This past Friday, March third, was my seventeenth birthday, and with every single person I talked to, I haggled my brain overtaking an opportunity to brag about my birthday. 

Yes, I admit that I am very selfish about my birthday. In fact, it’s the exact opposite opinion I have compared to my not-so-good appreciation of New Year’s. But, to be perfectly honest, I feel the need because I don’t nearly get enough attention from others as that small part of my heart wants. 

I’m not a very outgoing person to begin with, but the chances of me getting chances to brag about a special day that’s all about me seem just too perfect to pass up. One day of the year I get to feel like I’ve leaped a year in maturing, even if the prenotion is just like taking another step up the stairs. 

There’s something special about complete strangers smiling at me and wishing me well despite not even having made contact with them prior to the entire school year. The comfort I get from being validated and recognized by people I don’t normally know makes me feel just a bit warmer. 

So of course, I will tell every single person and their friend that ‘it’s my birthday and you should totally say something nice to me.’ I am very aware that I border the line of being an attention hog because none wants to make everything about me, but when I have little to no spotlight in general, I can confirm to myself that everything will all be worth it. 

Now, yes, this does make me look like I am blaming other people for desiring attention from others, and no, that is not the intent. I think everyone should get the chance to have a day where it’s just about them. 

A good excuse to bust out the special-day shirt with printed confetti and wear a ridiculous cone-shaped hat and get sung to by a crowd of awkward singing relatives. 

This year, I decided not to post something on my Instagram account, mainly as an experiment to see just how many people would message me. The results had been just what I expected:

I got none. 

I have three very close friends. They don’t need the initiative to wish me luck or faith or even a happy birthday. I love them all, and I love the others I surround myself with, but the fact that I need to say something before people make realizations hurts. Truthfully, it’s a wound that digs deeper each time I am reminded that popularity is not something I possess. 

It is very rude of me to hope random people remember my special day, without any reminders. But part of me wished for more than just my English teacher to remember and give me a pencil in celebration of another year. 

So now, I make a silent vow. Whenever I hear of an upcoming birthday, I will do everything under a twenty-dollar budget to make that upcoming date the best it can be. At least then, I can feel like I am owed something even if that is a selfish thought.