It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To
or why birthdays become complicated with age
When I was little, my birthday parties consisted of disposable cameras, piñatas, a gaggle of school friends, and overpriced Party City decorations to match the theme of my obsession that year. One time, it was Hannah Montana, another it was Justin Bieber. But my favorite was my Dora the Explorer 6th birthday party that, to this day, no other would come close to surpassing. It was when I was still living in the Dominican Republic and unaware that it would be my last birthday on the island that had been my home for all of my short existence.
It took place at the country club that my godmother was a member of, an estate decorated with Spanish architecture, pools, tennis courts, and a colonial aesthetic that hints at the country's complicated history with its European oppressors. To my impressionable eyes, this place was the epitome of luxury and fun; an opportunity to indulge in unrestricted playtime, game rooms, and the best pizza I've ever had. I can still remember how the sunshine shimmered on the pool's surface, like a thousand twinkling lights waiting to engulf me. The sound of conversation and wild laughter was the music of the day, and the multi-colored balloons attached to our cabana swayed high in the wind. I remember each time my mom dragged me out of the pool for a picture, shivering in my swimsuit and annoyed at even the slightest disruption to my fun. It was the perfect day.
After that year, my parents still exerted the same amount of effort to make my birthday a special occasion, but things had changed. I'd grown up. No longer did the thought of a party excite me. Suddenly, worries about a good turnout and what my hair looked like were all I could think about. I suppose it's a natural consequence of getting older, letting self-consciousness muddy the things that were once pure. In my teenage years, I tried to fight these anxieties with more "lowkey" celebrations, like a movie at the mall followed by dinner in the food court or a few rounds of bowling with frozen yogurt to finish the night.
And though my college experience was thwarted by a global pandemic, my friends and I still found ways to commemorate another year of life while complying with health safety rules. This included many picnics in freezing weather, a cabin in the woods, and bottles of alcohol bought through questionable means. But as I write this, my 23rd birthday is just a few days away and I am perplexed by the realization that I'm still alive. Not in a dark suicidal way, but in a "wow, I can't believe I'm actually this age" kind of way. When I was 15, I couldn't have pictured my life being what it is now. I had dreams of being further along and fears of being further back. The reality, I've come to find, is somewhere in the middle. I'm not exactly where I'd like to be in terms of career or relationships, but I'm very glad not to be anywhere near as unhappy as my worst thoughts once predicted.
Much like with the start of a new year, birthdays make you take stock of every aspect of your life. Your money, health, friendships, career, and overall state of being are held under a microscope until the weak spots are found and dealt with. In the past, this internal examination has been conducted with little to report. This year, however, I find myself at a loss with the trajectory of my life. Nothing has gone as expected. The last few months have brought about changes I don't think I'll ever fully understand. Things have been disordered and unsettled while simultaneously monotone and slow. What once was familiar is now foreign, and the assurances I held as true are now dangling by a thread.
But if I've learned anything in my two decades (and some change) of being alive, it's that when life surprises us with unexpected twists and turns, we respond by digging up the strength to persevere despite the disappointment and confusion.
I've always believed that everything happens for a reason. I believed it my senior year of high school when I was waitlisted from my top university. I believed it when the world went on lockdown and we were surrounded by death and anxiety. And I believed it when I found myself jobless after graduating college. But in moments like these, when I feel like I'm living in a book heading toward a bad ending, my faith staggers. More days than not, I think back to my most recent decisions and pick apart my reasoning for each one, trying to find where I went wrong. But then I think, "What if this is all life is?', just a string of decisions that open some doors and close others with the only guidance being…intuition? God? Pure dumb luck?
Frankly, I don't know how I've made it this far. I've always tried to do the right thing, but there comes a time when one starts to question what the "right thing" even is. Maybe I've gotten it all wrong, or maybe things are alright and all I'm feeling is the discomfort of uncertainty. I think back to six-year-old me at that birthday party and wish I could tell her to soak up all the joy she feels, to bask in the slight awkwardness of being sung to, to memorize the faces of every person in attendance, to breathe in the smell of the chlorine pool, and focus on the sound of children's laughter and silly conversations.
It's what I imagine I'll be thinking of myself now in 10 years, listing all the things I have to be grateful for that I'm not fully aware of. Like the hours of free time in my schedule, or my little sister's animated stories from her day at school, or the messy but tender experience of my family all living under one roof. But that's how life works. We can't always see what's directly in front of us; we're too busy looking to the past or trying to manifest the future.
But if it's true that history repeats itself, then I can find some comfort in knowing that since that magical 6th birthday, I've had plenty more good ones. I've met people I could spend all my time with and others I can't stand to look at. I've known what it's like to make my parents proud, and I've also been on the receiving end of their criticism. I've shown maturity and tact and have also said things that make me cringe with embarrassment. I've had moments where everything was going right and others where everything was wrong.
Life is never really the best or the worst thing you can imagine. Usually, it's somewhere in the middle, a tasting platter of highs and lows, and you never reallly know what you'll have next. And it's in those what-ifs that we have the opportunity to shape our experience any which way. It's both exhilarating and terrifying to think that, on some level, we have the power to do with our lives as we please. I'll admit this thought has paralyzed me as of late. The pressure to "make something" of myself sits heavily on my chest, leaving me frustrated and unmoving. But I know that turning one year older means I've been awarded a million more chances to do things differently and bring myself closer to a version of my life that I can be proud of.
Our lives are made up of the tiniest of choices, each one amounting to something too big for us to see until it's done. With this in mind, I choose to celebrate this birthday by surrounding myself with as much love as possible, to notice all the little things that make this day worth enjoying. Just like when I was six years old, I will relax into the blissful unawareness of what's to come, even if just for today.