Birthdays. From my classmates to my friends and to my family, everyone wishes me a happy one. My enthusiasm on celebrating my own birthday was gone long time ago. It’s not that I hate it, exactly, but I just don’t see the need to make a big fuss about it annually. Unfortunately, my birthday coincide with the start of the Christmas season, too, so everyone is too busy to give a damn time on my special day.
Most of all, though, the reason I no longer look forward to my birthdays as much as I once did is because we no longer have that huge amount of money back when my mom still working overseas and also I’m missing a key person to celebrate with me—dada (that’s what I call my father). My birthdays just haven’t been the same since.
My mudra (that’s what I call my mom), of course, always wishes me a happy birthday. But that was it. But seriously I am very fine with that—greet me, give me a birthday cake, and cook spaghetti for me. I defined the word exciting for you.
Many years ago, as a child, I had this feeling that my birthdays should always be magical, but carrying that expectation into adulthood often leads to disappointment which leads to sadness. Because I’m that person who tends to focus on what things “should be” rather than “what is”. As I got older, I can feel it that my birthday celebration started to fizzle out. Honestly, I felt neglected and unloved.
Of course, as we age, it seems that there should be changes in terms of how we feel on our birthdays. I am talking about that certain need to feel significant and to be acknowledge by loved ones.
To tell you, I have been anxious for days of planning some treats for myself, because nobody would do that for me; like buying myself a present or going to places I have made memories with the people I treasured the most.
But here I go again, finding people who would accompany me to celebrate my day. Looking forward on seven more days in dealing with underlying feelings of grief, frustration, sadness, and low self-esteem.