Burning Beneath

I was recently asked to write down a significant date from my life. Just one. A date that stands out—marked in memory, etched with meaning. At first, I thought this would be easy. After all, I’ve lived through moments that society would label as important: my wedding, the birth of my children, my university graduation, even my immigration journey. But strangely enough, when I sat with the question, my mind went blank. Not a single date came to the surface with that weight of significance.

It’s not that I haven’t lived through milestones. I was born in June—a month I actually love. It holds beauty for me, maybe because it’s also when my oldest son was born, a soul I adore with every piece of me. Yet, even that didn’t jump out as “the date” I would write down. I was married in 2003. My children were born in 2004, 2006, 2011, and 2012. I graduated with an engineering degree in 1997, the first in my family to go to university. That should have felt huge. Later, I graduated again in 2016 and 2019. I even migrated to Canada in 2013—a massive life shift. I’ve been through love, loss, achievement, and heartbreak. I got divorced in 2019. Still, none of these dates stood out to me as the significant one.

And maybe that’s what struck me most.

It’s not that these moments weren’t important. They were. I’m proud of many of them. Some were hard. Some changed everything. But when I’m asked to pinpoint a date that defines something—anything—I come up empty. I don’t feel the emotional attachment to dates the way others might. Not even my birthday. Especially not my birthday. Because I know what happened around it: my father divorced my mother when I was born. I don’t carry that as a burden, but I also don’t carry my birth as a celebrated moment either. It just was.

That made me wonder: what even makes a date significant? Is it about the emotional impact—joy or trauma—or the depth of its imprint on our lives? Is it about what we gain or lose? Is it about pride or pain? Or is it something else entirely?

Maybe significance isn’t in the date itself but in how it changes us, shakes us, or shapes us. Maybe it’s not even about memory, but about meaning. Some people remember dates because they were so painful they can’t forget. Others remember because something beautiful happened that changed their path forever. For me, dates feel like moments in a flowing river. Some made waves. Some were calm. But the river kept moving. So did I.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t name just one date. Maybe no single day has ever defined me. Maybe I define my story, and the calendar just watches from a distance.

So I ask you—how do you define a significant date? Is it the moment your life split in two? Is it when you became someone new? Or is it something quieter—a whisper of a shift that no one noticed but you?

Maybe the question itself needs to change. Maybe instead of asking what date is significant, we should be asking: Whydoes this moment matter to me? What did it awaken in me that still lives on today?

Because in the end, significance isn’t about remembering a number on a calendar. It’s about remembering who we were… and who we became.