The 32nd Year
You guys.
I turn 32 today.
My first order of business at this new age is to reinforce (to myself) my worth as a person by doing my best at what I do, which currently is my job, as a publishing manager slash editor slash publication writer slash proofreader.
And I do that while sitting at the Media Room of the Putrajaya International Convention Centre (PICC) here in Malaysia, where my editorial team and I are covering a 3-day event – the International Anti-Corruption Conference (IACC) 2015.
All around me are journalists, activists, government officials, NGO members and start-up CEOs who are crazy serious about transparency and fighting corruption. They are angry, driven, impassioned as they discuss, debate, step around and propose actions on the topic of promoting integrity in all aspects of their professional and personal lives.
I sit on the side as a rapporteur jotting down notes and typing out the highlights of their sessions, only to report them later on, removed and quite distant from all of their concerns. I am a mere observer, hired to record the goings-on of an important event so that interested parties can revisit these days and gain insight wherever they can.
At lunch and coffee breaks, I converge with my team of writers and photographers and we mildly discuss what we'd witnessed in the sessions, again removed from them, making armchair-expert comments on how brilliant or stupid their arguments were.
So here's my birthday question:
Comparing this day to all my previous birthdays, is this where I want to be at 32?
Why, yes. Yes, please. This is where I want to be at 32.
It's true that I never wanted to be a(n investigative) journalist. There was a time about a decade ago that I thought I did, but it turns out that no, not really. A writer, yes, but that's a different kind of beast. Obviously, journalists and writers wield the same tools to do their jobs, but there are different skill sets that are employed in each one, I'm discovering.
And here's the great thing about being in my 30s: I'm suddenly very aware – and very confident – of my own skill set. I suddenly know when to do what, with little supervision from adults. I suddenly am an adult required to supervise others.
My worth lies in the efforts I exert in doing that as best I can. That is the running theme of the 32nd year of my life.
When I listen to the speakers and panelists at this conference go on about procurement, open data, political financing and corporate integrity, I imagine I have at least one thing in common with them; we may not have the same interests, but we have the same desire to become excellent at something.
It is an honor to be able to share that with people who are successful at their careers. I'm nowhere near success myself, but at this point, I have no time to worry about my end-game. I have the whole journey to worry about, how I'm going to do things, and how I'm going to do them well.
Which brings me to my second order of business for Year 32: Things I have no time for.
It's an understatement to say that I've gone through changes in the past 2 years since moving out of my parents' house and striking it out on my own in a strange place.
One of these many transformations is my current inability to tolerate certain things that I'd put up with for a long, long time prior. Gossip, for instance, has been almost completely removed from my radar, as has family drama.
Interestingly enough, I have also become more tolerant of other things that I'd had no patience for – moody people, rude service providers, stupidity, judgment, childishness, cheap things.
The goal this year is to strike a balance between the two and to learn how to side-step them tactfully so that the emotional effect on me is kept to a minimum.
I have such high hopes, but a birthday is nothing without high hopes. That's what makes it special for me.
I'm waiting for the next plenary session, which I'll sit through and try to pay attention to even as my phone is going off with birthday wishes on all my social media accounts. I will want to reply to each message, and I will try to suppress a few smiles when my friends and family send me loving messages that make me feel important and valued, especially as I live all alone so far away from my safe place among them.
I will want to fake-complain to them about how tough my life is that I won't even have the time to celebrate my birthday with a slice of birthday cake because I'm working through the weekend. I will want to send them pictures and tell them I'm happy even though I feel a little bit sad to be away from them.
But I most probably won't.
And they'll probably forgive me. After all, I'm 32. That's what grown-ups do.
I turn 32 today.
My first order of business at this new age is to reinforce (to myself) my worth as a person by doing my best at what I do, which currently is my job, as a publishing manager slash editor slash publication writer slash proofreader.
And I do that while sitting at the Media Room of the Putrajaya International Convention Centre (PICC) here in Malaysia, where my editorial team and I are covering a 3-day event – the International Anti-Corruption Conference (IACC) 2015.
All around me are journalists, activists, government officials, NGO members and start-up CEOs who are crazy serious about transparency and fighting corruption. They are angry, driven, impassioned as they discuss, debate, step around and propose actions on the topic of promoting integrity in all aspects of their professional and personal lives.
 |
| IACC Chairman Akere Muna wears a bow tie. Bow ties are cool. |
 |
| The all-female panel moderated by Jess Search (in blue), Chief Executive at BRITDOC of Citizenfour fame. |
I sit on the side as a rapporteur jotting down notes and typing out the highlights of their sessions, only to report them later on, removed and quite distant from all of their concerns. I am a mere observer, hired to record the goings-on of an important event so that interested parties can revisit these days and gain insight wherever they can.
At lunch and coffee breaks, I converge with my team of writers and photographers and we mildly discuss what we'd witnessed in the sessions, again removed from them, making armchair-expert comments on how brilliant or stupid their arguments were.
So here's my birthday question:
Comparing this day to all my previous birthdays, is this where I want to be at 32?
Why, yes. Yes, please. This is where I want to be at 32.
It's true that I never wanted to be a(n investigative) journalist. There was a time about a decade ago that I thought I did, but it turns out that no, not really. A writer, yes, but that's a different kind of beast. Obviously, journalists and writers wield the same tools to do their jobs, but there are different skill sets that are employed in each one, I'm discovering.
And here's the great thing about being in my 30s: I'm suddenly very aware – and very confident – of my own skill set. I suddenly know when to do what, with little supervision from adults. I suddenly am an adult required to supervise others.
My worth lies in the efforts I exert in doing that as best I can. That is the running theme of the 32nd year of my life.
When I listen to the speakers and panelists at this conference go on about procurement, open data, political financing and corporate integrity, I imagine I have at least one thing in common with them; we may not have the same interests, but we have the same desire to become excellent at something.
It is an honor to be able to share that with people who are successful at their careers. I'm nowhere near success myself, but at this point, I have no time to worry about my end-game. I have the whole journey to worry about, how I'm going to do things, and how I'm going to do them well.
Which brings me to my second order of business for Year 32: Things I have no time for.
It's an understatement to say that I've gone through changes in the past 2 years since moving out of my parents' house and striking it out on my own in a strange place.
One of these many transformations is my current inability to tolerate certain things that I'd put up with for a long, long time prior. Gossip, for instance, has been almost completely removed from my radar, as has family drama.
Interestingly enough, I have also become more tolerant of other things that I'd had no patience for – moody people, rude service providers, stupidity, judgment, childishness, cheap things.
The goal this year is to strike a balance between the two and to learn how to side-step them tactfully so that the emotional effect on me is kept to a minimum.
I have such high hopes, but a birthday is nothing without high hopes. That's what makes it special for me.
I'm waiting for the next plenary session, which I'll sit through and try to pay attention to even as my phone is going off with birthday wishes on all my social media accounts. I will want to reply to each message, and I will try to suppress a few smiles when my friends and family send me loving messages that make me feel important and valued, especially as I live all alone so far away from my safe place among them.
I will want to fake-complain to them about how tough my life is that I won't even have the time to celebrate my birthday with a slice of birthday cake because I'm working through the weekend. I will want to send them pictures and tell them I'm happy even though I feel a little bit sad to be away from them.
But I most probably won't.
And they'll probably forgive me. After all, I'm 32. That's what grown-ups do.
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