BIRTHDAYS:                             


    We all have them. That annual celebration of our initial escape from a nine month captivity in the womb. As children, we celebrate this anniversary with a party that involves all of our childhood friends that soon fade to obscurity, cake, clowns, and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. But as we grow older, the same jubilant spark of yesteryear begins to fade. Why is that? Why do we conform to a fashion of slumming it? Or is it just me that has lost the initial happiness that birthdays once brought ? An optimist would argue that a birthday is an annual rite of passage that marks another glorious year of life ahead of us. A pessimist would argue that it simply brings us one year closer to death. I find myself as the middleman between the two. I wonder when this complacency first started. With my overflowing lexicon of words, I can easily pull a wondrous, genuine, heartfelt birthday message out of thin air for virtually anyone, even a person whom I rarely interact with. But why can't I ever find the right words to tell myself on my birthday?
     Today is my best friend and former-and-soon-again-to-be roommate, Derin's, nineteenth birthday. I gave him the ceremonial message via Facebook, and even bothered to call. He seemed very happy to know that I care for his friendship as much as I do on this very day when he was delivered into the world precisely nineteen years ago. This got me thinking, however: "What will I feel on my nineteenth birthday?" Mine is quite practically three months away. I had assured myself that I would likely look AND feel just about the same as when I was eighteen. And personally, I don't look forward to being nineteen. AT ALL. My friend, Matilda, and I were chatting about the concept of being nineteen a few weeks back as it was her Nineteenth birthday in Mid-January. We both agreed that it kinda sucks. For us, at least. At nineteen, the societal expectations REALLY start to bear down on you with the utmost scrutiny.Parents are typically inclined to want to kick you out of the house for good and cut you off, as a test to see if you can make it "out there." People expect you to be making those initial steps into adulthood and have a very detailed plan of attack for the up-and-coming entrance to the real world. Quite frankly, it scares me. I question whether or not I am ready. Deep down, I know I have the abilities to make it on my own, but being thrust into a fleeting, hustling, bustling world where seemingly no one has pity to offer for you ...frightens me. Matilda also brought up the very good point that it is the very last year to enjoy being a teenager. I cringe at the thought of me losing my youth so quickly. Not to mention, Matilda and I are complete straight edges. We don't drink, smoke, party like crazy, have sex, or anything of the sort. The most we do is go to an Indie gig at some seedy lounge in Brooklyn. Good times, though. And now I have to resort to being boring on my own because she went back upstate to Utica not too long ago. She tells me that literally nothing has changed from when she was a year younger. I expect this to be true of my case, as well. Groan. Guess I'll just blow the candles out the candles out on this subject for now (wait for inevitable ellipsis) ...