a random blurb about my birthday
published: , updated:
yes, I know, it should be age >= 28
Birthdays. It seems silly after a certain point, though what that point is, I never seem to know. It is like after some age, some n number of birthdays, it gets to the point where you'd rather dwindle the excitement and celebrations down. Maybe it all is a part of growing up, realising that you are the only one who gives a shit worth two pennies about anything, including yourself, and expecting everyone to get all excited for your birthday is asking too much, and downright silly.
It's not like I want to hide my birthday, remove it from every website I have signed up into, delete my Facebook profile for those 24hours. Quite the contrary, I don't mind people knowing my birthday. Heck, it's on the wall calendar where I work. So I definitely am not anti-birthday by that measure. And I'm not in the birthdays==celebrations camp either. I'm in the middle, I guess. And I don't quite know what that means.
Did I expect something to happen? Yes. Were those expectations unjustified, or exaggerated, or extravagant? No. Did those things happen? Some did, most didn't. What were they? Too personal.
On one hand, you can count on things like your parents wishing you two days in advance, and then keeping the wishes right up to thrice on the birthday itself. Your grandma chips in, so does your aunt, and every relative you are still talking to. Friends from somewhere crop out, unexpected, and wish in the concisest greeting ever invented. Some close ones forget, but you rationalise that it's okay, you won't be mad at them, you won't hold a grudge, and they call a day or two later, so you don't. Then there's people who you're friends with, and they wish, and it makes you smile. There's no balloons and chocolates and cakes waiting for you though. You've outgrown them. Or so you console yourself. It doesn't work sometimes. But it gets easier with each passing year.