Arrrgghhh! Another day of the year I’m supposed to put on a happy face yeah and be all grateful right?
Well, I hate birthdays. And this is because for over 20 years of my life I’m yet to figure the purpose of celebrating it.
Why do we celebrate birthdays anyway? To show we are thankful to have lived another 365 days? For Christ sake, Lord in heavens knows that I am every freaking day. And the essence of the cake! For what exactly? I mean I could eat cake whenever I want dammit!
I always get jittery every freaking time it’s my birthday, so jittery that I almost didn’t want to put this shit up. Do you see how it messes with me? Like I wish the day could be erased off the calendar, I wish I could disappear from the earth just for the day so I don’t have to put on that cliche happy face while receiving your ‘well-wishes’.
Are you wondering why I hate birthdays? Birthdays are feigned. You can celebrate me any day of the year. The idea of wanting to be the first to wish me, composing beautiful notes which ideally you wouldn’t send me, receiving gifts from people who expect you to give back on their own big days, and those who wish you expecting you wish them back on their days too… the list is endless. What makes it a happy birthday at the end of the day?
I’m even bad at remembering birthdays. Rather I pretend to forget because I hate being fake. Don’t get me wrong, I acknowledge a few sincerely. But no matter how close you think we are, if I don’t feel it, I won’t wish you. And for all the times I sent a sorry text to have forgotten, I wasn’t sorry. We say what we need to say some times right?
Birthdays mess with me. It makes me wallow in a great degree of sober reflection without a second of comic relief. While I am out here reckoning my achievements for a whole freaking year, some dingbat keeps buzzing my phone, asking where the party at. Arrrghhhhh!