It’s my birthday. It’s her day.

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Today is my birthday.

25 years ago, on this day, I opened my eyes for the first time and let out a piercing cry. Seeing me cry, she cried too while she held me in her arms. In some time, the warmth of her breasts put me to sleep.

While I slept peaceably, oblivious to the alien world that I was brought to, she lay there staring at me. It was a day not for me, it was a day for her. Those 9 months before this day, 25 years ago, she went through mood swings, cravings, pain, discomfort, all for me, only so that I could see this day. I can’t even bring myself to imagine what it must have been like to live in discomfort for 9 long months. But she did.

So why, after 25 years, is this day celebrated for me? Why am I given gifts? I didn’t do anything! I was just extracted from one world to another. I was brought to this world by her. Yes, it’s my birthday. I just took birth on this day. This day means a lot to me because obviously I was born on this day, but honestly this day is more important to me because it was on this day that my mum was the happiest. She went through the labour while I playfully kicked her stomach from inside. And when I finally opened my eyes to see the world, she was, perhaps, the most excited woman on earth.

It was her day for flowers, gifts, food, sweets, treats, blessings and all kinds of pampering. She received all of it today, 25 years ago. With my birth, she was reborn as a mother.

Now, however, the meaning has changed quite a bit. Instead of her, I’m given gifts, blessings, flowers, cakes, treats, drives etc. Why all the pampering and good wishes for me? I really didn’t do anything.

 

 

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