I’m sure I’m not alone in this; the feeling that if you could just go back in time, even for five minutes, you’d do something differently. Change a decision. Say less. Say more. Walk away earlier. Or stay a little longer.
Something happened today that made me start thinking about it again.
I’m starting a calorie deficit today. Gym included. And no, it’s not because I suddenly woke up hating my body. I won’t lie and say I’m one of those people who “love every inch of themselves” every single day but generally, I’m fine. I exist. I live. I wear my clothes.
But my stomach? That one thing.
I have a line on my stomach. Some people say it’s an ab line and maybe they say it to make me feel better but it makes my stomach look divided. The top part is flat, then there’s this lower belly fat that gathers underneath. And I know exactly where it came from.
Senior secondary school.
We wore skirts then, and for reasons I genuinely cannot explain now, I decided to sew the waist tighter. My skirt was already fine. There was no need. No one forced me. It wasn’t even a “fashion” or “trend” thing. But I did it anyway. Over and over again.
I’m sure I’m not alone in this; the feeling that if you could just go back in time, even for five minutes, you’d do something differently. Change a decision. Say less. Say more. Walk away earlier. Or stay a little longer.
Something happened today that made me start thinking about it again.
I’m starting a calorie deficit today. Gym included. And no, it’s not because I suddenly woke up hating my body. I won’t lie and say I’m one of those people who “love every inch of themselves” every single day but generally, I’m fine. I exist. I live. I wear my clothes.
But my stomach? That one thing.
I have a line on my stomach. Some people say it’s an ab line and maybe they say it to make me feel better but it makes my stomach look divided. The top part is flat, then there’s this lower belly fat that gathers underneath. And I know exactly where it came from.
Senior secondary school.
We wore skirts then, and for reasons I genuinely cannot explain now, I decided to sew the waist tighter. My skirt was already fine. There was no need. No one forced me. It wasn’t even a “fashion” or “trend” thing. But I did it anyway. Over and over again.
One thing about me, my skin is soft. Very soft. And five years later, here I am, still seeing the result of that small, careless decision every time I look in the mirror.
I can’t say I haven’t tried things. I have. I also can’t say I hate my body. I don’t. But this stomach? I won’t lie I hate DISLIKE it. I’m insecure about it. I think about it too often. I sit down sometimes and just whisper to myself, “If only you knew. Why did you do that?”
And that’s where the time-travel thoughts come in.
Because at least once a month, I find myself wishing I could go back to that version of me; tugging at the waist of her skirt and just tap her shoulder. Just once. Tell her to stop.
But this time, instead of wishing, I’m taking a step. And I’m happy about it. I hope it works out well.
That’s not the only time I want to go back in time, though.
Sometimes it’s 3 a.m. I’m tired. I want to sleep. I put my phone down. And then, boom a memory pops up. Something I said. Something I did. The way I spoke. The way I acted. I cringe so hard it feels physical. I replay it over and over, wishing I could just rewind and behave differently.
At least once a week, I want to go back in time.
And sometimes it’s not even deep. Sometimes it’s small, almost stupid things.
Like going to the market. Someone tells me a price. I think it’s expensive, so I leave. I go somewhere else and realize the price is double. I can’t even remember the first place anymore. I’ll never find it again. But I’ll think about it. Deeply.
There was a short once. The price was fair. It was comfortable. I liked it. I didn’t buy it. I don’t even live in that state anymore and yet, randomly, that short still crosses my mind. Why didn’t I just buy it? I would have worn it. I know I would have.
Or the opposite; times I’ve overpaid for things, only to later discover the price was actually much lower. And again, the thought returns: If only I could go back.
It’s a whole collection of moments.
Big ones. Small ones. Emotional ones. Ridiculous ones.
All stacked together in my mind.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me. Or if everyone secretly carries a version of their past they wish they could edit; just a little.
Maybe we all want to go back in time. Not to live there. Just to fix one thing. Or to forgive ourselves for it.
And since we can’t… Maybe the best we can do is take steps forward anyway.
Even if it’s starting with something as small and as personal — as your stomach.
Is it really a happy birthday when it’s not happy?
Happy sad birthday
I’ve always wondered who decided that birthdays must be happy. Like genuinely, who sat down one day and said, “Yes, this day, no matter what, must be happy.” Because what if it isn’t? What if I didn’t agree? What if nobody asked me how I felt before attaching happiness to the day?
Tomorrow is my birthday. I can’t remember the last time I had a happy one. It falls in the first week of January, which already feels like a bad joke. Everyone is broke. Everyone is tired. Everyone has an excuse. “Christmas drained me.” “New Year took everything.” Sometimes it’s not even my friends my own family, my own parents, will say they spent too much during the holidays. No gift. No anything. I mean I don’t even blame them. Me too, I’m always broke on my birthday. And honestly, I’ve gotten used to it.
But the thing is, it’s not even about the gifts. I’ve learned to live without gifts. It’s the promises that hurt. I hate promises that don’t show up. If you won’t do it, don’t say it. It’s not entitlement; it’s expectation management. I would rather you say nothing at all than tell me “I’ll get you something” and let the day pass quietly like it always does.
Somewhere along the line, I developed birthday anxiety. Every year, without fail, there’s this overwhelming sadness that sits on my chest. I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s because I haven’t achieved what I thought I would by this age. Maybe it’s because I had silent goals I never said out loud but still held myself accountable for. Or maybe it’s just the weight of another year added to a life that doesn’t feel fully figured out yet. I genuinely don’t know.
I don’t hate my birthday; that would feel ungrateful. Adding another year to your life is not small. Not everyone gets that privilege. I understand that. I really do. But I dislike the day. I always want it to come and go quickly. I want the clock to move faster so I can breathe again the next morning.
And that’s why the phrase happy birthday bothers me.
Why happy? Why must it be happy? Why not honest birthday? Why not quiet birthday? Why not surviving birthday?
It’s 12am, I’m listening to gratitude by annendlessocean and just sitting here thinking about how grateful I am to have made it to the last month of the year. Because honestly, this year? It was a roller coaster. A messy, chaotic, overwhelming, beautiful roller coaster.
I crashed out plenty of times, but somehow, I’m still standing. And for that, I’m incredibly grateful to God; for strength, for endurance, for pulling me through every hard moment, and for giving me reasons to smile in between.
I went through really tough times this year, moments that forced me to grow and stretch in ways I didn’t expect. But I also had beautiful, fun moments with my friends the kind that reminded me that life can still be sweet even when everything is shaking.
Somewhere along the line, I became what I like to call “ridiculously audacious”. I put myself out there more. I stepped outside my comfort zone. I started working on my public speaking, still not where I want to be, but honestly, the baby steps are adding up. I made decisions that scared me, but I made them anyway. I took risks.
One of the wildest things that happened was at a conference; I networked so boldly that I literally got a job on the spot. If you told 2024 me that this would happen, she would have laughed and walked away.
This year stretched me academically too. By this time a decade ago, I was in my first year of high school and now i’m done with university. I earned over fifteen certifications, worked on three research papers, and got an A in my final-year project. I graduated with a 4.80 CGPA even with everything life was throwing at me. I attended about ten conferences, read twenty-five books, tried out new foods, and took on major leadership roles: General Secretary of my department, Ticket Lead for a fintech conference, Content Co-lead for Google Developer Groups (GDG) Bowen, and more. I made new friends. I even bought myself two bone straight wigs and honestly, that is a real milestone for me.
I started going to the gym. I completed two paid internships. I cried a lot. I worked on my LinkedIn presence. I posted more content on social media. I bought shares in three different companies. I began exploring the Web3 space. I went out more than usual, which is huge because anyone who knows me knows I used to be a professional homebody. And I became a creator on Paragraph, a Web3 writing platform, which still feels surreal.
So even though I didn’t accomplish
One thing about me, my skin is soft. Very soft. And five years later, here I am, still seeing the result of that small, careless decision every time I look in the mirror.
I can’t say I haven’t tried things. I have. I also can’t say I hate my body. I don’t. But this stomach? I won’t lie I hate DISLIKE it. I’m insecure about it. I think about it too often. I sit down sometimes and just whisper to myself, “If only you knew. Why did you do that?”
And that’s where the time-travel thoughts come in.
Because at least once a month, I find myself wishing I could go back to that version of me; tugging at the waist of her skirt and just tap her shoulder. Just once. Tell her to stop.
But this time, instead of wishing, I’m taking a step. And I’m happy about it. I hope it works out well.
That’s not the only time I want to go back in time, though.
Sometimes it’s 3 a.m. I’m tired. I want to sleep. I put my phone down. And then, boom a memory pops up. Something I said. Something I did. The way I spoke. The way I acted. I cringe so hard it feels physical. I replay it over and over, wishing I could just rewind and behave differently.
At least once a week, I want to go back in time.
And sometimes it’s not even deep. Sometimes it’s small, almost stupid things.
Like going to the market. Someone tells me a price. I think it’s expensive, so I leave. I go somewhere else and realize the price is double. I can’t even remember the first place anymore. I’ll never find it again. But I’ll think about it. Deeply.
There was a short once. The price was fair. It was comfortable. I liked it. I didn’t buy it. I don’t even live in that state anymore and yet, randomly, that short still crosses my mind. Why didn’t I just buy it? I would have worn it. I know I would have.
Or the opposite; times I’ve overpaid for things, only to later discover the price was actually much lower. And again, the thought returns: If only I could go back.
It’s a whole collection of moments.
Big ones. Small ones. Emotional ones. Ridiculous ones.
All stacked together in my mind.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me. Or if everyone secretly carries a version of their past they wish they could edit; just a little.
Maybe we all want to go back in time. Not to live there. Just to fix one thing. Or to forgive ourselves for it.
And since we can’t… Maybe the best we can do is take steps forward anyway.
Even if it’s starting with something as small and as personal — as your stomach.
Is it really a happy birthday when it’s not happy?
Happy sad birthday
I’ve always wondered who decided that birthdays must be happy. Like genuinely, who sat down one day and said, “Yes, this day, no matter what, must be happy.” Because what if it isn’t? What if I didn’t agree? What if nobody asked me how I felt before attaching happiness to the day?
Tomorrow is my birthday. I can’t remember the last time I had a happy one. It falls in the first week of January, which already feels like a bad joke. Everyone is broke. Everyone is tired. Everyone has an excuse. “Christmas drained me.” “New Year took everything.” Sometimes it’s not even my friends my own family, my own parents, will say they spent too much during the holidays. No gift. No anything. I mean I don’t even blame them. Me too, I’m always broke on my birthday. And honestly, I’ve gotten used to it.
But the thing is, it’s not even about the gifts. I’ve learned to live without gifts. It’s the promises that hurt. I hate promises that don’t show up. If you won’t do it, don’t say it. It’s not entitlement; it’s expectation management. I would rather you say nothing at all than tell me “I’ll get you something” and let the day pass quietly like it always does.
Somewhere along the line, I developed birthday anxiety. Every year, without fail, there’s this overwhelming sadness that sits on my chest. I don’t know where it comes from. Maybe it’s because I haven’t achieved what I thought I would by this age. Maybe it’s because I had silent goals I never said out loud but still held myself accountable for. Or maybe it’s just the weight of another year added to a life that doesn’t feel fully figured out yet. I genuinely don’t know.
I don’t hate my birthday; that would feel ungrateful. Adding another year to your life is not small. Not everyone gets that privilege. I understand that. I really do. But I dislike the day. I always want it to come and go quickly. I want the clock to move faster so I can breathe again the next morning.
And that’s why the phrase happy birthday bothers me.
Why happy? Why must it be happy? Why not honest birthday? Why not quiet birthday? Why not surviving birthday?
It’s 12am, I’m listening to gratitude by annendlessocean and just sitting here thinking about how grateful I am to have made it to the last month of the year. Because honestly, this year? It was a roller coaster. A messy, chaotic, overwhelming, beautiful roller coaster.
I crashed out plenty of times, but somehow, I’m still standing. And for that, I’m incredibly grateful to God; for strength, for endurance, for pulling me through every hard moment, and for giving me reasons to smile in between.
I went through really tough times this year, moments that forced me to grow and stretch in ways I didn’t expect. But I also had beautiful, fun moments with my friends the kind that reminded me that life can still be sweet even when everything is shaking.
Somewhere along the line, I became what I like to call “ridiculously audacious”. I put myself out there more. I stepped outside my comfort zone. I started working on my public speaking, still not where I want to be, but honestly, the baby steps are adding up. I made decisions that scared me, but I made them anyway. I took risks.
One of the wildest things that happened was at a conference; I networked so boldly that I literally got a job on the spot. If you told 2024 me that this would happen, she would have laughed and walked away.
This year stretched me academically too. By this time a decade ago, I was in my first year of high school and now i’m done with university. I earned over fifteen certifications, worked on three research papers, and got an A in my final-year project. I graduated with a 4.80 CGPA even with everything life was throwing at me. I attended about ten conferences, read twenty-five books, tried out new foods, and took on major leadership roles: General Secretary of my department, Ticket Lead for a fintech conference, Content Co-lead for Google Developer Groups (GDG) Bowen, and more. I made new friends. I even bought myself two bone straight wigs and honestly, that is a real milestone for me.
I started going to the gym. I completed two paid internships. I cried a lot. I worked on my LinkedIn presence. I posted more content on social media. I bought shares in three different companies. I began exploring the Web3 space. I went out more than usual, which is huge because anyone who knows me knows I used to be a professional homebody. And I became a creator on Paragraph, a Web3 writing platform, which still feels surreal.
So even though I didn’t accomplish
Why not new age?
Why not growing birthday?
Who decided happiness was compulsory?
Sometimes when people say “happy birthday” to me, it feels like they’re telling me how I should feel instead of asking how I actually do feel. Like happiness is an obligation I owe the day, even when the day has never really shown up for me.
So maybe this isn’t a sad birthday. Maybe it’s just a real one. One where I sit with my emotions instead of pretending. One where I acknowledge that I’m grateful to be alive, but also tired. One where I don’t force joy just because tradition demands it.
So no maybe it’s not a happy birthday. Maybe it’s just my birthday. And maybe that’s enough for now.
every single thing
I wanted to do this year, I achieved an unbelievable amount. I grew in ways I didn’t expect. I learned, unlearned, failed, tried again, and somehow found myself becoming a stronger, softer, more confident version of me.
I’m grateful for all of it - the good, the hard, the quiet, the loud, the unexpected. Gratitude really is the word.
Why not new age?
Why not growing birthday?
Who decided happiness was compulsory?
Sometimes when people say “happy birthday” to me, it feels like they’re telling me how I should feel instead of asking how I actually do feel. Like happiness is an obligation I owe the day, even when the day has never really shown up for me.
So maybe this isn’t a sad birthday. Maybe it’s just a real one. One where I sit with my emotions instead of pretending. One where I acknowledge that I’m grateful to be alive, but also tired. One where I don’t force joy just because tradition demands it.
So no maybe it’s not a happy birthday. Maybe it’s just my birthday. And maybe that’s enough for now.
every single thing
I wanted to do this year, I achieved an unbelievable amount. I grew in ways I didn’t expect. I learned, unlearned, failed, tried again, and somehow found myself becoming a stronger, softer, more confident version of me.
I’m grateful for all of it - the good, the hard, the quiet, the loud, the unexpected. Gratitude really is the word.
Written by
Faithieebaby
Written by
Faithieebaby
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