I turned 30 yesterday. The weather was horrible-it still is as I write this- and it never stopped raining in our part in Lapu-Lapu City. Marlen and I took the day off from work and went out for a quick pasta meal. We stayed indoors with Dylan, who did not have a class yesterday, and Lennon, who never stopped running from one corner of the house to another until he fell asleep close to midnight.

I smoked only two cigarette sticks yesterday. I used to smoke at least a pack (20 sticks), often more, every day. I started drastically cutting down on smoking earlier this year, with the approach of my self-imposed deadline to quit, which was set arbitrarily several years back in one of those drinking sessions with friends. I know it’s still too early to tell but I just might be able to pull this off.

Even until a few years back, I thought 30 was old. A former editor, who was in her early 40s at that time, called my attention when I used “old woman” in the headline for a crime victim who was in her 40s.

I don’t feel old. I’m not as fit as I want to be but I’m working on that with life hacks on smoking and diet. I want to return to playing football (or soccer as Americans stubbornly call it) regularly. In the meantime, I’m playing table tennis regularly and narrowly missed a slot to the finals in our office tournament.

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