Kurt Kobain and Amy Winehouse died when they were 27, unlike them, I am still alive and not famous. Yet. Feb 11 was my birthday. They’ve started coming too fast these days. Still remember my childhood days when I got super excited one week before this special day. Now. It’s. Different.
The day starts with an official mail circulating in the whole office that has your pic in an overtly designed e-greeting card (the pic clearly adds 10 pounds to your weight and 4 years to your face). Then there are these colleagues who hardly talk to you the entire year, but appear overfriendly this day and ask, “where is the party yaar”. You reply with nothing but the same awkward smile you used to give when you bumped into your class teacher in a social gathering a few decades back when you were in school.
This added responsibility of being grateful, thankful shows on your face, the very same face which gets a chocolate cake smothered all over it. I. Hate. Cake facials. Yet I smiled. Some body, just give me an Oscar already!
While for many birthdays are about drinking without thinking for me it’s more like thinking over drinking. A good day to step back and look at the very island that I have become, realise how I long for solitude while enjoying Long Island Ice Tea.
Sigh! I better write more as I not making any friends and let’s face it, I am not getting any younger.