On the very last day, I stood alone in the kitchen just me, the quiet, and onions slowly turning golden as garlic softened into magic for my humble chicken pulav.
Pepper cracked like tiny fireworks under my fingers, and somewhere between the steam and the rice rising into fluffy joy, I felt it – my life, in this ordinary moment, was quietly perfect.
The chicken browned into its own little celebration, Maillard reaction working overtime, and I did the only thing that made sense I called the two humans who make my small world complete.
We laughed, we talked, we agreed the dish was perfect and quietly, in that moment, so was my heart.
If this isn’t what life is for, I don’t know what is.
I’m turning 24 in a week. And honestly, woohooo is what I’m supposed to feel… but here I am, spiralling into my annual pre-birthday existential crisis.
I don’t know when birthdays turned into these loaded emotional episodes for me — equal parts anxiety attack, equal parts a montage of the last 23 years crashing into me like an unwanted recap.
Maybe it’s because my birthdays were never free of family drama. Maybe it’s the subconscious guilt that I don’t want to spend them with my family like “everyone else does.” Maybe it’s the fact that all I’ve ever wanted — on the one day I was brought into this world completely without consent — is to just be by myself.
But of course, how dare I want to spend my own birthday on my own terms?
At 24, I finally have the choice to walk out of the chaos and pick peace. But what could a 14-year-old Smoo have done? She was expected to perform happiness, to keep everyone around her happy, to smile like the day wasn’t heavy for her.
And here’s the confusing part: Yes, I know my concerns come from a place of privilege. I am grateful for everything my family provided. I should be happy that they want to choose a dress for me, spend the entire day together, eat good food… all of that.
And yet — why does the day feel hollow inside-out? Why does something that is supposed to feel special instead feel staged?
Why do dysfunctional families suddenly try to “act normal” on birthdays? Why do they expect kids to clean up the emotional mess, paste on a smile, and carry the weight of pretending everything is okay for the rest of their lives?
Is it just me? Or is someone else reading this and thinking, “Yep… same”?
If you feel this way, talk to me. If you come from a functional family with healthy boundaries, tell me what that looks like. I genuinely want a fresh perspective.
Wooshfill 