I remember doing it last year.

Writing about being 24 – now, I am 25. Does that make me feel something? Except wanting time to stop, and me, growing backwards – actually yea, I’m still preoccupied, with nineteen eighty nine.

Being six was fun. Being twenty five is eventual :-)

Past ten years, every birthday I’ve wished for time to stop, and for me, to stop growing too. The wish didn’t come true – and I grew, up.

Hardly, I seem to be growing in all directions except the commonly accepted ‘up’ which I suppose is a loose substitute for growing sedate and sensible and nice and conforming :-)

But they don’t call me brat for no small reasons :-) I dig my heels firmly, year after year, in the ground, up in the air – wherever it is that I have planted myself, I ain’t not growing up :-)

Age, as I believe has nothing to do with growing up - just a biological measure of human longevity, I SO feel six. And I told my mom so. Only that she told me that it would be to hard negotiate for a daughter for marriage who believes and feels she is six – but she’s a responsible mom and she will try her best to do the needful.

I threw a little a little telephonic fit and my mom quickly changed her strategy and said, ‘Of course not, child marriage is illegal. Until next year, we drop this issue!’

Phew!

There!

Brat brigade wins!

Please DONT mess with US! ;-)

I guess having lived a quarter of your life sounds like you’re old and decrepit but I would rather not carry on this line of conversation fearing reprisal from all the people who’re forty and mid-life-crisis-ing etc etc.

All in all – the year – 24, was good. I kicked ass, as usual. Made some friends, and made more enemies. But then shame on people who have no enemies, are they even famous? ;-)

The day hasn’t even started, but the alcoholic buzz has sensed the promise in the day and I feel pretty much drunk already :-) That’s saying that anything I say now about the promises I make  to myself – so and so things I shall accomplish in the twenty fifth year of my life will be induced heavily by a semi alcohol expectant daze, please don’t trust a word I say :-)

And deeply lethargic and comatose after splurging senselessly through the day and going through the happy budday motions @ 12 in the night, I feel a sense of deep urban Buddha calm wash over me.

24, 25? Does it matter? As long as the little Buddha is alive inside my head, we shall survive.

Happy Birthday to me.

Oh and feel free to lust my birthday cake :-)

I don’t like happy birthdays. I hate the look on their faces that says, ‘There, on less year before the curse is lifted.’

-Sup said it

 




Posted Originally at: http://supriya.blogliterati.com