I've always felt birthdays are overrated. And every time my birthday comes around, like it did this week, I wonder if the enforced cheeriness is warranted.
Thomas Hardy once observed that every year, without our knowing it, we live through our death days. You don't know it yet, but maybe 50 years from now, one day, say on July 5, you are going to die. What would you do if you knew that July 5 is your death day? Would you mourn it every year while you live? Maybe light a few candles instead of blowing them out -- say, about 137 candles? Or will you have a mock funeral service to commemorate your own mortality? Given that birth is an event that is already past, Death Day ought to have more emotional cache for people. But we'd rather not think about death. Forget death, we'd rather not think about growing old even.
I might as well come out and say it: I believe birthdays are a big hoax, and the overpowering obligation to be happy on my 'happy birthday' just pisses me off. The reasons are many. For one, I no longer enjoy blowing candles as much as I used to when I was 7. Then, as a fully grown adult male, I find the entire ceremony of cake-cutting deeply embarrassing. More so if there are people standing around, pretending to sing 'happy birthday to you' while secretly rejoicing in the fact that I have become one year older than what I was yesterday. This means they can all feel collectively younger by one year, thanks to my birthday.
What I don't realize until it is too late is that they are also feeling sorry for me because I can't cut without messing up the entire cake. People can't stand for long the sight of me battling the big birthday cake as if it was Moby Dick and I was Captain Ahab poking at it with an extremely blunt harpoon. Sooner or later, someone saves me from the ordeal by grabbing my hand with the knife in it, effortlessly slicing a perfectly shaped piece, and quickly shoving one in my mouth so I can't protest. Then they all clap so that I forget to feel bad.
But I couldn't forget for long. At least 16 people asked me on my birthday how old I was, and these included not just traditionally age-obsessed creatures such as women. Too many men asked me, and went away with a self-satisfied smile when I told them. Really, I can't think of a better example of hypocrisy than saying "happy birthday" to a person you believe will shortly be deported from the country of youth to the settlement of the middle-aged.
Two things became clear to me on my birthday: First, we have become a hopelessly ageist society. Second, ageism has completely infiltrated our competitiveness. So not only are we competitive in staying and looking younger; not only do we all want to become CEOs, drive BMWs, and brandish umbrellas designed by Yves Saint Laurent, we want to do it all at an age younger than everyone else who is seeking the same thing. After all, what is the point of getting to sit on the Board at an age when you have lumbago, and can't tell your friends how you canceled the meeting with the chief minister because you couldn't miss your Rugby match at the Auckland Gymkhana?
I asked some of my ageist friends what they would do when they turned 40. They all had the same answer: "I would be dead by then." I am willing to bet that all these people promised themselves when they were 18 that they would be dead by 30. Now they are 31 and planning to be dead by 40. My advice to all those who have just entered the reception area of middle-age: if you are serious about saying goodbye to this world before you touch 40, please emigrate to Zimbabwe immediately. Life expectancy there is 37 for men and 34 for women -- even in Zimbabwe, as you can see, women have a better deal.
While ageist hypocrisy is one part of it, another side of birthdays I dislike is the introspective part. For some reason, you are made to think that every one of your birthdays is some kind of milestone you've crossed. So you feel compelled to look back on your life and assess it, as if it was an income tax return. And unless you are someone like Maria Sharapova, who won Wimbledon at the age of 17, or Paris Hilton, who doesn't need to win anything and so has a birthday party on every continent, you feel compelled to pose yourself questions such as: what have I achieved in life except go to work, make money, and have fun? I don't know if anybody else has noticed, but there seems to be nothing to look forward to in life these days except having fun. And of all the days in your life, it is on your birthday that you are supposed to be having the 'maximum' fun. How depressing can that be. Ask me.
Thomas Hardy once observed that every year, without our knowing it, we live through our death days. You don't know it yet, but maybe 50 years from now, one day, say on July 5, you are going to die. What would you do if you knew that July 5 is your death day? Would you mourn it every year while you live? Maybe light a few candles instead of blowing them out -- say, about 137 candles? Or will you have a mock funeral service to commemorate your own mortality? Given that birth is an event that is already past, Death Day ought to have more emotional cache for people. But we'd rather not think about death. Forget death, we'd rather not think about growing old even.
I might as well come out and say it: I believe birthdays are a big hoax, and the overpowering obligation to be happy on my 'happy birthday' just pisses me off. The reasons are many. For one, I no longer enjoy blowing candles as much as I used to when I was 7. Then, as a fully grown adult male, I find the entire ceremony of cake-cutting deeply embarrassing. More so if there are people standing around, pretending to sing 'happy birthday to you' while secretly rejoicing in the fact that I have become one year older than what I was yesterday. This means they can all feel collectively younger by one year, thanks to my birthday.
What I don't realize until it is too late is that they are also feeling sorry for me because I can't cut without messing up the entire cake. People can't stand for long the sight of me battling the big birthday cake as if it was Moby Dick and I was Captain Ahab poking at it with an extremely blunt harpoon. Sooner or later, someone saves me from the ordeal by grabbing my hand with the knife in it, effortlessly slicing a perfectly shaped piece, and quickly shoving one in my mouth so I can't protest. Then they all clap so that I forget to feel bad.
But I couldn't forget for long. At least 16 people asked me on my birthday how old I was, and these included not just traditionally age-obsessed creatures such as women. Too many men asked me, and went away with a self-satisfied smile when I told them. Really, I can't think of a better example of hypocrisy than saying "happy birthday" to a person you believe will shortly be deported from the country of youth to the settlement of the middle-aged.
Two things became clear to me on my birthday: First, we have become a hopelessly ageist society. Second, ageism has completely infiltrated our competitiveness. So not only are we competitive in staying and looking younger; not only do we all want to become CEOs, drive BMWs, and brandish umbrellas designed by Yves Saint Laurent, we want to do it all at an age younger than everyone else who is seeking the same thing. After all, what is the point of getting to sit on the Board at an age when you have lumbago, and can't tell your friends how you canceled the meeting with the chief minister because you couldn't miss your Rugby match at the Auckland Gymkhana?
I asked some of my ageist friends what they would do when they turned 40. They all had the same answer: "I would be dead by then." I am willing to bet that all these people promised themselves when they were 18 that they would be dead by 30. Now they are 31 and planning to be dead by 40. My advice to all those who have just entered the reception area of middle-age: if you are serious about saying goodbye to this world before you touch 40, please emigrate to Zimbabwe immediately. Life expectancy there is 37 for men and 34 for women -- even in Zimbabwe, as you can see, women have a better deal.
While ageist hypocrisy is one part of it, another side of birthdays I dislike is the introspective part. For some reason, you are made to think that every one of your birthdays is some kind of milestone you've crossed. So you feel compelled to look back on your life and assess it, as if it was an income tax return. And unless you are someone like Maria Sharapova, who won Wimbledon at the age of 17, or Paris Hilton, who doesn't need to win anything and so has a birthday party on every continent, you feel compelled to pose yourself questions such as: what have I achieved in life except go to work, make money, and have fun? I don't know if anybody else has noticed, but there seems to be nothing to look forward to in life these days except having fun. And of all the days in your life, it is on your birthday that you are supposed to be having the 'maximum' fun. How depressing can that be. Ask me.
