Today is my birthday.

Today is my birthday, and I don’t know if I should celebrate what I’ve lived or regret what I’ve left behind. Time, that sly old fellow, sneaks up quietly without making a fuss, but it piles up like dust in the corners of the soul. You don’t even notice it at first, but then suddenly, the years weigh heavy on your shoulders, and life, that stubborn thing, teaches you how to carry the marks, the lost dreams, the mistakes, and the things left unsaid. Growing old is just like that—it doesn’t hit you all at once like a shock; it builds up slowly, without asking permission, until one day, you wake up and realize you’re not the same man you used to be.

And life moves on without much ceremony. I look back and see a trail of choices I didn’t make, words I swallowed, loves that slipped right through my fingers. We always think there will be more time, that we’ll sort things out tomorrow and figure it out later. But time, ah, time doesn’t give us any slack. It doesn’t announce that it’s passing; it just does. And what’s left are the memories—some good, some not so much—but all of them are part of who we are, carved into us like battle scars. Every wrinkle I carry is a story, a lesson, a longing. They’re the marks of a man who’s walked the path and hasn’t lost himself along the way.

You live without overthinking because you lose the thread of life if you think too hard. I’ve learned not to fear the wrinkles, the gray beard, the slower steps. What I fear is passing through life without feeling it. I wake up one day to find that time has slipped by like a breeze, that I lived just passing through without noticing the details or grasping what truly matters.

Years have taught me what’s worth holding on to. It’s not time itself I celebrate today, but what I managed to save from it. It’s the smiles amidst the weariness, the hands that held me tight during the hard times, the sleepless nights thinking about what I could have done differently and what I still can. It’s the small things, the unassuming gestures, the strong coffee at dawn, the smell of rain hitting the dry earth. I celebrate what’s stayed with me, what time I couldn’t take away.

Reaching this point, where the horizon changes color, you learn to accept what is. It’s not about giving in; it’s about understanding that life has its own will, and you’re not always in control. I’ve gotten lost down so many roads and rebuilt myself so many times that I’ve learned to be who I am without asking for approval. I accept the falls and the stumbles still to come, but I won’t take becoming indifferent. I still want to feel the ground under my feet, the wind on my face, and the sun on my skin because living is more than just standing upright.

Today, I’m not celebrating the years that have passed but the man I’ve become. Steady in the stumbles, tender when needed, hardened by what life demanded. Death will catch up to me one day, as it does with everyone. But until then, I’ll keep moving forward, wearing my slippers around the house, clothes wrinkled, and my mind clear. And when it comes, let it come slow, no rush, because here lives a man who learned to twist time his way without letting it twist him.