You know the home videos that show a child wearing a dumb pointy hat, crying in front of a cake like they found out as if they have one day left on Earth, and their family is singing "happy birthday" to them with smiles on their faces while this kid is just being filmed, clearly miserable? That was me.

I hate my birthday. I simply don't care about celebrating another year of age. The attention makes me feel weird and guilty, like everyone is sacrificing their time just to eat some overly-sweet cake with me. Going out to restaurants just to overeat some mediocre hibachi made from a guy catching shrimp shells in his pocket just isn't fun anymore. I stopped having birthday party's way before elementary school ended.

When my dad would ask me "what do you want to do for the big day?" it felt like so much pressure on my tiny ten-year-old brain. Especially now, when everyone documents their ~amazing~ gifts or special days online, I always feel worse about the fact that I just don't want to do anything that special.

I've really tried. There have been years when I would plan on doing something fun, but I'd always end up wishing I was home like it was any other day. To be honest, the friends or people around me were never that excited about my birthday, either. I'm definitely the type of person to shower my loved ones with gifts, surprise parties, homemade treats and cake, and a handmade card, even. No one has ever tried to do that for me, so I've sort of become conditioned that my day doesn't matter, and it's not like I want it to anyways.

After you turn twenty-one, there's not much else to look forward to. This year I'm turning twenty-three and the Blink 182 song keeps playing in my head, nobody likes you when you're twenty-threeeeeee. It's not that exciting, and I'm simply not that special. I I think I've successfully hidden my birthday on Facebook, so I don't have to deal with the immense strangers telling to have a great day, even though most of them wouldn't know it was my birthday if Facebook didn't notify them (or care).

The response is always "but it's your birthday!" when I say I don't want to do anything. Well, yeah, but it'll come again next year, and the year after that. At a certain age, no one really cares anymore. As Chris D'Elia says in his stand-up special Man on Fire, "Here's something I definitely don't want to pretend I want to do. I don't want to go to your f*cking birthday party. No. I don't care. What did you turn, twenty-eight? Bye. Do it yourself."

Maybe if I make it to fifty, I'll decide to do something extravagant. For now, I'm a broke college student that hates drinking in large groups or wasting time when I am in the middle of midterms. My one treat to myself is going to be a Taco Bell feast, since I normally avoid it because of a gluten intolerance. But, it's my birthday, and I'll cry if I want to.

Photo by Jorge Ibanez on Unsplash