Thirty-One: Still Dreaming, Still Grateful, Still Growing
August 18: A Birthday Written in Love
August 18 has always been more than a date on the calendar for me. It is the day I pause and thank God for giving me life, for bringing me into this wonderful world, and, above everything else, for blessing me with the most wonderful parents. Every birthday reminds me that my story began with them—with their love, sacrifices, prayers, and all the dreams they carried for me before I was old enough to dream for myself. For the past few years, however, my birthdays have felt a little different. I have celebrated them here in the United Kingdom, far away from my parents. Distance teaches us the true value of the ordinary things we once took for granted: hearing footsteps in our childhood home, sitting together for a simple meal, receiving a blessing in person, or waking up knowing that the people who gave us life are only a room away.
A phone call can cross countries, but it cannot completely replace a hug. Still, love has its own way of travelling. It reaches us through voices, memories and prayers—and sometimes through the people who stand beside us when family is far away. This year, my birthday began in a way I will never forget. I have a small but very good circle of friends. Some people know this about me: I may not have hundreds of people around me, but the ones I call mine truly matter. Among them are Marshal, Elkin, and Griffin. Somewhere in my mind, I had a feeling that these three might appear at my house at midnight. They are exactly the kind of people who would disturb my sleep in the best possible way. But I never imagined that they would call Shibin, plan everything with him, and actually be waiting downstairs while I remained completely unaware. That night, I was sleeping peacefully when Shibin suddenly said that he needed to go downstairs to get some medicine. I did not suspect anything. A little later, he called me and said he could not find it and asked me to come down and help. Half asleep and thinking only about the missing medicine, I walked downstairs. And there they were. Marshal, Elkin, Griffin and Shibin were standing together with a birthday cake. For a moment, I did not know what to say. I was shocked, surprised, and genuinely happy. The medicine had never been the real reason, of course; it was only their clever little plan to bring me downstairs. In that simple moment, with four friends, a cake and sleepy eyes, a new year of my life began. There was laughter, cake cutting, photographs, and the kind of happiness that does not need anything grand. What touched me most was that they all had work the next day. They could have stayed home and slept, but they chose to give me their time.
As we grow older, we understand that time is one of the most meaningful gifts anyone can offer. They came not because they had nothing else to do, but because they wanted to be there. After celebrating for a while, they left, carrying the tiredness of the late night and the responsibility of the next morning. I went back to bed after two o’clock with a full heart. Not long after that, I received my mother’s birthday wishes. I knew she would wake early in India just to call me. There is something about a mother’s voice on your birthday that brings you back to the very beginning. No matter how old you become, you are still the child whose life she first held close. Hearing her made the miles between the UK and home feel smaller. I was happy—deeply happy—because the first hours of being thirty-one were already filled with friendship, family and love.
Thirty-one.
It sounds like a serious number when I say it aloud. I have entered another fresh year of life, still carrying many dreams in my mind. I cannot say that I have achieved everything I once wanted. Some dreams have come true, some are slowly taking shape, and many are still waiting for me somewhere ahead. But I am grateful for the few I have completed, proud of the roads I have already travelled, and hopeful about everything that remains unfinished. Life is not a race where all dreams must arrive together. Sometimes success is simply having the courage to keep dreaming after difficult years. That morning, I woke early and went to church for the 9 a.m. Mass. It felt right that the first morning of my new year should begin in God’s presence. I had so much to be thankful for and so much more to ask strength for. There are many things I still need to chase—so many plans, responsibilities, unanswered questions, and quiet hopes. Standing in church, I did not feel that my life was perfect. I felt something better: that I had been given another year to keep trying. After church, I received a small message:
“Can we meet?”
I had hoped she might come, but I never imagined the distance she had travelled. She had flown from Dubai to Manchester around my birthday. Even writing that makes me smile. Some people send wishes, people who choose gifts, and then there are rare people who cross miles just to make your day feel special. When someone does that, you do not simply feel celebrated—you feel remembered. She came to pick me up, and we went to a coffee shop. I do not wish to mention her name. Some people are better protected inside a story, where their presence can be felt without being announced. She works for an airline, and she has always had a habit of spoiling me with watches. This birthday was no different. She gave me another beautiful watch, and I loved it—not only because it was beautiful, but because of everything behind it. A watch measures time, yet this one reminded me of a friendship strong enough to travel through time zones.
We sat with coffee between us and talked. It was a simple meeting, but perhaps the most beautiful moments are simple: two people sitting across from each other, catching up on life, smiling at old stories and letting the rest of the world become quiet for a while. There was something gently romantic about the day—not a loud romance asking to be named, but the softer kind found in effort, attention, distance travelled, and the comfort of being understood. Later, some of her friends joined us before they continued their journey to Scotland. Somewhere during those unexpected conversations, the day offered me another surprising little twist—one of those moments when a few honest words leave you speechless and make you wonder whether life has been quietly writing a new page without telling you.
I will leave that part between the lines. Not every surprise needs a full explanation; some are sweeter when held as a private smile. Before leaving, she said we would meet again after they returned, as her flight was only on the evening of the twenty-first. I went home carrying the happiness of that coffee date, the watch on my wrist and the strange wonder of knowing that someone had crossed countries to be present on my birthday. I felt lucky. In a world where people often struggle to make time even for those living nearby, someone had travelled miles for me.
Yet birthdays can hold more than one emotion at once. Between all the wishes I received, a quiet part of my heart still waited for one particular message. There are people we never completely remove from our hopes, even when life teaches us not to expect anything. We tell ourselves it is only another notification, only a few words, only a date—but the heart knows when it is waiting. Perhaps some wishes arrive as messages, while others remain as silence. And perhaps growing older means learning to accept both without allowing either to take away the love already surrounding us. I spent part of the afternoon at home, reading and replying to the many birthday messages. Every wish reminded me that I had touched someone’s life in some small way. I called my mother again and spoke with her for a few minutes. Even on a busy birthday, that conversation felt like home.
By evening, Rosil and Lakshmi messaged me and asked what plans I had. I told them I had nothing planned. Their answer was simple: then we would go out and have some food. I agreed and continued sitting at home, replying to messages. Later, Rosil called and said, “Achacha, get ready in twenty-five minutes.” Some relationships cannot be properly explained by ordinary labels. Rosil and Lakshmi are my best friends, but even that feels incomplete. Both feel like sisters to me, and together they carry the warmth of family. They are among the people with whom I do not have to pretend, plan perfect sentences, or hide the tired parts of myself. Their presence feels safe, familiar, and real. When they arrived and I got into the car, Lakshmi handed me a small bag containing gifts and a little plant. I was touched. A plant may look like a simple present, but to me it felt meaningful—a living reminder that care helps things grow.
Perhaps that is what good friendship does as well. It does not always arrive with dramatic words. Sometimes it checks whether you have eaten, tells you to get ready in twenty-five minutes, places a gift in your hands, and quietly makes sure your birthday does not end alone. We drove to the restaurant they had chosen, only to discover that it was closed. But the best evenings are not ruined by a change of plan when the right people are with us. We found another restaurant, ordered food, and sat together talking. The evening was filled with laughter, stories, and the comfort of being around people who have become part of my life in a way I never expected when I first came to the UK. Sitting there, I realised that this birthday had given me different forms of love throughout the day. Midnight brought the love of friends who sacrificed their sleep. The early hours brought the blessing of my mother from far away. Morning brought faith and a fresh beginning in church. Coffee brought an unexpected journey, a beautiful watch, a little romance, and a few surprises hidden between the lines. Evening brought Rosil and Lakshmi—the kind of best friends who feel like a family, the kind of people who turn an ordinary meal into a memory.
As I enter thirty-one, I know I still have a long way to go. There are dreams I must chase, fears I must face, work I must complete, and prayers I am still waiting to see answered. I do not know what this new year will bring. Perhaps there will be beautiful beginnings, difficult lessons, unexpected people, and a few silent disappointments. But August 18 reminded me that I do not walk into any of it empty-handed. I carry my parents’ blessings, God’s grace, my friends’ loyalty, the tenderness of chosen family, and the memory of someone who crossed the sky to share a cup of coffee with me. Maybe that is enough for a fresh beginning. At thirty-one, I am not standing at the end of my dreams. I am standing at the beginning of another chance. I may not have everything figured out, but I have faith. I may live far away from my parents, but their love still reaches me. I may carry certain unnamed feelings in a quiet corner of my heart, but I am also surrounded by people who openly remind me that I am loved.
So, thank You, God, for August 18. Thank You for the parents who gave me life, for the mother who woke early to bless me, for the friends who stood downstairs with a cake, for the person who crossed miles to make me smile, and for Rosil and Lakshmi, who ended my day with the warmth of home. This was not simply my thirty-first birthday. It was a day written in friendship, faith, family, quiet romance, and gratitude—a reminder that even when we are far from home, love knows exactly where to find us.
And if this is how chapter thirty-one begins, I cannot wait to see what the remaining pages will hold
This time, let it be your very own writer
Joice💓
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