When I woke up on my 24th birthday, I thought I’d feel 24. But I didn’t. I felt exactly like I did the day before. My room looked the same, my thoughts hadn’t suddenly matured overnight, and if someone asked me, “How does it feel to be 24?” I wouldn’t have had a real answer.
Because the truth is, I’m not just 24. I’m still 23. I’m still 21. I’m still 18, and 11, and 8, and 1. Every year I’ve lived isn’t something I leave behind—it stays with me, layering over itself like an onion, each year wrapped inside the next.
See, I might say something reckless, and that’s the part of me that’s still 16. I might hesitate to trust myself, and that’s the 20-year-old in me who second-guessed everything. Some days, for no reason at all, I feel like crying, and that’s the 1-year-old in me, who still doesn’t know how to explain the weight of emotions.
Birthdays are funny that way. We expect them to mark a transformation, a clear distinction between who we were and who we are. But really, they’re just reminders that we’re all the people we’ve ever been, stacked together inside the number we now wear.
Growing older isn’t about shedding our past selves—it’s about carrying them with us. The 8-year-old who loved cartoons, the 18-year-old who felt invincible, the 22-year-old who feared the unknown—they all exist within me. And maybe that’s why no birthday ever truly feels different. Because while we welcome a new number, we never really say goodbye to the ones that came before.
I think back to when I was 11, desperately wanting to be a teenager. Then at 16, I thought adulthood would bring me all the confidence in the world. At 18, I imagined 21 would be the age when everything finally made sense. But now, standing at 24, I realize something—no age has ever felt exactly like I expected it to. We don’t wake up one morning and suddenly become wiser, stronger, or more put together. Growth is gradual, and birthdays are just markers on an ongoing journey.
Sometimes, I still feel like the awkward 13-year-old who doesn’t quite fit in. Other times, I carry the exhaustion of 22-year-old me, who was learning how to navigate uncertainty. And there are moments when I surprise myself with confidence I didn’t know I had—perhaps a gift from the boldness of 19-year-old me.
And so, as I celebrate another year, I remind myself: I am not just 24. I am a collection of every version of myself that has ever existed. Each past self has something to teach me, something to remind me of. And in the same way, the 25-year-old me, the 30-year-old me, and all the future versions of myself are already waiting to be shaped by who I am today.
So here’s to turning 24. And 23. And 21. And 18, 11, 8, and 1. Here’s to all the years inside of me, all the versions of myself that still speak up, still shape who I am, and still remind me that growing older doesn’t mean leaving yourself behind—it means carrying yourself forward.
Felicia Yoan is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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