Almost three decades ago, I was born on a Tuesday. Last week marked the fifth time my birthday has fallen on a Tuesday since then. Ironically, this year also marks five years since I last worked. After much effort securing the role, I began my first job the day after my birthday, six years ago. I’ll never forget how my best friend at the time enthusiastically described that breakthrough as a perfect birthday present.
For many years, I’ve struggled to celebrate my birthday. I can’t pinpoint when exactly I began feeling apathetic about 3 December. In fact, I’ve grown indifferent to the entire month, to be honest.
December has always been a challenging time for me, often filled with a quiet battle against what feels like some form of seasonal depression.
In recent years, as a foreigner, I’ve spent much of my time navigating endless paperwork related to identity documents. As a result, the fact that I was born on a Tuesday has become ingrained in my mind.
When my brother, also a December baby, excitedly mentioned which day of the week his birthday would fall on this year, it sparked a small curiosity in me. I decided to check which day mine would fall on, scrolling through calendars from the year I was born up to now. That’s when I realized this is my fifth Tuesday birthday.
During a birthday celebration with one of my siblings, years ago.
While I don’t particularly feel joyful about my birthday, scrolling through those years (many, but not too many, lol) left me with a surprising sense of gratitude. Gratitude for still being here. Grateful to have survived all these years—not all of them easy, especially the last decade.
At the same time, I feel a deep sadness. It’s hard not to feel stagnant as the years go by—surviving, but not quite thriving. It feels like I’m frozen in time.
Like many young adults, especially those approaching the big 3-oh, I have a long list of milestones I thought I’d have reached by now—especially in terms of personal growth and career progress. Naturally, the passing years have left me with an overwhelming sense of anxiety, even as I try to hold onto the promises of scripture, such as:
“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
—Jeremiah 29:11
“When the time is right, I, THE LORD, will make it happen.”
—Isaiah 60:22
This mix of emotions—gratitude, longing, and sadness—is complex. I can only continue to hope (and do what I can) for a much kinder year ahead (and, hopefully, years to come).
This is 28.