I find myself awake at this late hour, feeling a familiar wave of exhaustion wash over me. It’s one of those nights when sleep eludes me, and I can’t help but overthink everything, like a Catholic wrestling with guilt.

It was the evening of August 2nd, the night before my birthday. I got into my car, preparing for what felt like an impending downpour—a summer storm that seemed more dramatic than usual. As I turned on my iPod and shuffled through my playlist, Macy Gray’s “I’m in Between” began to play. It brought back memories of As Told by Ginger, a show I loved despite my less-than-kind behavior in school. It’s funny how we can grow from our past, isn’t it? Anyway, it was the perfect way to kick off my commute.

I arrived at work for my night shift, fully prepared for a miserable time. To my surprise, I didn’t mind spending the first few hours of my birthday working. I even had the chance to revive a patient who had flatlined—a moment that was both intense and exhausting. Many people underestimate how physically demanding chest compressions can be, especially for someone like me who isn’t in the best shape. Unfortunately, despite my efforts, the patient didn’t survive. So, while I celebrated another year of life, I was also reminded of the fragility of it.

After my shift ended, I drove home to find my boyfriend, Ed, in a cheerful mood, eager to make my birthday special. I had hoped to spend the day relaxing together, but he had to work. Thankfully, his job allowed for some flexibility, so I decided to tag along. I turned the backseat of our SUV into a cozy spot with pillows and a blanket, and it wasn’t long before sleep overtook me. I slept soundly, aside from a few playful nudges from our baby, Bogart, who seemed to think my face was a toy. I didn’t mind, though; when I finally woke up, seven hours had passed, and we were home.

Starving, I did a quick search for good Chinese restaurants on Zagat and found “Grace Garden,” a little hole-in-the-wall in the suburbs of Baltimore. The place had zero ambiance, desperately needed a makeover, and the servers were about as warm as a block of ice. It was in a sketchy area, but who doesn’t love a culinary adventure with a side of danger? Zagat claimed they served authentic Sichuan and Cantonese cuisine, which was all I needed to hear. They even had a separate menu for American tastes, which we promptly ignored.

We dove into the traditional menu, and let me tell you, it was a feast! My favorites were the Braised Pork Belly with Mui Choy, Eggplant in Garlic Sauce, and Spicy Deep-Fried Flounder. Pure bliss! Each bite was a reminder of why we love exploring new foods. We left the restaurant full and content, with plenty of leftovers to enjoy later.

Back home, I settled in with The Exorcist on Netflix, ready for some classic horror. However, my fatigue got the better of me, and I couldn’t finish it. I dozed off sometime after Regan twisted her head around and started using a crucifix rather creatively. Sweet dreams, alright.

When I finally woke up, I felt the weight of turning 26. It was a sobering realization, bringing me closer to 30 than 20. But I’m choosing to see this birthday as an opportunity for reflection and growth. Here’s to another year of navigating life, armed with a weaker liver, poorer eyesight, and the lessons I refuse to learn. Cheers!