It’s 12:02am on June 16th, 2016. It is officially my least favorite day of the year: my birthday. I hate my birthday. I can’t explain why, I just do. It almost makes me mad when my friends and family ask what I want to do, saying we HAVE to celebrate. But why? See I think the thing I hate most about birthdays is they are so impersonal. We choose to celebrate people for one day every year on a date that was decided by chance. Can you imagine if we didn’t know when anyone’s birthdays were?! We would choose to celebrate people whenever we wanted because we think they deserved to be celebrated! That would mean so much more and would actually be personal. When my friends say we should celebrate on the anniversary of my birth, they are only saying that because they think that’s what we are supposed to do. I would appreciate a card so much more on February 7th or August 10th or whatever random day of the year because it lets me know someone was thinking of me because they wanted to and not because they were supposed to. I am not a year older; I’m a day older. I shouldn’t be celebrated; merely surviving doesn’t deserve to be celebrated. I am not any wiser because of my age; I learn through my experiences, not my age. It is now 12:20 on June 16th, 2016. It is still my least favorite day of the year. Although I hate birthdays, I still want to make a wish. I wish one day I’ll live in a world where my life is celebrated based on my accomplishments, the value of my friendship, and on not just surviving but truly living on a day that means absolutely nothing because my friends and family thought I deserved it. But since who ever reads this now knows my wish, I won’t be surprised when it never comes true.