Every person carries a tradition within them - one that has stuck with them and left a mark. A tradition that is a memory, a tradition that colors our childhood and shapes who we are.
We all come from a home, and every home has its traditions.
In my home, there was one tradition among many that has stayed with me and guides me to this day— My mother’s birthdays tradition.
For as long as I can remember, birthdays in my house were significant events. The kind you prepare for a week in advance and continue celebrating for another week. The kind that truly celebrates who you are and were tailored just for you.
Birthday morning would start loudly with the song "Happy Birthday" by Eden band (not sure if they have any other songs), with the whole family dancing around you before you even opened your eyes. There were greetings (a MUST), a flower crown on your head, a gift basket, balloons, pictures, decorations and a cake chosen by the birthday’s celebrator - with a candle, of course.
It wasn’t expensive or over-the-top, but it always made my dreams come true and made me feel like the most important person in the world.
I caught the joy, and in return, it caught me. I became addicted to the colorful celebration with the songs, and especially to the feeling of happiness that filled the house on those days. Every such day felt like a once-in-a-lifetime event.
When my mother passed away, this tradition became my enemy. I didn’t see the point in celebrating, I just waited for the day to pass, everything turned black and white (without the white part) and the Eden band was banned from entering my home.
Over time, I realized that even though I no longer wanted to cling to joy, it refused to leave me.
I came to realise that the tradition was actually a will that my mother left me - to be joyful, celebrate and seizing life.
So here I am, thanks to my mom, dedicating myself entirely to your most precious moments, listening to your dreams and turning them into once-i
