This isn’t a cozy, feel-good post of some sort with the horizon and crashing waves on the foreground.

This is my 30’s catching up with me. And boy does it catch up so fast. It felt like yesterday when i was born; umm, not exactly yesterday but you get the drift.

Gone are the days when i could wear a tee without worrying about showing off the flat belly. Now I’ve got a pot belly for no fault of mine. Do you even know the difference between a fish, piano and a bucket of glue? You can tune a piano, but you can’t tuna fish.

Gone are the times when i could read a book a day. Now it’ll be a miracle if you can catch me read an entire chapter.

And, gone are the moments when i used to care about marks, scores, norms, traditions and what not. Now, i care as less as a wombat shitting cubes.

Yes, wombats shit cubes and green sea slugs are capable of photosynthesis. And i am gonna be 30. Not 69, not 420, just 30. The number itself feels so mundane.

Adiós my childhood, teens, adolescence, and my twenties. I let them down the way Taka let down Mufasa. No, Scar is better known as Taka which is dirt in Swahili. The only actual stupid adventurous stunt i pulled in these many years was jumping off a bridge.

But worry not. I’ve preparing for this age by being fluent in the dad ways. I have a dad bod, can spit dad jokes, and flip a patty like a dad – all of this without becoming a dad.

So yeah, bison.

See what i did there? Of course you didn’t, because you were stuck with the bucket of glue.