sitting with coffee, thinking about 1st feb.

Birthdays have always done something to me.

Not in a happy way. Just… something.

It was never about cake or candles, it's about people wanting to celebrate you.

Growing up, i didn’t really have birthdays with friends. No midnight calls. No group plans. No pictures that come back every year like proof that i belonged somewhere. Mostly just quiet days and this understanding that celebrations cost money and money was never spare.

So birthdays slowly became about noticing. About what was missing. About what i don’t have words for.

Yesterday i saw a story. Old friends. Photos. Years of memories packed into a few frames. And it hit something in me. Not jealousy. Just a soft ache. A thought for friendships that survive time and distance. People who still show up for each other without trying so hard.

There are people from my past i think about on days like this. (1st feb.) Not because i want to go back. Just because they remind me that someone believed in me. Someone once told me i'd make it. That I was hardworking. i carry those words more than they probably know.

i don’t always reach out and it’s not because i don’t care. Sometimes silence is just self respect. I don’t want to be a nostalgic message or worse a joke. 

i don’t want my name to sound like “oh remember her?” followed by laughter.

Maybe someday, when i finally reach the place i used to only talk about. When i’m actually walking those cobblestone streets i imagined for years. I’ll send a picture and a quiet birthday wish. 

As i sit in a coffee shop, writing this, clearing my thoughts, taking small sips. Thinking about the version of me who won’t wonder if she belongs.

I think one day birthdays will feel lighter.

Like proof that i’m finally surrounded by people who want to celebrate me. 

Until then, i keep going.

with love and light, 

nandi❤