quarante
i turned forty years old last month, in october.
if i could turn back time and told my twenty years old self that i'll be paying the sins of my father's irresponsible financial decision, i would've been more prepared.
if i could turn back time and told my younger self that i'll be suffering from lumbar spondylosis, i would've taken care of myself a little bit earlier; not sacrifice my lower back for abusive capitalist boss.
if i could turn back time and told my old self that all of my serious relationship ended up in heartbreak, i'd probably won't get myself too close and vulnerable to folks i dated.
if i could turn back time and told my naive self that my mass communication degree doesn't mean shit in this economy, i would've stayed in my room and learn coding on my own. i'd probably be a software engineer by now.
i can't turn back time, so here i am. i let myself happen. i unfold only in the now. i can only take things a day at a time. i am somehow, alive.
when i was a kid, i thought i'd be owning my own place, a fulfilling well-paid career, and maybe a mazda rx-8. never in my wildest dreams that i'll be living in the times of great calamity, destruction and disease. at this point in my life, i am capable of change, but at the same time everything felt hopelessly irreversible.
if my life expectancy is 80 years old, then i'm literally a middle-aged woman (although i still do look like i'm in my twenties, thanks exercise!).
here's to the rest of my life. cheers.
"morpheus: no, what happened, happened and couldn't have happened any other way.
neo: how do you know?
morpheus: we are still alive."
-- the matrix reloaded