Maybe the way I’ve been feeling these past few days has something to do with the fact that my birthday is coming up.

I’m turning 30. Fuckin 30!

And somehow just seeing a “3” in my age feels… strange. Like a psychological adjustment I didn’t sign up for.

I guess I need to get used to it? I don’t know.

It’s like I’m going through a value reboot and a full analysis of everything I’ve lived through so far.

The fourth decade — now that sounds serious.

Honestly, I still feel like I’m 22 or 23. It’s like I got stuck there.

Numbers don’t usually bother me, but somewhere deep down… yeah, it hits a little.

Thirty.

I remember when my mom was 23, she felt like a real adult to me.

She worked, raised me, we lived in a rented apartment, she walked me to school.

I used to think being a grown-up was cool.

Ha ha, it’s not!

Being responsible for your life and your choices? That’s hard.

Taxes, buying groceries, finding money for food and rent apartment especially in this completely unhinged world — it’s not fun at all. It’s straight-up stress.

Sometimes I feel like I have absolutely nothing at thirty. No house, no car, living in a foreign country with temporary residency…

No kids, no family, no sense of safety.

But hey — I learned to do a headstand. That’s something, right?

I know all that material stuff house, car maybe it’s not really what matters.

What I do have is experience. Memories. Emotions. Travels. All the things my parents couldn’t have because they had obligations.

Like… me.

But even so, all those societal expectations “what life should look like” they still press down on me.

When you’re afraid to buy yourself an extra little thing because you might get kicked out of your apartment at any moment, and then… what?

Where do you go with all your stuff?

I came to Poland with one suitcase, a backpack, and a cat carrier.

Now I have ten plants, a projector, a fan, and a coffee machine.

Progress? Or just more stuff to pack next time I have to run.

I still feel weird. Empty. Sad. Nothing in particular.

Maybe it’s a quarter-life crisis.

Or maybe it’s just anxiety… or the lack of a sense of safety.

I don’t know.