I used to wonder how my father and mother could forget their own birthdays. Back then, it annoyed me a little. I couldn’t understand it. How could someone forget the day they were born? Why wouldn’t they think about themselves, at least for one day in a year? 

But now, here I am.

At an age that has just begun stepping into my thirties, I’m starting to understand what that feels like. To be honest, I didn’t forget the date I was born. I still remember it clearly. It’s just that… maybe I’ve been too busy “enjoying” life or perhaps simply too occupied living it, that I forgot when my birthday was actually coming.

Ah, how do I even explain this feeling?

It started with a simple conversation with my partner. We were talking about the plans and agendas for next month. Casually, I mentioned everything that would probably happen. Then suddenly I realized something. “Oh, tomorrow is already a new month?”

What surprised me wasn’t the change of the month itself. What shocked me was realizing that the coming month was my birth month, the month when I would grow a year older.

Where has my mind been all this time?

I used to be someone who always waited for my birthday. I looked forward to it, hoping something special might happen. Even though it often ended with small disappointments, the day still felt worth anticipating. But this time was different. I wasn’t even aware it was coming. Even more surprising, on my birthday I actually signed myself up for an extra work shift. Not a celebration, not a plan for something nice, nothing. I didn’t even really think about it.

That was the moment I felt strange about myself. But well… maybe that’s just how it is.

The older I get, the more I understand that a birthday isn’t automatically a special day. Not everyone gets celebrations, surprises, or many birthday wishes. Especially when you’re not really anyone special in the world.

Maybe that’s why, little by little, the day loses its meaning. So if eventually I start forgetting it too… is that really strange?

Or is this simply another quiet reality that comes with growing older? I don’t know.

But now I finally understand how my parents could forget their own birthdays. And somehow, that realization feels a little… bittersweet.