Happy Birthday?


It is “my” birthday today.

Today is the day that I was born on.

(I was born on the 19th May, 1985. That day is long gone, and, it is never to be “seen”, experienced, or lived. Yet the calendar subtly makes us believe otherwise.)

Because I am sharing this on “my” birthday, I hope that the rant below will sound a little bit less harsh. Here goes:

What’s there for one to celebrate on “their” birthday? Is a birthday an achievement?

I don’t know about you, but I didn’t contribute anything to my being brought to being.

Also, I had nothing to do with being alive today. All I did was not do (kill myself).

A birthday is merely an anniversary. A mark of yet another 12 months survived.

Am I then supposed to be celebrating having seen yet another year?  If so, …

What about yesterday, tomorrow, and the days after tomorrow?

Is there any significant difference, in terms of “achievement” and my having to be thankful for being alive, between Day 363 and Day 364 of my 25th year of being?

… And, between Day 364 and Day 365 … ?

Why don’t those who were born on, say, a Monday, celebrate Mondays?

Do I need to have been born every day, for me to celebrate being alive, every day?

Birthdays, together with days like Valentine’s Day, are the system’s way of giving human beings consumers a “sensible” excuse for spending money on things.

What’s more, life does not really begin the day that one is born.

(Instead of buying me a birthday present; I would rather have a friend buy themself a good book. For the world has a lot of “things,” but only a few great critical thinkers.)




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— May 19, 2011.