I think birthdays are the best reflection of a person's social circle. For one out of 365 days, the world revolves around you. You're showered with greetings, gifts and surprises - and under those intricacies the unspoken yardstick of your social network. You can always tell how popular you are among your peers by the magnitude of celebration. You can know, at a point of your life, who are your closer friends by the effort undertaken to spring your surprise party, or just post a simple wish on facebook.
I tried to not make a big deal out of my birthday. I tried not to mentally single out the date. I tried not to be excited. I tried not to ponder on every possible way my birthday surprise might take form. I tried not to telepathically announce it to everyone I met. I tried not to judge them if they hadn't wish me. Because almost every year, I got dissappointed. Served me right. The more you hope, the more disappointment you would get.
I had a friend who does all these things every year, and more: his announcement is made verbally and electrically (he posted it on facebook). His actions tranlate to raw desperation: a desperate need of attention, friends and maybe to feel important once in a year. I was once obsessed with those needs too. Thankfully, this teenage obsession had ceased now. I began to accept the fact that I am a social wet blanket - always a friend's friend, a acquaintance, a what's-her-name. But there were times when a thin strand of longing would crept through my mind, times like birthdays, when I would always wonder if things would turn out differently had I been more sociable. Perhaps I would have a proper celebration with a cake, a sumptuous dinner at a restaurant, or a pleasant outing by the lake, with or without the surprise element.
I have a mental image that one day I would become an old maid who was invited over to other people's birthday party on her own birthday, because they didn't realize it was hers as well, and they felt sorry for her.
I tried to not make a big deal out of my birthday. I tried not to mentally single out the date. I tried not to be excited. I tried not to ponder on every possible way my birthday surprise might take form. I tried not to telepathically announce it to everyone I met. I tried not to judge them if they hadn't wish me. Because almost every year, I got dissappointed. Served me right. The more you hope, the more disappointment you would get.
I had a friend who does all these things every year, and more: his announcement is made verbally and electrically (he posted it on facebook). His actions tranlate to raw desperation: a desperate need of attention, friends and maybe to feel important once in a year. I was once obsessed with those needs too. Thankfully, this teenage obsession had ceased now. I began to accept the fact that I am a social wet blanket - always a friend's friend, a acquaintance, a what's-her-name. But there were times when a thin strand of longing would crept through my mind, times like birthdays, when I would always wonder if things would turn out differently had I been more sociable. Perhaps I would have a proper celebration with a cake, a sumptuous dinner at a restaurant, or a pleasant outing by the lake, with or without the surprise element.
I have a mental image that one day I would become an old maid who was invited over to other people's birthday party on her own birthday, because they didn't realize it was hers as well, and they felt sorry for her.
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