What I Call the “Happy Birthday” Obsession

What I Call the “Happy Birthday” Obsession

I genuinely feel suffocated whenever I come across posts and comments that reek of triviality—where neither the occasion has any real significance nor the manner of expression is appropriate. Instead, they are merely hollow repetitions of imported rituals that belong neither to our faith nor to any meaningful guidance. They have come to be treated as fixed occasions, complete with their own rituals and rhythms, as though people had signed some strange contract with blind imitation.

Take this example—and there are countless others—which keeps surfacing on Facebook:

“My dear beloved brother, the rib of my heart, Abu … Wishing you a happy birthday, and may your years be sweeter and sweeter!”

Words stretched beyond meaning, devoid of spirit, a mixture of broken colloquial Arabic and worn-out English, wrapped in a celebratory ritual with no real foundation—as though we were competing to strip language of its value, faith of its depth, and reason of its weight.

Let me put it plainly: I have six children. With their wives and husbands, that makes twelve of us. I have twenty grandchildren. One of my sisters—God bless her—has more than fifty children and grandchildren. On top of that, there are ten of us brothers and sisters, and all of us have become grandparents and grandmothers.

If I gathered the entire family together, we would easily exceed two hundred people. So tell me: How am I supposed to celebrate? Where do I begin? Whose birthday do I celebrate, and whose do I pass over? Am I supposed to hold a “birthday celebration” every single day? And that is without even counting friends, colleagues, and neighbours!

What is this absurdity? Do we really want to turn people's lives into an endless chain of “Happy Birthdays”? Is this awareness—or blind submission to a pagan-inspired trend that belongs neither to our faith nor to any honourable tradition?

Life is not meant to be a perpetual festival. When celebration loses its genuine meaning, it becomes a burden devoid of substance—a superficial ornament that consumes our time, our taste, and our spirit.

Isn't it time we woke up from this drift? Time we restored proportion to things, meaning to our congratulations, and dignity to our days?

Enough of triviality wrapped in colourful packaging, and imported expressions that do justice neither to faith, nor to good taste, nor to reason.