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I do not remember my birthdays so much. I mean there are ones here and there where I think yes, this was my birthday. Like my fifteenth when I had a massive nosebleed in school, and bled all over my science homework, and the dining room table, and possibly myself. My best friend at the time took me (and my bloody belongings) to the nurse's room, and cleaned me up, and we had a conversation about Keanu Reeves while she stopped me crying and bleeding. Or the one where I went swimming with a different friend at the local pool (but I can't remember how old I was). I don't even like swimming!
I never had birthday parties, because I lived in a small council-owned house, and we were very poor. So we couldn't accommodate other children, never mind afford food to feed them. So, like, there's not a particular birthday party I remember (or there is, but neither of the ones I recall are my own).
However! I do have a positive answer for this question.
Last year, I had a really nice birthday. I turned thirty-five. I dug out the record player, and my LP of Low, and I baked cookies all afternoon. It was a surreal experience (because a lot of Low is instrumental and, I dunno, I don't think David Bowie intended it as a baking soundtrack). But it was me, in a warm kitchen, doing a thing I liked, listening to music I liked.