“Well, birthdays are merely symbolic of how another year has gone by and how little we’ve grown. No matter how desperate we are that someday a better self will emerge, with each flicker of the candles on the cake, we know it’s not to be, that for the rest of our sad, wretched pathetic lives, this is who we are to the bitter end. Inevitably, irrevocably; happy birthday? No such thing.”
– Jerry Seinfield


Yeah, happy fucking 25th birthday to myself! I’m soooooo thrilled!

Of course, I am NOT.

But then I realised that the day must still go on. And Jerry Seinfield could do with some optimism.

I am on leave for this entire week as the boss is overseas at some conference and told me to take some time off. Let me recount what I have been doing so far beside sleeping, eating and watching DVDs. Hmm, absolutely nothing! And time is well spent with one totally drop-dead gorgeous man who likes to have his clothes off most of the time. Never mind that he exists only in the DVDs. Hurrays, life’s great!

At least for this week. But it’s the week my freaking birthday fell on, so I guess that meant something lucky.

For all of this week, I have just been looking forward to this Saturday night partying with my girls. All that music, the thump thump, the booze, and if we are really lucky, the cuties, though I quite doubt that last part, but it ain’t the most important anyway.

And then all of a sudden, this question popped up in my mind: So what happens after all that partying, after the alcohol wears off, after the hangover, after the ringing in my ears (from being exposed to the ear blasting music) stops, after the adrenaline rush? What happens to my life then?

For ten seconds, my heart dropped to the bottom of the deepest pit hole I never knew existed.

I thought, with much dismay, that was going to be it. After a night of fun, when I wake up, it’s going to be life back as usual. No change, and for me, no change is bad, it’s frightening as shit.

Then I remembered that it was not going to be the same this year. Suddenly, I felt it and I told myself, I am going to have a brand new lease of life this time round.

And suddenly, my stupid birthday doesn’t feel that bad afterall.

Never mind that I’m emotionally pretty messed up lately. I’m turning, or should I say, just turned 25, so I am permitted to freak out. Sue me.


We know we’re getting old when the only thing we want for our birthday is not to be reminded of it.
~ Author Unknown