Skip to main content

What's in a year?

Michael Caine: What did you do on your birthday?
Clive Owen: Nothing.
Michael Caine: Aw, come on, you must have done something.
Clive Owen: Nothing, seriously. It was just another day. Woke up, felt like shit, went to work, felt like shit.
- Children of Men

Or something to that effect.

=========

What’s in a birthday? Of course, the terribly cliché answer that’s sure to come out of nearly everyone’s mouth would be that birthdays tell you that you got another year, and that you should be thankful.

Okay, I agree, to a certain degree. But in this world where more than 50% of drivers on the streets either suffer from “I am god, move aside” or “This is the Fast and the Furious in real life” syndrome – which is bound to get you in some sort of traffic accident that involves your mode of transportation, your bodily self, or both, sooner or later; where you can get stabbed at any time because you have a cellphone just like everybody else, but / and / or the stabber is high and you are the sorry stabbee he / or she (because we must be gender sensitive) selected at random; where you – not just “might” but “will” – be subject to all sorts of misfortune of varying degrees; shouldn't I – we – you – be thankful for each day we spend alive (of course, this is all hypothetical since I am a sad and pathetic pessimist, but that’s another story altogether)?

So again, what’s in a birthday? What’s in a year? I mean, really?

=========

Nevertheless, I feel I should be thankful, because I don’t want to sound like some ungrateful wretch – which I am not (I think, I hope) – and subsequently be bombarded by the above mentioned misfortunes besides those already inflicted upon me by myself or divine punishment. There were a number of bright spots in the past year, after all, and the proper thing would be to say thanks. So thanks, God. I mean that.

=========

What I have accomplished so far this holy week (besides sleeping and pigging out):
1. Finished Ian McEwan’s Enduring Love, which gave me the creeps but was very, very well written. Currently beginning Dave Egger’s A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.
2. Consumed the following DVDs:
- The Banquet
- Death Note part 2
- Children of Men
- a number of Boys Be episodes
3. Cleaned 6 window screens.
4. Upturned two mugs full of used cooking oil – stupid but accidental - one of which broke, and then cleaned the slippery mess that ensued.
5. Waxed the floors of the bedrooms – and since I could not abide the smell, wore a cloth over my nose and had to abide the smell of my own spit, which, having not brushed my teeth beforehand, smelled awful. At least my head didn’t ache and I didn’t get chronic sneezing fits the way I do when I inhale floor wax in all its chemical glory. I promptly brushed my teeth afterwards and plan to do so more often.
6. Mopped the floor.
7. Killed a large number of mosquitoes and various flying insects with our nifty electric-tennis racket-looking-swatter.
8. Watered my father’s plants.
9. Bought a pair of black Havaianas just for the heck of it. They’re comfy, but still overpriced and grossly overrated, in my opinion.

=========

Finally, I, because, as I said, I am not an ungrateful wretch, would like to make special mention of the snazzy gift I received from someone – you know who you are – cutout pictures of my favorite Endless siblings: Dream and Death, mounted on a frame. I'd say more, but I'm afraid I'll only spoil the thankful attitude that I'm trying to project.

There. It’s final: I am not an ungrateful wretch.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

No Rest for the Damned

I stare at the blinking cursor in front of me and wonder what’s next. I let myself get swallowed up by the monotony of office life: wake up, eat, travel, work, sleep; I try to revel in its off-white walls and the cacophony of voices that course through my head like nails scratching a blackboard. Funny, that word – blackboard – like my mood, black and bored, or better yet, like me – a black board. But the human tendency for self-preservation drives me to find things to fill the void; sometimes with fleeting trifles I try in vain to attach meanings to, or sometimes with things intangible and profound, like hope, or faith. But it seems that there is no rest for the dammed. Damned by the reminders of past mistakes, damned by the hollow tedium of today, and damned by the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Or it could be that I’m really just bitter, as someone pointed out not so long ago. Not a bad conclusion, really, with me allowing myself to be consumed by memories of failure, or by the bana...
7 comments
Read more

Scattered thoughts on relationships

We all know relationships are hard. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to say that we all have at least a vague idea that real relationships are more than just kisses and walks in the park, or candlelit dinners and holding hands while watching a movie. Nevertheless, it is not unheard off, that two people who previously thought that their promises would hold suddenly drift apart and discover that all that remains between them are broken pledges, old hurts, and that good old “sorry”. They ask themselves whether they could have done something to prevent it, they ask themselves where along the road did they lose it, they ask themselves what went wrong and who’s to blame. But at this point whether or not these questions are answered is of little consequence—the damage has been done, and the whole house of cards has long since fallen down. I guess it’s just as simple as saying that people who are always there are also the ones who are the easiest to take for granted. They’re low maintenanc...
4 comments
Read more

Vignette: Still Life

She had always looked good in pictures. He had come across a collection of them stowed away in a square tin box he had put on top of the closet, years ago. She was smiling in this one, a black and white he had taken and developed himself. He remembered putting in the film on the projector and counting from one thousand one to one thousand fifteen for the image to burn into the paper. He would then wash it in chemicals and watch the picture slowly materialize. The picture would go to a tray and taken outside, where he would wait for it to dry. She had kissed him when he presented it to her, thanking him for making her look cute. Another black and white. This time she was putting food down on a mat they had set for a picnic. She had looked so perfect then – lover, friend, and future wife. He remembered fingering the ring in his pocket, nervous and ill-at-ease. When she asked him what was wrong, he went to one knee then and there, and asked if she could be his wife. She had laughed and hu...
5 comments
Read more