36 Years Later, I Finally Turned the Camera Around

It’s been 30 years since I celebrated my birthday with my dad.

And 19 years since I was in my homeland, where I was born, to do it.

For most of my adult life, my birthday has been a kind of emotional layover—always somewhere new, always with amazing people, but always… in transit.

When I was 8, it was in my grandma’s backyard with my childhood crew from Pendik and Zühtü Paşa.

16? In a basement in New Rochelle with girlfriend Mandi and the whole squad.

21? Tampa, surrounded by my girls signing a giant cardboard “21” because subtlety isn’t our thing.

25? A roaring 1920s dinner party where flapper dresses met champagne spills.

At 28, I flew to Bali, literally spending the entire day traveling just to be away.

30? With my new roommate Becky, two weeks after I moved to LA—my moving truck pulled in on the day.

33? A casual picnic on the Santa Monica beach with the girls.

34? Under the Milky Way in Hawaii on my friend Nikole’s roof.

Last year? Italy—with my partner. A turning point. The first time I wasn’t a party of one, but part of something shared. And it meant more than I ever expected.

And this year… this year I came home.

To the place where it all began. With the people who were there before all the birthdays, all the flights, all the versions of me.

I’m beyond grateful for every friend who’s helped me feel held over the years.

But now that I’m older, maybe wiser, maybe just a little more sentimental… I keep thinking:

Why do we stop celebrating our birthdays with our family—the people who’ve celebrated us since the day we were born?

There’s something beautiful in coming full circle.

Something grounding. Something you don’t really realize until you’re standing in the place you started, looking around, and realizing—“Oh. This is what I was always looking for.”

So 36 years later, I finally turned the camera around—Not just to capture the moment, but to honor the people who helped me get here.

Because the real gift? Is seeing who’s still in the frame with you…long after the candles go out.