What birthdays mean to me

I’ve never liked birthdays. Something about them gives me the creeps. To me, a birthday isn’t the day of the year when you dress up in your cutest dress, eat cake and celebrate your own existence. To me, a birthday is, more than anything, a day to re-think your own life. To question it and the choices you’ve made along the way. To look back on where you were last year, and where you are now and wonder if you’ve moved forward, or if you’re still stuck in the same place.  Birthdays, to me, are a reminder that although there are 356 days in a year, they go by in the blink of an eye and that sooner than you think, you’ll be old.

Every year, when September 24th comes by, I ask myself what I’ve done this year that I’m proud of. What memories have I made this year that I will tell my future children about? Have I lived at all, or did the days just go by while I was too busy watching Netflix? And if I were to die tomorrow, would I be satisfied with the life I’ve lived?

Happy 28th birthday to me.


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