Sometimes I Cry: A Bittersweet Sixteen

Growing up, sixteen was the age I couldn’t wait to be. Hearing story after story from my parents about their lives at sixteen, almost seeming paradise-like, I began to dream of what my life would be like.
I imagined driving around with my friends, blasting music while the wind blew through our hair (Okay, before my actual friends make fun of me, let me remind you I was seven). I continued with this dream and counted down the years until I gained this supposed newfound freedom. But now, as this “heavenly” age approaches me, I can’t help but feel the opposite.
As my childhood fantasy fades away, I’m met with the hardships and reality that actually come along with becoming sixteen.
While my birthday approaches, I’ve begun to experience the overwhelming feeling of everything that is soon going to be expected of me. From getting my permit to thinking of jobs I might have to apply for, I can’t help but dread becoming my dream age.
The odd thing about becoming sixteen, or even any age, is that the magical-ness of birthdays seem to dissipate. When someone asks, “Are you excited about turning sixteen?” or “Wow! The big one-six! You must be thrilled,” I put on a smile and nod in response, almost as if by habit.
But the disappointing truth is, I don’t feel much about my birthday.
I no longer feel the crave and anticipation of receiving gifts or rush to show my parents ideas for the theme of my party. Instead, this moment that’s supposed to be all about me, seems as if it’s just another waking day.
As I am no longer met with streamers hanging from my doorframe or balloons filling every corner of my room, I begin to wonder if this birthday is also just another simple day for my parents. Has my growing up ended my parents’ sense of childlike wonder that they felt and saw through me?
Could this be the reason that this birthday doesn’t feel the same as the others? Have I become so dependent on my parents’ excitement that now that they don’t seem as eager as they used to be, that I’m beginning to feel that way myself?
Maybe this feeling is no one’s fault. Maybe now that I’ve gone through the motions of life and have got to experience the hardships of it for myself, I’ve lost my nostalgia for the things that brought me joy as a kid.
Or maybe, I’ve just finally grown up.
Although I seem to no longer experience the childlike excitement for my birthday, I am forever grateful for the wonderful birthdays I’ve got to experience before.
But as the day I’ve longed for as a child approaches, I can’t seem to shake the bittersweet feeling.