"Things Never Change": How Turning 30 Showed Me They Do

To everyone who believes people never change I would like to
show this picture of me at 21 in Edinburgh. Ergh!

It is official: I am 30, and being a writer and human being, it has not passed me that it is a rather big age. My friends are rushing to the altar like it was genuinely impossible to marry after 30. This milestone seems scary to so many and so far it’s not been clear to me why. Is it that we, for the first time ever, numerically feel like there is no longer a connection to “being young“? After all, a third of the planet is now younger than me. "I still feel like I’m 21”, you hear a lot, “how can I suddenly be 30?” People speak about change so much but how have we changed? I used the impending doom on January 25 to really look back: how have I changed? Sure, I’m wiser and better, bla bla… but I actually saw some changes that at 21 I didn’t think possible.

1. Cats are better than dogs

That’s right, I was a cat person my entire life. “Entire life”? Hold the phone, of course not. If a lifetime is 21 years, then maybe. But I have become somewhat of a dog addict in my twenties, starting the decade firmly believing that I will end it with an engagement and a couple of cats (that’s right, yours truly didn’t even think I’d be married by 30 a decade ago…) As a child, I had a cat and a huge collection of cat cut-outs from magazines, books, videos. I even wrote a “cat handbook” in the third grade. One thing that hasn’t changed since I got the typewriter in first grade was how much I wrote. But my feline obsession was replaced with a canine one.

2. Oh my Gosh!

At 21, I still found it hard to say “oh my God” because I was religious. Fine, by that time I had dropped the celibacy and abstinence from alcohol but I still believed in the afterlife, went to church every Sunday and had problems speaking the Lord’s name in vain. That is no longer a sentiment although I wouldn’t say I have dropped my spiritual consciousness. However, I believed at 21 that I would go through life as a Christian, raise Christian kids and try to join heaven when it’s all over. Today, at 30, I’m neither Christian, not raising kids any particular way if I even have any and just hope I’ll peacefully fall asleep to whatever comes after life, even if that’s nothing. Doesn’t sound too bad, actually…

3. Alcohol, no thanks!

I didn’t drink until I was 20, and most of that decision wasn’t actually connected to faith. I am very grateful I waited with consuming an addictive substance until I was at least a little bit old enough to not just fall for the constant pleasure it seemed to be providing. All the other substances stayed taboo for me even when I drank. These days, one could almost say, I already quit drinking. Yes, alcohol provided some good times, in the last year it also provided quite some anxiety, though. Anxiety is one other thing I didn’t know at 21 but am quite familiar with today. I look forward to drinking much, much less in my thirties.

4. Why do gay people need “marriage”?

I wish I could blame my faith on my opposition to same-sex marriage when I was younger. At no point in my life I shared the belief that gay people could “pray the gay away” and that there was any sort of choice involved. I didn’t get why they needed to have “marriage” though. It didn’t matter to me that the Bible said “man and woman”, even at 21, I just likened the issue to the prominent opinion of “why do vegans have to have sausages, why don’t they just call them plips, or craycorn?” I thought that civil union was the same and didn’t get the craze. Until I one day asked myself a question: “Why shouldnt’t gay people be married?” I couldn’t answer it. And such was the end of my opposition…

5. Once a blonde, always a blonde

I had every hair color in the book. When I had pink hair, I was tempted to forsake the blonde I kept going back to. I didn’t even really know my real hair color for many years. Then, about two years ago, I wanted to literally go “back to the roots” - until they grew out and revealed the horror: my natural hair color was grey. Although I thought I would stick with the platinum blonde until my dying day at 21, I am typing this as a grey-haired lady that has some blonde highlights only to conceal the nightmare near my forehead. If I could, I’d be anything but blonde.

6. Progress is inevitable, right?

I studied politics and wanted to grow old doing “something with politics”. The dream of being a political correspondent was a ridiculous one, I would not have enjoyed that very much at all. The reason for that is possibly reality; 21-year-old me thought that the world would inevitably evolve into a better version of itself. One Brexit, dozens of populist heads of state and a plastic-polluted planet later I realize that I was simply naive; nobody cares about progress. People quite literally want to regress into what they call “easier times”. The reason for this is an epidemic of ignorance. People of this planet have never learned how not to be themselves. Until they learn to make decisions for everyone, not just themselves, politics won’t bring us better things. And I won’t be a political correspondent in my thirties.

7. “I’m too old for this shit!”

For the next point, I could go back to all the way when I was nine. I went on thrill rides that were both high and fast, screaming “yippie” when I felt my stomach tingle. At 30, my stomach still tingles - because my munchies are about to come back up. I am now terrified of heights and a thrill ride longer than 30 seconds will probably result in some vomit. I tried to beat this three times in the last year, each time going on those merry go rounds way up in the sky. Once with Sarah in Cambridge, under the influence. Another time, even more screaming was involved, with a guy on a second date whose hand I destroyed in the process just before Christmas although the ride featured beautiful views of Big Ben. And lastly, at Clapham Winterville, where I went way ahead of myself and went on the thrill ride version. Katie next to me was screaming “we are going to die” and I realized: "I’m too old for this shit!”

8. Wait, I am not invincible?

At 30, in London... finally!

Part of why deteriorating into old age is so horrible is the realization that the end is near. Well, maybe not around the corner, but when I look at how fast lines started appearing all over my face, I get the shivers. I cannot run up four stories of stairs anymore and when I see children on a playground I am amazed about how they seem to not know how to walk, but run, everywhere. Hence, I had to change my diet, start working out and drink way less just to be in as good of a shape as I was at 21, with no effort. Every bite of chocolate now has repercussions, and it requires mindfulness to stay awesome. At 21, I ate candy every day; today, I don’t even like candy.

All I Want For Christmas Is... A New Job!

I remember well when an Amazon recruiter reached out to me saying the business was looking for my expertise. I thought he was trying to get me to work in a call center, all while pretending that the name of the company would make any crap job sound lucrative. Why would a tech company want a journalist, I thought. I did, however, obviously take the chance to interview. A little further down the line, I actually started wanting the job. Did they say they were going to use technology to bring information to people? Like, with that thing Alexa I had never heard of. Fast forward six interviews and I became Alexa's patron, mother, buddy or teacher, you could say. Getting the job at Amazon was one of the happiest days of my life. The years of weird jobs, gaining experience in order to one day get the shot at the big guns, were over. The glass of prosecco tasted really well that day before Christmas two years ago.

But yeah, it did not last. Every day at that job was fun, everyone I met in the whole company was an incredible person and I loved working with them. Like many other jobs, at some point, the job didn't fit the expectation that was set in the beginning anymore. It's easy to talk about it now because my job no longer exists and the silver linings are easy to see. While we all loved the work and the device, the future that we had anticipated was clearly not going to happen. I knew I'd be fine. At the time though, it felt like a funeral. The decisions some of us made to leave was a good one for every single person that made it and the business, too. Yet, for a while, I mourned the loss of what I thought I would help make a historical device. 

I was never unhappy at Amazon. Quite the contrary, I loved my job. My last day was plagued by an upside down frown, yet most people told me the same: "you never know, Sina, something bigger is waiting wink wink". The job I had accepted wasn't going to exist forever. So I thought I was doing the right thing by taking a chance in life, again. It's my absolute conviction that very few people would have left a full-time position at Amazon to find something "better". Sounds stupid even to me. I joked with my flatmates that I'll just go to Google. The idea wasn't absurd. Without telling my colleagues about this joke, they sent me a parting gift a few weeks after I left. They had wrapped a book and some German candies for me. The book was called "How To Become A YouTube Superstar". My colleagues wanted to encourage me to become a social media influencer. Considering what I did instead makes me feel fuzzy inside.

In Germany, we celebrate Christmas on the 24th of December. As the UK doesn't, my Google recruiter called me on Christmas to tell me I had gotten the job I wanted really bad at Google. Talk about a great present! It wasn't going too badly for me in the interviews. I had interviewed with three other companies, waiting for the decisions. Just like back in the day, when I was waiting to hear back from universities, the day the first "yes" arrived, it was more the shock and excitement of knowing something will happen, this time the end of unemployment. Then I realized I had just received an offer for a badass job I wanted really bad. It was also a huge upgrade from my Amazon job. I accepted before hearing back from all others.

Of course, getting a job at a tech giant feels great. The kind of feeling you think will change your life. Like last time, I was ready for the change. My first action in London was to buy a bottle of champagne. While cheering with my friends to a successful new year, I pondered what I was proud of: getting a job at Google? Getting a job? No longer being unemployed? The honest to God answer is another. Of course, I'm excited for this job, a new chapter, the work I'll be doing. But mainly, I am proud of myself for daring to dream bigger when I was already exceeding the expectations I had set for myself. I left Amazon into uncertainty, merely hoping I will find something better. Yet, trust me, walking away from a great job with a yummy share package attached was not an easy decision. Most days, I doubted I'd be that lucky twice. But deep down, I felt this day, December 24, 2018 would come. For the first time in my life, I understood the Hollywood stars talking about persistence in their Oscar speeches. I get that now... 

When Does A New Place Become "Home"?

The first night in a new house is a funny one. I have moved 22 times in my life (thank you, crazy Egyptian landlords) and spent "the first night in a new bed" over a hundred times. But it's different when you know that the four walls that surround you will be "home" from now on. You feel anything but home and find it hard to believe that in a few short weeks, you'll know nothing else. Last night, I went to a new bed once again. And it is mine from now on. When I'm away, I will miss that bed. I will miss the new closet that holds all my things that I hated just yesterday. Soon the ridiculous road noise will not bother me anymore. And finally, the strangers in the hallway will hopefully become friends. But when does it happen: when does "a room" become "home"?

I have lived in a fair share of dumps. For the majority of my adult life living alone, I had no money whatsoever. Location, furniture, amenities and flatmate suitability were criteria I had to forego if the price was right. The most drastic experiences were places in Egypt where I shared the rooms with various insects and a pile of dust at all times because I couldn't afford a place with sealed windows (and in case you think it doesn't get cold in Egypt, I curse you for your ignorance). Coming from a warm family home growing up, where mother sets the heating timer on extra hours in the winter, moving out was an experience of realizing privilege: this warmth was normality until a snow storm hit Scotland and my room there had a crack in the window. I slept with four coats, gloves and a beanie.

Yet, the day that I left each of these places, I stopped in the doorway and looked at the times that I've had there. Once, I got evicted by a crazy Egyptian landlady after just three weeks because some rich folks had offered her a better rent price for our abode. In those three weeks I had managed to put up my fairy lights, scent the place with my candles and, most importantly, get excited about finally having a refuge from the crazy. Every time I leave a place, it hurts a little. I often compare the experience to creating a horcrux, just in positive: if you've done or experienced something fantastic next to an object, it will assume some of your soul. After living happily in a bunch of rooms, the rooms take mine.

So where does it happen? I walked into a barren room last night without any charm. The previous tenant had taken all her character bits (except for a bra and an advent calendar behind the dresser) and left an empty shell for me to fill with my stuff. I took a few minutes to deliberate where each piece of furniture should go. This morning I already hated the arrangement; I had made the wrong decision. Then I started filling the room with my fairy lights, candle holders, clothes and things to survive. As the vicious mess slowly became an organized one, I felt that it would be hard to make this space feel like my last one in Cambridge (no place will ever be this good). It will just have to become another one.

Once everything is in the place I have designated for it, new habits can start. I will no longer reach for my brush in the drawer of my desk because I no longer have a desk. This habit seems wrong at first because I'm used to having my brush in the drawer. And hence, the first few days will not feel like home because, at home, my brush used to be in the drawer. But a brush will find a new home. So will all of my other stuff. I no longer have an ensuite, so I now have to grab a robe at night to go pee. That obviously doesn't feel like home. Being naked does, not thinking about who's waiting for the shower to be free, having a brush in the shower. Once these habits have changed, I'm home. The good news is: that happens fairly quickly.