Forty is legitimately middle age, I believe. My dad passed away at 80. And Imo and I have been married for almost the same number of years before my parents' own marriage started to really fall apart. (I say "really fall apart" because, now that I think about it, their marriage was always slowly crumbling.) Imo and I, we are legitimately in the middle of life, although, being immigrants, it feels like we are always starting over. I have been thinking a lot about Imo and me and our relationship and how it's changed. Our kids are no longer little. And with that, we no longer feel so young -- even though we are much younger than most of our kids' parents. Also, less established (read: poor
Obviously, I have class hangups. And it pains me to be this old and not own anything or make a significant amount of money. Even though I know that this is a completely fucked up way to measure one's life or self. Every day, I try to reconcile these conflicting tendencies: resisting an oppressive system in my day-to-day life, but at the same time, trying to keep up the appearances of material comfortable-ness and raising my own children to succeed in this kind of society. I simultaneously feel pride and discomfort in my children's success within the youth sports industrial complex, for instance. In the same way that I feel both pride and discomfort in my carefully framed/filtered/curated collection of domestic photographs and Instagram posts. The same way I feel from time to time about this blog too.