In nine days, I will be 30.


You know, I always thought I would remain young forever. It’s funny how when you’re young, you can’t wait to grow up, and when you’re grown up, you wish you could slow everything down just a tad.

Let the days linger so I can have more quality time with my wife. Let the weeks go languid so I can still have my grandmother around to share wisdom and lumpia recipes. Let the months go slow so I can still enjoy my mother’s company. Let the years crawl by so I can keep Nathan young and innocent, and really enjoy Baby Deen #2 before s/he leaves for college.

Truth is, I’m not afraid of 30. I actually welcome 30 (albeit with the excitement that comes with welcoming the BIR guy coming to visit more than, say, Kris Aquino – yeah, I do wanna meet her).

I’ve got a beautiful, intelligent, sweet, wonderful wife; a brilliant, handsome, sensitive son; another God-blessing on the way with the upcoming birth of my second child; a fantastic job with the most fantastic company and the most fantastic people to work with; and enough body fat to keep me alive in times of famine.

Sure, I would’ve liked to be rich and famous. But rich means dealing with the taxes and keeping my kids away from kidnappers. Famous means never having a minute’s peace because everyone wants a piece of you.

Sure, I’d like to be slim again. Not for me, but for my family because I would like to stick around longer to see my kids off to college. But you know what? I think I can do it, because I’ve done it before. With the support of my family, my friends (who’ve seen me in thick and thin then thick again), and my God, I could be. Why not?

What’s so scary about 30? Some people get all worried and problematic. Me, I’m ready and raring to go. Bring on the wrinkles.

(Although I am considering a 4th tattoo as a birthday gift to myself. Hobbes the tiger on my ankle. What do you think?)