Planting New Seasons💦
The season is familiar to most.
It is a call for celebration.
A day to blow out candles.
When heartfelt wishes danced around the candle flame.
A sweet slice of cake to be shared.
When both family and friends gather.
On that same day, years ago.
Your cries echoed in a dimmed, white room;
A signal to your first arrival on Earth.
Your date of birth.
What a blessed and promising season this is.
A day for gardeners to tend to a budding flower.
Unfortunately, not all flowers are tended that day.
For them, the season feels cold, slow, and cruel.
Neglected and forgotten
Another Neglected Sprout🌱
Another year, another birthday.
Another lie, pretending the season doesn't excite you.
"I don't celebrate my birthday."
"I prefer to stay in bed, really."
A fragile mask to hide away your constant disappointment.
That feeling of shame, sadness and quiet disappointment is always present every single year.
Mocking us, ironically being the only thing that accompanies us.
Maybe people often forget your birthday,
Maybe your family is running low on money, and a birthday celebration is the last thing on their mind.
Or something else.
Quiet or loud.
Something out of your control.
And therefore, our sprout is left in cold and dry conditions.
Gardeners around us are too busy to even spare a drop of water.
Each year;
Our soil, neglected.
Our existence, forgotten
Our self-image, wilting.
Such a season, isn't it?
The Day I Planted for Me🌹
This year, my birthday season came up again
No celebration, no grand birthday wishes.
From anyone. No gardeners in sight.
Maybe they forgot. Maybe they didn’t care.
I couldn't blame them, really.
Everyone was preoccupied.
On that day, I had to hold tutorial classes.
Ensuring the success of my peers
I stood for six hours teaching — I do have a responsibility to hold.
Funny, I have to admit it here.
It hurts
The more I think about each passing day.
I have never had a memorable birthday.
That I was truly happy.
I never had anything so colourful,
So bright,
So emotional,
So fun.
It was lonely, so lonely.
And so an idea came to me.
Plant a new season.
A day for me, I don't need to wait for others to celebrate me
I can celebrate my existence.
It must not be a grand celebration
But a day of rest and doing what simply brings me joy
A selfish day, you could say.
We’re all gardeners, after all.
So why not water my own sprout?
Instead of waiting for others to come?
Life isn't beautiful because it's easy.
It's a series of events that happen to each person
Each with their own experience and story to tell.
And who knows mine better than me?
And like every well-watered garden, I know something beautiful will grow.
