I hate my birthday.
Birthdays are often perceived as joyous occasions, filled with celebration, gifts and the company of loved ones. However, not everyone embraces their special day, the big whatever, with such enthusiasm. In my case, I find myself hoping that the day can pass as soon as humanly possible. People message you a “happy birthday” and then never speak to you again, and it’s funny because for a second it makes you think they care.
It’s not that I don’t like my birthday, because I used to. Maybe it’s the fact that as you grow up, it doesn’t feel like a special day anymore, but it is, or at least it should be. And that’s what they don’t tell you about birthdays, it’s your day, but it’s not really your day. After all, you didn’t even choose it.
Society has romanticized birthdays, but what happens if the day just doesn’t live up to what you were hoping for? The societal emphasis on extravagant birthday celebrations can inadvertently contribute to feelings of isolation and loneliness. The pressure to conform to these societal expectations can lead to a sense of dread and disappointment when the day falls short of the imagined perfection. After all, who’s gonna party plan for the party planner friend?
As the candles on the birthday cake increase in number, or I guess birthday cupcake since I haven’t had a birthday cake in years, so can the fear of growing up. Rather than symbolizing personal growth and wisdom, it’s a stark reminder about the unknown future.
I don’t actually hate my birthday though. I just hate everything my birthday reminds me of.
It’s a reminder that I’m growing up and getting older. Older, and supposedly wiser, but I’ve still got no idea what I want to do with my life. It’s a reminder that people who I constantly think about will forget to text me, even though snapchat gives them a reminder. Maybe they just didn’t see it, maybe they just didn’t care. It’s a reminder that I’d rather have a small circle of friends to be with than throw an extravagant party, or maybe that’s what I convinced myself to think because I never had enough friends to throw an extravagant party in the first place. It’s a reminder that I’ll probably have a cupcake again, because inflation, yk. It’s a reminder that I’m not just 19, I’m also 18 and 16 and 13 and 10 and 5, and 3, and even 1.
A reminder that at the end of the day, the only person who will always be there for me is myself (and my supportive friends of course)
Anyways, if your birthday is coming up and you have no one to celebrate with, let me know and I would be more than happy to come celebrate with you.
And if you’ve never read the story “Eleven” by Sandra Cisneros, I highly recommend it because it explains how I’m feeling much better than I ever could. https://academyolmc.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2020/09/eleven.sandra.cisneros.pdf