Happy birthday
It hadn't been a bad pre-birthday day considering my frightful anonymity in Singapore. Had been wished a happy birthday by colleague, insurance agent (whom I'd been avoiding for some time), a blog-begotten "bean", RZ, and even mum. Mum didn't exactly say anything of course, but expressed regret at my breaking the spell when I told her I'll go out on Sunday evening with RZ (who took the other free complimentary Science '05 movie ticket), for she has plans of cooking noodles tomorrow, and would have wanted me to forget cleanly about own birthday until she reminds me of it.
Mum says that it's always good not to remember birthdays. I guess if you lose count of your years you can always imagine you're still young, and thus gaining emotional equanimity. Spent 10th birthday at grandma's (whom mum hates and fears with an air of the tortured daughter-in-law) together with cousin. She's three months younger. At that age we actually looked alike and had once been used to play a trick on an unsuspecting relative, me posing as my cousin. The picture taken of the two of us had mum smiling bitterly. Mum and I went to that birthday dinner after spending a whole drizzly day getting documents in order for going abroad, decidedly not a pleasant process at that time. Were sent to one bureau after another; and all I could remember were muddy yellow floor tiles. I don't think mum'd ever done this kind of thing. She'd never wanted to go away, but she's one who'd take all the trouble for something others told her to do, and if realises later that it'd been against her will, complains and resents in an oblique sort of way until people like me become wary to mention words related to those matters. I thought she wasn't at all happy at the dinner (and she told me as much later in that oblique manner) for she resented deeply grandma's supposed instigation for dad's work-turned-migration. The birthday dinner being held not just for me just confirmed her opinion of the old lady, who had never cared a straw for the family of this particular son.
Thereafter birthday hasn't been celebrated. Indeed I later found out that there's no other cause for the celebration of a birthday than another excuse to hang out and generate the joy of company. (Seriously, who cares about when a child was born? Even for a guy like Confucius, whose birth's symbolic meaning had been dreamt several times over, we don't remember much when he was born.) On last birthday was drunk from Champagne bought by ex-housemate who was taking the famous Cornell wine-tasting class. The only thing was that I got drunk before ex-housemates et al came down to my apartment with cake and all the regular props, intending a surprise but instead discovering that I had a greater surprise for them.
Now that once again I fell out with mum the prospect of noodles tomorrow is doubtful. And makes me wonder if today had been one of those days when everybody says the same thing to me, leaving me wondering what I've done wrong.
Mum says that it's always good not to remember birthdays. I guess if you lose count of your years you can always imagine you're still young, and thus gaining emotional equanimity. Spent 10th birthday at grandma's (whom mum hates and fears with an air of the tortured daughter-in-law) together with cousin. She's three months younger. At that age we actually looked alike and had once been used to play a trick on an unsuspecting relative, me posing as my cousin. The picture taken of the two of us had mum smiling bitterly. Mum and I went to that birthday dinner after spending a whole drizzly day getting documents in order for going abroad, decidedly not a pleasant process at that time. Were sent to one bureau after another; and all I could remember were muddy yellow floor tiles. I don't think mum'd ever done this kind of thing. She'd never wanted to go away, but she's one who'd take all the trouble for something others told her to do, and if realises later that it'd been against her will, complains and resents in an oblique sort of way until people like me become wary to mention words related to those matters. I thought she wasn't at all happy at the dinner (and she told me as much later in that oblique manner) for she resented deeply grandma's supposed instigation for dad's work-turned-migration. The birthday dinner being held not just for me just confirmed her opinion of the old lady, who had never cared a straw for the family of this particular son.
Thereafter birthday hasn't been celebrated. Indeed I later found out that there's no other cause for the celebration of a birthday than another excuse to hang out and generate the joy of company. (Seriously, who cares about when a child was born? Even for a guy like Confucius, whose birth's symbolic meaning had been dreamt several times over, we don't remember much when he was born.) On last birthday was drunk from Champagne bought by ex-housemate who was taking the famous Cornell wine-tasting class. The only thing was that I got drunk before ex-housemates et al came down to my apartment with cake and all the regular props, intending a surprise but instead discovering that I had a greater surprise for them.
Now that once again I fell out with mum the prospect of noodles tomorrow is doubtful. And makes me wonder if today had been one of those days when everybody says the same thing to me, leaving me wondering what I've done wrong.
posted by Azzurra | 9:44 PM
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