Gratitude in Sri Lanka
For many years, I never took the time to appreciate the day of my birth.
It’s 5 degrees in London but 28 degrees in Sri Lanka, and somehow, I still managed to catch a cold. I blame the plane and my immune system, but I’m grateful. The Ceylon Literary Festival invited me to Sri Lanka on my birthday, and I thought, why not?
On that note, for anyone aspiring to make an impact in their industry: I’ve never had a publishing deal, received any kind of awards for my writing, or been approved by any literary ‘authority.’ It used to bother me. But the more I stuck to writing sh*t people connect with, the more doors opened, and the more people I touched (pause) with my story. My work connects with people, and that’s the defining factor that opens doors. Even if nobody gives me a Nobel Peace Prize, it resonates with the streets and the people, and that’s all that matters. That’s something to celebrate.
For many years, I never took the time to appreciate the day of my birth. It was just another day—the grind continued. Yet, when I met my wife, she thought it was weird because she rejoiced every year and celebrated every minute of hers. I thought that was weird.
I didn’t mind making the day a big deal for her, but I never wanted a fuss over me. Yet, as you get older, you start to lose people, and you realize the next year is never guaranteed. When you have children, every year becomes a new milestone. Suddenly, those trips around the sun mean a lot.
I don’t need candles, cake, or an entire parade, but I’m grateful for another year of love. May Allah forgive me for the lessons I have not learned yet, and may He teach me new ones.
Thank you—not just for the birthday wishes, but for the love.
Live from Sri Lanka
From Babi (even when she’s not there, she is there).
Catch me in London this summer here:
