I love birthdays.
Every year around December, I buy one of those giant paper calendars they sell on the street, the ones that take up half the wall and come with holidays already printed in red on them with a special quote behind the back each day.
Then I dedicate an entire evening to updating it.
I sit on my messy bed with three different pens and transfer birthdays from last year’s calendar to the new one – my mom’s, my dad’s, my sister’s, my cousins’, a few coworkers, and a friend from university I haven’t seen in three years but still text and meet every July to exchange gifts.
A few weeks ago, I was listening to a podcast where they spent ten minutes making fun of people who send birthday messages exactly at midnight.
“Imagine setting an alarm just to text someone happy birthday.”
Everyone laughed. And I laughed too.
Then I quietly closed YouTube and turned off the TV because I felt personally attacked.
Of course I send birthday messages at midnight! If I care about you, I probably have your birthday memorized. If I really care about you, I probably know what day of the week it falls on this year.
I have spent embarrassing amounts of time deciding between sending a message, buying a gift, ordering a cake, organizing dinner, or doing all four.
Birthdays matter to me because I like that one day every year belongs entirely to a person. That one day where everyone collectively agrees to stop and acknowledge that somebody exists.
Last year, while updating my calendar, I skipped January 1st. And this year, I found myself skipping another date. March 13th.
The thing is, I still know both birthdays, I don’t need a calendar. I could tell you both dates right now without checking.
January 1st belonged to one of my closest friends and March 13th belonged to another.
Or at least, that’s how I thought of them.
I had both of them years ago – long enough ago that I don’t remember exactly when we became friends. Only that somewhere along the way they became the people I called first when something happened: good news, bad news, weird news, or even no news.
The people whose birthdays I remembered without needing reminders, the people who received messages from me at exactly 12:00 AM every year without fail.
I know that birthdays become less dramatic as you get older. Nobody brings cupcakes to school anymore, nobody forces your classmates to sing, and nobody is obliged to bring you any gifts in this economy.
A few years ago, my own birthday landed on a Thursday and I wasn’t planning anything special. That evening however, a few coworkers insisted we go out after work. That night, someone ordered a cake, a waiter sang loudly despite having absolutely no idea who I was, and a table of strangers joined in halfway through.
For a few minutes, an entire restaurant knew it was my birthday.
I smiled for pictures, blew out my candles, and thanked people.
I remember that night; despite having all these people around me, I was waiting for only two specific messages.
The first one arrived around 11:30 PM.
“OH MY GOD”
“I just realized!!!”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY”
Followed by six crying emojis.
The second text arrived the next morning at 9:14 AM.
Don’t get me wrong, I forget things too. It happens, it’s normal.
Forgetting had never felt like an option to me when it comes to people I care about and love.
The next morning, I realized that I had spent the entire day yesterday waiting for people who weren’t thinking about me at all.
I know they are good people and they have busy lives – jobs, families, their own problems. I know all of that.
It’s just I too have all of these, and yet I still remember.
When January came around, I remembered.
When March arrived, I remembered that too.
I left them out of the calendar, but I couldn’t leave them out of my mind.
So every year now, I text both of them but not at midnight anymore. I just wait sometime during the day, usually after lunch and sometimes after work.
A simple “Happy Birthday.”
Sometimes they reply and sometimes they don’t.
Sometimes the conversation lasts three messages before disappearing again for another few months.
