At 23: A Birthday Memoir

The thought of writing came to my head one week to this day as I took a shower.

Birthday celebrations have never been my cup of tea while growing up. In fact, there are no pictures of a first or second birthday party in the family photo album. I used to fear the camera flash until I was 3, my mom said.

Twice in primary school, I remember my mom bringing a birthday cake and dress to school, unknowing to me. I would leave home to school like a normal day and hoped no one, either at home or in school, remembered what day it was.

I played this game until I was 8.

Inside a shopping bag were my best denim skirt and white blouse that I always reserved for "special" occasions (of which my birthday was not included by the way). The cake was baked in a rush, you could tell.

The second time, I was 10. There had been a function at home over the weekend. So, it was a perfect time for anyone to forget that it was my birthday.

I went to school on Monday, and during one of those horror classes of Mathematics, she came to my rescue.

This time, it was a pink frock gown that I wore until I could not breathe in it anymore. The cake was bigger and rich. It was planned. Looking at the pictures again, I realized I didn't smile. That is not unusual.

From 11 till 15, I have no idea what happened. That was in secondary school, where there were more students, and announcing that it was your birthday would have attracted an equivalent amount of attention. I bet I foresaw this and did what I was good at...keeping quiet.

I had a rough exam day at Madrasah (Arabic school) on the day I was 16. I could not wait to get home to bury myself under a duvet.

This day happened to be my birthday, and the year my mom had chosen to surprise me after a 5-year hiatus. But once again, she saved me.

A pleasant surprise to celebrate the anniversary of my birthday was probably what I needed the most at that time...and it was.  

The cake was even richer, and heavier. (Is it weird that I’m reliving the buttery taste after seven years?)

A few close friends came by. The smiles from that day were perfectly captured, and I laugh as I remember hurriedly changing into another birthday dress.

18 was rushed. There was no proper ‘induction’ into adulthood. Not one that I cared about anyway; especially since I had the appearance of a girl that just hit puberty.

"You're only 21 once, they said". This was how my friend convinced me to celebrate, and the caption on the Facebook photos I posted for my 21st birthday.

My plan was to do some schoolwork that day. The night eventually ended with a photo session that produced one of my finest photos of 2018.

Today, I am 23.

 And whilst it would not have made any difference, the Coronavirus has given me yet another opportunity to reply to birthday messages under my duvet, with a bowl of my favourite ice cream on the side.