In Continuum.

Twenty Nine Days Later

When I was a young girl I used to seek pleasure
When I was a young girl I used to drink ale
Out of the ale house down into the jail house
My body's salvating and hell is my doom

Twenty nine days later, it is going to be a day I am supposed to be excited about. Twenty nine days later, it is going to be a day I cannot wait to come. Twenty nine days later, it is going to be my birthday, my twenty-first birthday. And seeing all the little parties being thrown every month throughout the island, by my friends and friends of friends, there is a little temptation inside me to do just the same. To have all my friends come over to my place and throw a great big party, to splurge disgusting amount of money on food and drinks, then have the time of my life until I am officially being labeled as an adult. It's going to be like a bachelor party of sorts, the way your friends would hire a hooker or two over to your house and have a crazy party the night before you get married off to the love of your life - hopefully.

And as for me, my marriage is going to be to life itself - adulthood. I think I have mentioned this before in the previous entries, but to stand now at the end of May, less than a month before the impending doom, there is a different sort of feeling towards the end of my idiocy, my teenage years. Friends of mine threw parties to celebrate this marriage, friends of mine invited me to their party to bid farewell to their own blissful, childish days. However, most of them just want to see old friends all together in one venue and have fun hanging out, dressed in strange costumes dictated by the specific themes, with loud music blasting in the background and drinks being drank and poured cup after cup. Being in the midst of it all, sometimes I wonder what it is all for, what is the purpose of it all. Because standing at a month to my own birthday, I no longer see the need of doing so anymore.

Come mama come papa and sit you down by me
Come sit you down by me and pity my case
My poor head is achin' my sad heart is breakin'
My body's salvating and hell is my doom

When it comes buying presents, I am better off searching for some lost treasure in the Amazonian rain forest, or some secret herb to cure cancer in the mountains of China. To tell you the truth, if the level of friendship is quantitative and can be calculated by the amount or type of gifts that you buy for a friend's birthday, I am probably the worst friend that you can get. This is probably something genetic, because my mother hates buying presents too. And to think that the both of us only like to receive them would be an inaccurate judgment, for we both hate to receive presents as well. Of course, they always say that it is not an obligation to buy anything for a friend during a party, or to spare a few hours of a day just to get a present. But once that friend gives you something on your birthday, you are then obliged - subconsciously - to do the same. And that pressure really amounts as the date of the party draws closer.

Birthdays never meant much to me throughout my twenty one years on earth. I don't remember much about my birthdays, save for a few cakes here and there with a few presents. I have been cultivated and have been taught not to take birthdays for granted, for my mother calls it the day which your mother suffered so many years ago by giving birth to you. So in a way, it'd be strange to celebrate such a day when so much blood and so much sweat was shed. It's not like I agree with her, but it's just that like the last day of every year, I have failed to be excited about it anymore. You imagine orchestra music playing at the stroke of midnight, confetti falling around you and people throwing surprise party just for you at that very second. But of course, as you sit alone in your air-conditioned room at the stroke of midnight, everything remains the same and unchanged. Then you tell yourself," Wow, birthdays are over-rated indeed."

Please send for the preacher to come and pray for me
And send for the doctor to heal all my wounds
My poor head is achin' my sad heart is breakin'
My body's salvating and I'm bound to die

I remember the afternoon when my Secondary School friends and I were sitting before the giant LCD television over at Lido cinema, talking about life in our white and blue school uniform too tight and short for our rapidly growing teenage bodies. It was an afternoon after school, and my same old gang were sitting at the wooden tables and benches, drawing random shapes in the pools of ketchup with our French fries and talking about life. Then it came to the subject of birthdays, and Krishna took out from his bag little gifts that he bought for us from a recent Bali trip. To me, he gave a little statue of...well, something. It looked like a woman I think, I could tell from the saggy wooden breasts that the artiste carved. But the shape was so distorted and twisted I'm still unsure about my conclusion.

Anyway, this is what usually happens when you get a gift from a certain somebody. The gift is revealed, you try to comprehend what it is, followed by you thanking him or her for the gift and then tugging them into your own bag or pocket. If the gift turns out to be something you like, great. Tell the friend about it. But if the gift turns out to be something you are unsure of - like the wooden lady with the saggy breasts - keep quiet about it. Because of the mishap in choosing the gifts, we all vowed to not buy each other presents anymore. Instead, give each other cash and have us buy the gifts ourselves. At least you can't blame anybody for getting you a weird present anymore. And if it turns out to be yet another wooden lady with saggy breasts, you'd only have yourself to blame.

So for this year's birthday, I am not expecting anything from anybody. I intend to sleep the day away - if possible - and do whatever that I do in a day. I am not going to throw a party, I am not going to invite friends over for a gathering, or whatever. It is going to save a lot of cost, and it is also going to save a lot of awkward moments from happening during a party. After all, it is impossible to entertain every single group of friends you have at a party. Some people are going to feel left out, while others will be bored by everything. It is just not humanly possible to satisfy everybody, and that's why the idea of a party to throw everybody together turns me off. I'd rather have smaller gatherings with just a few friends, and have my attention devoted to them over a nice dinner and a few drinks. That is my idea of a party anyway, and never one that involves loud music and big crowds.

One morning one morning one morning in May
I saw this young lady all wrapped in white linen
All wrapped in white linen and call out the plague

So what is going to happen twenty nine days later? I have no idea. Probably a few messages, a few drinks, laughter and talks - which is about it. At the end of the day, tuck myself into my bed and fall asleep for the first day of the rest of my life. It is going to be a forgettable day, with a forgettable beginning and end. But why does it matter? Unless I am given a s briefcase load of cash, then I might be a very happy man.

Still, I have twenty nine days left to be foolish, be idiotic, be anything but an adult. I am going to be allowed into R-rated movies, visit The Condom Shop without anybody stopping me at the entrance, or go to certain clubs without any restrictions - if I club at all. But with so much more things to do, why do I still feel so small, so minute? If only I still have twenty nine months left to twenty nine days later. If only.