From the plethora of endless options of titling this blog post, I came to terms with myself into reducing it into two digits: 22.
2 and 2, in perfect equilibrium. 2 and 2 = a score and 2 years of me from my first breath of life, to the initial wobbly baby steps, to my remarkable childhood, to my encounters with real friendships and zany crushes, then opening my eyes to the awareness of death and losing loved ones, to receiving my college diploma, eventually getting hired, and finally to here and now.
I have always loved birthdays, (and the neurotic surprise planning that goes with it especially when it’s for a friend). But, I have never been a fan of my own. As a matter of fact, I dread it. Why? Because I have this feeling that the date is jinxed of some sort. Maybe because I have thought of my birth day selfishly, that it should and must be all about me and what would make me happy during those 24 hours. Like everything was at my disposal.
And as I add another year to my heady “wisdom”, a sudden epiphany has dawned on me: a birthday is not about the celebrant, but more the people around her. Those who have come a long way, or may have been around all along. They have given her new eyes, a clearer sense of direction, those who choose to stay and grow with her. But the passersby matter as much, because they have instilled on her the hope of a “someday, somewhere in the future”. They remind her of her being, that she, her life is worth celebrating. They are the ones she has touched, and they are a perfect telling of how one can embrace so much lives more than the capacity of outstretched arms.
For this year, October 25 came in 3 hours ahead of schedule. But I thank the people behind the “preparation” from the tiniest capillaries of my heart. You helped me start the day strong and we faced it together head-on. I am paying homage to all the firsts we did today, because you made acting and dancing ridiculously in public über fun!