B'day rant -- 2014 edition.

It seems favorite part of my birth days are no longer the festivities, for such actions are not really called for, but my motivation to rant, aka, blog.

Here we go, for this year:

My mom just called, and wished me a happy B’day, I answered, “I congratulate you too” (in Persian, the word congratulate is used when wishing someone a happy b’day). My mom and I always banter, sometimes they end up in shit, sometimes they end up in laughter, sometimes in a serious goodbye. Usually, I criticize, analyze and try to subtly offend my mom when bantering. At this moment in time, after 8 years of not having seen her, I am used to being away from her, and usually thinking about her, I can only remember all the shitty stuff of her personality, history and such the quickest. Basically, I am trapped with my shitty memories of her, and there is no way in sight of making new memories with her. Obviously, if anyone is about to initiate a new memory-making phase, it would be me, for she is not only old, but she is too IRANIAN. I am not too IRANIAN at this moment, but I am getting old. And, I can’t see how I will ever initiate anything positive with her, talking to her, or, more accurately, not being able to talk to her without hurting her in one way or another is simply impossible.

What I know is the slightest direct criticism offends her severely.

I have already started to prepare myself for another shitty chain of events in future.

My dad had cancer and we had stopped communicating a year or so before his imminent death, but with my mom, we have this shallow, misleading veneer of communication (once every 7-8 weeks or so), which makes it all the more difficult. For example, today I knew one way or another I am going to receive a call from her. I could either ignore the call, or answers it. And, I answered it. And, now, I am feeling sorry for myself. I mean today is my B’day, and I have always been depressed on this special day since years ago, but to feel sorry for oneself and be depressed is a shitty combination, I tell you.

(When I am depressed, I do not feel sorry for myself usually, I am usually angry and sad. Sorrow is neither sadness nor anger.)

Not that I want to make you feel shitty too, but I don’t care actually.

My mom asked me what’s new, I said hichi (means nothing in Persian). I cannot talk to my mom about shit actually. Whatever I say, she will comment or say something which I would fine either stupid, offensive or judgmental. It is “safer” not to talk about anything but “her” relatives. I mean really HER relatives not mine, for example: Mom said today that Aunt S. has called home in Tehran and has congratulated “my” B’day. I replied why didn’t she call the house of Mamad Agha (a typical nobody in Persian) to congratulate MY B’day! She should do it next time. What I mean is why should an AUNT of mine call my MOM to talk about MY B’day. I mean it is my B’day, I think, not my mom’s. And, this aunt has my number, I did give it to her a few years ago, but she does not call me. Whatever.

The other day I was thinking I should start making my own family, but I am too scared of any and all relationships, I highly doubt I will manage to find and maintain myself a regular fuck buddy let alone a romantic, committed relationship.

I guess rant is done.