In two days, I will be turning 31 years old. Having spent another round of decade in this lifetime, I always thought that this upcoming birthday would be a challenging one... or scary, to say the least.

I remember celebrating my 21st birthday and hated it, a lot, because I was super conscious about not being in my 10s anymore. Adulthood seemed scary back then, and I'm not going to say it isn't anymore —but after a while, adulthood can be less peculiar. And we're mostly becoming capable, throughout the time, of managing things that we're familiar with. My 20s were about all those dealing-with-first-base-administration (making an extension credit card, switching to post-paid Simcard, renting a place to live on my own, figuring out how to cook rice) as well as hovering through the thin surface of being in-and-out of relationship(s). But those days were over: the last year of my 20s was no more about learning; it was about "becoming".

See, previously, I got the next stage of my life planned quite neatly before, theoretically. In high school, I knew already what I wanted to do by the time I enter university. And during my university time, I also knew what kind of career I should pursue after I graduated. But then comes my 29th birthday and a follow-up pregnancy. Exactly a year after, three days after my 30th birthday, my daughter Dia was born. That was the turning point: I no longer know shit.

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