On Birthdays and Blooms

This year's birthday reflection

Turning 46 is realizing the approach to the golden year is ending. I feel like leaving the realm of youth and sealing the entry to ‘old.’ I looked through my phone’s photos. Flipping my fingers upward to scroll through the photo memories. The motion is precisely how I feel. Life is such a blur, especially on birthdays. I zoomed in on birthday photos and recognized how flowers and blooms were always a part of it. It warms the heart.

Why is it that one is more prone to asking life’s introspective questions during birthdays? Why is the call to reflection louder? Is it because the truth of life’s mortality is more glaring when we celebrate the day we were born?

Celebrating my birthdays as an adult revolved around these reflections —-

A celebration of life which translates to, “Hooray, I’m alive. I’ve come this far!”

A timestamp of success rendered through, “I’ve done good. How I’ve grown throughout these years!”

Thanksgiving for family. At the end of the day, it is always the people you love. I am grateful I am loved and I am capable of loving them back.

Measuring the faith. I have never known what the future has in store for me, no matter what the plans. Somehow, it has always worked out. A lot of it entailed hard work but faith is always a major driver.

Aging. It was only when I turned 45 that age as a number really hit me and I honestly felt a bit of offense when asked, “How old are you?” I was ok answering, “I’m 40…41…42…43…44…” But 45? Uh oh, I’m old.

Health. And because I have accepted aging, health now matters. I aspire good health as I never had before. Routine bloodwork and googling symptoms are now at hand. It feels good because you finally realize the essence of self-care. And it is not easy.

But as everyone sings you a happy birthday, you count your blessings and bask in the affection of people who greet you. Especially when you identify those sincere birthday greetings that matter. Then, I feel hopeful that the rest of my life still holds the best of my life.

Like the process of drying fresh flowers.

Even before the pandemic, when dried florals were put in the spotlight, I had a penchant for dead blooms coming to life in beautiful arrangements. I like bringing home foraged flowers, wood and leaves from my walk. It is akin to bringing home nature. There is fulfillment in preserving life without water and the weightlessness of it all. As it is a process that juices creativity out of me, I find it as a graceful method of conserving floral life, suspending its beauty to honor the different seasons in a year.

Much like life after 46, access to newness and freshness is not the same as the novelty of 26. You pick up what’s in your life, both the beautiful and the trash. The petals, the buds, the twigs, the weeds, the berries, the leaves, both fresh and dry. You put them together in combinations that are visually satisfying and intrinsically fulfilling.

It’s not the same as the time they were fresh but it is there, transformed and seasoned.

That’s 46 for me.