happy birthday!

Forty years ago, in a fleeting moment of passion, my parents brought me into this chaotic, beautiful, and often repulsive world. There’s a family album that once held proof of my grand first birthday celebration, but it’s long lost to time. When my mom was diagnosed with her second brain tumor, she destroyed all the photos—a moment of sorrow for another time.

Since then, birthdays in my family haven’t exactly been a big deal. There were no cakes or parties. If my mom remembered, she’d cook my favorite meal, which felt just as good. My first birthday memory didn’t appear until I was 6 or 7—something about my Aunt Monu gifting me a plate (no idea why) and a grey-and-blue t-shirt that I cherished for years. The tradition of birthday cards began in secondary school with cousins and classmates and stuck around for a while.

Making friends has always come easy for me. By the time I was 19 or 20 at university, my friends insisted I treat them to lunch on my birthday. I was flat broke, having spent my Eid Salami, so I asked my dad for pocket money, which felt bold (and in hindsight, a bit silly). I skipped university that day, wandered the city aimlessly, and came home realizing just how lonely you can feel in a place full of people. A few months later, thanks to my university friend Sadia, I landed a job at a school. Slowly, I learned that true freedom comes with financial independence. Sadia and my friend Bobby always made sure my birthday didn’t go by unnoticed.

In Cyprus, around 2007 and 2008, I had the wildest birthday celebrations of my life. Surprise parties—two or three in one night—from friends, colleagues, and even strangers! It was a time of reckless joy, where I was young, in love, and completely alive.

One year, my brother Roney baked me a cake, likely in 2015. It’s one of those sweet memories that warms my heart. Another time, Roney, Jubo, and I took a day trip to Manikganj, and my younger brother Raad, with his friend Shamim, went all out to make me feel special. It moved me in a way I can’t quite describe.

In 2018, Minaal pulled off a surprise birthday party for me, which was shocking because she’s terrible at keeping secrets! She poured her heart into it, and though we’re no longer friends, I’ll never forget that gesture. Funny how life works.

Every year, my aunts call to wish me, whether they’re here or in Canada. They wouldn’t miss it for anything. The same goes for my best friend of 15 years, Ginka, whose birthday call from Bulgaria has become a tradition.

Then there’s Shumon, my friend of over two decades, who still insists on giving me gifts—at this age! I’m incredibly lucky. And Sadaf Saaz, my employer, and Lina Apa, the sister I never had, always make sure to mark the day. Last year, their kindness nearly brought me to tears.

Birthdays make me a little uncomfortable. Compliments, gifts, and the attention all feel like hurdles I’m still learning to jump, baggage I’ve carried from childhood. I used to escape on my birthday, disappearing to places no one could reach, but COVID locked me in for the last two years. This year, work keeps me anchored in the city, so I’m bracing for the calls and messages.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind others celebrating their birthdays—I’m just not that into mine. But maybe the definition of celebration needs a refresh. A quiet lunch with family, exploring a new place, or just reflecting over tea in a room full of strangers—aren’t those just as valid? Maybe we all need to rethink what it means to celebrate, beyond cake and candles. Maybe it’s about learning to love our existence and finding meaning in it, day by day.

~ September 7, 2022