Cumpleaños, Feliz
Me deseo a mi. An ode to my birthday.
Guess who has a birthday tomorrow? Me. It be me.
I really like my birthday.
First of all, it’s in May, one of the most hopeful months of the year. A month that keeps us on our toes weather-wise. Some days it’s cold and rainy and you curse Mother Nature for keeping us frozen. Then you wake up one day and the sun is all “hi, beautiful!” and the breeze feels balmy and delicious and you’re suddenly grateful for everything—your health, your family, a new day. You savor it because tomorrow might be a completely different story. A different day. And that’s okay. May taught you that.
May is also such a cute three-letter word. Petite and pretty.
I like that I’m a Taurus. I’m not an astrology aficionado, but I’ve read enough about my sign to agree that yes, I am the bull. Back when I was an editor, Fresh, the beauty brand, gifted us a session with famed astrologist Susan Miller. A few weeks later, “My Personal Horoscope” was messengered to me. I just flipped through the book and even though it was published so long ago, it still resonates. For instance, I just landed on page 39, which is titled:
Patricia Has Venus in Gemini
With your entertaining and spirited character, you engage just about anyone in conversation in a relaxed manner. You have an inexhaustible curiosity, which you satisfy by communicating with others. Perhaps you love to write or have a gift for speaking in public.
I mean… how cool are Tauruses?!
I didn’t always love my birthday, though. My parents didn’t celebrate our birthdays. I don’t have photos of me, year after year, standing in front of a cake, my face lit by candlelight, smiling as my family sang and clapped for me. The exception is a photo from my first birthday, doing exactly that next to a Dominican cake. It was also my baptism, and I suspect my godparents made sure I was celebrated. After the visitors left, whatever joy there had been seemed to disappear with them.
On my 11th birthday, I had had enough of being ignored. I went outside and told everyone who walked by my building that it was my birthday. Some people smiled at me, some shook my hand. But they weren’t my parents, so I went back inside.
That makes me sad. And I know it would make my mother even sadder to hear it. So when she calls me tomorrow with a “feliz cumpleaños, mi hija,” I will smile and say gracias instead of asking why I didn’t deserve to be celebrated.
Lo que pasó, pasó and all that.
I do vividly remember my dad celebrating me later, after the divorce and when I was starting my own life. He died when I was 24, but for a brief period, I could count on Papi showing up with a bouquet of carnations and a $50 bill. I felt like the most beloved girl in the world.
I still do. I’ve made up for lost time with endless birthday celebrations. I’ve celebrated my family’s birthdays, my friends’ birthdays, Mami and Papi’s birthdays—even my cat has had her moment.
I’m gonna go get pretty. May will keep doing what May does—soft one minute, dramatic the next, reminding me that nothing stays the same for long. I didn’t grow up with birthdays, but I learned how to have them anyway.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEEEE