What happens next, you ask?

My birthday, that's what! Ok, it's not technically part of the Persian New Year festivities, but shoot, it should be. However, let me note that Zoroaster's/Zarathustra's date of birth is acknowledged and celebrated on my birthday. So cheers to that. Coincidence I share a birthday with the first monotheistic prophet who was Persian? I think not.

Growing up, I really hated all the fuss about my birthday. I was the "baby" of my family - quite a distant age gap between my parents, siblings and I, so I really think they used this opportunity to party. "Let's have some of our aged 50-and-up friends over for Eid-Norooz, and let's throw in a cake and some candles in honor of Shadi's 10th birthday! Woohoo!" Don't get me wrong, I still made a detailed wish list of what gifts I wanted (perhaps the seeds of shamelessness began budding then...), but I mean I hated to be in the spot light, or to get any sort of attention for my birthday. I remember sometimes during the countless New Year parties we'd be invited to at my parents' friends' houses, I'd make sure to ask my mom beforehand "YOU GUYS AREN'T GONNA SURPRISE ME AT THIS ONE WITH SOME BARBIE CAKE, RIGHT? PLEASE DON'T DO THIS TO ME!" l'd even check the trunk of our car to make sure my parents weren't sneaking a homemade cake to some old Iranian doctor-friend's house with us. Then the year I was turning 13 - not a pretty age for anyone, folks - lo and behold, at the house of one of our closest family friends, where about 100 people were gathered for dinner and drinks to celebrate Norooz, I was bombarded in the massive dining room of their mansion with a full sheet cake with exactly thirteen candles and colorful iced flowers adorned on it. Everyone stood in a circle around the room that had Vatican-esque endlessly-high ceilings and chandeliers; while a handful of my pubescent friends - children of my parents' friends - eyed me and the gargantuan cake with grins on their faces because they were in on the surprise the whole damn time. Meanwhile I'm thinking, can I just get a slice of cake and make a run for it? No of course, not, as I glanced over my mom's persian script writing "Happy Birthday Shadi-dear" in pink icing on the cake. I had to wait for the 100 or so Iranians - most of whom I didn't recognize - sing me "Happy Birthday" in Farsi and English. I remember exactly what I was wearing that night, and exactly how thick my eyebrows were too. Which reminds me, I need to burn that picture.

Nevertheless, I am thankful I have those moments to reminisce about. These bicultural glimpses of my past - however embarrassing they may have seemed at the time - make me who I am today. And you all know I'm one proud mofo and I don't hide it.

Fast forward to my 21st birthday and on. I suddenly became a celebratory, spotlight-hogging, unashamedly festive go-on-wich-yo-badass!-birthday girl. Not sure what set in from that point. Yes, I can be absolutely undeterred, brassy and unabashed with my comments, jokes and observations about 99% of the time, but at least on my birthday, it's all justified. This is my day, people. Back up, I'm gonna dance in the middle of the circle now and I want a big-ass cake with all my friends standing around me grinning and eyeing me with love. Modesty? Humility? Let me think...mmm...nope, not today, thanks.

Oh and for those of you anxiously waiting, hang in there, more descriptions of the Persian New Year to come. I'm too busy with the bubbly right now.