The morning was quiet,
and I moved softly through it 
preparing everything on my own
while the world still slept.

Mum’s voice drifted from her dreams,
soft and familiar 
a birthday wish wrapped in warmth.
Dad’s message came like a steady hand:
“Take care, control yourself well.”
It sounded like love, disguised as guidance.

Outside,
the city stirred awake.
The uncle on the bus shifted away,
the lady on the bridge stepped aside 
yet somehow,
I felt surrounded by space to breathe.

Messages bloomed like morning flowers 
from Aunty Irene,
from 煦暖曆 with words like sunlight,
and from friends who remembered.
Si Rong offered me a biscuit —
simple, but sweet,
a quiet symbol of care.

Maybe birthdays aren’t about noise,
but about noticing 
how even a quiet day
can hold its own kind of love.