gratitude

impromptu birthday post because i'm overwhelmed

As a kid, I always thought birthdays were supposed to be magical. You know, the kind of day where the world stops just for you—balloons, cake, and everyone making you feel like the centre of the universe. But my reality was nothing like that. I struggled to make friends, let alone keep them. My 10-year-old self, scared and awkward, would’ve been floored to imagine a day when people would actually make an effort to celebrate me.

screenshots of a convo with Rashi

It’s these small, unassuming gestures that make me realize how far I’ve come. Adult friendships are different. They don’t come with the loud declarations of childhood, where everything feels performative. Instead, they’re quieter but infinitely more meaningful. These friends didn’t need to throw me a big party or make a huge fuss—they just showed up, and that was enough. These actions mean so much more when you realise that we are adults and they’re not doing this because it’s some tradition like it was back when we were kids. They did all this because they wanted to.

Looking back, I think about how hard it was for me as a kid. If 10-year-old me could see this—friends singing for me, showing up just because I matter—he’d probably cry from sheer disbelief. He’d never have believed that he could grow into someone who people value, someone who deserves this kind of love.

There’s something redemptive about birthdays as an adult. They heal you in ways you didn’t know you needed. Yesterday’s dinner (albeit it was a treat by one of my friends who’s also born in the first week of January but before me), today’s surprise, even the little ways my friends remembered me—it all made me feel like I belonged in a way I never did growing up. It’s funny, though. I didn’t realize how much I craved this kind of validation until I actually had it.

I think this is why

Rashi

said she loves adult friendships so much. They’re pure in a way childhood friendships often aren’t. There’s no pressure to impress or compete. It’s just about showing up for each other, about saying, “I see you, I care about you, and I’m here.”

Birthdays now aren’t about grandeur. They’re about gratitude. Gratitude for the people who wake up early for you, who make you laugh at dinner, who remind you that you matter in a way your younger self couldn’t have imagined. I think about the kid I used to be, the one who felt invisible, and I want to tell him, “It gets better. You’re going to find your people, and they’re going to remind you that you’re worth celebrating.”

And maybe that’s what yesterday and today were really about—reclaiming that joy, piece by piece, and realizing that everything does, in fact, work out for the better.