confessions of a
30-year-old-to-be, |
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come y2k
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 I hate the countdowns to the millenium. Once
upon a time, I used to consider it cool to be born in January
1970. It's the beginning of a new decade and certainly
convenient for computing one's age. I came along in the 70s
instead of belonging to the one-decade-older generation of the
60s. In those blissful days of a time far removed now, Y2K
(the buzzword wasn't even coined then) and with it the big
THREE-O seemed, well, like a millenium away. Even when Hong
Kong was finally handed over to China in
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1997, there was still a good safe three years to
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 Then the security wall came crumbling down
prematurely on 1st January 1999. Billboards the world over,
irritating radio reports everyday, and even silly calendars, come
with loud proclamations of how many days there are left to the
millenium. It's bad enough to be suffering on one's own over the
rite of passage from the heady 20s to the dreaded 30s, without the
whole world "helpfully" hastening it on every single
day!
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 I started envying girls born in other years.
We all reach thirty years sooner or later. But what a luxury
it is to be able to come to terms with it quietly, to
re-adjust in peace to the notion that 30 is not the
twilight of youth but heralds a new beginning, an exciting
maturity, a stimulating independence and (hopefully) the prime
of womanhood, to savour privately the bitter-sweetness
of the final moments of the 20s as they come to an end, and to
anticipate with dignity as well
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as trepidation the arrival of an important milestone in a
woman's life. |
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 What I would give to be able to do my soul-searching
(and mourning) in my own time. The last thing I need is all these
constant and distracting "cheerings on to the final
lap"!
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 Being a resolute single (at least for now) makes it
worse. For reasons right or wrong, but certainly quite unfairly,
people assume a woman to be "left on the shelf" once she hits the
thirties. Be it sarcasm or misplaced sympathy, I do not welcome
either. Still, I would love some time to mentally prepare myself to
face (and make myself invincible to) such unavoidable
un-pleasantries.
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 Unfortunately, it is precisely time that is
not on my side, and it is slipping away fast - by the day. In Ally
McBeal terms, it is as if a big biological clock keeps popping up at
every corner - be it a Y2K article in the newspaper, a Y2K countdown
"proudly sponsored" (I wonder why) by such-and-such organisation
pre-fixing a news report, or the Y2K jokes, warnings, hoaxes and
you-name-its on the e-mail. Now if I can only remove the clock
battery...
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 My male counterparts are a lot luckier, I
reckon. Men always are in the age department. Come 30, it's
merely time to grow up and be mature. In fact, the thirties
would be considered an ideal period to settle down, having
achieved a career headstart. Men don't go through THE PHASE
that women undergo at this stage; it only hits them at 40.
Given that females tend to live longer than males, it just
seems so ironic and grossly unbalanced - the
societal
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perceptions towards women and men ought to be
reversed.
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Oh why was I born at the beginning of 1970?! If it had been only a
few months later, the countdown would be way off by a good number of
days and I would be able to relish my "last glorious moments" in
peace. Once the hullabaloo is over, who cares about the days
elapsing after 1st January 2000? For one, it'll be far too long to
countdown to Y3K, especially when none of us will live to see
it.
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Okay, maybe I'm being paranoid and a tad too sensitive to these
"unintentional reminders". Still, while the rest of you lucky folks
out there eagerly, and noisily, celebrate the turn of the century
(what's the big deal, anyway?), do forgive us gals born at the very
beginning of the 70s if we seem less than enthusiastic or behave
like party-spoilers. All we really need is to be left alone, if only
for a while, to bid a poignant funeral, I mean
farewell, to the, I mean a, chapter of our
lives. Sob!
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©
Ong Hwee Yen 1999  |
do visit yen's art blog for works on travels, life & leisure
Comments
Sara
Love your website. Beautifully photographed and written.I'm almost 30 myself. sob,sob.
Other musings.
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