Now a day, the birthdays come so soon and very often; though it is actually daunting to revel amidst the melee of accumulated friends and foes, who appear meekly and subdued on the special occasions for reasons best known only to them but none else. While, the ritualistic encrypted orgies are exceptionally scary, somberly suffocating and obliquely intruding; I usually find myself, as a pertinent rule, perched atop mounds of quickly scripted encomiums of plasticity and addressing them in nihilistic languages not audible to them.How often have I buried myself inside the burrows of self denials, honestly I do not know. Yet unwittingly, I have been discovering myself at the neatly made makeshift sacrosanct parties, as the only and one scapegoat, ready for the sumptuous feast; strangely arranged in my own honor. Even though, I would not have cheered on such festivities, I nevertheless have regularly faked happiness for the kind benefit of the unduly expectant and extra cautious proud guests of questionable substances. In turn, they have most readily; let me bask in yearlong non-animus gloomy glories of the unwillingly spent years, as a weighted barter deal.
The unceremonious and unwelcome birthdays are abject realities that one can not fully escape or postpone for a tomorrow for they are like the ugly looking bereavements. I know, the anointments must go on so that a surrendered mummification happens, still on a sneaky tomorrow. The birthdays are only, facades nothing more, I think.
For some compelling urges, we routinely buy stinking cakes, malformed balloons and suspected loyalties at still higher rates, years after years to reinforce and renew our sagging and waning whims in order to exhibit the newfound maturities surreptitiously at the hurriedly assembled birthday bashes, ours and theirs. Perhaps, we like to wear freshly stitched fanciful dresses for a special day. However, the context never changes, for sure.
To salvage myself partially, I prefer to spend my times anonymously by hiding the days-after in shame, drawing fresh air in dimly lit dingy rooms in agog and agony, though to no avail. I then come to realize always that the next birthdays are coming yet again and I must reach the decorated vestibules in smelling smiles to receive the surging and competing guests, still again, with dwindling courage.