Every Day is a Celebration of Life

Do you welcome your birthdays with joy or sorrow?

Each year, as the date approached, my expectations stretched as high as a giraffe, and my excitement refused to be contained. What I loved about birthdays was never the noise or the candles; it was the quiet affirmation that, for one day, ‘being me’ was a reason enough to celebrate. Of course, I couldn’t bear the thought of not blowing out candles, because for me it was symbolic: the parting of one self and the becoming of another. Still, the ending of every October 24th felt like loss itself, a reminder that my moment of being seen had once again expired.

Looking back, I can see the pattern clearly. It wasn’t about birthdays or attention; it was about being seen. For most of my life, I sought my worth in the approval of others, having grown up in a world where being was never enough unless it was earned.

My father always wanted a son, so having a child a decade after his last one solely relied on that purpose. It is safe to say I came to this world knowing that I was a disappointment.

A baby in the womb is a consciousness in the making, already woven into a much larger web of energies, emotions, and ancestral memory. The womb is not just a biological space; it is a sacred vessel, a threshold between the seen and the unseen. While I couldn’t wait for the day to come out into the world and be seen, my existence seemed destined to hide beneath my own skin.

Although my father’s influence was not merely his intention, my sisters often acted as if I were the walking reminder of the pain they had never healed.

Even the day I was born seemed to arrive with unease. My sister was born on the 20th of October, and when my mother told her that I was going to share her birthday, the reaction she received was the complete opposite of being thrilled. I don’t know what exactly went down, but the stress it put my mother under delayed my birth four days later. In a way, I get my sister. I wouldn’t want to share my birthday with an intruder either.

Even so, I was a happy child growing up, and despite everything, birthdays always meant a lot. In time, that only strengthened my disappointments because expectations are the mind’s way of rehearsing a future that reality never promised; whatever you do, it’s never enough.

Still, I was determined on not giving up until my 22nd birthday. During a gap year between my bachelor’s and my master’s, I drifted further away in purposelessness; that’s why I relied so much on my upcoming birthday.

I threw the biggest party one could imagine. I invited everyone, people I knew and the people they knew. It took me three weeks to find the perfect venue; I rented a villa, and my friend promised to DJ. It was going to be perfect. I even had a theme: “Masquerade”.

For months, I prepared myself for the best night I’d ever have. The night started beautifully; I had the perfect dress and felt like a princess.

In the end, I cried myself to sleep in the tiniest cluster room in a giant villa while everyone else danced their feet off until morning. My guests had the best night of their lives, whereas I didn’t even want to speak about it.

So, my mindset shifted in the following years. I realised birthdays carry an unspoken pressure; when joy is confined to a single day, perfection starts to feel like a requirement.

As each birthday approached, a quiet nervousness settled in. The celebration no longer mattered; I wanted the day to disappear and free me from its burden.

It is that time of the year again, and I can’t help but welcome the unease that is settling in. There are significant people missing from my life, and I don’t know how a celebration would feel in their absence. My sister and my best friend are gone from my life, and although on an everyday basis the impact has significantly loosened, this will be my first birthday without their presence, and that is heartbreaking.

Though I’ve been drawn to an idea that allowed me to make sense of an internal shift: the locus of evaluation, referring to the source from which we draw our sense of worth and guidance. When it relies on the outside, we become anchored to others’ opinions, approval, and expectations. We look outward to know who we are, shaping ourselves to fit into the reflections others offer.

I know I’m not the same person anymore, and as something within me began to shift, I realised I had grown tired of chasing validation that never truly fulfilled. I’ve been turning inward, and this is called the rise of the internal locus of evaluation: a return to one’s own centre. When the locus of evaluation relies on internal resources, worth is no longer something to be earned or proven; it simply is. Decisions begin to flow from authenticity, not fear. Approval turns into self-trust, and we start living not to be accepted but to be aligned.

This year my birthday has a much bigger meaning. Entering the age of 27 is less about celebrating one day and more about entering a new life; that feels like a much bigger occasion. I’m being seen, not by others, but by myself, and most of that independence comes from writing.

I learnt the grace of letting go, the courage of change, and the quiet rebellion of questioning everything I was taught to accept. I understood that nothing and no one is meant to stay; that’s why I found the only thing I can hold onto: my voice.

I stopped asking, “Am I enough for them?” and begin knowing, “I am enough for me.”

So now I wonder: why confine the celebration of life to a single day, when every dawn offers us a chance to begin again, unchanged in essence yet reborn in spirit?

If we are the authors of life’s meaning, why do we carry its sorrow and despair daily, yet confine its joy, its celebration, and its grace to a single day?

I may have been born on the 24th of October, but I live and breathe on the 23rd, the 25th, and every day that follows. So I’m inviting all of you to celebrate life with me each and every day.

From now on, let every day mark our birth, for with each sunrise we return to ourselves, for every breath is a beginning, every awakening a silent revolution of becoming, and every dawn a farewell to our old self that is retiring.

Here’s to all of us; may we keep treating every day as a quiet birthday of becoming. Whoever is reading this, know that you are the greatest gift of my 27th year of life, and nothing can replace the gratitude I feel for this blessing.

Thanks for reading! This post is public so feel free to spread the joy ✨