July 7, 2018 | On Growing Older, Being Surprised at Midnight, and the Twenty-Seven Things I Am Taking With Me

At precisely the age when I thought I would begin behaving like a respectable adult, I woke up on my twenty-eighth birthday with the composure of someone who had just received an eviction notice from her youth. There was a little screaming, some theatrical distress, and the sort of dramatic reaction that would have been difficult to explain to anyone unfamiliar with my relationship with birthdays. Twenty-eight. The number sat there looking perfectly innocent, as though it had not just placed me within uncomfortable proximity of thirty. I checked my reflection and discovered that I still looked like myself, which was reassuring, although I was mildly disappointed that twenty-eight years of existence had not yet equipped me with the wisdom, financial sophistication, and complete emotional stability I once assumed adulthood would provide.

I remember being younger and imagining twenty-eight as a terribly mature age. Surely, by then, I would have mastered the art of making important decisions without questioning myself seventeen times. I would have everything organised, know precisely where my career was heading, and respond to life’s complications with the elegant confidence of a woman who understood what she was doing. Instead, here I am, a registered nurse with a respectable collection of responsibilities, a head full of unfinished plans, and an occasional desire to ask another adult what we are supposed to do next. It appears that growing older does not come with an instruction manual. We simply receive another birthday, acquire a few additional obligations, and are expected to continue operating as though somebody has explained the rules.

Still, I cannot complain too much about the beginning of my twenty-eighth year, because the circumstances surrounding my birthday turned out to be unexpectedly lovely. The evening before, I had been scheduled for a PM shift at the hospital. As any nurse will understand, this was hardly an ideal arrangement for somebody hoping to welcome her birthday at midnight with enough energy to remain conscious and reasonably sociable. I prayed for a manageable shift, one that would allow me to complete my responsibilities without feeling as though I had personally participated in every emergency occurring within the building. Thankfully, the evening was kinder than I had feared, and I finished work with sufficient enthusiasm remaining to appreciate whatever the next few hours might bring.

I had not actually planned a birthday celebration. There were personal reasons for wanting to keep things simple, and I was perfectly prepared to allow the occasion to pass without elaborate arrangements. I imagined perhaps receiving greetings, enjoying a little rest, and privately acknowledging that another year had managed to slip past before I had completed everything on my increasingly ambitious list of life goals. I had already made peace with the idea of a quiet birthday, or at least I thought I had. Unfortunately for the people attempting to surprise me, my mother possessed a rather distinctive approach to secrecy.

Earlier, I had heard her playing a birthday song downstairs.

Now, I do not claim to be an accomplished detective, but even I can recognise a suspicious musical clue when one presents itself so generously. There are hundreds of songs a person might choose to play during an ordinary afternoon. A birthday song, on the eve of her daughter’s birthday, is not particularly subtle. I immediately suspected that my family was preparing a mañanita, that wonderfully Filipino tradition of welcoming someone’s birthday with an early greeting, usually accompanied by music, food, and relatives who seem perfectly comfortable interrupting the birthday celebrant’s sleep for the sake of affection. My mother, apparently, had decided to provide the soundtrack before the actual production began.

I could have confronted her about it, of course, but where would the entertainment have been in that? Instead, I decided to become a willing participant in the conspiracy. I kept quiet, behaved as though I had absolutely no idea what was happening, and allowed everyone to believe that I was too occupied with work to suspect anything. I must admit that I enjoyed my little performance. There is something wonderfully amusing about pretending to be surprised by a surprise you have already partially discovered, especially when the people organising it are making such an affectionate effort to keep it secret. I suspect my acting would not have impressed the judges of a national talent competition, but it was sufficient for the occasion.

When midnight arrived, my family welcomed my birthday with their surprise, and whatever intentions I had of treating the day as an ordinary date disappeared. I felt loved, remembered, and appreciated in a way that no expensive celebration could have guaranteed. The thought that they had prepared something for me despite my lack of plans meant more than the decorations, music, or any particular arrangement. My family had decided that my birthday deserved attention even when I was perfectly willing to ignore it. I suppose there are occasions when the people who love us understand that we need a celebration before we have admitted it to ourselves.

I looked at them and felt an enormous sense of gratitude. It is easy to become so occupied with work, personal ambitions, and the complications of growing older that we overlook the affection already present in our lives. I spend considerable time thinking about what I still want to accomplish, occasionally behaving as though happiness has been placed somewhere beyond my next professional achievement or financial milestone. Yet here were the people who had known me long before I became a nurse, before I began making elaborate plans for the future, and before I developed the ability to turn an ordinary birthday into an existential inquiry. They were celebrating the simple fact that I was another year older, and for that evening, it was enough.

Birthdays have a peculiar way of encouraging reflection. We are given a number, a cake if we are fortunate, and an entire day during which people suddenly become interested in how we feel about the passing of time. The questions seem inevitable. Have I accomplished enough? Am I where I thought I would be? Should I have made different decisions? Why does everybody keep insisting that thirty is approaching when I am perfectly aware of the mathematical situation? I have discovered that birthdays can be joyful and unsettling in equal measure, especially when the life we are living does not perfectly resemble the one we imagined during our younger years.

At twenty-eight, I am beginning to understand that progress rarely follows the orderly sequence I once expected. I imagined certain milestones would arrive at particular ages, as though adulthood operated according to a timetable prepared by somebody with an unusually efficient filing system. Education would lead to employment, employment would lead to stability, and somewhere along the way, all the other pieces of life would arrange themselves into a sensible pattern. Instead, I have encountered uncertainty, professional changes, difficult decisions, and opportunities that appeared at times I had not anticipated. Some things have taken longer than I hoped, while others have happened before I felt entirely prepared for them.

My nursing career has taught me a great deal about this unpredictability. Working in a hospital exposes us to people whose lives have been interrupted by circumstances they did not choose, and that experience has gradually changed the way I think about ordinary days. It has made me more appreciative of health, time, and the relationships we sometimes assume will always remain available. It has also taught me that professional growth requires patience. There have been moments when I felt confident about my abilities and others when I questioned whether I was progressing quickly enough. But when I look back upon the past several years, I can recognise how much I have learned, even if the process has been considerably less graceful than I originally imagined.

Perhaps that is why I wanted to look back upon the twenty-seven years I have completed and consider what they have taught me. I could have written a perfectly organised collection of twenty-seven lessons, one for every year of my life, but the more I thought about them, the more I realised that life rarely teaches anything in such convenient order. Humility does not arrive neatly at eighteen, followed by patience at nineteen and wisdom at twenty. We learn things, forget them, encounter situations that challenge our understanding, and occasionally repeat mistakes despite possessing an impressive theoretical knowledge of what we should have done differently.

I have learned, for example, that humility is considerably more useful than the constant need to appear impressive. During my younger years, I sometimes imagined confidence meant knowing the correct answer or being able to defend every decision. Nursing has thoroughly challenged that assumption. There are situations when admitting uncertainty is the most responsible thing I can do, particularly when patient safety depends upon seeking appropriate guidance. I have become more comfortable recognising that I do not need to know everything to become capable of learning something. Accepting a compliment gracefully, acknowledging a mistake, or admitting that somebody else understands a situation better than I do requires a different sort of confidence from pretending to be permanently correct.

Mistakes have also become some of my most uncomfortable teachers. I would naturally prefer learning every important lesson through a pleasant conversation and a conveniently illustrated textbook, but life has occasionally chosen a more direct approach. There have been decisions I would reconsider, expectations I misunderstood, and moments when I discovered that good intentions do not automatically produce good outcomes. I am learning to examine those experiences without allowing them to define everything about me. Responsibility matters, particularly when our actions affect other people, but remaining permanently ashamed of an error does not make us wiser. Understanding what happened, making appropriate amends, and changing our behaviour are far more useful.

I have become increasingly appreciative of gratitude, although I do not want it to become another fashionable word repeated without much thought. There are days when I complain about being exhausted after work, only to remember that having the ability to work, earn a living, and pursue professional goals is itself something I once hoped for. I can become irritated by ordinary inconveniences while forgetting that many things in my life continue functioning quietly in the background. My health, my family, the opportunity to learn, and even the familiar rhythm of daily life deserve acknowledgement. Gratitude does not require pretending that difficulties are pleasant. It simply reminds me that frustration is rarely the only thing happening at once.

I think about breathing sometimes, particularly because nursing has given me a practical understanding of how essential something so ordinary can be. Most of us move through our days without consciously acknowledging every breath, which is precisely how the body is designed to function. Yet our ability to breathe comfortably is something we may appreciate more deeply when illness makes it difficult. I do not want to turn every ordinary moment into a dramatic reflection about mortality, but I have become more conscious of how valuable health can be. I hope my twenty-eighth year encourages me to care for mine rather than assume that being relatively young means I can neglect sleep, rest, and the habits that support my wellbeing.

Speaking of sleep, I would like to issue a formal apology to every younger version of myself who considered it an inconvenience. I once regarded staying awake late as an impressive demonstration of freedom, particularly when there were more entertaining activities available than going to bed. Working shifts has since introduced me to the extraordinary luxury of uninterrupted rest. There are mornings when a comfortable pillow seems more appealing than almost any recreational activity, and I have developed a genuine appreciation for the body’s need to recover. Sleep is no longer something I associate exclusively with missing out on excitement. It is part of remaining healthy, functioning effectively, and avoiding the transformation into a deeply unpleasant human being after insufficient rest.

My experiences have also changed the way I think about confidence and individuality. For a long time, I was more concerned than I would like to admit about how other people perceived me. I wondered whether my decisions seemed sensible, whether my ambitions were appropriate, and whether I was progressing at a pace that others would consider respectable. Eventually, I began recognising how exhausting it is to conduct one’s life according to an imaginary committee of observers. There will always be people with opinions about what we should do, how we should behave, and which choices deserve approval. Some criticism may be useful, and I do not want to dismiss thoughtful advice simply because it makes me uncomfortable. But I cannot allow every opinion to become an instruction.

I am learning to become more comfortable with my own personality, including the contradictions that make it difficult to describe neatly. I can be optimistic while occasionally worrying about the future, independent while appreciating reassurance, and ambitious while deeply enjoying an afternoon spent doing absolutely nothing. I enjoy spending time with people, but I also appreciate quiet moments when I can think without being required to participate in another conversation. I can be affectionate, stubborn, enthusiastic, and occasionally maldita, depending upon circumstances and how successfully the day has cooperated with my expectations. I no longer feel particularly interested in pretending that a single adjective can explain everything about me.

Friendship has taught me another important lesson: the people we spend time with can influence our habits, priorities, and understanding of ourselves. I once encountered the familiar idea that we become an average of the people closest to us. I do not think human relationships can be reduced to such precise arithmetic, but I understand the warning behind the expression. Our companions matter. I want friendships where kindness, honesty, humour, and mutual encouragement can exist together, rather than relationships built entirely upon convenience or the expectation that one person must constantly accommodate another. I appreciate people who can celebrate my achievements without turning them into competitions and who are willing to offer honest advice when I need to reconsider something.

At the same time, I have learned that maintaining relationships requires attention. We cannot expect people to remain permanently available while making no effort to remain part of their lives. Work schedules and individual responsibilities can make communication difficult, but I hope I continue making time for those whose presence matters to me. I have become particularly aware of this through family gatherings and ordinary moments with friends. As we grow older, shared time becomes something we must increasingly arrange rather than simply assume will happen. I do not want to reach another birthday and discover that I have spent the entire year being too busy for the people I love.

There is also the matter of boundaries, which I am beginning to regard as one of adulthood’s most useful inventions. I used to feel guilty about declining requests, particularly when I worried that saying no might disappoint someone. But agreeing to everything is rarely a sustainable way to maintain kindness. There are limits to our time, energy, and resources, and pretending otherwise can eventually produce resentment. I am learning that refusing a request respectfully does not automatically make me selfish. Sometimes it is the most reasonable decision available, particularly when saying yes would mean neglecting an existing responsibility or making a promise I cannot realistically fulfil.

I hope to become more thoughtful about generosity too. I believe in helping people when I can, but I am gradually understanding that generosity should involve judgement as well as goodwill. Giving more than we receive may sound admirable, yet healthy relationships require mutual respect, and meaningful assistance should not demand that we disregard our own essential needs. I would rather contribute sincerely within my capacity than make grand gestures I cannot sustain. Nursing has taught me that helping others is not always dramatic. Sometimes it involves practical support, patience, or simply doing an ordinary responsibility properly when somebody is depending upon us.

One lesson I continue learning is that comparison can quietly diminish our appreciation of progress. There will always be somebody who appears to have accomplished more at the same age, whether through career advancement, financial stability, marriage, travel, or other milestones society likes to place on an unofficial scoreboard. I sometimes catch myself measuring my circumstances against theirs, forgetting that people begin from different situations and make decisions according to different priorities. I have goals of my own, but I do not want to spend my life examining somebody else’s timetable and wondering why mine has taken a different route.

I am especially conscious of this as I turn twenty-eight. There are things I expected to have achieved by now that remain unfinished, and there are experiences I never anticipated that have become important parts of my life. I could spend the day reviewing everything that has not happened, but doing so would ignore the progress I have made through circumstances that were not always straightforward. I am employed in a profession I worked hard to enter, I have accumulated experiences that have changed my understanding of responsibility, and I remain surrounded by people who care about me. Those things deserve recognition even while I continue pursuing the ambitions ahead.

I still believe in setting goals, although I have become more interested in making them practical. During my younger years, I could declare an ambition with tremendous enthusiasm and assume that determination would somehow organise the remaining details. Now I recognise the value of deciding what I actually want to accomplish, considering the steps required, and giving myself a realistic period in which to work towards it. Plans can change, of course, and life occasionally introduces circumstances that demand adjustment. But I find it useful to have a direction without treating every unexpected delay as a personal failure.

There is a difference between having dreams and demanding that life fulfil them according to a rigid schedule. I want to continue pursuing the things that matter to me, even when progress becomes slower than expected. I also want enough flexibility to reconsider goals that no longer fit the person I am becoming. Some ambitions remain meaningful for years, while others belonged to an earlier stage of life and deserve to be examined rather than pursued automatically. I hope twenty-eight brings me enough courage to recognise the distinction.

Courage itself has become a more complicated subject than I once imagined. When I was younger, I associated bravery with dramatic decisions and extraordinary challenges. Now I think it often appears through quieter actions, such as admitting that something needs to change, asking for help, or accepting an opportunity despite uncertainty. There have been times when stepping outside my comfort zone felt exciting and others when it seemed deeply inconvenient. Yet I am grateful for the experiences that encouraged me to become more adaptable. I hope I remain willing to try unfamiliar things without confusing courage with unnecessary recklessness.

My career has provided plenty of opportunities to practise that distinction. A nurse must be prepared to respond to unfamiliar situations, but safe practice requires understanding one’s competence and seeking appropriate support. Confidence cannot be built upon pretending that limitations do not exist. I am learning that bravery sometimes means acknowledging uncertainty and taking the responsible next step rather than attempting to impress anybody. Perhaps the same principle applies outside the hospital. There is no particular achievement in making a difficult decision recklessly simply to demonstrate that we are unafraid.

I have also become more appreciative of the present, although I find this lesson particularly challenging. My mind enjoys travelling ahead of me, imagining future responsibilities and occasionally inventing problems that have not yet occurred. I can spend so much time planning for tomorrow that I become distracted from what is happening today. It is a useful habit when preparation is genuinely required, but less helpful when I begin worrying about circumstances beyond my immediate influence. I want to remain responsible about the future while allowing myself to enjoy the ordinary experiences already available.

Perhaps that is why my family’s birthday surprise affected me so much. I had entered the occasion thinking about another year passing and the questions that accompany getting older. Yet the people downstairs were occupied with something much simpler: they wanted to celebrate me. They were making arrangements, preparing their little surprise, and finding joy in an occasion I had nearly dismissed. I could have remained preoccupied with the number twenty-eight, but instead I was reminded that birthdays also provide opportunities to appreciate the people who have accompanied us through the years.

I think my mother deserves particular recognition for her contribution to the evening’s entertainment. Her decision to play a birthday song before the surprise had been revealed was a delightful example of how a perfectly good plan can be compromised by excessive enthusiasm. I suspect she believed the music was an ordinary part of her preparations, while I quietly interpreted it as evidence of a developing conspiracy. But I would not exchange that little moment for a more sophisticated surprise. It was charming precisely because it belonged to our family, complete with the affectionate imperfections that make ordinary memories amusing.

I have been thinking more about the importance of expressing appreciation while we have the opportunity. It is easy to assume that the people we love already know how much they matter to us. Perhaps they do, but there is something valuable about saying it anyway. I want to become better at acknowledging kindness, thanking people for their efforts, and recognising the ordinary ways they contribute to my life. I do not want gratitude to remain something I consider privately while forgetting to express it when it matters.

I also want to become more attentive to the little pleasures that are easy to overlook. A good meal after a demanding shift, a conversation that makes me laugh, an afternoon spent reading, or a familiar journey home can become surprisingly satisfying when I stop treating them as unimportant. I have spent enough time waiting for significant milestones to realise that much of life happens between them. If I only allow myself to be happy when something extraordinary occurs, I may overlook a considerable amount of ordinary enjoyment.

There is another lesson I have learned through difficult decisions: not every problem can be resolved immediately, and not every answer becomes clearer simply because I think about it for another hour. Some situations require information, patience, and the perspective of people I trust. I have found it useful to ask for advice when facing circumstances beyond my experience, particularly when another person’s understanding can reveal something I have overlooked. But ultimately, decisions concerning my own life require me to consider my values and accept responsibility for the choices I make. I cannot delegate the entire business of adulthood to somebody who happens to sound more confident.

Regret is something I have also reconsidered. I once thought living without regrets meant avoiding mistakes and making every decision perfectly. Experience has made that definition impossible to maintain. There are choices I might make differently with the knowledge I possess today, and circumstances that did not unfold as I hoped. But I do not want to spend the coming years repeatedly punishing myself for decisions made by a younger person with less experience. I would rather recognise what those situations taught me, accept responsibility where necessary, and use the understanding to make more thoughtful decisions in the future.

I hope that when I eventually look back upon my life, I will recognise that I made an effort to live according to the things I considered important. I want to pursue meaningful work, maintain relationships, explore places that interest me, and contribute something useful through the opportunities available to me. I do not expect every ambition to be fulfilled, and I am beginning to accept that there will always be possibilities I choose not to pursue. But I hope those choices reflect thoughtful priorities rather than allowing fear or the opinions of others to make every important decision for me.

I have also become more conscious of how much we can learn from other people. Some encounters encourage us, while others challenge our assumptions or reveal habits we would prefer not to develop ourselves. Working in healthcare has introduced me to people with different backgrounds, experiences, and ways of understanding the world. I have learned that listening carefully can be more valuable than rushing to demonstrate what I know. There is much I still do not understand, and I hope I remain curious enough to recognise opportunities to learn without turning every interaction into a formal lesson.

Perhaps one of the most important discoveries has been that kindness does not require perfection. I can make mistakes, experience frustration, and occasionally fail to respond as gracefully as I would prefer while still making an effort to treat people respectfully. There have been times when I allowed impatience to influence my words, particularly during stressful circumstances. I want to become better at recognising those moments and correcting myself when necessary. I cannot promise to become permanently cheerful, but I can try to ensure that temporary frustration does not determine how I treat the people around me.

My faith has remained important throughout these experiences. There have been occasions when I prayed with confidence and others when the outcome of a situation remained uncertain despite my hopes. I believe God has continued guiding me through opportunities, challenges, and circumstances I did not fully understand at the time. But I am also learning that faith does not eliminate the need for responsibility, preparation, or thoughtful decisions. I can pray for guidance while still doing the work required of me, and I can remain hopeful without assuming that every event will unfold according to my preferred arrangement.

I am grateful for the prayers that have been answered and for the strength I have found during periods when answers were less immediate. As I begin another year, I want to continue placing my trust in God while remaining willing to participate actively in the life I have been given. I hope to recognise opportunities when they appear, accept disappointments without allowing them to consume everything else, and remember that gratitude is possible even during seasons that remain unfinished.

Turning twenty-eight has also reminded me to be more careful about how I use my time. There is a temptation to regard every birthday as a deadline by which certain achievements should already have happened. But I am increasingly convinced that age is a poor substitute for understanding what actually matters. A person can accomplish several impressive milestones while feeling disconnected from the life they are living, just as another can find genuine satisfaction in circumstances that appear ordinary from the outside. I want to make decisions according to my own priorities rather than treating another person’s definition of success as an instruction I am required to follow.

I also hope to continue surprising myself. Twenty-seven introduced experiences I had not anticipated, some enjoyable and others demanding. I learned more about my profession, encountered situations that required patience, and developed a little more confidence in my ability to manage uncertainty. I suspect twenty-eight will introduce its own collection of unexpected developments. Some may require courage, others may simply provide amusing material for future blog entries, and a few will probably remind me that maturity does not prevent a person from occasionally behaving like a complete fool.

Perhaps that is the most reassuring part of getting older. We do not need to abandon our humour, curiosity, or sense of adventure simply because another candle has appeared on the cake. I can become more responsible without becoming permanently serious. I can recognise the importance of long-term goals while still enjoying spontaneous outings and ridiculous conversations. And I can accept the responsibilities of adulthood without treating the end of my twenties as some approaching catastrophe.

After all, twenty-eight is hardly ancient, despite the enthusiasm with which my imagination initially reacted to the number. I am still learning, still developing, and still discovering things about myself that would probably surprise the younger woman who once believed adulthood came with a complete collection of answers. There are places I want to visit, books I want to read, professional opportunities I hope to pursue, and memories I have not yet made. I would be doing myself a disservice if I allowed the fear of growing older to distract me from the possibilities still ahead.

I think my twenty-seven-year-old self deserves a proper thank you before I finally welcome the next chapter. She worked through demanding shifts, made decisions without always knowing their outcomes, and tried to remain hopeful when life became more complicated than anticipated. She was not perfectly patient or consistently confident, and she occasionally devoted an unreasonable amount of attention to things she could not control. But she kept learning, continued showing up for her responsibilities, and found reasons to appreciate the people who supported her. I am proud of that effort, even if some parts of the year unfolded differently from what she originally imagined.

There were lessons she learned more than once, particularly those involving patience, boundaries, and the extraordinary difficulty of getting enough sleep while working shifts. There were moments when she questioned her progress and others when she became unexpectedly pleased with what she had accomplished. She learned that confidence develops gradually, that comparison rarely improves anything, and that ordinary acts of kindness can make difficult days more manageable. Most importantly, she reached another birthday with people who cared enough to prepare a surprise and remind her that she was loved.

I cannot think of a more appropriate way to close the year.

To my family, thank you for making my twenty-eighth birthday special even when I had no intention of celebrating it. Thank you for the effort, the affection, and the delightfully unsuccessful attempt to conceal your plans from a daughter whose investigative abilities were apparently activated by the sound of a birthday song. I felt genuinely appreciated, and I hope you know how much that meant to me. I may have pretended to be completely unsuspecting, but my gratitude was never part of the performance.

To the friends, colleagues, and lovely people who sent birthday greetings, thank you for remembering me and taking a moment to share your good wishes. I appreciate the messages, the thoughtful words, and the little expressions of affection that made the day even more meaningful. Sometimes we underestimate the pleasure a simple greeting can bring, particularly when it arrives from somebody whose presence has been part of an important stage of our lives. Your messages reminded me that the passing of another year can be an occasion for appreciation rather than an excuse for unnecessary panic.

And to the version of myself who woke up treating twenty-eight like an unavoidable personal disaster, I would like to offer a little reassurance. Nothing extraordinary happened to your identity overnight. You did not suddenly become a completely different person when the clock reached midnight, nor did the universe issue a formal notice demanding immediate proof of maturity. You are still allowed to laugh at ridiculous things, make mistakes, ask questions, and occasionally feel uncertain about what comes next. The number has changed, but the process of learning continues.

I began this birthday with an absurd amount of drama, convinced that another year meant moving closer to a version of adulthood I was not entirely prepared to embrace. Yet by midnight, my family’s surprise had reminded me that growing older also means accumulating years of affection, memories, and relationships. There is something rather beautiful about that. The candles may increase, but so does the collection of experiences attached to them. I cannot guarantee that every year will become easier, but I hope I become more appreciative of what each one offers.

I am entering twenty-eight with ambitions that remain unfinished, questions that have yet to receive clear answers, and enough optimism to continue making plans despite the possibility that life will rearrange them. I want another year of professional growth, good health, meaningful relationships, and opportunities to enjoy the world beyond my working responsibilities. I hope for answered prayers, but I also pray for the judgement to recognise when a different outcome requires me to reconsider my expectations. I want to become fiercer when courage is necessary, bolder when opportunity calls, and wiser when circumstances demand more thought than enthusiasm.

Most of all, I want to remain grateful for the life I am living while continuing to work towards the one I hope to build. I do not need twenty-eight to become the year in which every ambition is accomplished. I would rather it become another year in which I learn something worthwhile, treat people with greater consideration, and make memories I will enjoy revisiting when another birthday arrives. I suspect there will still be disappointments, difficult shifts, and occasions when my patience behaves less admirably than I would prefer. But there will also be laughter, family, friendship, and moments that deserve to be appreciated without demanding anything more from them.

So goodbye, twenty-seven. Thank you for the experiences that challenged me, the people who encouraged me, and the lessons I needed even when I was reluctant to learn them. Thank you for reminding me that I can be uncertain about the future while remaining appreciative of the present. I may not have accomplished everything I once imagined, but I am leaving this year with more understanding than I possessed when it began, and that seems like a respectable achievement.

As for you, twenty-eight, I hope we get along reasonably well. I would appreciate fewer unnecessary complications, several enjoyable surprises, and perhaps a professional schedule that occasionally remembers its staff are human beings who require sleep. I cannot promise to behave with complete maturity throughout our time together, but I shall make an effort to approach the year with courage, gratitude, and a little more patience than I demonstrated when I first saw the number.

And if thirty continues approaching from the distance, I suppose there is no particular reason to panic just yet. It has not asked anything of me today, and I have an entire year of twenty-eight to enjoy before beginning another round of numerical negotiations. Besides, my family has already celebrated, my mother has successfully completed her birthday surprise despite the musical evidence, and I have decided that the passing of time deserves something better than an argument with my reflection.

I may not have mastered adulthood, but I am beginning to suspect that nobody received the instruction manual after all. Perhaps we are simply learning as we go, collecting experience, making adjustments, and occasionally receiving a birthday cake as encouragement to continue. If that is the arrangement, I think I can manage another year. I have survived twenty-seven already, including several hospital shifts that felt considerably longer than twelve hours, so surely twenty-eight deserves at least a fair opportunity to impress me.

Happy birthday to me, and thank You, Papa God, for another year of life. May I use it well, enjoy it without unnecessary guilt, and remember that the people celebrating beside me are among its greatest blessings. I hope the girl who once imagined adulthood as a perfectly organised destination would be pleased to discover that, although the journey has been considerably more complicated, I have found reasons to enjoy it anyway.

Hello, twenty-eight. The cake is ready, my family has already exposed its surprise, and I have finally stopped arguing with the calendar. I suppose we might as well begin.

July 7, 2018 | Twenty-eight years of living, twenty-seven years of lessons, and one midnight celebration that reminded me how fortunate I am to be loved.

— Anj, officially twenty-eight, occasionally twenty-two in spirit, and still waiting for adulthood to provide the instruction manual I was promised.