Paranormal
So...
It's your birthday.
And you're one year closer to your inevitable demise. You will once again spend another day in introspection, examining your life, attempting to give it meaning in context of your surroundings and the circumstances you have experienced, but will unfortunately never realize that in the vast cosmological backdrop of universal events, your life is a fleeting metaphor of endless pinings, desires, heartbreaks, celebrations, happiness and a reservoir of other limited anthropological concepts that are supposed to define the current state of an individual, created by a species who fail to realize that their very existence is a mere by-product of bacterial evolution on a planet which is ironically hurtling towards an untimely annihilation being propagated by the same self-centered breed of egomaniacs that it houses in complete approbation or, as others would look at it, an obligation of probabilistic consequences.
You've gotten tired of repeatedly feigning enthusiasm for the usual repertoire of invariable theme of gifts, the ties, chocolates, CDs, garments, mugs, inconsequential ornaments to be dispensed with, clichéd humorless cards to which a response of inhibited guffaws are mandatory rather than optional, and an assault of insipid yet pugnacious inquisitions into the affairs of your personal life and your quotidian acknowledgments to this vile assemblage of kinsmen whose declamatory roles in your life gives them a misconception of their paramount importance with regards to matters which you have decidedly not considered in lieu of your pursuit of a better career, a better lifestyle, or a better relationship among other materialistic or superfluous self-ordained ideologies.
Brooding and contemplation, meditation and heart-searching lead you to conclude that it is but a commemoration of the completion of yet another orbit of our planet around a star, and yet this very occasion evokes a psychological as well as social response in us, most inexplicably.
But if you cognitively progress beyond the cheap balloons, the leftover cake, the chocolates with nuts in them, the detestable candies (none of them chocolate), the artificial expressions of feelings through ubiquitous predetermined wishes, the faltering Flash comedy cards (the only outcome of which is an increased amount of spam in your inbox), the singular moment of exclusive attention from people you haven't heard from in eras, the alcohol fuelled congregations with the sole aim of achieving hangovers, there is something you need to realize... you don't need a ridiculous, hollow occasion to make yourself feel better. Nobody should need a day to feel better, you certainly don't. You just need to see that there's nothing special about a day marked on a calendar. Every day can be your day, only if you feel it's your day. And that you're doing everything just right. And that everything's going to turn out just fine.
So Happy Birthday. I hope this leaves you wondering whether this is a good thing or bad.
