#68 Thirty, and Still Dreaming

 

Today, I found myself thinking about an old colleague.

We weren't particularly close, and we aren't friends now, but I remember the days when we sat beside each other at work. I remember bits and pieces of her life, the stories she shared about her boyfriend, and the little details I happened to learn along the way.

And now, she's married.

She married a Filipino-Chinese man, carries a Chinese surname, and has built a life with someone who is also a licensed professional—a Civil Engineer. Seeing her wedding photos and remembering how her story unfolded made me genuinely happy for her.

But somewhere between scrolling through her milestones and remembering the person she used to be when we worked together, I felt something unexpected.

Envy.

Not the kind that wishes someone else's happiness away. I am genuinely happy for her. Perhaps I simply saw a glimpse of the life I've been longing for myself.

I am 30 years old.

And I am still in my childhood bedroom.

I wake up, go to work, come home, study, worry about my future, and try to make sense of everything I am working so hard for. I am an architect, yet I find myself studying all over again, preparing for another professional examination. There are nights when I feel exhausted from constantly trying to become a better version of myself. Sometimes, it feels like my entire life revolves around working, studying, and waiting.

Waiting to pass.
Waiting to get married.
Waiting to have my own home.
Waiting to carry a new surname.
Waiting to build a family.
Waiting for the life I've imagined for so long to finally become real.

I look around my childhood bedroom and wonder when I will finally have a space of my own. A home where I can make my own decisions, decorate every corner, bring Bailey with me, and build a little family of my own.

I want to be a wife. I want to be a mother someday. I want to wake up beside the person I love, prepare breakfast in our own kitchen, and experience the ordinary joys of having a home together. I want to experience the excitement of wedding preparations, choosing a surname, and beginning a new chapter of my life.

Sometimes, I wonder whether I am already running out of time. At 30, it is difficult not to compare. People I once knew are getting married, buying homes, advancing in their careers, and reaching milestones that I secretly wish I had reached by now.

But perhaps I need to remind myself that I am not looking at the entirety of their lives. I am only seeing the moments they have chosen to share.

And I have my own story, even if it doesn't look the way I imagined it would at this age.

Maybe this season is teaching me patience. Maybe it is teaching me that I can want something deeply without allowing its absence to consume me. Maybe I am learning that adulthood does not always look like having everything figured out. Sometimes, it looks like going to work on a Monday, studying after a tiring day, crying when things become overwhelming, and still finding the courage to try again the following morning.

I don't want my thirties to be defined entirely by pressure. I don't want to spend these precious years feeling as though I am perpetually behind.

I want to live, too.

I want spontaneous trips, beautiful mornings, quiet weekends, new experiences, laughter, and memories that have nothing to do with productivity. I want to enjoy the present instead of constantly worrying about the future.

I want to believe that there is more to my life than working, studying, worrying, and waiting.

I want to believe that one day, I will look back at these uncertain nights and understand why I had to go through them. I want to believe that there will be a time when I feel more at peace with where I am and where I am going.

Perhaps one day, I will read this entry from a different bedroom, in a home of my own. Perhaps I will have a wedding ring, a new surname, a little family, and a life that feels like the one I used to pray for.

Or perhaps life will surprise me with something I haven't even imagined yet.

For now, I will let myself dream.

I am 30. I am not where I thought I would be, but I am not without hope. I am still learning, still growing, still working toward something, and still becoming.

I hope I never look back at this version of myself with disappointment. I hope I look back with tenderness.

Because she was trying. She was tired, sometimes envious, sometimes uncertain, and sometimes afraid that life was passing her by.

But she never stopped dreaming of a beautiful life.

And I hope she gets to live it.