Its a horrendous feeling. I’m twenty-seven in a month. 25 wasn’t so bad, I still felt I was a kid. 26 was bearable. But 27 sounds geriatric. I feel I’m aching all over. I feel the incessant need to play soft music and watch golf. I feel I’m hurtling towards my grave and on some days I feel I have one foot in it already.
I thought I’d make a list of all the things I need to do in the next three years, because when I reach thirty, I would want my life to mean something. I would want to stop being 22 in my head. At least by then.
- I want to take a vacation for three months and travel the country. Leave all materialistic desires behind, take a small clutch of bare essentials, my laptop and some cigarettes and go visit all the places I ever wanted to see. And I want it to be completely unplanned. No schedules to follow, no time tables, no mad rush to make the plane or the train or the bus in time. Live those three months in a state of next-available-transport.
- I want to write a lot. I want to spend a good amount of time writing down my thoughts, and all the stories in my head and all the obligations I need to fulfill – for myself and for others.
- I want to grow up, in my head. I want to stand in front of a mirror and be able to look into it and see a responsible adult than a retarded kid.
- I want to be able to go to and sit on my rock again, in my own personal haven, and look out at the sea and be at peace.
- I want to wake up on my 30th birthday and feel glad about it, rather than depressed.
- I want to make at least ten million by then and retire on my thirty-first birthday.
- I want to be able to make a more solid list of things, something much more tangible, by that time.