Last week, my Shakespeare professor asked us why Americans aren’t allowed to be sad. Brits have no problem proclaiming they are “bloody awful!” when asked how they are doing, if that’s how they are doing! In the States, it’s socially unacceptable to say anything but “fine/good/great/well, thank you, how are you?” Of course, sometimes we are willing to veer away from these conventional responses, but it typically results in taken aback reactions or overwhelming concern and friendly “it’ll-be-alright-s.”

I preface this entry for a reason. This is a public blog, but that’s no reason for sugar coating. I write as an outlet. My “scribbles” are never an outcry for sympathy, simply an illustration of how I feel in the moment.

With that said, my birthday was last Tuesday. I turned 21. It started at 12:01 when Rainey and Matt wished me Happy Birthday (Rainey in musical fashion, Matt in spoken word.) My Facebook was flooded with notes on my “Birthday Wall of Love.” I received a couple of beautifully handwritten notes from Steph and Rainey, which both brought me to tears. After sitting at lunch awkwardly alone for 15 minutes, my friends brought me a cake and a joint birthday card. Between Rainey and Zach, I was showered with more chocolate, jelly babies, and J20 than I knew what to do with. And yet, it didn’t feel like a birthday. I suppose they truly do lose their magic after 18, but I was still hoping it might be special, being in London and all. Alas.

Turning Twenty-One

Twenty-One, you are a tiara

A tiara and a birthday song.

Twenty-One, you are a tear

More stubborn than brown eyes who thought they were strong

Twenty-One, you feel like Twenty

I could have mistaken you for twins

Twenty-One, you are anti-climactic

An anticipated party that never begins.

One of the best parts of my birthday is the night before. As a child, my mom would come into my room as I was falling asleep. She’d say, “Tonight is the last night you will go to bed and be __ years old.” It never felt like a birthday until those magic words were said. The tradition continues on, even though now it’s through late night phone calls. She’s even managed the time differences from the past two years! It’s nice to know that even though my birthdays will probably continue to be anti-climactic, I can always look forward to getting a year older, because it means I get to hear those magic words once again!

How was my birthday? Less than perfect. At some points it was lovely, and at others, downright awful. But I’m going to take a page from a Brits book, and I’m not going to lie about it.

Ice-skating for my 12th (ish) Birthday

Sweet Sixteen in New York:

Big One-Eight:

Twenty in Maryland: