HP Birthsay - The Birthday Blog

My eyes opened.

Then.

They closed again.

This happened several times.

Partial fatigue, and partial indulgence on my part. But on a 24th birthday, why not?

In undergrad all of the emphasis was placed upon turning 21 with a blaze of debaucherous glory, only to have your life go downhill after that. Kids. Jobs. Real World. Etc.

However, this was a mindset I dispelled and battled against. My 21st birthday party was epic. A plan gone to chaotic perfection, and although my moralities and sensibilities have tilted to the savory side of life, I smile at the memory.

3 birthdays later I lay on my futon. Which is the greatest piece of furniture in the world.

Is it a bed? Is it a couch? Neither. It's better.

I prayed, thanking God for life. Basking in the simplicity which I found myself enjoying on the first day of my 24th year.

"What do you have planned?" asks Brother.

"Ummm," says Vagabond.


I have church on the agenda but as far as self indulgence is concerned my only ideas were on days other than the 24th.

I paid for the best seat possible to Anthony Bourdain on the 20th, I bought clothes on the 23rd and I at least know I want to go out on the 25th. But the 24th?

Nada.

I suppose simplicity because the day itself gratified in the most basic of ways. Sleep. Reading. Eating. Missing Phone Calls.

I used to make a big deal out of how many people posted "Happy Birthday" on my Facebook wall in the past.

But, I talked a lot more mierda then, than I do now. I wasted more time,and idealistically, did more of anything I shouldn't be doing. My social circles have shrunken. In theory, by numbers, I should have the more posts than ever because it's not like I stopped meeting people.

In reality, there was a sharp decline

I reckon as we get older there isn't as much time for mindless cyber indulgence, but that makes things more precious. Cyber or not, every gesture of courtesy is an investment, and in the most minute manner I cherish them.

The Latvian tennis player, the Pristine Christian Journalist, The First Cousins and Aunties from the East Coast, The Fiery College Editor in Chief, the old Flames, Aladdin, The Blumenau Brasilian I've never even met who posted the Portuguese versao de Feliz Aniversario and the I don't know who that is but thank you anyway, all took a piece of their time to appreciated my life.

And as my pastor fired up a soulful rendition of "Happy Birthday" I felt a bit of blood pump through my heart.

Call me Shamelessly sentimental, but call me Shamelessly sentimental.

Don't tell me that sincere gestures are worthless in a time where the technology and media has diluted our physical social strength.

My 56 year old father texted me "HP Birthsay".

Yes. I made fun of him. But. I knew what he meant.