Happy Growing-Up Day
By: Sahil Loomba
Tags: Growing Up, Adulthood, Self, Birthday, Thoughts

17th September, 2016

Today is my 22nd birthday. As the clock strikes twelve, I blow the imaginary candles on a chocolate cake which I bought from the supermarket this evening. With one hand holding the knife, I use the other to hold my phone with the front camera switched on, awkwardly filming the fanfare for my family to witness.

‘Haaappyy birrrthday to you, haaappyy birrrthday tooo you, happy BIRRRTHday to dear Saaahil, haaappyy birrrthday to you!’

Their song, applause and laughter filters mildly through the phone into my silent room, while I make few innocuous and irregular cuts on the sponge. I pretend to shove a big piece of the cake into the phone camera.

‘How does it taste?’ I ask, while beaming from ear to ear. A few tears have fallen in place on the corners of my mouth.

‘YUM, now your turn, here, eat!’ My mother repeats the charades on the other side of the screen. I bring my hands up to my mouth, and feed myself some yum cake. ‘Mmmmmmm.’ Yes, it really is YUM. And somehow, the charades feels pretty real too.

‘Alright, time for gifts now!’ I hear my sister shout from somewhere, she’s not in the field of view. My family had ordered something for me on Amazon, which had reached my apartment a day earlier. Two big cardboard cartons, that I was very tempted to open, but had remained patient for when the time came. Which it did.

As I undid the boxes, a familiar nostalgia hit me. Past birthdays flashed through my head like a film reel. Moments of joy, company of friends and family, hearty laughter rang in my ear. I was holding a shiny wrapped box now. While my hands unwrapped the gift, the gift slowly unwrapped me.

This particular birthday however, stood for more than just a day of celebrating another by-gone year of my existence (or as I sometimes morbidly joke, of being another year closer to death). Up until two months ago, I had been living in Delhi my whole life. Carefully sheltered in the safe shell that was my home. My school was a fifteen-minute bus ride from it. My college was a sixty-minute metro ride away. And now, I am doing research twelve-thousand kilometers away and nine-and-a-half hours behind my beloved hometown.

About a month ago, when I had arrived in Boston, I was a starry-eyed kid excited about my first time in the States. Absolutely thrilled about pursuing research in a wonderful lab at a freaking awesome university. Very positively sure of adjusting to my environment, and doing well from the get go. However, the excitement deflated way sooner that I had anticipated. Without boring you with any of the details, it would suffice to say that I had grossly underestimated the task of settling in an unknown city surrounded by unknown people. I had unreasonable expectations from myself in a territory whose waters I had never tested, which included doing every single thing for myself by myself (which includes, well, passing time).

What I have just described is in no respect a very unique or tough scenario. I’m sure that you would have faced something similar in one form or another. Which is what I find quite funny, really. Some of the most commonplace of human feelings and tendencies deserve some more of coming to terms to. So here’s the thing, I don’t care about when you were born. But it’s time for you to celebrate your birth anyway. Bring out a cake, or listen to that song, or talk to that friend. And just think about yourself. Talk about your feelings.

It’s not like a whole lot has changed today. I haven’t had any wise epiphanies about humanity, life or such. But, this birthday was a growing-up day for me. And writing this piece on Medium was me finally unwrapping the gift, that I had held so tightly within.