Twenty One

It seemed an apt picture to put up, since I can start drinking legally from today onwards

Twenty-one years ago to this day, a baby boy was born somewhere in Kuala Lumpur to happy parents and probably less-happy sisters. That boy was me.

My birthdays have always been a jumble of emotions as far as I remember. On one hand, birthdays are merely a marking stone for each year that has passed since a person was born and has managed to stay alive till. Staying alive was something I never actually considered a great achievement, I suppose. It simply is, and I owe most of that to God and my ever-watchful family members than to myself. God knows how many times I could have easily been pancaked while crossing a road with my nose in a book if not for some vigilant family member around.

But on the other hand, birthdays are something to me because it only occurs once a year on a very specific day. And because every person has a unique birth date, remembering one's birthday is something that requires effort. Well, at least it used to, until Facebook came along.

Call me old-fashioned, but I really don't care much for Facebook birthday wishes, or Facebook birthday reminders. Why? It's too easy. So every year as October rolls around, I play a little game called "Who Remembered?" I am the game master, and the players are anyone who manage to discover the existence of this game.

Facebook, Twitter, Google, Skype... You name it, I erased my birthday from it. I even went as far as to block anyone from posting up on my wall for as long as two days before and after my birthdays, to reduce the likelihood of players publicizing the game. Most years, it worked, with only a slight trickle of players to discover my hidden birthday. Most years, all I ever want is to hear a simple Happy birthday from a select few whom I thought of as my closest friends. Some years, that doesn't happen.

It sounds silly perhaps, and I suppose readers might be wondering why I would perform such an idiotic act of intentionally hiding my birthday if I wanted people to remember it. I do want people to remember it. But at the same time, my selfish side needs to know that people remembered it not because of some social media reminder, but because they cared enough to remember today and what it means to me.

Gauging friendships by one's ability to remember dates is probably an unreasonable method of doing it. Some people are just better than others at remembering dates, and after all, my birthday doesn't exactly occur on a remarkable date. On the calendar, it is just another day. I don't blame anyone in the least for not remembering it. I really do not. No one is obligated to remember my birthday, and I've always thought of birthday wishes as a gift. Given and received, but never asked for.

I suppose it is during moments like these when I'm thankful no one reads my blog anymore. I could have written this on a piece of paper and thrown it into the fire, but that would have meant nothing. A tree that falls in a forest doesn't make a sound. It only makes a sound if someone hears it.

So here I am, typing this out in a place where there's a chance of someone hearing me.