January 10th, 2004 – Tbilisi, Georgia
First, let me start by saying my actual birthday is January 11th. I was born just after midnight, yet someone—whether it was my mom or dad—decided to register me on January 10th. To this day, I don’t know why. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or maybe something else. You see, I was born in 1992, just as my country was transitioning out of the Soviet Union. Georgia had gained its independence, but it was a time of hunger, curfews, and instability.
My mother, after laboring for 17 hours, was beyond exhausted. My father wasn’t even allowed in the hospital due to curfews, and the conditions were harsh—no electricity, no hot showers. Even though my grandfather was still alive and our family was financially stable compared to many others, showing wealth during those times was frowned upon. Besides, hospitals everywhere had the same dire conditions unless you left the country to give birth. But more on that in another blog.
Back to the story. It’s my 12th birthday, and the country is still financially weak. My dad had been gone for about five years. He just left. And honestly? As painful as it was, I believe it was the best decision he ever made. But that’s a story for another time.
My mom, however, was a warrior. She hustled tirelessly, doing everything from cleaning and baking to selling candies and reselling clothes from Baku and Turkey. She worked as a sales rep for various companies, always giving her all. She wasn’t financially successful because of her overly kind and giving nature. That’s another story for later, too.
But on this particular birthday, my mom made magic happen. It was the only birthday I ever celebrated with friends, a big cake, gifts, and so much joy. For one day, I didn’t remember how meager our life was. She managed to make it special, perhaps knowing deep down that in a couple of months, she would have to leave us. In her case, she left for work to Greece for a better life for me and my brother , but that’s another blog topic.
That birthday was my happiest memory. After that, birthdays didn’t matter much, not until I met my husband. Right after my 12th Birthday I became a teenager with no parents present, taking care of my younger brother while living with a young aunt and my early-widowed grandmother. My grandma deserves her own story, as do all my family members.
I was raised by a strong, resilient grandmother and two loving, supportive aunts. They say an aunt smells like a mom, and it’s true. I’m blessed to have them in my life.
That birthday taught me something invaluable. It stamped in my heart the importance of cherishing the little things. It showed me that being in the moment, knowing you are loved and cared for, and sharing those feelings with others is the greatest gift.
So, I ask you—what is your favorite childhood memory, and why? Think about it. Hold it close. Those moments, no matter how small, have the power to shape who we are.