In a week, I’ll be 21. There are people asking me about my birthday plans. Questions like Where’s the party ? How are you celebrating ? How excited are you ? are thrown at me left, right and centre. I give them the stories about how I am planning to go out for lunch or where I’ll be taking my mother for dinner.
In truth, I don’t know.
In truth I hate birthdays.
Or maybe just the pressure to make them special. I don’t want to plan because I am prone to disappointment.
If you really want to know how I want my birthday to be, then know this that I don’t have a list. Only vague wishes.
I want to sleep. Under the stars. In the open air. I want to kiss the wind, breathe in the smell of grass, roll down a hill. Let the snakes slither by, they won’t touch me. The night birds singing me to bliss, so intoxicating that even liquor feels dry. I want to sit atop a hill and gaze at the twinkling city lights below me. There’s yellow, there’s white, there’s red and sometimes there’s green. Stars above and stars below.
A big oak tree, a million crooked lines running across its body. Strengthened over age. Winking at the young, reassuring the old. I’ve seen a lot.
And then the waves. Reflecting lost glories. Lives lost and won. I want to run my naked feet through the water. Let the sand suck them in and the water coming running to free them. I don’t want any slippers on my feet. I want to sleep on the beach and feel the shallow waves wash over me.
I want to open my arms out wide, embrace the world. I want to be held, I want to hold. I want to send my love. To those who want it and to those who don’t know they want it. Love freely. I want to touch you, I want to be touched.
I want the feeling to stick,the feeling of a ball swelling in my chest with hope, excitement, anticipation.
I want to dance. Bob my head, swirl in circles. I want to dance with abandon. Like no one’s watching and everyone’s watching. Like everyone can see but no one can touch.
I want the high to stay. And the love to bloom. I want to be free of expectations.
I want them to stop shouting. Because now my ears hurt and my resolve is waning. I can’t speak and I can’t ignore.
I want to laugh like I mean it. And move like I own it.