Turning 35
or, in Singapore, the arbitrary age at which I qualify for public housing as a "single"
I refrained from a customary post on my last birthday. The world was still in the thick of a pandemic and it seemed insignificant and even indulgent to do such a thing. Following my "Jesus Year", I continued to travel for weeks on end, only screeching to a halt when Covid-19 closed borders. The world became almost immediately, unbearably smaller, though the novelty of the situation kept those feelings at bay. Nowadays, as I recently tweeted, I feel as if my 3D job is now conducted in 2D. It's tough. I also feel as if my international peer are able to restore momentum in the last 18 months we lost, and that being grounded in Singapore's ironically volatile hokey-pokey with restrictions is damaging my career prospects.
That said, the pandemic brought me the greatest blessing in disguise, one I would not have received if I had continued to travel. For the first time in years I was in one place for more than a few weeks, and I was able to rekindle a relationship that evaded me the first time round. That clichéd "if you love someone, set them free" turned out to be quite accurate, except neither of us realised we were #endgame at that point in time. Close to nearly two years to the day we met and I can safely say that life's greatest joys lie in its surprises – perhaps one day we shall both write about how we met and how life conspired to put us in each other's paths.
It has been an interesting year of personal development, especially where my mental health is concerned. Being in a relationship means exercising one's relational muscles, ones that had atrophied for the past 2-3 years. Relearning how to compromise, how to negotiate, how to accept, how to forgive, how to reconcile was actually easier than getting my ass to therapy for the first time in my life. There, I said it. The stigma is real, and strong. Part of me still thinks it's ridiculous, and another part of me thinks it's the best and bravest thing I've ever done for myself (instigated and encouraged by the missus). I hadn't thought I was mentally unhealthy, but neither was I healthy. I have a bad habit of withdrawing when I'm stressed, and bottling everything up because as the eldest child of a large family, responsibility was forced onto me from a young age. Learning how to have fun, how to let go; realising that I deserved all of that and that the weight of the world didn't rest on my shoulders is a huge part of what therapy has helped me with. It's not for everyone, but it can be very helpful. I've found it to be so, and now I attend sessions at least fortnightly.
Professionally, I've taken steps to secure our future through financial independence, largely through taking a more active role in our financial planning with our adviser. Learning about angel investing, bouncing around startup ideas with various people, considering a job relocation in the next 5-7 years… exciting times are afoot, even with the spectre of a pandemic lurking at every corner.
P. S. Bonus gif of me in a lamb (?) headdress. The things one does for love.