Wherever you are right now, whatever is the hour of the day in your blessed country, if the clock has struck 12:00 and it shows April 11th in your calendar, then you might celebrate just a little bit for me.
Yep, it’s my birthday. Surprisingly, I survive another year of my tempestuous life. I turn 19 today, and you might be guessing that I’m popping champagne or having a gala luxury dinner with VIP Guests from all over the world or Beyonce is coming straight from the US to perform on the occasion, then let me assure you, I’m doing none of that.
In fact, your introvert blogger has no special plans for tomorrow. At least not yet. I might go out for pizza or something.
Although, one thing IS happening as I sit in my chair tapping in the middle of the night, I’m freaking out-just like every year. It’s surreal and it is not happening, I keep telling myself. I’m growing up too fast and too soon and it’s just an year when the spooky digit ‘2’ will be attached to my age. Oh My God. I’m dying here.
I don’t want to grow up, not this fast. I know most of the teenagers of my age want to grow up quick and be INDEPENDENT and all, but maybe I’m an exception.
My phone is ringing continuously and I don’t feel like picking up anyone’s call tonight. Birthdays have never been very mannered to me. I mean I’ve never really been very happy with the kind of ‘celebration’ I have. I mean please don’t think of me as some ungrateful little sh*t, I do get happy, but just physically.
I’ve never been, like really happy and peaceful. Everything is about how big a party you can throw and what you’re wearing and how you look and how expensive the restaurant is, even though I’ve tried all this the past few years, I’ve never truly felt happy. Like something was always missing.
Too many times I realised myself quietly sitting on a chair and watching all the people having a great time. Clicking pictures that seem to have no end, deciding which is the best filter, uploading it instantly, gorging down on food and then leaving. It’s all good, really. I have no problem, but I don’t like these kind of celebrations. The ones that have no real emotions behind it.
I covet nice peaceful dinners or lunch with meaningful conversations and no pressure. The kind of evenings that make you feel that these people are glad that you’re here. They feel fortunate having spent a vital part of their lives with you and look forward to many more years to come.
You see everything is about pomp these days. The party should be MAGNIFICENT. The food should be SCRUMPTIOUS. The hotel should be SUMPTUOUS. The dress should be BREATH-TAKING. People are so engrossed in making everything HUGE that they forget about the little things. Little things that are so much more important. Details, they forget about the details. It’s exhausting.
I think it’s the birthday binge that’s making me type this much. I’m sorry for making this a sulky birthday post, had to get it out somehow.
Anyway, besides all the above ranting, I’m glad I’m 19 and I hope life would be good to me this year.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!
I better pick up my phone now.