To be accurate, I hate celebrating my birthday and I have held on to this strong emotion for as long as I can remember. Where, I ask you, lies the meaning where I am supposed to throw a party for my friends or people I know? Shouldn’t they be throwing a party for me, I mean, they are the ones who (hopefully) are happy that I was ever born because I surely didn’t have any say in it at all. Or the fact, that there is only one day in a year where custom demands that you be remembered or showered with gifts because on other days you clearly aren’t yourself but perhaps a worm that turns into a butterfly only when you turn a year older.
Frivolous, hypocritical and an utter waste of resources that science keeps reminding us we are dangerously in short of.
If I was at work, I would have to politely thank people, who know nothing about me. And then the day would have followed with the mind-numbing work mixed with the customary chaos leaving you drained, both mentally and physically.
Glad, I took a leave and…
- Planned a trip to some exotic place
- Decided to go on a road trip with friends
- Stayed at home, read a book and made plans to meet few friends (and clearly the winner)
Since there was no running away from time, I was all prepared to let the tide wash all over. And drenched to the bones with eyes wide open, I was in mood to finally celebrate, but a little different
— by thanking, thanking people for…
- Accepting me the way I am
- For making birthdays bearable
- Making my 364 days a lot more happier than I could have ever done on my own
I didn’t sleep that well, thanks to the calls from my friends and family that made my phone work overtime right from midnight. Grand mom who usually dozes off at 10 was the first one to call at 11:59 and then there was my friend who spoke to me for 10 minutes telling me how much I mean to her; even though I was half asleep, I could help but smile.
The power of words, beautiful isn’t it?
Contrary to my habits, I had forgotten to keep aside what I wanted to wear for the day. As I tied my hair in a messy bun and postponed the idea of brushing my teeth, I rummaged through the closet to see what options I had.
I turned around to see my silly-stupid-donkey friend, looking all pretty and holding a bag that I knew had to have a cake. “Oh my gosh!!! Are you serious?” followed by hugs and “what are you doing” questions; meaningless for I knew the answer — she was here for me.
Then there was the pasta-chilli-cheese for lunch that I had with my love at my sister’s apartment and a two-hour lounge at another friends’ place which was followed by a call from a friend who lives in Australia.
I am still not a fan of birthdays, but this year was perfect — the sun didn’t go down with me feeling lonely and disappointed over the calls that didn’t come or the plans that didn’t see the light of the day.
“That’s what I want to do for my birthday, you know,” he said as we finished the delicious pasta-chilli that he had made. “Simple yet a perfect celebration with people that matter..”
I couldn’t agree more.