Turning 30: Some Stories, Regrets, and Celebrations

Writing a reflection piece is probably the most clichéd thing to do on your 30th birthday, but to be honest, 30 is too old to keep fooling myself into believing I’m anything other than your average girl*. So, here it goes — some thoughts, stories, regrets, celebrations, and lessons learned!

(1) I’m happy. My life is a million miles away from perfection, but I’ve finally truly understood happiness. I’m no longer caught up in the mainstream notion that “we all need to dream big, lead exceptional lives, and achieve great things.” Here’s a philosophy that I resonate more with: Know what brings you happiness — whether big or small, grand or ordinary — and find the courage to pursue it.

(2) I’m also nostalgic. I miss the moments shared and the friends who shared them with me. I know the moments will never return and the friends — much like myself — are no longer the same, and I deeply miss them. But here’s what I can do: Make a sincere effort to reach out more often, talk about my days, and ask about their marriages, children, work, or state of mind. We’ll reminisce about old times and create new moments — a different kind that reflects the passage of time.

(3) I’m grateful for my marriage. For over a year after my small and intimate home wedding, I found it hard to say these words out loud: “I’m married,” and “My husband.” Unlike most people I know, I never had a desire to get married, build a family, or have a fixed home address. And yet, my marriage has proven to be one of the most significant aspects of my life. The stability, balance, and support it provides have granted me the privilege to slow down and take the time to reflect on who I want to be in this life, what I seek from this world, how I can make fewer compromises, and how I can live in such a way that I can die without regrets.

(4) I still don’t quite know how to love and be loved. I know many people who expressed a desire for a marriage resembling that of their parents or grandparents. It makes me wonder: If the love we witness growing up shapes our adult desires, what about those who grew up amidst complexity, abuse, unhappiness, and the absence of love? What kind of love do they seek and are able to give?

My parents went through a divorce; I once was very close to my dad until he slowly slipped away; my stepmother accepted me, but her acceptance waned over time; and my grandparents were deeply unhappy. Looking back, I guess I didn’t seek love at all as I grew older; and when love did come my way, I didn’t know what to do with it.

So, to those who stayed despite my struggles, thank you for your patience and understanding that when I reject your love, that’s when I need it the most. A special appreciation goes to my husband, Lova; my brother, Zo; my best friend, Johann; my teammates at FAKOTÔRY; and Holy, who assumed the older sister role I desperately needed. I love you all, whatever that may mean or look like!

(5) Childhood trauma is a significant part of me, yet it doesn’t need to define my entire adult experience. While I acknowledge its impact, attributing all my adult struggles to past trauma diminishes my personal agency, ability for self-awareness, and potential for positive change as an adult. When I was a child, I was indeed powerless, but the beauty of becoming an adult lies in gaining power and reclaiming control over my narrative. As Maya Angelou once said: "You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them."

(6) I’m not afraid to live. Experiencing the death of my mother at 8 years old taught me early on to understand and embrace the impermanence of life, along with everyone and everything in it. My twenties were well-lived, and turning 30 is a beautiful continuation of this adventure that many didn’t get to witness. I’m grateful for my health and the luck I’ve had so far. I wish no one the early loss of a loved one though, so, when it comes to seizing life, I leave you with this wisdom from Seneca: “Life is long if you know how to use it.”

(7) Things aren’t always black or white; in fact, most aspects of life exist in the nuanced gray areas. One practice I’m particularly intentional about in my daily interactions is giving people the benefit of the doubt, avoiding assumptions, and recognizing that situations are often more complex than they appear. Well, I suppose what I truly mean is that I aspire to be mindful about it, but I’m still very much impulsive, overly emotional, and often caught up in my own thoughts. One day and one lesson at a time, though, right?

(8) I still spend way too much time holding onto grudges. Yet the truth is, most people don’t intentionally hurt you. Some may, but the majority, myself included, are simply wrestling with their inner demons, battles, and grief. I want to learn the practice of forgiveness, for my own sake, knowing that I, too, sometimes, seek forgiveness from those around me.

(9) I love solitude. In Black Milk: On the Conflicting Demands of Writing, Creativity, and Motherhood, Elif Shafak writes one truth about human nature that many people try to resist in vain: loneliness is an inseparable part of the human experience. There are many things I enjoy doing alone as much as in the company of others, but most experiences, I’d rather live on my own. If you’re a creative like me, I hope you can appreciate the significance of embracing and even thriving in solitude, an essential aspect of an artist’s life.

(10) I love being an artist, and even though I’ve stepped into the complex world of academia, my identity as an artist will always take precedence. Art and science often approach the world differently, and at times, these perspectives may seem to conflict. For example, as an artist, I celebrate the universality of womanhood, embracing that all women are women, including transwomen, and honoring the diverse experiences that define womanhood. However, as a sociologist, I recognize the importance of distinguishing between women and transwomen—not to divide, but to ensure that the unique challenges and experiences of each group are acknowledged and addressed. These distinctions are necessary to make their struggles visible and advocate effectively for their rights. Balancing these perspectives isn’t always easy, but I believe in holding space for nuance, so I ask: don’t cancel me!

(11) I don’t want to be just a modern woman. In my pursuit of strength, freedom, and progressiveness, I’m determined not to lose touch with the wisdom of the women who came before me. They fought tougher battles, endured harsher circumstances, and survived greater challenges than I have. Their experiences hold lessons I want—and need—to learn from.

At the same time, I refuse to overlook the work that still lies ahead for my generation. I reject the notion that the mere existence of choice is the ultimate goal of gender equality. I won’t fall into the trap of believing, as some of my peers do, that choosing to adopt my husband’s last name—a practice rooted in patriarchy—is inherently feminist simply because it was my choice and not imposed by a man or society. If I ever become a mother, I want my life and choices to reflect a deeper truth about our time: freedom of choice is not just a privilege but also a responsibility—one we cannot take lightly, not yet. My mother’s life, though tragically cut short, taught me this. So, please, again, don’t cancel me!

(12) ¡Hablo un poco de español! Spanish is widely spoken across the United States, including here in Chicago, where I currently live. Many residents speak only Spanish, and numerous stores and businesses have adapted by using bilingual signs at a minimum. One day, on my way to the train station, a child refugee selling candy tried to communicate with me in Spanish. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand—or maybe I did, but I didn’t have any money—so I apologized and left. In that moment, I realized there was an entire world, a whole community, and a wealth of literature and knowledge right next door, yet it felt so distant simply because I didn’t speak the language. How much am I missing out on due to my language limitations? That experience inspired me to learn Spanish. If you’ve ever felt similarly or have an interest in learning a new language, I recommend starting with two resources: Duolingo for casual learning, and OpenLearn for free, structured online courses.

(13) I’m not a spiritual person. However, during my last trip to Madagascar, I interacted with all kinds of spiritual people—from Christians to Muslims, to those who identify as spiritual but not religious, to individuals hesitant to commit to any belief system yet still afraid of going to hell. None of them imposed their beliefs on me, but each was spiritually pretentious in their own way. It made me curious, and I didn’t want to feel like I was missing out.

I decided to explore Buddhism. While browsing books, I came across Stephen Batchelor’s Buddhism Without Beliefs: A Contemporary Guide to Awakening. Batchelor argues that Buddhism’s true nature is free from religion; enlightenment isn’t some distant, mystical state as elitist, monastic traditions portray it to be. Instead, the culture of awakening is about addressing and resolving the human dilemma of envy, which he sees as the root of our existential angst. It felt more like reading a philosophy book than a spiritual guide, and it reminded me of Jean-Paul Sartre’s Existentialism is a Humanism.

I may not be spiritual, but I love philosophy. Exploring this perspective taught me that, at our core, we’re all just pursuing happiness, satisfaction, inner peace, wisdom, and the hope of being good enough people. We each take our own path in this pursuit—some spiritual, some not—and I hope we can always respect one another’s chosen journeys.

(14) In the words of Sneha Lakshman: “We are, I too am, unimportant. No different from an ant, a dog or a tree. There is no purpose to human life. We weren’t “destined” for anything. It’s just an accident. Everything is an accident. Sometimes it is serendipitous.” Nothing matters.

(15) Yet everything matters—being kind matters, offering a helping hand matters, and speaking up against injustice matters. As long as we share this world, it matters that we try to make it a better place for everyone.

(16) Life is better when we let go of expectations. In my love letter to Lova, I write that it is during uncertain times, when we don’t know what we want and we have no expectations, that we often find the most enriching experiences. Living is better when we learn to embrace the unknown.

(17) I’m not ready to part with my coffee, wine, and cigarettes just yet. Some of the best conversations I’ve had have started with one cup of coffee, a bottle of wine, or a cigarette in hand.

(18) I love the United States for the opportunities it has offered me; but the smiles I shared with strangers in the streets of Antananarivo — an unspoken connection that transcended words and language— will always be my one true home.

(19) One final thought: Everybody needs somebody. In my 30 years of life, the most important lesson I’ve learned is this: I am who I am today, living the life I’ve chosen, because of the love and support of those around me. Life is not meant to be navigated alone, and no one should try to do so!

(20) That being said, as Mary Oliver wisely advised, “You must not, ever, give anyone else the responsibility for your life.”

*I lied—that was just a catchy opener. I'm not your average girl, and I'm well aware of it. You know it, too.

Cheers to 30!