On my birthday, I reflect on the tasks accomplished, the sorrows that refined, and the conviction that life is measured by depth, not duration
By Fida Hussain Bhat
On December 3rd, I marked my 31st birthday. Birthdays are often occasions of celebration, but they are also moments of reflection—times when one pauses to look back on the years gone by and forward to the years yet to come. As I stand at this threshold, I realise that life is not measured merely by the number of years we live, but by the tasks we accomplish, the responsibilities we shoulder, and the impact we leave behind.
Some years pass unnoticed, slipping quietly into memory, while others stretch painfully long, where days feel like weeks, weeks like months, and months like years. Joyful moments, as the old saying goes, “fly swiftly, while sorrowful ones linger heavily”. True courage lies not in avoiding hardship, but in surviving the toughest days with patience and hope, and in believing that brighter days will eventually arrive.
The fullness of life is not determined by longevity. A person may live only forty years yet feel fulfilled because he has accomplished much in that short span. Another may reach eighty and still feel incomplete, burdened by tasks left undone. As I deliberate on my thirty-one years, I recognise that life is a continuous process of learning, redefining, reshuffling, and sometimes repeating. Each stage brings lessons, and the last three years, though difficult, have been the most meaningful and transformative.
Life changes quickly—bad days turn into good ones, and good ones into challenges again. What defines us is not the change itself, but how we endure it. I am reminded of the words of Imam Ali, who said that impatience in times of trial destroys a person, while patience sustains him. Three years ago, my brothers and I divided our property, and I chose to keep my mother with me. That decision meant rebuilding everything from scratch. It was not easy, but patience and prayer became my companions.
In those moments of struggle, I discovered the miraculous power of tahajjud—the midnight prayer. It invigorated me, gave me strength to fight sorrow, and opened paths I could not have imagined. To those who doubt miracles, I say: they do happen, but only to those who wait, work, pray, and persevere. Today, I stand on my own feet, blessed with stability and the amenities of life, grateful for the journey that brought me here.
It was during these years of rebuilding that I began writing for newspapers—a dream long cherished. Strangely, writing flowed easily in times of sadness but became difficult in moments of happiness. Perhaps sorrow sharpens thought and deepens expression, while joy disperses focus. Writing, I realised, is not merely an act of communication but a catharsis, a way of transforming pain into meaning. Sorrows, though unwelcome, are necessary; they refine us, repair our habits, and make us conscious and responsible.
Among the greatest lessons of these years has been the importance of family. Working and earning for them brings joy and peace. Responsibility, though heavy, ushers stability and balance. It transforms one into a responsible human being, shaping behaviour and thought. Life acquires dignity when lived for others, and family becomes the anchor that steadies us in turbulent times.
Friends, too, are indispensable. True friends are those who support us morally, who encourage us not to give up, who inspire us to aspire. With such companions, one never truly loses. Friendship is not about numbers but about depth—the presence of even a few genuine friends can illuminate the darkest paths.
Another lesson I have embraced is the value of reconciliation. Conflict and controversy weigh heavily on the heart, while reconciliation lightens the burden and brings peace. To mend broken ties is to earn hearts, and in doing so, one gains more than wealth or status. Reconciliation is not weakness; it is strength, for it requires humility, courage, and wisdom.
Life, I have realised, is not short; it is wasted. We squander hours and days in trivial pursuits, forgetting that disciplined and organised living can yield remarkable achievements. With discipline, one can accomplish enough in a lifetime to remain alive in memory long after death. Human beings, by nature, desire remembrance. They wish to live in the “good books” of others, to be remembered, to have an impact. The fear of evanescence—the fading into oblivion—drives us to create, to serve, to leave behind something lasting.
This fear, paradoxically, is also a source of light. It compels us to act, to strive for deeds that will outlive us. We want to be talked about, to have our presence felt even after our departure. This desire is not vanity but a natural human instinct, a yearning for continuity beyond mortality. It is what inspires poets to write, leaders to serve, and ordinary people to perform extraordinary acts.
As I celebrate my thirty-first birthday, I do so not merely with joy but with gratitude. Gratitude for the lessons learned, for the sorrows endured, for the responsibilities shouldered, and for the friendships cherished. Life has taught me that patience is strength, prayer is power, family is peace, friends are inspiration, reconciliation is wisdom, discipline is achievement, and remembrance is immortality.
The journey of thirty-one years has been one of trials and triumphs, of losses and gains, of endings and beginnings. It has been a journey of becoming—not yet complete, but meaningful. And as I step into the future, I carry with me the conviction that life is not about counting years but about making years count.
The writer is a teacher and columnist
az*********@***il.com