Birthday Piñata
Autor: Stéphanie | Publicado: 2013-11-14T20:19:00-02:00


I've always loved people who love their birthdays. I believe it can be a huge celebration of life, family and friendship. And I know of an old sweet time when I liked my own birthday as well. I can tell you the peak of my aging happiness was in 1990, when I was turning 5 years old.&nbsp;

My parents organized this very nice, colorful party, and dressed me up in a fancy dress with a puffy skirt and a carefully brushed ponytail. Every 10 minutes I would have to run to the door, grab my gift from an adult and rush back to my room to unwrap the surprise even before I had a chance to say "thank you". Footages from that day show me skipping around, dancing and screaming, having a wonderful time. &nbsp;But it’s not all smiles in Stephanieland.&nbsp;

When the guests sang happy birthday, my cousins and brother blew out my birthday candles instead of waiting for my glory. And when it was finally time to break the piñata, some random kid got to do it and everybody else jumped to grab the candies faster than me. Now, if you know who I am, you realize how sad I felt right at that second. A stupid uncle also played a prank on me by replacing my favorite soda with beer - a very traumatizing moment that made me hate beer to this day!&nbsp;

My parents were always addicted to taking pictures and videos on these special days. So they made sure to register even the post-party when I no longer looked like a princess. Instead, I’m wearing ragged pajamas, playing with my brother (and losing) all the new games I’d gotten that day. The scene cuts to hours later and I’m just feeling completely miserable with a huge earache, while my dad tries to caress me to sleep.&nbsp;

It all went downhill from there.&nbsp;

My first act against birthdays was deciding that I would no longer sing this stupid song. It doesn’t matter if it’s a small group of people that need the encouragement, or a huge gathering of cheering humans, I will not open my mouth! I won’t even hum the lyrics. I might clap my hands, though, just to be polite.

My second step on the anti-birthday revolution was the party itself. Each year I would invite less and less people and put a decreasing amount of effort in planning my “special” night. Eventually, all I really cared about was the cake. And although I still love presents (I mean, who doesn’t?!) when the subject is my birthday, I can’t even come up with an exciting gift list.&nbsp;

The third rebel measure was to deny my birthday exists. No more notifications on social media, no more mentioning it to friends. I will only refer to “my day” if someone directly asks me about it. If the conversation involves hugs, kisses, and a happy birthday wish, I will smile for half a second and move on to talk about dead puppies and war.&nbsp;

But I still love other people’s celebrations! Being happy on my birthday is so extremely hard, I just have to admire the strength and optimism of those who like this day. &nbsp;While I’m feeling sorry for myself because I’m old and mediocre, with no great accomplishments in life - except for a happy family -, there are people out there who can literally look at themselves on their birthdays, realize they’re now one year older, and still be excited about all that’s happened and all that the future might hold.&nbsp;

Birthdays really can be a great celebration of life. But I can’t help but feel like a frustrated 5 year-old girl, staring at a broken piñata, while all the candy vanishes before my eager eyes.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;