Behind The Ship

The Hello

"Happy birthday Jin Ah, happy birthday Jin Ah, happy birthday happy birthday, happy birthday Jin Ah!"

I blow the candles, 3 and 1, on the small red velvet cake my brother took from the cake showcase. He cheers me up- at least he is trying to, by the fact that I celebrate my birthday with no one but him.

"Want to take a picture?" he pulls his phone out of the pocket and snaps a picture. "Say cheese!"

I have no choice but to smile. "Just don't post it. Send it to me."

"Why, Noona? It's not that bad," he shows his screen. "Not cool enough to be posted? Or- hey, I have an idea, post it at Deja Brew's page. Instastory, birthday girl-"

"Stop!" I snatch his phone. "It's for business only, Seung Ho!"

He chuckles, "whatever, we need engagement with our followers so maybe once in a while post something about us. I have a say running the cafe. Anyway, Deja Brew has much more followers than your personal page so better chances will be seen by your next boyfriend, no?"

I pout, "I'm done dating, Seung Ho."

He shrugs, "just...mind the age gap."

The last boyfriend I had was his best friend. My parents thought I was crazy desperate to date a boy at my brother's age- a fresh graduated college student. It was a problematic relationship; we were not fated to be together. It didn't work with the older guys and neither did the younger ones.

I'm done. With enough experience managing a coffee shop chain business, my entire savings, and a bank loan, I took Seung Ho with me drowning into setting up and running Deja Brew. He happens to be very skilled in brewing coffee so I thought why not.

While my friends are going out of town for a quick vacation this long weekend: taking awesome pictures and browsing for non-related captions to post on Instagram, I work my ass off here doing real business.

I don't feel like posting anything, because this is Seoul, and the last time I checked we're in Asia. People will start to meddle why am I still single, subtly and not-so-subtly remind me that I am, indeed, aging. Which is fine — I am!

The worst will be offering to set me up in random matchmaking. Saying that the dudes are hot, worth the shot, things you put to describe an eligible bachelor in town.

Well, if by any chance true, they won't go for matchmaking, because they only live on romance fiction.

Yes, the '20s were hard. This decade is a rehearsal: made for mistakes, welcoming the confusion, disappointment, and ego-bruising in the process of becoming an adult.

Idealist first jobs, embarrassingly bad dates, and shoebox-sized apartments laughed and cried through it all.

Eventually, things will get easier. Right?

Now that I'm in my 30's, my friends and I are less obviously intertwined through common identifiers. Half of my friends are married moms living in the suburbs; a best friend of mine is a police inspector dating an ex-inmate, but at least he is hot and they have swoon-worthy moments to share.

In short, everyone falls into categories: the career-focused city dweller- it's how I labeled myself, the jet-setting bachelor, the glamorous serial dater, and the shell-shocked divorcée.

My Kindle turns into a self-help library, brimming with pieces of advice on how to get my finances in order, make relationships work, and get comfortable with uncertainty.

It's like being shoved with a new set of guidelines, from an impressive title to update your LinkedIn page with; a good-looking life partner; an Instagram-worthy wedding; cute, undemanding children; and a house that looks like an Ikea showroom.