Its my birthday today.

If I am honest, if I am willing to stand in my own truths and claim the sharp corners of my flaws, I must admit I expected this milestone to deliver a certain knowing. There was an unspoken expectation.
It is a beautiful day, a harmonious balance of humid and moderate temperatures. It is a quiet day with simple pleasures and good company. Still, if I tell the story of my gratitude I am conveniently excluding the complicated pieces of my truth that undermine the complexity of an internal uncertainty.

The day when we remembers our birth. A day special to every one. I am not saying my birthday a Happy Birthday, and there’s reason for it. So, whats a day in my Life, today is only different from normal day. Remembering the Almighty, the supreme power above all, a new day starts.The day itself dawned painfully unexceptional for the unfortunate happenstance of Youth Nature’s folly. Still my friends honored our morning traditions in a way that tethered me to the simplest of joys and was a happy foreshadowing of countless thoughtful gestures of appreciation. In the morning, we exchange the wishes within the family, then the immediate family comes with their wishes, no fancy or high gifts, no show-off to anyone, plain wishes, the traditional ways.

Still those closest to me loved me stubbornly and generously, thoughtfully and gently. It is perhaps the most extravagant gift of all, to be so unconditionally loved for out best in spite of our worst.I couldn’t control my tears. This  was full of Love. I felt little and shallow. This is a such day, will never ever forget, when I close my eyes, first thing comes to me is that I am so PRIVILEGED and in the mean time so poor too. I call that I have a Life, I have facilities that are world-class, I have a status quo, I have proficiency over things, my hands and mind is working fine, but whats the use of such Life, if it’s of no use if it does not uplift the others. It’s like you have a pen and paper, but your words…. Many a times it happens that something happens to us and we try to avoid it, but never try to think from another way around. We follow routine and we miss beauty. I have a plan for this. A dream Plan. A Life that celebrates itself.

I’m still thinking on what I might wish for as I count my blessings, grateful for the love of those who let me stumble.

Select a path,
follow by Heart,
Dream and Conquer,
A life is less for one,
Spark the Lamps of Smile,
A dream that world rejoices;
Shaped by Love,
A messenger of Hope.I

21

If I am honest, if I am willing to stand in my own truths and claim the sharp corners of my flaws, I must admit I expected this milestone to deliver a certain knowing. There was an unspoken expectation as glossy as my own filtered social media images.

The day itself dawned painfully unexceptional for the unfortunate happenstance of Youth Nature’s folly. Still my friends honored our morning traditions in a way that tethered me to the simplest of joys and was a happy foreshadowing of countless thoughtful gestures of appreciation.

It was a beautiful day, a harmonious balance of sunshine and moderate temperatures. It was a quiet day with simple pleasures and good company. Still, if I tell the story of my gratitude I am conveniently excluding the complicated pieces of my truth that undermine the complexity of an internal uncertainty.

Perhaps it is better to draw only on the positive, to edit our narrative for our mistakes that we might be remembered for our best.

I was not my best.

I wanted to feel handsome and young, certain and confident. Instead my body betrayed me and I felt unwell. The day wore against my skin like a dress to small and shoes too large, cumbersome in its inconvenience.

Still those closest to me loved me stubbornly and generously, thoughtfully and gently. It is perhaps the most extravagant gift of all, to be so unconditionally loved for out best in spite of our worst.

21 feels like 19 and a little like 15, too. A contradiction of expectations and experiences, a new knowing of something familiarly uncertain. The man of my youth and man I endeavor to model for my children are little more than imperfect characters in an unfinished story.

I’m still thinking on what I might wish for as I count my blessings, grateful for the love of those who let me stumble.