The Gray Hair on My Head

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Birthday as a kid were so important. Cakes, friends, fun candies, colorful piñatas, great presents. But it gets less significant as you grow older.

I am, fortunately enough, not past that big three-oh yet but already I see myself getting less and less excited about this magical day. I do no dread it but my birthday now only signifies that hey, another 365 days have been added. I just don't feel THAT excited anymore.

I celebrate the milestones. At my age, I am happy to know that I have accomplished most of the things I listed out for myself 5 years ago, happily married and have grown a lot wiser. I come clean with myself and accept one indisputable fact: that I am growing older; and I respect each gray hair that grows on my head. I don't have to act as if I have geriatric bypass. In my mind, I turn my age knob to the left. Enough to make me feel younger everyday.

I also acknowledge that one’s birthday need not always be about one’s self.

I made myself blissfully happy last year by making a small donation to the mosque where my late nephew Adam was laid to rest on November 17, 2009. That and a small yet joyful birthday gathering at home with my family and a couple of luncheons with my closest friends Ira, Eka and Nadiah. Nothing fancy. Only with those who really matters. I hope it continues this year.

Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of eighty and gradually approach eighteen, someone used to say to me. For me, birthdays would be infinitely happier, if you know what really makes you happy throughout the 364 days of your lives so you could signify it by taking that happiness up a little notch, on one special day, even at eighty.