Birthdays are a time for celebration. Why? Because although we should treasure every day of our lives as a gift, our birthday is a time to celebrate the actual day we came into this world and start our crazy journey through this thing we call life. Growing up, I could never have imagined I would be dreading this day if only because everyone seems to take advantage of this occasion to remind me that I’m so freaking old. I mean, I get it already! I’m a grazing cow who’s going to end up an old maid, tend to cats or possibly sheep that is, if I decide to take my old ass to the blad (back home). I don’t need people to keep repeating the same old shit over and over and over.
But this year, for the first time ever, I actually found myself listening to all that insistent rambling with an uninterested and most shockingly unaffected attitude and I was actually sort of excited about my birthday. I don’t know if it was because I felt rather accomplished in having completed my first book, yes, I did!, or moving forward in my career, or maybe it was because I found a twenty seven dollar Sephora gift card in my purse and was finally able to afford the Marc Jacobs foundation I had been wanting for since its release. Whatever the case, I was actually making plans for the anniversary of the day I entered this world, until I found a patch of white hair on my head.
After spending what felt like hours in front of the mirror searching through my hair for any trace of more white hair, I began wondering what the hell happen. I have two parents who didn’t begin greying until after they reached forty. Why wasn’t my head getting the memo? It was as if Mother Nature was trying to validate what everyone else in the community was saying about me: You are old! It took me a while to get comfortable with my looming birthday and it seem the moment the freaking white hair appeared, it didn’t only shout to me, “You need to start dying your hair very soon! Old Ass!” But it also said, “Another year! Another Birthday! And you’re still single!” Old ass!”
I’m proud of being an independent woman who chooses to remain single until Mr. Right shows up on his white horse… ugh white…but I must admit, I have those days when look in the mirror, pluck a few white hair from here and there and say to myself: “Why are you alone? You’re fabulous!” says, my Barbara Streisand subconscious. But when the temporary pick-me-up fades and all that’s left is me, as much as I hate to admit this, it does get lonely. Sure it’s fun to have family wishing you a Happy Birthday and celebrate the day with you even if they request that you use your wish to be married within the next three months. And yes, friends make the day even more enjoyable. Yet there’s something about the reality of not having that special someone to share your day with and that makes you rather sad. It made me sad.
There’s nothing wrong with me, in fact I’ll say there is everything right with me, and I am sure, as well as the countless other singles out there. Moreover, we have our heads on straight when we say that “we refuse to settle for anything less than The Sparkle!” But regardless of the strength it takes to say that, we singles do face those moments when the sky is blanketed with darkness and we stare up at our ceiling and wish there was someone special to cuddle with. I often wish there was a guy other than my brothers to complain about the smell of my nail polish, or tell me to hurry up when he claims I am taking years to get ready for the dinner and a movie outing. My point is that I do wish there was someone I could call in the middle of the night to …. instead of browsing Instagram for workout routines to make my ass bigger. I guess, deep down, I wish I had a man in my life.
September 2nd. My birthday, the day I had ‘curried up’ so much excitement for, only to find white some hair causing me to get depressed and ultimately filled me with dread. Although I was surprised by the gifts my family and friends so caringly selected for me, I still found myself anxious to end the day especially since The Question would inevitably come up: “So how old are you now?” I mean, wasn’t there a time when it was in very poor taste to ask a woman her age? Now it’s a deal breaker!
As I got home and settled in, my doorbell rang and there stood a mountain of red balloons. My favorite. There were so many that I couldn’t see who was holding them. Suddenly hands began to swat the balloons aside only to reveal Lama, Sumiah, and Asma yelling out in unison HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I couldn’t help but smile. Widely. I mean I must have put The Joker to shame.
“Get that sexy ass ready we’re going out!” Sumiah laughed.
“Come on hurry we have no time to waste,” added Asma.
I had to comply. I mean they insisted and well, I was in a pair of four inch Marc Jacobs toe pumps that were dying to be worn for the rest of the evening and so I agreed. The night quickly when from flat to fab and somewhere between virgin margaritas and a long walk by the lake, I realized that I don’t need a man in my life when I have three of the most amazing friends a single girl could ask for. They bring me up when I’m down, make me feel beautiful when I look and feel like death warmed over, tell me the truth and know exactly what to say to comfort me, let me know that everything is going to be alright, and at the end of the day, that’s what companionship is about. True friendship is the comfort of having another human being to walk through life with you and take you as you are, with all the good and all the bad as well. I’m just the luckiest girl in the world because I have three of those wonderful people in my life.