30.
I never imagined myself becoming 30. It was a just a number, a number that was always very hazy, and in the future.
I never imagined I’d have a paunch at 30. And that I’d still not know what I wanted to do with my life.
Or that I’d never have driven a Merc. Or never been to America. Or never taken one photograph that makes a few people, maybe a handful, fall silent.
When I was 16, 30 seemed like the age when life would have been lived and conquered. I’m still fighting though.
I thought I’d be famous by now. And that I’d have figured out how to put my emotions into words by now. I thought I’d have become the eloquent yet sensitive human being I am in my thoughts.
I didn’t think that I’d have written my book my now. I thought I’d have written several by now. And here I am, finding it difficult to write a few coherent sentences. I am sad to turn thirty, with so much unaccomplished. But one of the few things I’ve realized about myself in the twenties is that sorrow is an emotion that passes, and numbness is more permanent.

In 4 days I’ll be thirty. And when I look back to compile my 10 greatest moments of the twenties, they all feel insignificant. The ten greatest moments in my twenties won’t add up to much, on a global scale. And even to my friends, who were there for several of them, they wouldn’t seem like much. They might not have realized they’d witnessed the greatest moments. Should I include the first photograph JJ liked? Selling a company? Watching a great movie? Laughing with friends? Passing out of college? Holding hands with Radha? How do you count what is slipping away from your memory, and yet be sure that you’ve captured the important things? I wish I could take a backup of my memory on a CD, and come back to visit those moments later, finding them uncorrupted by time.

Feel the sadness. Feel the moment.
I want to walk to the top of a grassy hill and sit there for a few hours, feeling the memories slowly invade me, and cry them out, one by one. I don’t even need a drink to cry. I want it to be a sunny day, and for the sun to provide healing warmth. Reassure me that there is still time, and that it is only a milestone, not the end of the road. So that I can walk down the hill, with the momentum of gravity, making me run faster and thus more happily than I really feel. And when I reach the bottom of the hill, I will hopefully shake off the sadness and become numb for another decade.