17 Birthday

Yesterday it was my 17th birthday. To be honest with you, I have never been really fond of them. Today, I think I found a new reason not to like them. All my life, I have been perplexed by the concept of birthdays. How is the anniversary of one’s conception evaluated as an accomplishment? I don’t deserve the liberty of having a birthday celebration. I have zero, absolutely zero accomplishments. I never achieved an A on a test, never won a tournament; there hasn’t been a single defining moment in life that could be considered any sort of accomplishment. Hence, there is no plausible reason to celebrate my birthday. I believe birthdays are just excuses to remind people that it's your birthday, whatever that even means. Like every year, my birthday was an ordinary day that all my friends forgot, but bless my family, at least they remembered. Whenever they want to celebrate it, I’ll wipe that smug grin off my face and get on with it. My parents don’t deserve the grief that my overthinking causes me. I truly hate birthdays; they remind me how I am so old yet so unaccomplished as a person. Thank you for hearing me vent.