Sayonara 20s: The Quiet, Not-So-Subtle Pressure of Turning 30
In your late 20s, you begin to sense a subtle shift happening internally. You look back on the past years, and you feel the need to assess what you've accomplished (or failed to). Suddenly, the pressure feels real. This blog is exactly about that.
7/18/202610 min read
Photo: Via Youtube as cited from Sarah Raphael
“Can I keep the presents and still be 29?” - Rachel Green
I wasn’t quite sure how to write this one. Do I just go on and on about my fears and the list of things I failed to be and achieve in my 20s? But a wave of positive, sentimental feelings came over me and thought, “Nah, I don’t want to leave my 20s in such a debilitating, frenzied state of mind.” If I’m going to bid farewell to a close friend of 10 years, I’d like to give her a proper send-off despite all the ups and downs we’ve been through. I would very much like to pay my respects and cherish the good times. Hence, this reflective short essay is a bittersweet goodbye to the uncomfortable, adventurous decade that shaped me.
I went lurking on Reddit before writing this and found a log from one user five years ago.
"I turn 30 next year and I have no money, no close friends, hate my job, have nothing to my name, haven't fulfilled my ONE dream, and I'm in a relationship without a clear future." - Reddit User
That almost hit home for me. I could’ve very well written that entry myself, except I have a few close friends and a bit of money put aside. So, if I had to rewrite that Reddit entry to reflect my current state of affairs:
"I turn 30 in a couple of months, and I have little money, few close friends, hate my job, have nothing to my name, haven't fulfilled my dreams, and I'm in a long-distance relationship full of longing and uncertainties. - Little Miss Nobody
What do you think? Sounds hopeful or pathetic? Let’s break that little sentence down, shall we?
I turn 30 in a couple of months, and I have little money.
In recent years, I’ve slowly come to terms with the painful reality that the goals I have set for myself in my mid-20s were unattainable for an average person like me and, quite frankly, borderline delusional. I remember saying as a college student, “At 25, I should have a house or an apartment of my own in the city where I work, a nice car, and a small, independent coffee shop.”
The corporate world slapped my face REAL HARD when I got offered the minimum Php15,000 (Philippine Pesos) in 2017 for my first corporate job at one of the biggest real estate companies in the Philippines. Adjusted for inflation, that would be around Php21,000 or $345 per month in the capital city, Manila. After rent, food, and transpo, I could barely save a few thousand every month (Good Lord). And being Asian, there was also that unspoken rule of giving back to your parents once you start earning your money, which I was glad to do. After almost 3 years, I was earning Php24,000 pesos or Php33,960 around today’s money (roughly $557).
Despite the yearly increase, there was no way I could save a few million pesos for a car, much less my dream house even if I had stayed a few more years there. Then in 2020, COVID was the plot twist no one saw coming. Instead of living in a condo (like what most young professionals in the city wanted), I was back in my old room at my parents’ house in our little village working from home, six hours away from Manila.
But let me just clarify that good things also came out of this period in my life. For one, I got to self-publish my first poetry book and save a lot. I appreciated the peace and quiet that living on a farm allowed me — peace is such a luxury in cities. Living in my parents’ house also gave me bandwidth to process my application for my master’s study in the UK.
But the point is: it was unrealistic for me to get that dream house, apartment, or car at 25. And at that time, I remember feeling a bit like a failure. What happened to that promising child? To that honor student? But with hindsight, I’d tell my younger self to have more grace, more patience, and be kinder to myself. In life, there are no shortcuts. In your 20s, nobody knows what they’re doing — everyone’s just trying to figure things out along the way. Everyone’s doing it messy, and that’s exactly how those years are meant to unfold. It’s a period of self-discovery.
Well, at 30, I certainly have a bit more money now than I had at 25. I’ve got my emergency funds sorted, my insurance, and I’ve recently started my investment journey in the Philippine and US stock markets. One of the things I wish I knew before turning 30 is that I wish I had started investing sooner. I don’t have the money for my dream house/apartment yet, but I have enough to cover me if life throws a curveball at me.
I have a few close friends.
One of the greatest tragedies of adulting in your 20s is realizing you will drift apart from friends you’ve known since childhood, high school, and college. Your circle will naturally get smaller the older you get. Everyone will try to forge a path for themselves, and in the process, the distance between you and your closest friends will keep getting bigger and bigger. The text messages, chats, and calls will get less frequent. Meet-ups become monthly catch-ups, yearly reunions, until someone gets married and you realize you haven't seen each other for years. In my case, I even missed my closest college friend’s wedding because I had just moved to the UK at the time to do my master’s.
This was such a hard pill for me to swallow at 23, 24. Being an introvert, I always valued my friendships deeply. And the feeling of navigating my own life while losing them felt like a quiet breakup. It felt like life was taking away all these precious people who shared some of the best chapters of my life. But now from an almost-30-something-perspective, it wasn’t a breakup at all. We’re still good friends, we pick up conversations so naturally as if it was yesterday, and we certainly have grown into decent adults. A couple of them have kids now, two are getting married this year, a no-boyfriend-since-birth (NBSB) finally got into a healthy relationship, others are still single, while one broke up with her boyfriend of over 10 years.
We’re no longer the teenagers of 15 years ago. We have real responsibilities and real problems now. Our parents can no longer shield us from reality. Our friendships have evolved into something more mature, more muted, more grounded.
And if I could give my early 20s self advice on how to navigate this tender period of growing up and drifting apart with friends, it would be: Don’t fight the changes, silly! Let your friends grow. Let yourself grow. Treasure the good times. Keep your memory of their old versions safely tucked in the past. You haven’t lost them. Sometimes, one call is all it takes.
I hate my job.
As a little kid, I didn’t really have any specific profession I wanted to pursue. Some kids if you ask them, they know very early on what they want to do when they grow up. Taylor Swift knew as a young teen she wanted to write and sing her songs. My 12 year-old nephew says he wants to be an engineer or a pilot. One time, I remember writing in an assignment, “I want to become a _____”. For lack of clarity at the time, I put “singer”. I wasn’t even good at singing as a little girl, and I still am not. You could say, I was a lost, delusional kid.
Fast forward in college, I took up the entrance exam at Saint Louis University in Baguio City to become an accountant. Sounds pretty decent, right? But on the day of enrolment, I changed my mind and enrolled in BA Communications. I was so unsure what to do. I just thought, “Yeah, maybe I could do journalism or writing, why not?” Little backstory, I was editor-in-chief in my high school paper, but I didn’t really feel like I did the part. I enjoyed writing a lot when I was younger. I still do these days, but it gradually felt like a chore once I started working in content writing and communications. My first job was as a Corporate Communications Officer at a real estate company, then I went on to do the same at an international BPO company. I also worked as copywriter for a British tech startup during COVID, took up master’s in marketing in the UK, then eventually worked in marketing at the University of Liverpool. Slowly, the constant pressure to write publicity materials for big companies quietly eroded my pure, child-like love for the art of writing.
Today, I’m still doing marketing for a US startup company, fully remote, night shift. The hours are brutal, the culture could be summed up to ‘work and revenue’, and with AI being a natural part of our workflow, I feel like I’ve lost the ability to be creative at work. When the company is all about generating revenue, the work feels soulless. And that’s what I don’t like. Yes, companies need revenue, of course. But there could be ways they could make you feel you’re working on something valuable or that you’re part of a great team. I’m grateful to be employed at such a precarious time in our economy, but I certainly don’t feel any fulfillment from my current job.
I started this job in March this year, and I could already tell the glaring difference between Filipinos, British, and American work culture. Filipinos, like the majority of its Asian neighbors, are overworked and underpaid. The Brits have a very laidback approach to working that it shocked me when people clocked off on the dot at 6pm. In the Philippines, working overtime is seen as dedication to the company and is praised. In the UK, annual leaves are very generous with 23-26 days per year. The Americans are all about hustling — speed and revenue. And I’m only entitled to 7 days annual paid leave. The pay is higher than average jobs in the Philippines, certainly lower than my UK salary, but the only saving grace is the comprehensive health coverage and that I can work anywhere.
I certainly have passions. I still think about writing books. I still think about running a coffee and a bookshop. But one big thing I had to swallow is that: You don’t have to love your job. You can just treat it as a job and nothing more. Don’t make it your whole life or personality. Find fulfillment elsewhere. Have a life outside your 9-5. As long as it pays the bill, you’re good. What most of us want is a job we love. You’re lucky if you get to turn your passion into a living, but the majority of us work mundane office jobs that are now being threatened by AI, and so, you don’t have to feel bad about not loving your job. I get stressed a lot of the time, but at the end of the day, it’s just a job. I’m more than my 9-5.
I’m in a long-distance relationship full of longing and uncertainties.
I met my boyfriend in the UK in 2024 through an online dating app called Hinge. I didn’t have much hope in finding someone when I joined the app — I just wanted to encourage my older sister to try it by being on it and to put myself out there as well. I had never truly dated or been in a relationship before, so I had very little experience.
We met up after a few months of talking due to time constraints, and our first date went well. I’d say ridiculously well. Prior to joining the app, I sort of prepared myself and conditioned my mind that it was going to be tough out there, so I had my “whatever happens I don’t care I won’t take it personally” mindset. I thought I had to toughen up. But to my great surprise, we clicked. We clicked. Sounds cliche so apologies in advance, but it was just like in the movies. The conversation flowed effortlessly, we laughed a lot, we talked for 3 hours over dinner that the waiter had to kick us out, and above all, he wasn’t a pervert. We went on more dates after that, but we only really saw each other twice a month at most because we lived in different cities, about a 2-3 hour train ride away from each other.
Fast forward to December 2026, I had to leave the UK and go back home to the Philippines. We made the decision to see how it goes. Neither of us was exactly thrilled about the long distance set up, but we decided to try anyway. And it was a strange experience. I don’t know how best to describe it. He said, “I’m happy and lonely at the same time.” You cling to voice messages and pictures and calls. You replay old voice notes when the emotion gets overwhelming. The days feel so long and uneventful without your person. You try your best to keep them part of your life by updating them everyday, keeping them in the loop. And you trust. You trust wholly. Otherwise, it won’t work. After 6 months, I’m now back in the UK temporarily to look after my sister who’s undergoing surgery in September.
When my boyfriend picked me up at the airport, it was the best feeling seeing him again. I felt a bit awkward at first to be around him again after a long absence, but I think that’s what makes long distance special. You know deep down in your core, this is the choice you made. You choose to be with this person despite knowing full well it’s not the easiest path. That you could’ve chosen otherwise and ended it but you didn’t because you feel — and hope — they’re worth all this.
Soon, we'll probably go back to doing long distance again. For how long, I don't know. Is he the one? I don't know either. It's hard to tell for someone who's just learning how to be in a romantic relationship. Will I keep going? Yes. I owe it to myself to be brave.
20s isn’t an easy chapter internally and psychologically—it wasn’t meant to be. They say it’s the best time of your life. Was it for me? Hm, hard to say since I’m only just about to graduate and enter my 30s. I’ve heard your 30s is like your 20s but with more money and more confidence in your own skin, so hello 30s. My 20s was a precious decade for sure. Lots of growth and getting to know myself. But these are some of the things I would tell my younger self if I had the chance to make it the ride a bit more comfortable and less agonizing for her.
Author’s Note: This entry has become way looooonger than I originally intended, but oh well. I’m actually glad. The words just kept flowing. I write everything on my blog organically, no AI. Nothing against those who use AI, but I treat this blog as a personal diary. Like a place where I share my most private thoughts, but I’m too much of a coward to show myself or face, so I hide. After all, there sure is safety in obscurity.