Another year older

Another year wiser.. so they say. But I’m not feeling that way.

In fact, I’m not sure what to call this. It’s like I’m not really caring it’s my birthday. I mean, sure, I’m kind of glad to have set the day to myself. But I still did not find myself happy, nor joyful in celebration on my birthday. It was like almost any other day, except what I wanted to do today, I did for myself. That’s it.

I do not know why is it like this now

I asked myself, is it because I no longer cared for the candles on my cake? Or, is it because I’ve been telling myself an age is all but a number for too long?

Whatever it is, I am still trying to find it out on my own. Because I do miss that feeling. That feeling of celebration. That feeling of ridiculousness when you’re with friends and family on your birthday. That feeling, when you were 6 years old and all you could be happy about was the birthday cake in front of you, with 6 small candles.

Am I not getting the point?

Or, have I forgotten what the point of it is anymore? As a child of 6 years old, I would definitely say the point of the birthday was the presents. The many surprises waiting to be unveiled by our own hands. And the excitement, finding out you got the toy or thing you wanted on that day.

But as I’ve become another year older, I find myself under appreciating these material things. Sure, it’s something I would have wanted, but then the next thought kicks in, “did I really need this?”.

Maybe I’m becoming a monk

I’ve read articles where they mention, a key to happiness is being satisfied with what you have. Maybe I’m getting there. Though I know in my heart, there’s something else I still want… I do not know.

What I do know, I’m still wrestling with these thoughts and trying to find the answer. Is it age? Is it mindfulness? Is it depression?

Or, it’s just me.

 

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