Why I Didn’t Celebrate My Birthday.

Or at least, not in the way that most people understand the word ‘celebrate’ anyway.

Today is my birthday, I hit 32.

Like I said to my sister, “Tatty-too (thirty-two)”. Yesterday, I actually had to get my calculator out to make sure of the age I was actually hitting, once you’re past your 30’s you kind of start amalgamating the years and stop counting; what counts is the decade now, we know we’re adults, there’s not much else to prove apart from showing that we’re not total douchebags deprived of hope.

Anyhow, today’s my birthday, I woke up wishing to my own self a ‘Happy Birthday old girl’, I am not even kidding. In the mist of waking-up-why-I-gotta-work haze, I had a little warmth in my heart, just at the thought of me making it to another year. Maybe, that’s what you call being content.

It’s amazing, is it not. A few years back, my phone would be popping and flashing and ringing and notifying me every minute of a so-and-so wishing me a happy birthday – my Facebook page would be littered with emojis and memes, and stickers and exes wishing me to stay beautiful ( I would obviously secretly or openly cussed them out, but that’s another blog). As the years went by, the popping-and-flashing-and-ringing-and-notifying-every-minute would reduce, as would the feeling of being young and famous. And today, I count the notifications to have been a handful.

You know what else comes with age, aside from contentment? Wisdom. And knowing, for sure, ‘Less is More’, or that it is all about ‘Quality and not Quantity’.

I know that the people who have wished me to be happy today, truly mean it because they have taken time out of their real-life-sucks-you-dry-mothereffin-deadline-boss-is-on-my-back schedule to wish my little old self a Happy Birthday indeed. What matters is what’s happening in the real world, outside the matrix, human beings made of flesh and blood giving you hugs.

So when I get asked the question of ‘What are you doing tonight’ and the answer is ‘not much’, don’t be surprised.

I bought myself a San Miguel, a pack of red grapes and cheered to myself and my late father, face-called my mother and told her I’m coming home soon. And to see the look on her face was worth every hard working year I broke my back for Mr. Boss-man, because I am an adult now, and I adult good. I don’t need an extravagant party, I am actually quite good at this minute with what I represent in Life, so I’ll take that with me. Yeah, maybe I’ll go to the cinema this weekend, and who knows, get popcorn or something, go crazy. You’re probably thinking what sorcery is this…

Nothing fantastic, nothing glamorous, you might even be wondering what type of celebration this is, surely the one of a depressed mind; start analyzing my choice of beverage, and lack of cooked dinner.

I’ll give you a pass and thank you for your concern. I’m OK today, and most of all I am grateful. I’ll take that win.

You can be OK too. So there you go, no answer, I don’t even believe there was a question, but you’re welcome.