Birthdays are the most important days of the year. When people don't get into their birthdays the way I do, I respect it, but I still put the effort into making them feel special. Here's why: BECAUSE IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY, DUMBY. It's the day you were born; the day you started existing, becoming a person with a future and a chance to be a part of whatever this is. It's the day your mom did something incredible. It's the day the people around you were given a new reason to love.
I make a big deal about my birthday. On the first day of May, birthday month strikes. The anticipation builds and builds, and the twelve days leading up to my birthday are more exciting than popping the cardboard doors on an advent calendar. I do special things for myself everyday, even if it just means napping. Then, at 11:59 on May 12, my eyes are glued to the nearest clock, and I count the seconds into my own international holiday.
On my birthday, the first thing I (try) to do is call my mom to say thank you. Then I do whatever I want, eat the yummiest things, see everyone I love, all while wearing a special, new dress. I end the night by partying like Cinderella, loving every moment, knowing that the clock will strike midnight eventually, and the magic will dissipate.
My mother is the reason I love birthdays so much. She is the queen of birthday parties; each one had a theme, homemade foods, and she came up with unique games for us to play. The luau themed one was great, and my mom went so far as to make a pig shaped ice cream cake, which gave my eight year old friend, Ben, the opportunity to ask "Can I have more pig butt, please?". Classic.
My favorite birthday party, though, was the best and the worst party all at once. For my thirteenth birthday, my golden birthday, which fell on a Friday, my mom asked me what I wanted to do. Because I had finally become too cool for school, I described a low key night of going to get pizza with some friends and then a sleepover at our home. She said, "Okay, just give me a list of the people you want to invite, so I can make a reservation." Just give her a list of names, she said. Little did I know, that was the key to the best/worst birthday ever. I then went around school, asking my friends if they wanted to join me for my birthday festivities. All of them, except for my best friend, said no. They said they had other plans, or they just couldn't, or practice, or blah blah blah. So, feeling rejected, my mother and I went to the restaurant to meet with my friend and her mom to have a small get together. When we entered the dining room, there were all of my friends that had turned me down for my birthday party, screaming, "SURPRISE!". My mom had individually called my friends and convinced them to turn me down, with the intention of creating a sort of surprise party. It was awesome, but man, that week leading up to it sucked. But it was awesome.
Your birthday is special, because it is yours. To be so small in this giant world, knowing that what you leave behind could be everything and nothing all at once, and that we were put on this planet not deserving anything-- it's true, I don't believe we deserve anything...except our birthdays.
PS: thanks, Mom.
PPS: I finally made it to a Yayoi Kusmama exhibit and experienced eight, count 'em, EIGHT infinity rooms. I cried.