Happy Birthday to Me
Reflecting on Connection, Care, and… Majid Jordan
Cake, Cake, Cake, Cake
Birthdays. What do they mean to me?
For a long time, they felt like a spotlight—one day where all the attention, love, and celebration were directed my way. They meant praise, affection, and being the center of everyone’s world, even if just for 24 hours.
And as a kid, birthdays were my reminder that, at least once a year, people had to care for me, celebrate me, and make me feel special.
The rest of the year? I was fine with being ignored. Overlooked.
I learned to handle things on my own, convinced I didn’t need much from others.
That belief stuck with me for years: I can do it myself. As long as my birthday was a big deal, the rest of the year could slide.
But this year, something shifted (as it does smh…)
A Childhood Memory That Stuck
I don’t remember many childhood birthdays, but one stands out—my 9th birthday.
It was a joint celebration with my brother, who was turning 6. The venue? Chuck E. Cheese, the pinnacle of childhood party dreams.
I remember the chaos of kids running around, the flashing lights, the games, and—of course—the pizza. Chuck E. Cheese pizza was the best, but unfortunately, it betrayed me.
That’s right: I got food poisoning on my own birthday (dun dun dunnnnnn)
Even with that less-than-ideal ending, it’s the one childhood birthday memory that stuck. I know there were other celebrations, but for some reason, this one was burned into my brain. Maybe because it encapsulated the mix of joy and chaos that birthdays often are.
The Belief That Took Root
Somewhere along the way, I cemented a belief about birthdays and myself: This is the one day people are supposed to care for me, and if they don’t, that’s okay—I’ll figure it out the rest of the year.
It was a belief that left me content to do things on my own but also quietly yearning for more connection, more care. I didn’t realize it then, but that belief was shaping how I approached friendships, community, and love.
College: A Time of Connection and Confusion
When I got to college, I decided birthdays were going to be a thing. No more small, forgettable celebrations—I was going to make it big.
College felt like a clean slate, a time to build connections and explore who I was. It was a time of social bliss, where friendships felt easy and abundant. Manny’s world was alive, vibrant, and filled with laughter.
But beneath the surface, I was struggling.
College wasn’t just a time of connection; it was also the first time I truly encountered my shadows. Insecurities about my intelligence, appearance, and worth began to bubble up. I started comparing myself to others, feeling inadequate, and questioning where I fit in.
Friendships were my anchor, but they were also the source of some of my deepest heartbreaks. I blurred the lines between friendship and community, expecting too much without communicating my needs. And when those expectations weren’t met, I withdrew, convinced I wasn’t worthy of the care and connection I so deeply craved.
A Lesson in Loneliness
I vividly remember one friendship that crumbled during college—a platonic relationship that meant the world to me. I let that person down, and the guilt was devastating. It was my first real encounter with loneliness, and it shook me to my core.
At the same time, I was struggling academically, especially with Organic Chemistry. It felt like a foreign language, and for the first time, I didn’t feel capable. Everything that had defined me—my intelligence, my independence, my ability to figure things out—was suddenly up for debate.
What Friendship Means to Me Now
Looking back, college taught me so much about friendship. It showed me the importance of letting people in while you’re going through it, of working together to meet each other’s needs, and of being honest about where you’re at.
Friendship isn’t just about showing up for the fun stuff; it’s about creating a space where you can be real, vulnerable, and messy. It’s about understanding each other’s emotional wiring, learning to navigate the shadows as well as the light, and being willing to grow together.
Community, on the other hand, is about shared interests and collective growth. It’s about building something bigger than yourself and finding joy in collaboration.
For a long time, I confused the two, placing high expectations on people without realizing they didn’t have the same role in my life. That confusion led to disappointment, but it also led to clarity.
Birthdays Then and Now
As I reflect on what birthdays mean to me now, I realize they’ve always been about connection—whether with others or, more recently, with myself.
This year, I spent my birthday alone for the first time. It was something I’d been terrified of, but it turned out to be exactly what I needed. It gave me the space to reflect, to celebrate myself, and to appreciate the love I’ve cultivated—not just from others but from within.
I’ve learned that care doesn’t have to come in grand gestures or only on special days. It can be found in the quiet moments, the small joys, and the everyday acts of kindness we show ourselves and each other.
So here’s to 30: to rediscovering, redefining, and reconnecting. To learning that I don’t have to wait for one day a year to feel loved, celebrated, or cared for. And to building friendships and communities that reflect the kind of world I want to live in—one filled with care, connection, and mutual growth.
Thank you, Manny, for never losing sight of yourself. <3
Heavy Hitters
Rediscovering Music and Solitude with Majid Jordan
In the midst of all the emotional chaos of college—friendship heartbreaks, academic struggles, and my first real encounters with loneliness—I stumbled upon something that changed everything: music. One night, overwhelmed and seeking comfort, I turned to SoundCloud. I started with a Drake mixtape, but soon, the shuffle took over, and I heard a melody that stopped me in my tracks. It was beautiful, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt something other than pain. That’s when I rediscovered the power of music.
Then I found Majid Jordan. Their synthy beats and smooth vocals wrapped around me like a warm embrace, creating a sanctuary in my solitude. I’d listen to their songs, letting their sound soothe the emotions I’d buried deep. Their music reminded me how to feel again, coaxing me back to a place of joy and presence, allowing me to dance out my frustrations and reconnect with myself.
Now, as I reflect on the parallel between 19-year-old me stepping into my 20s and 29-year-old me stepping into my 30s, I’m reminded of how Majid Jordan’s music became my lifeline. It reignited something within me, and it continues to ground me, uplift me, and inspire me to keep exploring the world with curiosity and rhythm.
And here are a few songs that carried me then and continue to move me now:
THE OG -
I’ll be minding my business, going about my day, and then—BOOM—this song plays in Zara, and I fall to my knees.
Every. Single. Time.
This is a CERTIFIED bop.
97% success rate in getting me out of funk or working through some emotions. like you can’t resist dancing a bit.
And I’m a Certified Lover Girl
I put this on when I want to…..feeeeel something lol.
You know what to do —
let your body talk, and report back
Choosing the final song for this post was the hardest part, but this Majid Jordan track perfectly captures the energy I want to carry into this next decade.
2023 was an incredible year—it feels like I’m picking up right where I left off
<3