Finally Twenty

Finally had time to write or maybe finally had time to write alone, while crying a little. Haha. I’ve always imagined turning twenty would feel terrifying, and in a way, it did. There’s something about the number that feels so heavy, two full decades of being here, of figuring out how to live, how to love, how to keep going. If you ask me, I’ve always been someone who gets scared of growing older. Yes, I used to be excited about becoming a grown woman; juggling work and life, earning her own money, confidence, all that. But behind that excitement, I think I’ve always hated the idea of time moving too fast. Because as I grow older, Ibu grows older too. And that thought alone always finds a way to make my chest ache.

A few days before my birthday, my family decided to celebrate early, a small breakfast outing, three days before the actual date, since I’d already be back at college by then. We’ve always been more of a breakfast family anyway; when Ibu got older, she couldn’t really drive at night anymore, so breakfast became our little ritual, our way of being together. She always believed mornings carried better memories, softer light, and simpler laughter.

That morning felt warm and familiar, but also a little lonely. Just me and abang celebrating each other that way. He got me a giraffe plushie as a birthday present which something small, something silly. I actually told him to buy a cheaper gift because the electricity bill went up last month. Hahaha. He always complains that whenever I’m home, the bill spikes. And I just laughed, because it felt nice to have something to laugh about again. I was so happy that he liked the present I gave him too. We rarely talk about our feelings, maybe we never really learned how to, but deep down, I always hope abang stays strong. Because I know he feels the loss more deeply than he’ll ever admit.

Turning 20, I didn’t get a wish from Ibu anymore. The last birthday wish I have from her was from last year, she was on a hospital bed, her voice weak but still gentle, apologizing that we couldn’t celebrate because she was admitted. I still remember how she sounded, the way her words trembled yet carried so much love. I replay that moment sometimes, the way she said my name, the way she still tried to make it special even when she was in pain. And I guess that’s why this year felt so heavy because how do you turn 20 when your heart is still stuck at 19, still holding on to the last birthday that she was a part of?

Sorry, I suddenly ended up recalling something sad, and somehow it made this whole blog sound even sadder. Haha. But honestly, my birthday this year was a little sad, yet somehow, also so full. 

On the day itself, I got wishes from my family too. Mama texted me a sweet message, and even though abang got a longer text for his birthday (as usual, haha), I still felt grateful. Grateful that I still have figures I can look up to, people who still think of me, even from afar.

This year’s birthday, though quiet and a little sad in its own way, felt softer, maybe because of the people around me. The small kindnesses, the quiet gestures that stitched warmth into the cracks I didn’t even know I had. The morning message that made me cry because I never thought someone could appreciate me that much. The so-called “secret” lunch plan my friends tried to hide, which, let’s be honest, I already had a feeling about. Hahaha. The day before, Qis dropped by my place before QMT class, and everyone kept taking turns to go to Maz’s place to “discuss” something with Ecah. Then on the day itself, Maz told me to dress up nicely but Far didn’t even put on makeup to class, and when everyone suddenly showed up in green, I just knew. The ironed clothes, the shy smiles, the quiet excitement, all of it made my heart so full. And when Nadiea airdropped her letter note to me, I cried again. You’re all so sweet, seriously. Thank you for making this birthday feel lighter, for the balloons, the laughter, and the kind of gentle love that made everything hurt a little less.

I know people are always ready to be there for me. It’s just… I’m the one who doesn’t ask. I don’t reach out, don’t ask for help, don’t ask for ears. I’ve always been the type to hold things in until they make a home inside me. It’s not that I don’t trust my friends, I do, deeply. Sometimes the feelings get too heavy that I don’t even know how to carry them myself, let alone let someone else hold them for me. Maybe I just struggle differently. Still, reading all the birthday wishes this year, the little reminders, the gentle words, it made me realise how I’ve never really been alone. That even when I go quiet, people still stay. They always have.

When Maz asked me how I felt about turning twenty, I didn’t really know what to say. “Entahla, biasa je.” I told her. Because it didn’t feel like some big, dramatic change. It just felt like another day that reminded me time is moving whether I’m ready or not.

Growing older, I realised, isn’t about feeling grown. It was about realising that I’m now the one making decisions for my life. No one’s going to tell me what to do anymore, when to rest, when to stop crying, when to start again. It’s just… me now. I have to be responsible for myself, for the life I’m building. And that realisation hit harder than I thought.

Being twenty feels like standing in the middle of a bridge, half of you still a teenager, scared and unsure, and the other half trying to look composed enough to keep walking forward. Some days, I still want to call Ibu, just to ask what to do. Some nights, I still scroll through our old texts, rereading the words just to remember how it felt to be cared for that way. But then morning comes, and I remind myself; maybe this is what growing up really means. It’s learning to live without certain kinds of love, but still choosing to love anyway. It’s the age where you begin to see how fragile everything is; family, friendships, time and how precious it all becomes once you’ve lost pieces of it. It’s scary, yes, but it also makes you want to live gentler. To be kinder. To love slower.

These days, I don’t really feel comfortable when too many people know it’s my birthday. Not because I don’t appreciate it, but because it feels a little too loud for something that’s become so personal to me. I’ve learned that I treasure the quiet wishes more; the ones that come from people who really mean it, who remember without reminders. Maybe it’s because birthdays don’t just mark getting older anymore; they also hold memories of the people I wish were still here. So I like keeping it small, softer and closer.

Still, every message means something. Some come from people beside me, some from those who are far away, and somehow both fill the same part of my heart. Because growing up, I think, isn’t about counting wishes, it’s about realising how love shows up differently now. Sometimes through a text, sometimes through laughter across a table, sometimes through the quiet thought that someone, somewhere, still remembers you. And in those small, ordinary moments, I find the kind of comfort I used to think I’d lost.

Maybe that’s what this birthday really taught me; that life doesn’t always get easier, but it does get softer, if you let it. That even in the silence, love still finds its way to me. 

Because at the end of the day, I may still cry while writing this, but I know one thing for sure, I’m here, surrounded by love I didn’t think I deserved. And that’s enough.

I am, after all, so blessed of turning 20.🤰🏻