Happy Birthday to Me - a page from my Diary

Life is a story of losing as we move on, losing innocence, virginity, beauty, loved ones, hair...... that sort of things; well actually no, its also about gaining! After 30 there are two things that I continuously gain no matter what. Age and weight.

That’s exactly how I see another birthday; I am now officially older and fatter. Needless to say eating a cake with my name written on it is the only thing to look forward to on birthdays. All other milestones have been taken care of. I can drink (not that I prefer doing it though, but i can, if i want to), watch adult cinema (again, not very interested, but no one can stop me), make love, buy anti wrinkle cream. It’s all done.

Birthdays in my world are strictly for children, I mean for genuine juvenile minds. As a juvenile I loved birthdays because it was synonymous with presents and a remote possibility of getting a taste of colored (assorted) frostings.

My mother thought colored frostings were bad so got me dowdy cakes with whitish frostings and some useful fruit pieces on it. This is my mother for you, connecting morality with personal taste. Bright colored frosting is evil, cake decors are sin, buttercream is another word for devil. So what did I get? Some sponge with whipped cream and no goodies on top :-( But ofcourse, in the milestone years (like 5th or 10th birthday) my father compensated me with those delicious stuffs from the Flury's, but after a lot of opposition from my mother (now you know why I love my father so much?)

Anyways, my mother's opposition resulted in my fixation with colored frosting. I actually scrape off frosting from cakes eat the frosting and leave the cake behind, mind you only richly colored frosting. Talk about disturbed childhood.

Then came my inability to blow the candles and spitting all over the grumpy cake. My mother making inane comments like ‘parchish na keno!’ (Why can’t you do it?). As if blowing was something I should have been good at!!!!!

Anyway after all blows, song and cheer, I couldn’t cut the cake. Simple, I was bad at it. Keep in mind this is a kid we are talking about, it wasn’t natural for me to be good with knives. So every year my father helped me to cut the cake.

I loved the presents; I was a happy kid who liked anything that came in wrapped in a colorful paper. It didn’t matter what was inside, it took no effort to make me happy. I wasn’t old enough for real happiness then.

Birthdays also meant no studying, one evening when I was left alone with my toys, books or whatever booty I managed from the neighborhood. I didn’t have to study!

Talking of birthday presents my mother was always embarrassed when people got presents on my birthday. I have no clue why but people are always like that. Now as an adult I do that when someone gives me a present, ‘O you shouldn’t have, come on why did you?’ but I mean exactly the opposite, ‘Wow! A present do it more often. I love it. Give me anything. But keep giving’.
But my mother went a step ahead while inviting people she said, ‘Just come, don’t bring anything.’
This killed me.
A) I didn’t like most of the kids I invited.
B) I gave them presents on their birthdays. It's not fair.
Thankfully none of them listened to what my mother said.

Every birthday I sit and contemplate about bygone years and just one thought comes. It’s my birthday I don’t have to study today……I have moved on so much yet why, why can’t I just move on?