Old Doesn't Even Begin To Describe It (The Birthday Post)

I’m 24! Oh yes, it has been 24 years since that fateful evening at Pantai Hospital.

There’s something significant about being 24 years old. It’s one of those huge leaps like from being 19 to 20, and even that was not so long ago. 23 to 24 is rather similar. At 23 you can assert yourself as a young adult. But at 24, you’re just an adult. A ‘junior’ adult as some may argue but nevertheless the transition is perceivably complete. You would allow a 23 year old Michael Owen to make a few mistakes – a scoffed shot here, a bad game there but not the 24 year old version. At 24, a Michael Owen fan would expect him to hit the back of the net every time he gets the ball in the six yard box. Same is in life. At 24, you can no longer escape the responsibilities when committing mistakes in life. You can no longer blame it on ignorance or innocence. That was 23. 24 is when the community perceives you as an equipped adult. You are ready to hunt on your own and build your own nest. Hell, even I used to perceive them that way when I was a young boy. But now… now, even I, myself am a living proof of disapproving that notion. I am very well aware that I am not yet equipped to face the harsh realities of the world on my own. I think most 20-somethings are these days. Many refer us as spoilt brats. I’m not saying they’re wrong. But I am saying they’re jealous. Because we have this safety net called ‘parents’. For some it comes in the form of a trust fund. That would be the answer on why some young people can afford to drive around in BMWs and travel to Tahiti. It’s not the question of whether they deserve it or not. The money was just there to be spent. Most of us bad-mouth these people because we too want to be part of it. But we can’t. Yes, we have to stay content with our Proton with non-working electric windows and the occasional trip down to the littered beaches and murky waters of Port Dickson.

As a closing statement I would like to stay that I would not be having any birthday parties this year. I’m sorry. As much as I want to be flanked by half-naked ladies singing Happy Birthday to me, that box of hopes and dreams have yet to wait a little longer. There’s always next year though. Damn, I’ll be 25 by then. Nope, not gonna be thinking about that right now. For those who have wished me, I thank you. Ity even sang to me on the phone ala Marilyn Monroe to John F. Kennedy. Just that I get the auditory version rather than the live-in-the-flesh one. For the SMSes, yours are a welcome diversion between Emily Rose’s screaming and running. And there’s even kisses. But again, just auditory and digitized. Appreciated still though. For those who have the kind enough heart to even considering presenting me with a birthday present, please, no more stuffed animals. No matter what color, size or function. It’s getting embarrassing for me to keep them. Instead, you could just get me the latest copy (and not rumpled issue) of Esquire, or better still Maxim. Hard time finding those? Then head towards Actor’s Studio Bangsar and get me tickets for Harith’s show. Haha! Wah sekarang bunyi cam demanding pulak kan. Tak malu. Makan char kuey teow je tau.

Before you ask me why the late posting, I would like to point the finger to Streamyx. 1MB connection 24/7 eh? What a bunch of bull. I’ve been experiencing bad connection for the whole week. Just when I decide to give the welcome call, tetiba elok pulak. Cewah pandai betul. Siap kau lenkali.

As a departing note, I had a strange dream last night. I was among the villagers defending the attack of the killer turtles. I don’t know whether it’s one of those bad ideas for a Hollywood movie or an indication of how twisted my mind is.

Cheers. Arriverderci.