A Day Alive, Is A Day Celebrated
After several fruitful years of comfortable living (for which I'm truly grateful), it dawns on me, "Why do we have just one day (which sticks out like a sore thumb), to celebrate our being? I'm a late-riser when it comes to life; I take my time to absorb and realize things, however lame they may seem. And I take even more time questioning customs that we follow blindly, just because somebody decides to blow a few candles mounted on a cake?
I would qualify as a hypocrite had I said I didn't enjoy celebrating birthdays; it transforms into that fairytale moment—even if I would desire for the stars, it would be granted. However, not so much of a fairytale as yesteryear—there's a lot more weighing on us now. The excitement and mystery element associated seemed to have worn off. Most of us like to keep it hush-hush, and resort to spending this occasion with family and real close friends, not a person more, not a person less.
Growing up, birthdays meant tons of gifts, oodles of soulful munchies, a hell lot of friends and family clamped up under one roof, and a whole lot of fun and games. I looked forward to birthdays, just as much as I looked forward to celebrating Christmas. These two festive occasions seemed like the most important and crucial social events of every season. I recall having shooed away most friends who arrived carrying big, colorful gifts just so I could open them and take a peek. I would disappear for minutes, huddled up in a dark corner of the room—I didn't want nobody spying on me, heck! If I like it . . . awesome! I would most certainly flash that blinding smile, if not, I would be the last person you'd ever want to bump into!
Attending school (which I didn't quite like), on your birthday was like a jailbreak—you get to play god for a day! Well, almost. I realized that this was the day when the meanest of the mean (who would on any ordinary day look the other way), wouldn't mind being seen around you. They seemed too willing, and they quite enjoyed the attention and the feeling of a VIP when accompanying the birthday girl/boy . There were few who truly wanted to assist you, there were others who found it a valid measure of politely excusing themselves from class; I was no different either.
On our birthdays, and this was customary—we got to wear color dress (no uniforms), we get to go to all departments to distribute sweets, and everybody is at their best behavior; even if you wanted to, you would be unable to piece out the wolf from the sheep. This was the day, I felt the world was at my feet, eagerly waiting to take orders, careful not to sadden or annoy me. Sounds a little naive, isn't it? It does to me now.
What I do not make sense of: Why celebrate our life of existence only once a year? Each day is new and vibrant and mysterious. Take it as it comes. Be grateful. Embrace Embrace it! Celebrate!
The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.
Oprah Winfrey
I would qualify as a hypocrite had I said I didn't enjoy celebrating birthdays; it transforms into that fairytale moment—even if I would desire for the stars, it would be granted. However, not so much of a fairytale as yesteryear—there's a lot more weighing on us now. The excitement and mystery element associated seemed to have worn off. Most of us like to keep it hush-hush, and resort to spending this occasion with family and real close friends, not a person more, not a person less.
Growing up, birthdays meant tons of gifts, oodles of soulful munchies, a hell lot of friends and family clamped up under one roof, and a whole lot of fun and games. I looked forward to birthdays, just as much as I looked forward to celebrating Christmas. These two festive occasions seemed like the most important and crucial social events of every season. I recall having shooed away most friends who arrived carrying big, colorful gifts just so I could open them and take a peek. I would disappear for minutes, huddled up in a dark corner of the room—I didn't want nobody spying on me, heck! If I like it . . . awesome! I would most certainly flash that blinding smile, if not, I would be the last person you'd ever want to bump into!
Attending school (which I didn't quite like), on your birthday was like a jailbreak—you get to play god for a day! Well, almost. I realized that this was the day when the meanest of the mean (who would on any ordinary day look the other way), wouldn't mind being seen around you. They seemed too willing, and they quite enjoyed the attention and the feeling of a VIP when accompanying the birthday girl/boy . There were few who truly wanted to assist you, there were others who found it a valid measure of politely excusing themselves from class; I was no different either.
On our birthdays, and this was customary—we got to wear color dress (no uniforms), we get to go to all departments to distribute sweets, and everybody is at their best behavior; even if you wanted to, you would be unable to piece out the wolf from the sheep. This was the day, I felt the world was at my feet, eagerly waiting to take orders, careful not to sadden or annoy me. Sounds a little naive, isn't it? It does to me now.
What I do not make sense of: Why celebrate our life of existence only once a year? Each day is new and vibrant and mysterious. Take it as it comes. Be grateful. Embrace Embrace it! Celebrate!
Oprah Winfrey
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