It's occurred to me that the phrase "happy birthday" might be a bit of an oxymoron. After all, what exactly is there to celebrate? Another 365 days spent on this planet. Got born and still not dead yet. Getting older. More responsibility. People expecting more from you. Or maybe less, once you get past a certain age.
The amount of time between each birthday as a fraction of your life keeps getting smaller. Which means the older you get, the faster you feel like you're getting older. Ageing is an insidious phenomenon.
OK, so it's not like I'm turning 90 or anything. But all of a sudden it's like, where did all that time go? I still remember being eight and thinking, I'm going to be nine soon...how could that already be a whole decade ago? Yesterday I was queuing up for the toilets at church, and the lady in front of me (someone's mother from the Cantonese service) turns around and says, "Wow, you're all grown up now...I haven't seen you in a while." Nod and smile. Yeah. Hmmm. Grown up. Hmmm. Not my brain though. I think part of it is a few years behind the other part. Hmmm. Yeah.
So. Today I have been around for n years, where n is an integer. That only comes around once every 365 days. I suppose that's a statistically uncommon enough event to celebrate, just for the sake of it.
Nineteen
365 days
Are all that remain
As the end of a decade draws near
365 days
Left of being teenage
What has changed in the time you've been here?
Nineteen trips around a star
Nineteen orbits' worth of scars
Nineteen years
Breathing atmosphere
Nineteen years of who you are
Just one single day
Is what passes again
'Til the earth turns its face from the sun
Just one single day
In the middle of May
That was when my time here was begun.
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3 comments:
Happy nth Birthday(!), whatever the feeling...
Reminds me of that Frank Sinatra song...
When I was seventeen
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for small town girls
And soft summer nights
We’d hide from the lights
On the village green
When I was seventeen
When I was twenty-one
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for city girls
Who lived up the stair
With all that perfumed hair
And it came undone
When I was twenty-one
When I was thirty-five
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for blue-blooded girls
Of independent means
We’d ride in limousines
Their chauffeurs would drive
When I was thirty-five
But now the days grow short
I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
from fine old kegs
from the brim to the dregs
And it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year
It was a mess of good years
Is it all just a mess of good years? Celebrating n good years?
andrew: thanks, I guess now you never have to say happy birthday to me ever again, since you've covered the whole lot of them...at least you didn't say "happy nth birthday esther" :P
trees: hmmm, very interesting, so would the next number be 37? It's kind of a silly pattern because it depends on the numbers representing something with area. At first I thought it was any number that is equal to 6n + 1 (where n is an integer!) with each dot being a corner, and the "1" being the centre....if that was the case you would only have to wait until you're 25...
unkoh: hmmmm, good lyrics those. "Is it all just a mess of good years? Celebrating n good years?" Hmmmm...let me have a think about that one. I have a feeling the answer is "no". But I'll go and think about it anyway.
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