Celebrating birthdays every year is gradually turning out to be an oxymoron. How I’d reflect on my 40th birthday, in a nutshell --is bittersweet. Bitter as I get to concede with the fact that some things are inevitable—our ostensible photo aging, the aggravation of illnesses that seem to plague our bodies at an age when it is touted to be just the beginning of life, my significantly diminished value in the workforce, let alone in the social front. Life can be fair and square, eh?
And yet, it progressively becomes sweet--- to realize that in every birthday, indeed there is a life---breathing, moving, talking life, where one gets to be the phoenix that burns and rises out from the ashes to start anew. It may not be that obvious to others who consciously try to curb their fascination in foolish things--- but for this day alone, I will gladly suffer the fool that I am.
|photo by Gab|
At forty, I’d like to learn many things---to play the guitar and channel my inner Mitchell, which my son will probably scoff at, seeing that I am a little late in the game. But why the heck not? I’d like to finally take that driving thing off my shoulder and get my driver’s license. At forty, I know. And because a friend was aghast that I’ve never had a facial in my life, I’d most possibly consider that one, too. Then I need to get my pair of runners, and scamper off to better health if I had to. Wax a record, or maybe just get a youtube account and sing my heart out. Cook my very own cabbage rolls. Learn to use makeup. Get a Lasik. Dress better. Laugh more. Love more…..
PS: What I got for my birthday:
|a little serenade from my son|
|love notes from gab and sophia|
|from true blue artzooka fans, these recycled cards are worth millions for me.|