My Birthday

I like and dislike my birthday for many reasons. Over the years, some of these reasons have remained the same, and others have changed.

It is fair to say that there are quite a few people, other than myself, who also have strong feelings about my birthday.

On the day I was born, some of my family members turned the holy pictures that hung in our home around to face the wall because that is exactly what God had done to them. God had turned his back on them.

I had an aunt who had failed her driving test on the day I was born, but she decided not to burden the family with further disappointing news.

I had siblings who cried when they found out the truth about me. They were just copying the actions of their elders as all children do.

They did not understand that what I was was not inherently bad. It was just that I wasn’t what the elders had hoped for and definitely not what they had prayed for.

They did not abandon me. Despite all of their heartache, they brought me home, cared for me, and loved me in many ways.

I don’t think I was born into the wrong body, but I have always been aware of the ways in which my body has held me back and how it sometimes betrays me.

So, when my birthday story was recounted to me, we all laughed because it did sound a little silly in places. But we never questioned the emotions felt or the actions taken.

Now, when I think about this story, I still laugh, but only because I see how ridiculous it was for me to think this was ever OK.

All this fuss over the fact that I was born a Kaur and not a Singh.

In my faith, these titles are given to newborn babies and mean princess and prince, respectively. Titles to show that all are of equal value, but these titles are often ignored.

I know my story is not unique to me, I share it with countless others, a story that was birthed with that of humanity.

Can a story with such a beginning ever have a happy ending?