My sister told me that with every birthday, even though the mind feels young, the body doesn't feel the same way. I'd like to think that I haven't changed much. That I'm pretty much still the same as my younger self. No, I know that can't be true, just look at how much gray hair I have, but my mind insists that no, no, no, I can't be that old.
What I realized however is that many of the moments that I re-live in my head and the people that are in them, they no longer exist. At least not the same way I remember them. All of those moments I keep re-living, whether in resentment or relishment, they all include characters that can no longer be returned to. To put it simply, that girl I liked when I was fourteen years old, she now has three kids, a husband that looks like my dad, and she can no longer fit in those jeans that I thought were cute.
And people like her are the lucky ones. Some of the people in my memories have long passed. There's no stalking them on Facebook. Well, there is. But it's just sad because their Facebook or whatever online presence they have are frozen in time in a weird cold way, somehow being digital makes it seem that way. It's like when I read an old e-mail from my mother who has long passed. It brings me back to that moment when she wa stil around, but the feeling is static.
I guess that's what I feel worse about with each birthday. It's not so much that I'm getting older, weaker, or less attractive. My vanity makes me want to stay young or look as young as long as I can, of course. But that's not the sad part about each birthday. It's more like I'm mourning for another year of distance from many things that I could never bring back again, another year of alienation from people and relationships that will just be a memory. Even if those people are still in my life, there goes another year of growing older and being less innocent or excited about each other. Another year of relationship growth, but with it, scars and bruisings.
This is why I don't celebrate my birthdays. I get too negative about it. Sure, I survived another year on the planet. Another year, but at what price?
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