Happy Birthday

Dispassionate love is what makes me want to write. Absolute boredom, is what it takes for me to put thoughts into a form. When all options that promise entertainment and/or abstain from hard work of any sort run out, that’s when I consider writing. Well it’s either that or a rerun of Breaking Bad.

Since it is an imminent threat, I would like to write about birthdays. I have mixed feelings about them. While I enjoy being at birthday parties and participating in related activities (mostly eating); this approval takes a turn south when the date is 18^th of April and the birthday is mine.

I’m grateful when one out ten of my Facebook friends choose not to keep scrolling down and actually write something kind on my wall. But I see it for what it is, an intentionally considerate, stylistically funky, formality. And this is like the most comfortable part, I mean attention on social media is something I crave for. And yet I am complaining. Why? Because of the reasons below:

In places unlike Facebook, where anonymity means safety (classroom), being a birthday boy is like sitting on a time bomb. It’s only a matter of time until someone communicates the occasion to the whole class, especially to the teacher. This is of course problematic. First of all people then expect treats in exchange for wishing me a happy birthday and that can include the teacher himself. I mean there is no way one can respond to, “Where is my party?” other than by offering an awkward and reluctant invitation. And secondly there are chances of me becoming the vulnerable center of notorious attention.

But nothing quite compares to irritation of going through painfully dull conversations with effectively strange people i.e. relatives. Don’t get me wrong. It’s these conversations that I find irritating, not the person with which these conversations are had. At this point I feel the need for redundancy in emphasizing the fact I am of course grateful to all my family and friends for all their wishes but the repetitiveness of the dialogues indeed renders an irrelevant and irrefutably irritating impact.  

In general, the reason for my qualm might be the added responsibility of being socially genial and the overwhelming feel of being at the center of attention. These aren’t so bad but are in misalignment to my ways and habits.

So, what is the point of this post? Nothing. It’s equivalent to complaining about having too much cherry on my cake. Excuse my equivocation, I am distracted, for my birthday is coming and there are places I need to be at. Places with people.