A day I’m still learning to hold

Today’s… weird. It’s one of those days I’ve never really known what to do with. My birthday!

When I was a teenager, this day used to drag me down. I had moments when I questioned why I even existed, and if I could’ve chosen, I probably wouldn’t have chosen to be here. I’m sorry, Mom — that’s the truth. Life felt too heavy for a kid who didn’t know how to carry it.

And honestly? Navigating this world is still harder than I expected.

But at the same time, I can’t deny that I’m here for a reason — meeting the people I’m meant to meet, learning the lessons I’m supposed to learn, being shaped by moments I never saw coming.

So no, I don’t hate this day anymore. But I don’t love it either.
I just… don’t want the noise.
I’m tired of answering empty “Happy birthday!!” messages when all I want is quiet.

I’m 23 now. That awkward space between “still young” and “supposed to have my life together.” People keep asking me “What’s next?” and honestly… I don’t know. Why does anyone need to know? Why can’t we just breathe, be here, and appreciate what’s in front of us?

Sometimes I feel like I’m pretending — like I’m not as mature, not as impressive, not as wise as people think I am. Compliments make me feel like I have to perform or maintain some version of myself that isn’t even real. It’s exhausting.

I’m in my second year of college. Chronologically an adult for a while now. Psychologically, I feel old — because of how I see the world. But emotionally? I still react like a teenager sometimes when things don’t go the way I planned.

Maybe that’s just part of growing up.
Maybe maturity isn’t about being perfect — it’s about recognizing your messiness and choosing to grow anyway.

I’m imperfect. I’m dramatic sometimes. I’m still figuring out what I value and who I’m becoming. But I can feel myself moving toward something steadier. Softer. More honest.

The version of me at 23 is whispering to my future self:
I’m getting there.