so, who’s going to clean up all this confetti?

the woes of reaching a new age #24

EDIT: I’m currently writing this edit in the back of Ferdinand’s car on the way to my “surprise” birthday meal (well, it wasn’t a surprise because I definitely saw the writing on the wall). Caught onto their plans on Wednesday and today gave me enough confirmation. I just want to say that everything in this piece is comical and not related to the birthday meal. I appreciate you all (especially Chi Chi, Bethan, Nerissa, Nana, and Ferds for setting it up) and everything here was written beforehand. In conclusion, don’t fight me.

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On Thursday, 13^th July 2023, I officially turned 24.

So I guess it’s Happy Birthday to me. I’m very excited, as you can tell.

Those close to me know that I hate birthdays. Especially mine. Why am I celebrating getting a year older? I should be calling my pension provider to make sure everything is in check.

But let’s talk about it.

There are so many reasons I don’t really celebrate my birthday, and it’s all centred around the celebration part.

First of all, I only like about 2 people in this life. But if I don’t invite the 43 people that I only interact with on a somewhat occasional basis to an overpriced Mayfair restaurant, in the middle of a cost-of-living crisis, then I’m a bad person. People will come 2 hours late, try to out-drip me, and won’t even wish me a happy birthday. The waiters will get frustrated because the kitchen is closing soon and we keep telling them we need a few more minutes to order the starters. When the food is eventually ordered, suddenly the whole camp will get amnesia because no one can remember who got the calamari and who, if anyone, wanted their Wagyu steak well done (criminal behaviour). 

Members of my entourage will spend the dying embers of my beloved day arguing with innocent waiters over why we have to pay the service charge, even though they did not create or control the capitalist system in which the world operates. Pointless discussions will ensue regarding whether or not we should all split the bill evenly even though someone ordered a whole bottle of Dom Pérignon and you naively ordered only a Virgin Mojito.

And don’t get me started on birthday surprises. 

Why are there so many people in my house? And did you lot really think I wouldn’t know about this? How did I know, you ask? [Insert clueless person’s name here] sent me a message the day before saying “What time should I get to yours for your surprise birthday party?”

And then I will get there, only to see that my closest friend is absent because the person(s) organising didn’t realise that I have multiple friends from different friendship circles. And now I will spend my birthday engaging in futile conversations and catch-ups. I will spend 21 minutes explaining to someone I haven’t seen since 6^th Form about what I do for a living, and they will try and simplify a day in the life of someone working in *checks my notes* tech sales. After noise complaints from the neighbours and an uncoordinated attempt to sing happy birthday that could awaken the dead, the final guests will stroll out of the front door after midnight, jeopardising my church attendance in the morning. All that’s left is the remnants of a chaotic night and the ever-impending question, “So, who’s going to clean up all this confetti?”

I know you didn’t read this article to hear about all my issues with my birthday, but best believe I’m not done. Because I’m tired of all these birthday messages. My birthday is on Thursday but I only posted about it around 11:57 pm, so the majority assumed my birthday was Friday and then the later comers were still sending well wishes on Saturday. 

How does one respond to “HDB”? And am I the protector of the Amazon rainforest for you to be wishing me “Happy Earth Day”? And what is ML, MM, MB, and MS? Sounds like unfinished American sports leagues. Then you’ll have the random secondary friend who uses your birthday to rekindle a more-than-dead relationship. Happy Jordan/Kobe Year but I have never watched a basketball game in my life. Me that doesn’t even run for the bus, yet you are saying that I have taken another lap around the sun. Beloved, let’s be Frank, let’s be Lampard…

So, as you can tell I don’t like birthdays. 

But, one must learn to allow people to show you love.

Birthdays are often a time of sombre reflection of a year less than well spent and a more than subtle reminder that old age is the monster underneath our beds that our parents told us not to worry about.

But I’ve come to realise that birthdays are a time to rethink. I see love on my birthdays. I’m reminded that people care. And they care about me. Which is a very weird feeling, I can’t lie. I live life on autopilot, and whoever I interact with, I try to show the utmost joy, kindness and occasional cheek. And people seem to resonate with that. My birthday is a constant reminder that I can have the smallest or most meaningless impact on someone’s life in my eyes, but they are genuinely taken aback by it in ways I could never fathom. 

My birthday resurfaces old memories but reminds me of the current joys of life. It is the impasse where the old and new meet. The person I held the door for at a pre-drinks in Freshers Week sent a 2-minute vn claiming I saved their life, whilst the 10-year friend sent a “hbd family, you already know what it is”. And I love them both. 

As I Grow Older, I’m learning to embrace my birthday. 

So, I guess this is to the guys mainly. I wish I could start a support group for those who are surrounded by women who yearly insist on making them spend their birthdays doing “something”. It’s annoying I know. But allow yourself to be treated for once. Be a soft-life king. 

For those who spend 364 days putting out fires in everyone’s lives, please spend 1 day blowing out your own candles. 

This post, like many others, is already longer than I thought it would be so let’s leave it there. I’m excited for 24, and I hope to take you all along on the journey. 

Love, Peace, & Blessings, 

Abs #24