All bets are off.

I don't believe gender should divide us, nor should race, nationality or age or even how we eat our Oreos. No, I believe there are only two kinds of people in this world. The kind that celebrate birthdays with vigour and intent and purpose and the kind that don't know what the big whoop is about them, they don't care for celebrations, In fact birthdays are like any other day for them.

I don't understand the latter. I had a conversation with one of these people and I had to ask
Me: How can you not care that your friends were born? That they're alive yet another year.

"We care, we just don't see the need for a big celebration of one day of the year when we commemorate the bloodiest most vulnerable day of their lives. That was the first day they cried, and that's the day we want to remember?"

Me: Birth is beautiful okay? That was also the first day they tasted the air and were held by loving arms and the first day they actively began to live. That they made it this far is what we're celebrating. Why don't you see that?

"We do, we just think there's no reason to treat me all special today then not tomorrow. Celebrate them everyday. That day's not even our achievement to celebrate, wedidn't give birth to ourselves.
If anything, we should celebrate our friends' mothers. Why don't we do that?"

Me: Because there in your logic is an ideal, one that can't hold up in the real world. When was the last time you were with someone who made you feel celebrated everyday? Also my mum gets celebrated on her birthday as well, and I thank her then for giving me my own day too.

I know you're going to ask me how I have the audacity to write after what seems like years just to remind you it's my birthday month. It is, and it's a big one. I have a feeling I've said that about every birthday since I turned 9.

Speaking of turning nine. The day before my birthday, my brother and I were caught stealing. We'd had a good run though, before our 40 days were up (I've never liked that proverb) we were masterminds, caught by a small fluke. We used the ol' divide and conquer rule. I was the distraction and he was the  one who did the dirty work. when he got caught, we tried to keep it quiet, we did, from home grownups. But the guy who caught us knew my aunt and she was called, and she called my big sister. My sister was too shocked to give us any form of punishment, I suppose that's the good side to making unexpected mistakes. She only said. "Wait till your father gets home"

My dad is a scary guy. Not the kind who has guns type of scary, no no, he was the kind you were sure  could kill you with his bare hands. That type. And we had seen him beat one of us up like it was the endgame (no spoilers, relax) and that memory lives on.
But that day, we were sure, we were going to die I remember writing my will and testament. Yes, I was that dramatic, but only because my big sister kept saying stuff like

"Enjoy your last supper"

"Will you still be able to hold that cup once dad is done with you?"

" I'll make sure to be out of the way so that blood doesn't spill on me" (which sounds worse in Kiswahili)

So naturally, as kids, we slept. I don't know why we assumed that if we slept, our parents would never wake us up just to beat us, and by tomorrow, hopefully, the issue is forgotten. But when he came, he didn't hit us, just talked to us. I don't remember what he said because fear then relief made that whole conversation hazy.

But alas, there was punishment. My brother swore up and down I had no part in his thievery (because snitches get stitches) but they still punished me for 'knowing and not trying to stop him from stealing' I don't remember what he was told but my birthday party was cancelled. He's never stolen anything again, well, I don't think.

Back then parties were simple. You just bought cake, juice and snacks and called all the neighbors kids around and people ate, sang happy birthday, ate cake and left. Tadaa party's over.

Now, I want the mostest. And over the years I've realized people don't have as much psyche for these things as I do, I have my back though, and for the twenty days before my birthday, I shall do/eat/experience my favourite thing that I liked to do each year. Like twelve days of Christmas, only it's a day for every year I've lived. And if I liked Weetabix in my first year, on day one I'll eat Weetabix, or riding bikes my 8th year, or creating my own comic strip my 11th. I'm still writing down the things,( I'm still dramatic)

I'll also ask y'all to help me. If you want to, think back to your  younger years, do something, one thing you liked to do before, see how you've changed. Also eat cake, as much as you can for me. And if anyone asks, say your celebrating Manamana's birthday. Hehehe. Also if you want to get me a gift, feel free, I'm sure my stories say a lot about who I am and what I like right? Take a guess, I'll appreciate.

This month is a month of Girls' stories. People who've gone through and overcome and they're stories I love, relate and am challenged by. Happy May. I really wanted to send this yesterday so I could say May the fourth be with you. I suppose I'll have to wait for next year.

But really, Endgame broke my heart.