — if not worse. Just staple in the addendum of self-inflicted heartbreak and the stress of fitting into a new job.
I really want to believe that I’ve grown much more than that, but… ah fuck.
Honestly, I had not cried in the last decade as much as I did in the latter part of the year. I don’t even remember anything before that if I’m being real. Not even my camera roll could jog my memory — it’s just hundreds of dishes I’ve cooked and cakes I’ve baked, my delicious little children. Proud of them for sure, but not much else on the memory department.
If there’s one landmark this year that I’ll gratefully be keeping in my memories, it’s Beyoncé. On nights my anxiety would build up, I’d plug in Renaissance and start dancing it all away. Every frustration, every anxiety, I’d thrust, bop, gyrate and waack them all out. It was my therapy.
What may be a phenomenal dance album to some had become a lifeline for me.
Whimsical to imagine, but on my commute to work, I’d start the album on Alien Superstar. “I’m one of one / I’m number one / I’m the only one.” I needed the daily reminder, the necessary boost to make it through another grueling day in the kitchen. The tracks would play one by one as I took the bus all the way to Quezon Avenue, everyday with no fail. By the time I’m on Mother Ignacia Avenue, I’m strutting down the street with “Break My Soul.” I took those lyrics to heart with all her borrowed confidence. “I'm on that new vibration / I'm buildin' my own foundation, yeah / You won’t break my soul.” I’d like to believe I’m thriving now somehow, and a lot of that is thanks to her.
Confidence is it, really. I went and saw a therapist for the very first time, and he made me realize how little I thought of myself — how small I was in my own imagination. As much as everybody else in my life believed in me, what I really needed was to actually believe in myself. Fuck the impostor syndrome, y’know. Well, I’m trying.
That’s that, really. I don’t want to get into too much detail about how painful and anxious the year was — I don’t want to go through it again. I really do need to move forward. Send me some good energy, will ya?
Happy New Year(ish)!
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Hey, I’d really appreciate it if you gave me some applause down there. :)
