Why I Hate My Birthday

I chose the picture above as the little girl blowing the candle on her birthday cake (or muffin?) looked just like me when I was younger. Waaaaaayyy younger. Make that waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay younger.

The difference being that, since my birthday is at the end of the year, and coincides with the school holidays, I never had the privilage of having friends celebrate my birthday party. My parents made sure that I never was deprived of a birthday cake though, but this is not the point. This desperateness for my birthday to be acknowledged continued until high school.

So I got admitted into a boarding school. Big deal, since my birthday still fell on a holiday anyway. So where some kids got chased around, pelted with eggs and shrieking with laughter, I'd usually spend my birthday, again, with my family. Not that I'm not thankful, I love you mom, dad, sis, bro, but we're talking about a teenager here, and peer acknowledgment ranked high in our list that time.

Even when my birthday was not on a holiday week, I was still made to feel like crap. I managed to get myself included in a posse of friends during the last years of school (half hearted yippee here). I mean, I wasn't really popular for the right kind of reasons, you know? People knew me very well back then, but for things I won't even mention here. Sure, I was in the debate club representing the school and winning things, sure I got pretty decent scores in Mathematics and excelled in English, but well known is not always synonymous with popular, you know?

So back to my high school day when I turned sixteen. It was an accepted fact that the birthday girls would always be called to one of the floors and be pelted with really gross things, but the night would end in laughter and the day after we'd all go out to eat.

Not on my birthday. I should've expected it. No one even wished me a happy birthday. Considering this was a boarding school with 300 and more girls, it was pretty disheartening to wander around school on your birthday with high expectations of at least someone remembering your birthday. And may I remind you, these were the last years of school. And I was quite... well known.

But noooo... I shrugged it off, telling myself that this is one of their "surprise party tactics". They won't forget my birthday, no, not MY posse. We were supposed to be thick as thieves.

Turns out they did remember. I was invited to the topmost floor of the dormitory building. My heart fluttered with renewed hope. I knew my posse won't let me down. I climbed the stairs with a little bit of a skip. I forgot to mention that yes, I did cry before that, alone on one of the more secluded stairs, having lost all hope on humanity.

I was so naive.

What awaited me was not a concoction of eggs, floor and curry powder. Instead, I faced an execution. My dignity ripped to pieces. Accusations flew. I was blamed for being morose and solitary. I was called a snob, a man hater. I waited it out, thinking this was another one of their games. After half an hour of torture, I fled the scene, tears flooding the dam barrier of my sanity. I forgot where I went to that night, but I hid in some corner where no one could find me and cried my eyes out, accompanied by a stray cat that had taken a liking to me. She wasn't really a friendly type of cat, but that night she let me hug her as I sobbed deeply into her fur.

I overcame my birthday phobia as I transcended into Uni world. I had adopted a tough girl persona then, and had vowed to not get close to anyone, ever. I was not going to have my heart broken, ever again. I don't need friends, I kept telling to myself.

I wasn't very good at being true to my word. I ended up being close to a few people, adhering to their moral codes, wanting to be like them. I idolized these people. I celebrated and planned their birthday parties with gusto. Then it happened again. My birthday fell on a holiday month. I was studying overseas then, and had my birthday at home. My parents must've thought that I was old enough, so they didn't arrange for any cakes that year.

We live in a world of technology. There are handphones that could be used to send text messages across the continents, what more within the same country. But no birthday wishes.

I returned to my boarding place overseas. Still no birthday wish. I felt like I'd be asking too much for a birthday party. So I planned my own belated party, I asked these people who I called friends to a dinner. Nothing grand, but I did reserve tables and things. The manager of the diner was a friend of mine and I managed to secure discounts for the people who'd attend my bash.

Excuses were made and only a handful came that night. My birthday presents for that night consisted of: nail polish, jigsaw puzzle, and a key chain if I'm not mistaken. I cried the whole month of November. It was in mid December when I finally received a "minute" teddy bear from these so called friends. That was it. I wasn't too keen on dolls and girly things back then. So you could imagine how insulted I was to receive nail polish and a teddy bear at that time.

Then a few months (or was it weeks?) later, that the MAJOR BETRAYAL happened. I seriously lost faith in humanity. Until now.

So forgive me if November gives me the blues, it's not just year end depression. I'm sorry that I'm a bit of a bitch when it is this time of year, and my birthday creeps near. I apologize for not being overly ecstatic over your new dress, new hairdo, new boyfriend nearing the month of November.

Because I hate it.