A Very Merry Unbirthday
11.21.2015 Saturday
I suppose it was really quite inevitable. It's not as if it was some grand secret, kept locked away in large locked metal file cabinets whose single key is buried in the middle of the secluded forest.
Birthdays are much more exciting as a child.
In truth, I already knew this. For the past several years it seems that my birthday is a nice day, maybe even special in a certain sense, yet, I am always left feeling like something is missing. The wispy magic that once surrounded my birthday has faded as maturity and reality has set in. I expect that this, in part, is because I have celebrated my last three birthdays away from my family. Nonetheless, even in my teens, as the sun set marking the end of various birthdays, I was still left longing for something more.
I would never be delusional enough to utter that I've had a bad birthday; how far from the truth! Friends and family always find methods of making the day fun filled and of reminding me of how incredibly loved and blessed I am. So, why as the clock clicked closer and closer to midnight on the eve of my birthday did I already feel so... let down?
It would be foolish to say that I'm not at least slightly disappointed to have celebrated my 21st birthday (the last birthday of my youth which American society glamorizes and places special emphasis on) in a country where drinking is legal for all ages and 21 is just another year. Obviously, there is more to life than alcohol. But, I can't help but feel that I missed out on some sort of right of passage, on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And, to a certain degree, I did. I didn't go to the DMV to update my license. I didn't open gifts of shot glasses and flasks. I didn't put on makeup or get dressed up for a night out. I didn't wear a gaudy tiara or sash that declared to the whole world that it was my 21st. I didn't go to the bars with my friends and get free drinks all night. I didn't go to bed too late and wake up for class too early the next morning.
I'm not saying that I wish I would've gone out and drank till I was smashed.
However, it's hard not too feel left out and bummed out that I didn't celebrate in the typical American way. Even harder, I didn't celebrate with my friends and family.
Tuesday November 17, 2015 did not feel like my birthday.
I can't help but feel slightly ashamed for saying that, after everything that my Peruvian family and roommate did to make my day special. Besides giving me thoughtful presents, preparing food I love, and taking me out for dinner, they out-poured their love and good wishes for me with sweet words.
Even days before my birthday we began the celebration. Friday night we went dancing (perhaps more for Kelsey's birthday than mine, but, altogether, still quite the party). On Sunday, the whole congregation at church sang Happy Birthday to both Kelsey and I post-service and had us blow out the altar candles as we made a wish. After, at our Sunday lunch, the family bought us a Tres Leches cake. They sang us Happy Birthday yet again and told us to make another wish.
I didn't make a wish.
Either time.
With memories of Disney's Alice in Wonderland in the back of my mind, I couldn't help but wonder what it was that made my birthday so much of an unbirthday?
The well-wishes extended beyond my Peruvian family.
My students remembered my birthday. They sang for me, made signs, and one student, though it was the day after my birthday, brought me a gift: earrings. I didn't have the heart to tell him that my ears aren't pierced...
Friends and family back home sent warm and affectionate messages and made me feel loved from thousands of miles away. Though I couldn't spend the day with them, they did their best to make my day special.
And, I did have a special day. I did - no. I do feel loved. There is no question about it.
Why is it that society makes it seem that birthdays, especially 21st birthdays, must be extraordinary? Why I cannot be content with a better-than-average day for my 21st birthday, a day spent with people I love and who love me, I don't know.
It is ludicrous.
How selfish I feel! Though love and joy surrounded me, I was left yearning for something more.
I wouldn't go so far as to say that I was saddened due to a lack of attention. I'm human so, sure, sometimes I like being in the spotlight. Yet, it wasn't that. What I was missing, I am not entirely sure.
Is it really simple enough to say that I was homesick, that my birthday is merely not a birthday, when it is not spent with the ones I love most, my family?
Or, was it something more?
Maybe as we grow older, the sparkling magic, the charm that made our birthday better than any other day of the year, dims, but our memory of it does not. Maybe as years pass by, we, like Alice, have to leave Wonderland. But, we never have to forget it.
I am not ungrateful. I recognize the numerous blessings I received on my birthday. In the end, it's just another day on a wonderful journey. There's no need for it to be a life-altering, unforgettable day. Birthday or unbirthday, going to the bars or eating cake in our small apartment, celebrating with immediate family or celebrating with Peruvian family, I am blessed in more ways than I even realize.
Ciao!
"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"
- Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Cada dia es un dia especial.
I suppose it was really quite inevitable. It's not as if it was some grand secret, kept locked away in large locked metal file cabinets whose single key is buried in the middle of the secluded forest.
Birthdays are much more exciting as a child.
In truth, I already knew this. For the past several years it seems that my birthday is a nice day, maybe even special in a certain sense, yet, I am always left feeling like something is missing. The wispy magic that once surrounded my birthday has faded as maturity and reality has set in. I expect that this, in part, is because I have celebrated my last three birthdays away from my family. Nonetheless, even in my teens, as the sun set marking the end of various birthdays, I was still left longing for something more.
I would never be delusional enough to utter that I've had a bad birthday; how far from the truth! Friends and family always find methods of making the day fun filled and of reminding me of how incredibly loved and blessed I am. So, why as the clock clicked closer and closer to midnight on the eve of my birthday did I already feel so... let down?
It would be foolish to say that I'm not at least slightly disappointed to have celebrated my 21st birthday (the last birthday of my youth which American society glamorizes and places special emphasis on) in a country where drinking is legal for all ages and 21 is just another year. Obviously, there is more to life than alcohol. But, I can't help but feel that I missed out on some sort of right of passage, on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
And, to a certain degree, I did. I didn't go to the DMV to update my license. I didn't open gifts of shot glasses and flasks. I didn't put on makeup or get dressed up for a night out. I didn't wear a gaudy tiara or sash that declared to the whole world that it was my 21st. I didn't go to the bars with my friends and get free drinks all night. I didn't go to bed too late and wake up for class too early the next morning.
I'm not saying that I wish I would've gone out and drank till I was smashed.
However, it's hard not too feel left out and bummed out that I didn't celebrate in the typical American way. Even harder, I didn't celebrate with my friends and family.
Tuesday November 17, 2015 did not feel like my birthday.
I can't help but feel slightly ashamed for saying that, after everything that my Peruvian family and roommate did to make my day special. Besides giving me thoughtful presents, preparing food I love, and taking me out for dinner, they out-poured their love and good wishes for me with sweet words.
I didn't make a wish.
Either time.
The well-wishes extended beyond my Peruvian family.
My students remembered my birthday. They sang for me, made signs, and one student, though it was the day after my birthday, brought me a gift: earrings. I didn't have the heart to tell him that my ears aren't pierced...
And, I did have a special day. I did - no. I do feel loved. There is no question about it.
Why is it that society makes it seem that birthdays, especially 21st birthdays, must be extraordinary? Why I cannot be content with a better-than-average day for my 21st birthday, a day spent with people I love and who love me, I don't know.
It is ludicrous.
How selfish I feel! Though love and joy surrounded me, I was left yearning for something more.
I wouldn't go so far as to say that I was saddened due to a lack of attention. I'm human so, sure, sometimes I like being in the spotlight. Yet, it wasn't that. What I was missing, I am not entirely sure.
Is it really simple enough to say that I was homesick, that my birthday is merely not a birthday, when it is not spent with the ones I love most, my family?
Or, was it something more?
Maybe as we grow older, the sparkling magic, the charm that made our birthday better than any other day of the year, dims, but our memory of it does not. Maybe as years pass by, we, like Alice, have to leave Wonderland. But, we never have to forget it.
I am not ungrateful. I recognize the numerous blessings I received on my birthday. In the end, it's just another day on a wonderful journey. There's no need for it to be a life-altering, unforgettable day. Birthday or unbirthday, going to the bars or eating cake in our small apartment, celebrating with immediate family or celebrating with Peruvian family, I am blessed in more ways than I even realize.
"If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"
- Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Cada dia es un dia especial.
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