I was telling a friend yesterday that I’ve been feeling hyper-sensitive lately. Small things make me disproportionally anxious. And everything, every little act of love and kindness makes me super happy. It’s 2 days before my birthday. My condemnation of birthdays is not a secret. That day is usually filled with expectations, self-reflection of the bad kind, forced plans, and awkwardness.
But, this year, for the first time, I am able to feel the love behind it all. I have known it existed, tried to feel it, but crumbled and cried at the end. I have had some allies, who I call after I lock myself in a room. They help me calm down and face the rest of the day. This year, I am hopeful I won’t need to. I have already received calls catching up with me, and messages asking if I am doing okay so close to a birthday. I have been asked what I want, I have received small gifts that’ll help my life, and some have come right out of my wish list. I’ve been hugged often, drunk, and said ‘I love you’ too. I just came back from a trip.
I have things to look forward to. S sends me something on every birthday. She knitted a scarf for me last year. She is the biggest gift social media gave me. I am looking forward to watching the India-New Zealand match with papa, meeting R and baby R, persuading Mumma to buy new sofa covers, eating khichadi, and getting drunk with my cousins. For the first time in my life, I feel excited about a birthday. I don’t care if I get a panic attack on that day, my day is already made.
A note to everyone who contributed to this feeling:
I love you. You are a scaffold to my backbone, a beautiful sunlight pattern on my bedroom floor, a bird’s chirp heard in a long meeting, a good wifi connection, a perfect seat in a theatre. You are everything that makes my faith in humanity not look naive. I got lucky with you.