There was a time when a specific day was the most exciting and best day of the year. We used to look forward to that day and even stay up till midnight for it to begin. The day was usually planned flawlessly from what to wear to what to do; it was planned to the last dot. All we had to do was celebrate that day and feel bad the day after, for you had a whole year to wait for it to happen again. Yes, birthdays. How different was the experience of birthdays during our study years. Cut to the chase today (say 10-20 years into adulthood), birthdays are the most dreaded day of the year.
P.S: If you are not the kind who feels the same, I suggest you discontinue reading because what follows are all rantings by a disgruntled woman. Unless you are into it, then let’s continue.
I dread birthdays. I despise them today. I don’t like the spotlight to be on me (except if I was on a stage, which never happens). There’s this innate need to feel your best on your birthday. People expect you to have a ball. You should have a plan with a busy agenda. You should have a ‘special day’ because the norm says so. Urgh! The pressure is just too much! I don’t want any of those. All I want is to put my feet up and have a cup of tea, like every other day. Why can’t a person just do that on their birthdays?
I don’t exactly remember when I started developing an aversion to my birthdays. Probably, when I was approaching my 30. ‘An overrated pressure zone – 30’. But, I realized that once you cross it, age acceptance is easy-peasy and you acquire confidence to not give a shit about things that displease you. What started off as an act to avoid work calls, by switching off my phone on my birthday, turned out to be a cool process for my birthdays going forward- becoming antisocial. Not proud of it but somehow it was my way of dealing with the dreaded day. I do feel bad about not letting my close friends reach me on that particular day (which is why my phone would be kept on). But, no matter how much we try, some days, the mind is just not under our control. While I love them all, I love myself a little less on my birthday.
The creepiest thing I find about birthdays is how some people expose their birthdays on social media, just so everybody wishes them. It’s like, ‘Hey it’s my birthday. Would you care to wish me?’ An abominable act! I mean, what is wrong with you all?
Don’t get me wrong though. I enjoy birthdays as long as it’s not mine. Planning and celebrating another person’s day is pure fun. I would love that and the cake too! But, when I have to be the first person to cut it, it’s overwhelming! To think how I used to love my birthday when I was young is so painfully funny. No wonder they say, ‘Young and stupid.’
Is there a remedy for this condition that I’ve termed as ‘BDS’ – Birthday Distress Syndrome? Well, I guess deep breaths might help. Or, screaming into your pillow. I realized there is nothing much to do from my end apart from feigning excitement for the day. Pretence helps, I suppose. Maybe if we all as a community decide to not put pressure on the birthday person it could alleviate BDS. For example, celebrating a day or a week after the birth date should help. Maybe just text, not call on their birthday should ease the pain, or even better, let’s just pretend the day doesn’t exist just like how we pretend our problems don’t. But, hey, I am practicing positivity so maybe I won’t feel this way about birthdays when I cross 40. For all you know, I might become a person who will throw a grand-ass birthday party for myself. We’ll never know. Let’s wait and watch. Until then, this day shall be dreaded.
Signing off,
BDS…approaching.
