Though many people wish me a Happy Birthday, year after year, it seems to never turn out happy. As a child, birthdays constituted as an excuse to eat out, probably at a cheap buffet or ordering take out from a fancy-schmancy restaurant. I had only two parties; both were a dud. The first one failed because I was heavily introverted. Only two friends bothered to show up. My inadequate planning as a third grader was another major factor. As for the second party, that involved my extended family, which I’m not particularly close to.

After years of unfortunate outcomes, I concluded that I am bound to have disappointment on my birthdays.

Sophomore year was the time when my older brother came back from his university and I woke up to yelling. Seeing the negativity in the house, I attempted to mediate the arguments and my parents’ anger toward my brother was now directed to me. “No one cares about your birthday, bitch,” my father said. Not long before, my mom hit my knee with a metal bat because I had failed a test. The next day, they took away my computer for “talking back” to them. Clearly, my opinions are not valued.

As for junior year, I believe that was my only pleasant birthday. Coming back from school, I was exhausted yet excited to receive a phone call from my boyfriend. In his goofy voice, he sang to me.

During my senior year, I was stricken by the burden of school, anxiety of the future, and heartbreak from a breakup. I planned to meet with a group of friends and out of the three, only one showed up. One had forgotten that she had a church meeting. As for the other, who is supposedly one of my best friends, decided that spending time with her boyfriend was more worthwhile. My only friend who visited me was a family friend and I ended up eating with her family for dinner. She told me, “I would never miss your birthday.” I was grateful to her, but dismayed at the same time.

This year, I worked an eight-hour shift. Since it was far too late for a celebration, we decided the next day would be my birthday. Another eight-hour shift had passed and it was 1 PM. Then, I came home to police cars and distress. My parents had decided to have the police escort my older brother out of the house and into a mental hospital. I spent the rest of my day calling hospitals in a nearby city. I had a headache. By 8 PM, I had found him, but my birthday was forgotten.

My birthdays tend to leave me with a bitter taste. I don’t know if I absolutely hate them. Other than money, I am usually given rather disappointing gifts. It seems like most of my friends took a brief glimpse into my personality, and presented me with something impersonal and vague instead of intimate and sincere. Personally, I wouldn’t want to give anyone anything if the gift was not well thought-out.

When I give gifts, I truly want the item to be something my loved one will always treasure. I am forever proud of myself for spoiling my best friend of six years with a Zelda inspired glow-in-the-dark fairy necklace, a natural jade turtle keychain (imported from Greece), a Tim Minchin CD, a large cow plush doll, and a Resident Evil movie/game, of course, with a card. Since her mother is like a second mom to me, I bought her silver earrings with freshwater pearls and a delicate flower design. Upon seeing the gifts, her mother cried. We departed in our different ways once the dinner was over. My friend texted me, telling me that she almost cried.

Before my family friend left for university in New York, I met up with her because I had ordered the galaxy print leggings she wanted for ages. Seeing something she had yearned for become a physical reality, she was joyful beyond words. She now dons that galaxy print wherever she goes. It feels great to create good memories.

I find myself yearning to be told how wonderful I am and thanked for being brought to the world. I want to be surprised and brought to joyful tears. I want to be enthused at the thought of celebrating my birthday. I want to see a friend take on that duty of ensuring a Happy Birthday and going great lengths for a simple cause, because it's me. I only wonder when that time will come and how many more years it will be until then.