It seems like just yesterday, I was staring at the baby face in the mirror and asking myself: When can I become a woman of charm? Without any trace of naivety, my every move oozed with maturity. I don't know from which year or month it started, but when I rushed to my favorite clothing brands as usual, enthusiastically picking and choosing, I suddenly realized that the girl "shouldering arms" with me called me auntie. That was truly a blow. My favorite pair of overalls made me look pregnant no matter how I wore them. The lace-trimmed blouse gave off an air of trying too hard to look young - like an old cucumber painted green. The wrinkles at the corners of my eyes were becoming more noticeable, my skin wasn't as taut as before, and my once-pointed chin had rounded out without any definition. Habituated to binge eating, I used to devour the largest tubs of ice cream like rice, knowing that after skipping a couple of meals, my waistline would naturally return to its former eighteen-inch slimness. But when did drinking cold water start making me gain weight, and my little belly stubbornly growing larger day by day? When did my perky bottom lose its perfect curve? Those photos I wanted to tear up a few years ago now seem to depict a beauty...
Before I could become a woman of charm, how did I end up so mature without a trace of youth? That feeling couldn't help but remind me of a joke: Eating a bun, one bite doesn't reach the filling, another bite goes past it.
At thirty, time is so merciless for women.
Dad has retired, Mom has been dyeing her hair for several years, yet she still calls out "Mommy Daddy" like when I was a child. How have I never thought about their aging? Before, they always left the best things for me. From when did I start taking them out to eat, piling delicious dishes onto their plates; from when did I start investigating their lives like a little spy, caring if they are happy, if they are lonely. Less oil in cooking for mom's mild fatty liver; for dad's diabetic condition, serve him his portion of food before adding sugar. Grandma's leg pain means she can't wear high heels anymore, so even if she gives me money, I decided to call and say: "Mom, let me accompany you shopping, to buy the most comfortable pair of shoes." Grandpa loves good food, so let's go eat revolving sushi together.
At thirty, a woman's heart becomes more delicate and refined.
Eating with a friend, her friend called and cried without saying anything. Knowing she and her husband recently had issues, I assumed the wealthy man had also changed his heart - having another woman. It turned out he was ill with an incurable disease. We sighed simultaneously and said in unison: "If only he had another woman, how much better that would be!"
Then, I rushed into the supermarket with my friend, buying lots of milk, eggs, fish, and meat. Since then, my husband must have a nutritious breakfast every morning, not a moment of carelessness allowed.
At thirty, women understand others' sorrows and often unintentionally relate them to their own lives. Is this understanding of cherishing life or just being overly sensitive?
Still waiting for that seasonal flower on each Valentine's Day, but no longer throwing a tantrum for not receiving one, knowing the roses after Valentine's might be even more beautiful. Love isn't just vows and passionate romance; it's more about the nagging concerns and trivial reminders. A candlelight dinner isn't as good as personally cooking a few small dishes, wearing casual clothes comfortably with your loved one, seeing him sweat while eating and knowing what a woman's happiness is. His clothes in the wardrobe have already been ironed and neatly folded; his socks smell of sunshine every day; the fridge is full, with apples and chilled watermelons he likes, and a "Corona" beer that refreshes him when he's tired; he always mixes up the towels for washing his face and hair, so boiling the towels weekly for disinfection makes it okay if he can't tell the difference... There are still admirers and pursuits from the opposite sex, knowing how to refuse without leaving a trace, allowing the heart rate to change within ten beats, and recovering to calmness within three seconds.
That morning, while hanging clothes on the balcony, I was suddenly hugged from behind by my beloved: "Baby, you're so beautiful, I don't know how you ended up marrying me." In an instant, sweetness flowed through me like an electric current. Ten years, we've been married for ten years. Am I still the 18-year-old girl you fell in love with at first sight? Haven't you seen the crow's feet around my eyes and the excess fat on my stomach moving "day by day"? Haven't you noticed the long hair that once haunted your dreams has quietly dimmed, often falling to the ground and tangling your mop? Yet, why does your word make my heart race uncontrollably?
At thirty, women understand what they value most. They know how to give and refuse, how to manage and feel, and how to silently preserve some things they are unwilling to easily revisit. There's less pretense and more ease in demeanor.
Being a mother is a dream, yet I can't make up my mind. Knowing it's an incomparable happiness, it's also an irremovable responsibility heavier than life. Moreover, how can I easily give up my tall, slim figure like a model; how can I bear to end my leisurely free time in a baby's cradle. But when did I find myself unable to move my feet at the sight of toddlers learning to walk; when did I get drunk on the milky aroma of that little infant; when did I see those sky-blue eyes and my heart soften to the point of losing sensation?
At thirty, maternal love surges like a flood, unprecedentedly overwhelming.
If a woman's life is such a "winding away, swaying towards" curve, then thirty is undoubtedly a very important point on the curve. At this point, we mourn our youth, reminisce about our innocence, and taste the initial loss brought by age; at this point, we look around, viewing the distant and nearby landscapes and joys and sorrows, bearing the gains and losses of a mature mind; at this point, we balance ourselves, feeling the beauty taken away by time and the tolerance and gentleness gained in return.
At thirty, women learn to understand themselves and others - men and women - and try to understand the world.
At thirty, if we bid farewell to youth, then let's ripen gracefully and happily.
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