It all just seems to pass me by without a thought or a whisper. I find the surrealness of birthdays sometimes unbearable. A year has passed, so here is a trivial day to use as recognition for your existence. I somewhat envy a friend of mine - who was raised partially in an orphanage and in foster homes - because his birthday was assigned to him. He doesn't know his true date of birth. Therefore, his currently established "birthday" is really meaningless, just some date situated as a best guess or a sure fit. His age is regarded the same way. He has to state his age as, "27, give or take." Which is what really comprises birthdays anyway. They serve no real purpose, just a traditional way of celebrating the passage of time and aging. Does it really matter?
Plus, age doesn't always necessarily agree with me. Now instead of thinking "I'll be turning 26", I think, "I'll be turning 27", never stopping to realize I'm still really only 26. Does that make sense? So I'm a year ahead, looking forward. And still, age is mostly insignificant really, it matters only as empirical data. Except of course, that in our vain society it seems to mean practically everything! And I have fallen partially into that trap, caring more about appearance, hairlines, perception of age and vitality, that sort of thing. But I mustn't.
I'll just let the guise of youth drift from me gracefully, a think cloak fluttering to the floor. And for all my worrisome daydreams, I'm still rather youthful. Mid-twenties. Not quite late. No longer a something-fiver but a something-sixer. That's just the way it is. I guess I'll decide to welcome it, with perhaps not-quite-open arms, but at least with an open heart.
Another year older! I've past the only year of 25 that I will ever have! Welcome, year of 26. Twenty and six. It is now time for me to play again. It is nigh time I rediscovered, or even just simply discovered, what it is to be me, to enjoy me. Let's do what the me wishes to do. Let's peel back the flesh and ask the beating, pulsating center of me what it desires. Let's not fake any more appeals, or nod yes incessantly like a ventriloquist's doll, shall we?
Audio: Everything! (on an iPod ?!)
Video: Hotaru no haka (Grave of the Fireflies) [1988|Isao Takahata]
Text: The Giver|Lois Lowry
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.