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.
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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?
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