Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Happy Birthday to Me..

"It is lovely, when I forget all birthdays, including my own, to find that somebody remembers me."
- Ellen Glasgow

So it is my birthday again. But for some reason the very fact that I am turning nineteen refuses to delight me. I dream of acheiving great heights, of falling in love, of getting drunk and throwing up on a stranger but at the same time I dont want to grow up. Why? I don't know.

Living in a new city (not so new any more) has its own advantages. For one it is your chance to start all over. No one will be judgemental, no one will tell you what is good for you and whats not. No one will ask about that teacher who humiliated you on your last school day, no one will laugh or smirk at you because you stutter while you speak. No one. But as you start adujusting in the same place it brings back memories of the past.

Your trying to build an image. Lets call it self improvement. And you would obviously want people to like you for the fact that you are jovial, adorable and have two left foot. Guess what they already do. What they don't know is that inside the same person lies a soul which for different reasons is slowing withering away. They think its a "mood swing", but you obviously know better. And then comes your birthday.

Golly jee!! A day to make merry and rejoice your own existence. But what if you are not so proud of it? Your newly made friends expect to adorn your face with chocolate cake which they lovingly baked/bought for you while you attend the calls of your near and dear ones. But what if no one calls? It is the stroke of midnight and your phone doesn't ring, not for a single time. Oh cmon your parents are getting old. They will definitely wish you in the morning. Your brother? Darn! He must have been really busy with his work. The few friends you had?? They will TEXT you, anytime soon. And right at that momment you realize, its not your birthday, it is your existence you are scared of. You are petrified that one day people will just forget that there was a girl named "Amrita" or Semma or Riya or whatever. You will just cease to exist.

Call me paranoid but I live in fear of that day. I don't know whether it is the case with other people as well. Even when I don't tell anyone about it, I invariably start expecting certain things from people whom I love,and I fear that they might not feel the same way. That fear is what drives me, that fear is what makes me cry behind closed doors. I am insecure and I fear that this feeling of losing people won't ever go. That is why my birthday, somehow, doesn't cheer me up. But I hope it will someday. Till then, let me end with this:

"In the midst of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."- Albert Camus

Yours truly.

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