This is probably stupid, but Im scared of birthdays.

Another year passed by and then befell the unholy eve of my birthday. I despise my birthday. I tell people it's because of all the unwanted attention I receive on the day, and while that is partially true, the real reason is even more unwanted: the overwhelming feeling of having nothing to show for the year that I just wasted. I have a simple rule for my birthday (or rather an instruction given in a threatening tone): the day has to be treated like any other day. “I don't wish to be reminded constantly of how I came into existence without approval,” I explained once to my friend whose expression made it clear that he regretted asking about my dislike for my birthday celebrations.

Like any other day, I stared into my eyes through the mirror while I brushed my teeth. Having already expressed my disapproval on the topic of my birth to a couple of people, I knew I had to find a different pretentious reason to justify my hatred for birthdays. When I looked for an answer, underneath all the layers of schoolboy philosophy and the thick outer layers, I found someone scared of disappointment, of being let down. The idea of getting excited about a birthday, although never forgotten by my dearest ones, and it then turning out to be a sad little one seemed daunting to me. Wanting a cake and a party seemed too demanding and undeserving. I was scared of giving up control. And to cope with my irrational fears, I may have decided that it's easier to hate birthdays altogether. Remembering all those birthdays where I went to bed after really fun parties without feeling, well, anything, did not help me get excited for another one that could end the same way. I thought of my utter inability to even say thank you.

Continuing to stare at that starry-eyed fellow in the mirror, I realized that all these years, I was never okay with who I had turned out to be. There were things holding me back, there were fears shaping my actions. And this is probably where you might expect me to say that I’m now rid of these fears and that I’m now extremely happy and I frolic with a frock on through green meadows. But no, I still have the same fears. I still care about how people see me, I care about them loving me. I would still be upset if everybody forgot my birthday. But I'm happy with the progress I have made. I have my dark moments where I wish I could just cease to exist, but I’m happy that I now ask for help, that I’m now somewhat okay with being seen. I’m happy that I can now feel things and talk about them or at least write about them. I’m okay with being a bit more of the things that define me, even if that does make me seem a bit weird. Most of all, I think I’ve made my peace with all those mistakes that very same boy, waiting anxiously to cut his 3rd birthday cake, made over the years.

I went to bed happy that day, not because of anything particular but because of that feeling of being okay with who I am and where I’m in life. Although quiet, I’m happy with how my 21st birthday turned out. And this time, when my friends threw me a surprise party the next day, I’m happy that I said thank you. And just in case that thank you did not seem heartfelt enough, here it goes:

Jacob, Rahul, Reuben, Jerin, Alok, Nidhi, and Avinash, thank you. I needed that.