I’ll turn 30 this year, and while many people have made it a point of telling me exactly how wonderful things are going to be in my third decade of life, I can’t help but be something of a cliché and clutch my pearls in horror. This has less to do with the age (which, yes, ain’t nothin’ but a number) and far more to do with the idea that at 30, my life is effectively half over (more on this to come), and I’m actually not even vaguely close to being where I thought I’d be at this point, when I first contemplated it, oh…about a decade ago.
That’s partially all right, I guess. It’s all right in the sense that life never works out according to your specifications, no matter how precise and focused you may be, and frankly my dissolute, nebulous visions of being fabulous at 30 never really got more beyond: “I’ll be in a healthy romantic relationship with imminent commitment on the horizon, oh, and financially secure. And thin. Yes, I’ll be thin.”
Then, at 23, I moved back to Pakistan, and basically scuppered myself. I became fat. I sacrificed myself to the notion of the Pakistani economy, in which age matters more than competence. I moved into my family home, wherein now, at the age of (almost) 30, I live with two old women–dearly beloved, but two old women nonetheless–out of one bedroom that is by turns incredibly claustrophobic as well as the only place I can legitimately feel like I have some control over things.
And I am lonely. I am so, so, so lonely that I’ve been hiding from saying it for the last few years, and I don’t want to hide from it any more. I’m so lonely that I hold out hopes when I meet people while travelling, that I can forge relationships of some sort with them. I’m lonely enough that I sometimes find myself crying or raging for no good reason whatsoever, other than the fact that I’m sitting here and I can’t think of a single person with whom I’d rather be. And I’m actually not ashamed of that loneliness–I just wish I had a choice, some way to get around it. I wish I could be like all my friends who somehow manage to find lovers and friends and create their own families, but I’m not; and I find it awful that in some weird warped way, I consider it perfectly normal that because I’m completely capable of existing in my own company and solitude, I should live in that fashion.
I love it when people give me solid advice like “Move out”, or “You need to get out of Pakistan”, because while I appreciate the intention behind it, I also want to throw something at people who toss these words of wisdom out as though it’s just a matter of willpower. Try having a green passport, or working in a country where your annual take-home income for the typical 30-year-old is under $15,000 per year. It’s absurd. I can’t just get up and trundle off to graduate school, because I can’t afford it, and even though I’m Pakistani, I don’t have a vagina, which means I don’t really qualify for a lot of the financial aid that’s out there. I can’t just apply for a job in another country because no one wants to–especially in this economy–go through the hassle of hiring or even interviewing an international applicant.
I used to be able to take vacations, but since the rupee started going the way of the Deutsche Mark circa 1948, I can barely escape from this benighted country, other than once in a while when a work trip happens to take me away for a bit.
And all I find coming ahead of me, here in the start of my third decade, is an overwhelming sense of rage and futility. I mean, honestly, FUCK THIS. What the FUCKING HELL was the point of doing all the “right” things, being the “good” son, listening to people and all that other drivel, when clearly it has done absolutely nothing for me? I see people all around me getting the things that I desperately want, without even trying or having to make an effort…and yes, life is unfair, etc. etc., in which case, why am I even bothering with any of this rubbish?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this, not this bad. Not this much anger and this much pain and frustration, not all the time, not that sense of defeat and failure from the time you wake up until the time you finally fall asleep after looking for a hundred distractions so that you can somehow keep yourself preoccupied until you’re so tired that you finally just close your eyes and instantly fall into a dreamless sleep.
I just didn’t think that at 30, I’d be so incredibly unhappy.
I turned 30 a whopping 11 years ago. Let me tell you what I learned.
The week before my 30th birthday, my partner had been in Colorado, partying his balls off with his guy friends. He returned on my birthday. A mutual friend of ours discovered it was my one and only 30th birthday, and arranged a party.
It was pretty epic. DJ in the living room, food and drink, people playing poker in the driveway on a table someone had brought over in the back of a pickup truck. I even got gifts, and on such short notice!
Well, my man was tired and cranky and went to bed before the party really started.
The door to our bedroom had been off its hinges for reasons I can’t remember now; when people started to show up and it seemed like my impromptu 30th was gonna be a rage, I quietly re-hung the bedroom door to give my boyfriend a quiet, private place to sleep. I even turned on the A/C to keep him comfortable and to act as a white noise generator.
Long story short, he woke up around 11:30, accused me of hanging the door to “hide” my party from him (?), was a total asshole, and made me cry. ON MY BIRTHDAY.
I proceeded to marry the man, spend a wretched eight years total living with the selfish creep, then divorce him in financial ruin.
My point is this: you know, at 30, what you need to know. ACT ON IT. Because I didn’t, and it cost me a lot of time and energy.
My sympathies; I hope it gets better, really. (I guess pointing out that it’s actually your *fourth* decade isn’t going to help much, is it?)
Even though I’m simply floored and elated to see you back in blogosphere ([*squealing*]I missed reading you, jaanam!!!), I’m also sad to read what you have been experiencing–about being 30 and being nowhere close to where you imagined being. Myself, I am nowhere near where I wanted to be by 30 in terms of career and having financial and residential stability. I sympathize with you, cause I am going through similar experiences, sitting in the same emotional roller coaster, hoping that this ish would end soon.
For example, this:
“What the FUCKING HELL was the point of doing all the “right” things, being the “good” son, listening to people and all that other drivel, when clearly it has done absolutely nothing for me? I see people all around me getting the things that I desperately want, without even trying or having to make an effort…and yes, life is unfair, etc. etc., in which case, why am I even bothering with any of this rubbish?”
Seriously jaan, WTF? So many years dedicated to what end? Ending up unemployed and on the brink of homelessness and starvation!
“I love it when people give me solid advice like “Move out”, or “You need to get out of Pakistan”, because while I appreciate the intention behind it, I also want to throw something at people who toss these words of wisdom out as though it’s just a matter of willpower.”
Totally understandable. People do not realize how especially at this time, many of us are at the mercy of forces beyond our control (the economy, income, etc).
“And I am lonely. I am so, so, so lonely that I’ve been hiding from saying it for the last few years, and I don’t want to hide from it any more…I’m lonely enough that I sometimes find myself crying or raging for no good reason whatsoever, other than the fact that I’m sitting here and I can’t think of a single person with whom I’d rather be.”
*Sniff* Don’t say that.
I swear, when I get a job–and one that pays income adequate enough to allow me to rent a place of my own–I will send you a ticket to San Francisco, and you can stay with me, OK?
“I consider it perfectly normal that because I’m completely capable of existing in my own company and solitude, I should live in that fashion.”
Bugger. I think I just ticked the “strongly agree” box. And I have far fewer valid excuses than you.
Apologies for not checking regularly enough to notice this sooner. Though I think I may just have found an answer to something else.
I cannot say enough adequate words. Simply the world does not end. Whatever you do the damn thing persists. I wish I knew how to fix you (it should really be ‘fix it for you’, but then I’d have to be Jimmy Saville, and anyway, I like the slightly dissonant echo).
PS. Angel-mine*, what bloody size is the font in this comment box? I swear you’re doing it just to make everyone else feel old as well.
* Sorry, I saw The Little Dog Laughed a few days ago, and in addition to finding out I am the proud owner of a rentboy shirt (which I actually like, the shirt, not the hire-ability), and have been dying to use that phrase ever since (though clearly the whole embedded isolationist there’ll-be-another-winter thing does limit opportunities for that).
I have another bright idea, something about as actionable as you excercising your will-power to move out of Pakistan, but not quite as..umm..dull.
Why don’t you write the “Great” Pakistani novel where the protagonist happens to be gay; you can ofcourse throw in a few Kabul scenes, complete with the requisite Taliban bogeyman. You just have to bring your vocabulary a few notches down, and there you have it, your formulaic best-seller, along with fame, fortune and international mobility.
Goblinbox is right. I’m now 55, have had four relationships: First one wonderful, but both of us too young and horny. Second one so-so, but was a rebound. Third one the BEST – 12 beautiful years, but then he died of HIV complications (he got it before anybody even knew what it was, and before we got together – fortunately, I’m negative). Fourth one another rebound relationship, utter disaster, eventually got a restraining order against him.
Why’m I telling you this? You’re still young – GO FOR IT, seize life by the balls, and don’t find yourself in my position, regretting the opportunities I missed. I’m finally getting my life back, but damn, it’s tough.
I found your blog as a result of posting an entry in mine (harddavid.blogspot.com) and then bopping around the ‘net to find a reference to something – don’t remember what it was now, you know how that goes. Guess I need to backtrack my URLs.
Anyhoo (THAT”S what it was – I was trying to find etymology for that word), best of luck, my friend!