In a few hours time, and according to the socially accepted values of time, I will be turning 31 years old.
Birthdays don’t mean as much as you get older. I mean, we acknowledge and even celebrate it, but my days of partying are definitely over – and I’m glad about that.
Some people have offered their condolences that my birthday falls during a lockdown, but I’m quite relieved. It will just be a slow, normal day at home. My parents are doing me a nice meal (my choice) and I’ll probably get away with being a bit spoilt for the day, but that’s it. And honestly, that sounds amazing to me.
The simple things mean so much to me now.
This time last year, I was going through the immediate aftermath of the worst trauma of my life. I had no hope and could barely think about myself surviving the week, let alone the year.
But here I am, hours away from turning 31. A whole year has passed and I’ve grown so much as a person.
And whilst I’m not where I want to be, I’ve come a long way, and most importantly, I have hope about where I’m going.
Bring on another year.