So. It's my birthday. Hurrah! :))
Birthdays have always been a big deal for/to me. When I was younger, I remember how my brothers and I would prepare a little something for our parents' birthdays: we'd fill the room with handmade birthday cards; we'd "make" birthday cakes; we'd buy birthday gifts. I think they were never surprised surprised but they pretended to be each and every time we call them into the room and shout "Surprise! Happy birthday!" with snot, watercolor and glue on our faces.
I always thought that a birthday -- your birthday -- should always, always be special. It doesn't matter if you have money or if you have gifts. I have always believed that it's the thought that count and birthdays will always matter if you get something -- anything -- other than a simple greeting.
Of course, life has always had its silly (and, sometimes, really annoying) ways to make you feel otherwise. Most of my birthdays have been rainy and that's quite ironic since I hate the rain. I have had birthdays wherein I was too sick to even care. I have had birthdays wherein the people whom I expected to make me happy forgot that it's my birthday. Yes, I have gone through birthdays wherein I had nothing but tears in my eyes (and not out of joy, mind you) and these were the times when I thought I had it wrong. That birthdays are not meant to be special, that they're just ordinary days made overrated.
But then I remember all the wonderful things that has happened during my birthday. I remember how my first rehearsal with my first (and only) theater company was on the same day as my birthday. I also remember how our first-ever team bonding (of the team in the company I work for right now, that is) was on the night of my birthday, too. I remember how my brothers bought me cake for my birthday although they didn't have that much money (I never figured out where the money came from, actually). I remember being really happy. I remember feeling loved.
Honestly, I don't know what to think of birthdays anymore. I now know that they can never be always special...maybe unless you want it to. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective. Maybe it's just a matter of choice.
The only sure thing I know about birthdays is that it's a mark, a sign that you are one year older. It shows that yet another year of blessings, frustrations, joy and laughter, sadness and tears, disappointments, triumphs, etc. has passed and you have survived. You have learned. You have grown.
With age comes maturity. Twenty-two years of living is not enough for me to acquire all the maturity I need to handle the problems I have and the ones I will have. There will always be hang-ups and fuck-ups that you'd need to deal with. But, just like my view on birthdays, I won't forget that each year is also filled with perfect moments wherein I felt happy and I felt loved.
I wonder what's in store for me at twenty-three. I feel excited. I feel scared.
I feel alive. :)
Birthdays have always been a big deal for/to me. When I was younger, I remember how my brothers and I would prepare a little something for our parents' birthdays: we'd fill the room with handmade birthday cards; we'd "make" birthday cakes; we'd buy birthday gifts. I think they were never surprised surprised but they pretended to be each and every time we call them into the room and shout "Surprise! Happy birthday!" with snot, watercolor and glue on our faces.
I always thought that a birthday -- your birthday -- should always, always be special. It doesn't matter if you have money or if you have gifts. I have always believed that it's the thought that count and birthdays will always matter if you get something -- anything -- other than a simple greeting.
Of course, life has always had its silly (and, sometimes, really annoying) ways to make you feel otherwise. Most of my birthdays have been rainy and that's quite ironic since I hate the rain. I have had birthdays wherein I was too sick to even care. I have had birthdays wherein the people whom I expected to make me happy forgot that it's my birthday. Yes, I have gone through birthdays wherein I had nothing but tears in my eyes (and not out of joy, mind you) and these were the times when I thought I had it wrong. That birthdays are not meant to be special, that they're just ordinary days made overrated.
But then I remember all the wonderful things that has happened during my birthday. I remember how my first rehearsal with my first (and only) theater company was on the same day as my birthday. I also remember how our first-ever team bonding (of the team in the company I work for right now, that is) was on the night of my birthday, too. I remember how my brothers bought me cake for my birthday although they didn't have that much money (I never figured out where the money came from, actually). I remember being really happy. I remember feeling loved.
Honestly, I don't know what to think of birthdays anymore. I now know that they can never be always special...maybe unless you want it to. Maybe it's just a matter of perspective. Maybe it's just a matter of choice.
The only sure thing I know about birthdays is that it's a mark, a sign that you are one year older. It shows that yet another year of blessings, frustrations, joy and laughter, sadness and tears, disappointments, triumphs, etc. has passed and you have survived. You have learned. You have grown.
With age comes maturity. Twenty-two years of living is not enough for me to acquire all the maturity I need to handle the problems I have and the ones I will have. There will always be hang-ups and fuck-ups that you'd need to deal with. But, just like my view on birthdays, I won't forget that each year is also filled with perfect moments wherein I felt happy and I felt loved.
I wonder what's in store for me at twenty-three. I feel excited. I feel scared.
I feel alive. :)
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