This is it;
One more candle in the cake,
One more digit in my age.
Today is the day I try to forget,
The day I'd rather forgo.
I'm not entirely certain when my birthday became a dreaded event, but it did, and it is.
Somewhere between the noise, the packages wrapped in bright colours, and the smoke that lingers after you've blown the fire out
(Who decided it was a necessary celebratory tradition to light a cake on fire, anyway?)
It has turned into a day of unwanted attention and bad memories.
Couldn't I just spend the day encased in a cocoon of peace?
Music, a book, some tea, and perhaps, if the evening is clear,
(It is April, you know)
Some time to gaze at stars through the eye of a telescope...
But these aren't on the list of traditional party games and celebratory activities, so they are to be relegated to other days, and the cake and the hugs
(Scratch that: hugs are always welcome)
Are my inevitable fate every April 5.
I think what I like least about my birthday is how ridiculously young I feel.
Twenty candles in a cake and I feel about as wise as the child that has only two.
What's the point in having lived two decades if I have learned so little?
I dislike my birthday because I'm ashamed to have seen a little more each year,
But have so little
-Little learned, little direction, little wit, little growth-
To show for it.
But I was rebuked today for this mindset.
"When you deny us the chance to celebrate your birthday, you deny us the chance to celebrate your life, the fact that we know you and have you, and that is selfish..." said a friend.
So here I am,
Posting rather begrudgingly and with an admittedly bad attitude,
Twenty years old,
And with perhaps more to show for it than I think.
After all, I am not here to measure my life and worth in years and stubs of melting wax,
I am here to measure my life as Christ's, and I most certainly am His.
As long as this is true
(And it is an eternal truth)
I suppose I have something worth celebrating after all.