On Her Birthday, She Gave Herself 'The Queen Returns'

My name is Jing Wanyan (alias). This year, a full month ahead, I submitted my application: my birthday, the longest session, and I told no one. Every previous birthday had been scheduled full by other people — family, friends, obligations — everyone except me. Places here are limited and the hour must be waited for, and I waited gladly, and changed the plan as I waited: not in Los Angeles this year. I booked a hotel in Las Vegas and booked the travelling ritual to go with me, so that this 'queen returns' would follow me to my birthday. When the approval came and the room arrangements were sent to my phone alone, I smiled at the mirror: this year, I keep myself company first.

At the hotel, the ritual lost none of its pieces. Slippers were set by the bed before anything else; my heels were taken gently away; a small bouquet and a handwritten card waited on the pillow — ceremony kept to exactly the right size. Warm tea reached my hand; I changed without lifting a finger, the robe still warm from heating. The bath was attended throughout, a light floral scent in the steam, and sinking into that warm water I laughed out loud: this is the correct way to open a birthday — warm yourself first, then be pampered, slowly. Outside the window, Las Vegas glittered. Inside it: water, scent, and a birthday with an audience of one.

The whole session moved at the slowest possible pace. Warmth arrived first at my scalp, like the birthday girl being patted gently on the head. Then the warm, silky Nuru liquid began its long spread from my shoulders and back — smooth, close, warm — down my spine to my waist, along my arms to my fingertips, and out to my calves and toes; every inch felt as if it were being wished happy birthday individually. I slept in the middle and woke as a hot towel settled on my face, having dreamed something light — in the dream I was ten years younger, and nothing needed rushing. When the whole line had been travelled, crown to toes, my own summing-up rose unbidden: tonight, not one inch of me has been dealt with carelessly.

The final passage, the Yoni private care, was the crowning gift I gave myself. The longing had accumulated for a month; the shyness, arriving at the moment itself, still flickered. I set my terms: my pace, stoppable at any moment. The confirmation was soft and steady, and as warmth and patience opened me slowly, I understood what 'queen' really means — not being knelt to, but this: I give the orders, I receive the pleasure, and my stop counts as law. Being cherished that steadily made my eyes rim red under the blanket. I have thrown birthdays for many people over the years. This year, at last, the grandest one was for me — and I notice I no longer feel the smallest need to justify that to anyone, which may be the most queenly thing of all.

In all my previous birthdays, the candle moment was the most panicked seconds of my year: everyone watching me, waiting for me to make the wish, cut the cake, hold the occasion together. This year, nobody watched me. In the room there was only low music, the scent of flowers, and a windowful of Las Vegas lights. As the warmth crossed my collarbone it came to me: over the years I have bought myself plenty of expensive things — bags, watches, jewellery — and not one of them was, like this evening, cherished directly onto my skin. Expensive things sit on display; they are for other people to see. This warmth was different. It existed for my feeling alone; it could not even be shared, let alone shown. That kind of exclusive, served-to-the-fingertips ceremony is exactly the birthday grandeur I want at my age: no noise, no performance — quietly, once a year, magnificent.

Nobody hurried the end. I finished the warm water, stood at the mirror fixing my hair, and said suddenly: I don't seem to have any wishes left. Not because there is nothing I want — because in that moment I was so content that wishes could wait. It is my fixed yearly ritual now: whichever city the birthday falls in, the travelling ritual goes with me. The best way to celebrate your own birthday is to treat yourself as the guest most worth honouring — and that, I intend to do, year after year.

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