I Bought Her A Cake

Happy birthday to me! Usually I don't celebrate personal anniversary like this, but yesterday was an absolute exception. After brewing my morning coffee, I was preparing to write a blog update, when I look at the message in my close friends' group chat. They were planning to meet up in the evening after they're finished with work, so I joined since I had nothing planned anyway. Little did I know it was a surprise party, damn. We had good dinner in a barbeque joint, although they forced me to pay the bill, as was the custom in this cursed country -_- Afterwards though, we went to a karaoke place which I joined upon their promise not to make me pay everything again. I sang a few Fall Out Boy songs before they handed me a present and a cake, and sang me a karaoke version of Happy Birthday! Holy. Crap. Then we sang some more until very late at night. When I got home, I opened the box to see that they gifted me a copy of Haruki Murakami's latest book, signed by the author himself. 

Best birthday ever.

-

But of course, it didn't happen. 

None of it was real. I don't have a close friends group chat anymore. I woke up at 10 and felt useless, as is the custom in this cursed personal room. I had a headache and sore throat. I ordered a takeout for both lunch and dinner. I never left the house that day. I didn't meet anyone. No barbeque restaurant. No karaoke bar. No friends.

When I was still in school (not college), birthdays were pretty exciting. It's just like any other day where I go to classes and get homework, but afterwards I get to hang out with my friends at a pizza place, and occasionally get gifts (although it's not heavily expected). Pizza birthday party was kind of a regular thing in my school years.

When I reached a certain age, though, birthdays become sort of an introspection day. With a pinch of denials. I get a few birthday wishes, reminding me of how I'm turning older. My inspector brain scolded me because I haven't done anything remotely impressive in the past couple of years, nagging me for being lazy (which, come to think of it, also partially its fault) and underachieving. I curl up in bed at night reminiscing my regrets and mistakes, and how the golden years seem to have passed me by and I'm only left with this rotten corpse with hollow interior.

But of course, it didn't happen.

Or did it?

So Long and Goodbye

Just recently, I came across a blog post written by one of my favorite internet persona, CGP Grey, titled “I Have Died Many Times”. Now, if you’re a bit like me and your YouTube home page is representative of your interest, then you might have known or watched one of his videos. He makes educational – maybe stretching a little, more like informative – stick-figure-based videos, the most popular one titled “The Difference Between UK, GB,and England Explained”, which was coincidentally also his first video that I watched. I really like his explanation of things in simple manner, while trying to be as precise as possible, and his insight of our today world, and I just have to say that many his views resonate with mine. 

But I digress.

He also writes blog, and as I mentioned previously, one which titled “I Have Died Many Times”. Of course my first thought was “reincarnation?” but no, it’s not in-the-ground dead. The death of no longer existing. Our past selves? They died, along with faded memory and gradually replaced mind. He wrote how our past selves are like Peloponnesian War, necessary to shape who we are today, yet irrelevant.

This is why we so often look back at the thoughts and actions of our younger selves with incomprehension. Who was that person? Just who did all those stupid things? Just who had those foreign thoughts? Someone else did.

On several occasion I’m recalled of something ridiculous or awkward I had done or said (or wrote) a few years back, and it’s a relief to have this idea of it wasn’t me. We all know that period in our teenage years we don’t want to acknowledge. It’s not necessarily denial, or running away, but it’s much more liberating to address those imprudent moments in third person’s point of view instead of carrying the burden of your former self.

I don’t know why the idea of “my past selves are dead” is much more appealing to my mind than “let the bygones be bygones”. I reflect a lot on my past, frequently in regret, and I have to say… it’s not pretty. I long for a chance to go back and undo my bad decisions, cherish more of the wonderful moments, pursue for further and better opportunities; anything to get me off this… present void. Perhaps due to my diligently-fostered procrastination habit, I lost an important concept of time; a miscalculated prediction that I can always delay stuff because one opportunity may come again another day. Spoiler, past me: it’s not always the case.

The concept of death, on the other hand, I can imagine better. It’s more final, and easier to let go. You’re free from the sins of your stupid childhood smoking self. You’re dismissed from people’s expectation of your overachiever high school self. You’re no longer responsible for the cookie-stealing and wrist-cutting edgy teenage you. Because they’re not you. Not anymore, they’re dead.

With this newfound perspective, I find myself sometimes reflect with a smile, I’m so glad she died. Some death was swift and peaceful, some was hard and long; some didn’t go without a fight and left marks, but they all died. Some will be missed, though.

Of course this is not to say that you will never be held accountable for whatever wrong you’ve done to people in the past. Personally, I think this is one great perspective to make peace with my history and minimalize regrets.

And the person writing this post? She too, will be dead in several spans of time, or maybe tomorrow, whether it’s literal or existential is up for discussion, but dead nonetheless. Right now she hasn’t thought much of her future, even doubting the possibility of her existence, but conceptualizing her death gives her a new pair of shoes to tread with. Change is death; and an essential one, that is.

It's too easy to view others as monolithic, unchanging.

But that's not our nature: we are all the phoenix.

I have died many times, and so have you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get that quote tattooed on my arm.

Did I just make a blog post talking about a blog post? Yes. Yes, I did.