Birthdays are funny days

Birthdays are funny days. They rarely give personal joy. They just mark a revolution around the sun, of survival. They make you question the purpose of existence and why it would be really funny if the plane carrying you crashes. Because every year after that the revolution would mark the anniversary of my non-existence and the anniversary of if-I-had-been-alive. Would confuse the hell out of people who commemorate such stuff though.

How did I spend my birthday? In travel, and making questions. I was forced to cut a cake (I had specifically asked not to have one), I was forced to accept a gift (I had specifically asked not to get one). I did enjoy the puran polis. That was more like it. But as I said, this is not just me. I am sure many people my age have such low-key birthdays, more like they just have regular days.

Because it is a regular day which has been artificially given importance in today’s age. Heh I liked that one. When life expectancy was in the 30s, which is probably till very recent for the non-aristocrat or non-upper caste, it made sense to celebrate birthdays. It was an accomplishment. But now, it brings with it more a sense of non-accomplishment and wasted life. Anyway, bottom line, birthdays are overrated.

It would be an interesting investigation to look into whether other creatures celebrate birthdays. They do have annual cycles – migrations for instance. Or in case they have internal cycles which measure chronology cyclically. Is there a ‘celebration’ of surviving a cycle? There probably are changes, say a change in behaviour or a moulting or growth of a feather or horn which is triggered or makers the survival of a cycle. But most of what I have read indicates that these are more age-based changes than ‘celebration’ ones. And then we get back to these changes noting survival, rather than communal celebrations as we humans do.

But why shouldn’t we celebrate survival? Every day alive is indeed a noteworthy thing. Despite longevity and the fact that healthcare is advanced enough so that cuts and fractures can be treated, don’t get infected, and are not a death sentence. But now there are plane crashes, train crashes, car crashes, and increased rates of mental crashes. So the scales are balanced in terms of random deaths. Lynching, bomb blasts are all good and strong contenders in reducing lifetimes.

I am continuing this about two months after. And I am glad I wrote this on notes rather than writing it down on paper. I am still trying to decipher my handwriting from my last drunken musing. But I will get there.

So what would a natural conclusion to this piece of writing be?

Birthdays are insidious in that way, and man, and the capitalist (why not?) society have weaponized birthdays to ensure you celebrate and dedicate your life in counting how little you have done in this life. This naturally feeds into the cycle of increased labour and spending, and that into the amorous arms of attachment. Regret, unhappiness, post the delirious celebrations are but natural until the next birthday.

The solution lies not in not celebrating birthdays – which is a good first step, but in giving up on life. No life, no birthday. You need to find the release. Celebration of survival leads to suffering in survival. Why survive? Of course, it is not in your hands to die if you are not strong-willed enough. Then you need to rely on train accidents and bomb blasts, or even on drunk sons of builders. But if you are strong enough, don’t celebrate your next birthday, say fuck you to the world, and release yourself.