sabato 16 luglio 2011

The I Tried To Live

I dont really love my birthday.

It's not because of age, or because i had some traumatic experience on it or for some weird tearjerking emotional reason. It's just that... well.

I guess, that if i had a family, as in a wife and kids, maybe things would be different. But, for many reasons, i dont. So to me this day always ended up as a bit of a disappointment.

Partying up with friends always ended up with me offering beer after beer to people. I distinctly recall one night, when i was reaching twenty. Back then i already had a hole the size of a tate in my heart. I wanted to feel what it was like to be celebrated. And since i wasnt really familiar with being really loved by a lot of people, i thought it would be cool to buy them with something. So i paid a shaeful amount of money, which i should've spent on smarter stuff, to pay them all the drinks they wanted. It was fun, we got drunk, i got a lot of alcoholics giving me their blessings. Not sure if they knew me. I got laid. Nothing really interesting came out of it. I got a hangover. And then i was back to life.

That was the template for many many birthdays to come. Lots of parties that were damaging to health and left as quickly as they came. Lots of expectations that really did not gop anywhere. A constant feeling of "this day has to be perfect because it's special", followed by self selusion on how "well it was great" and then by a realization on how it was not.

When it came to loved ones and partners, gthey tried. They all loved me and wanted to do great things. I love them all for what they did. But life goes on anbd relationship fade. So while i have memories of wild passionbate nights or kisses given at midnight to celebrate one more year of me on this earth, they drowned ina lot of tears wjen hearts got broken.

And then thje dark years whhere i barely knew what happened.

Or the days where i realized most people were barely rememebering what day it was. I dont blame them, i did not remember theirs either.

It's the expectations that kill me. People always talked to me on how birthdays are supposed to be the most special day of the year and, while some of mine were, most of them werent.

I always feel the next one will be the greatest and then i remember i have a broken family, that i have been in and out of relationships for years, unable to stay on one, that i am almost forty and still have a lot to accomplish or simply do.

And every year i reflect on things that havent gone well. It's not out of some "emo" tendency, its my nature. I remember time is passing and things havent gotten easier. Organizing parties is harder and harder, i dont really have the money or the sheer will to get all the people in one place. It's not worthy to me.

And yet, between last night and today i remembered one thing. At this moment my life is special. yes, my family is still shattered. Yes most of my friends in daily life have drifted or are just differrent from what the expectations are. Yes, not everything is good.

But i have one special gift. Some people who really love me. We have oceans apart, we cant hang out tonight but we're closer than ive ever been to other people in my life. And they think of me, their heart is close to mine everyday and my days are filled with great moments thanks to them. And they make 33 years worthy.

So yeah, happy birthday, indeed.

1 commento:

  1. Though I've said it elsewhere, I'll say it here - Happy Birthday. I did raise a glass of 12 year old Scotch to your good self and gave thanks to the writings you pen here. They do an untold amount of good - even though you might not think it.