It's Friday, and I'm three days into 20. TWENTY TWENTY TWENTY WENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYvWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTYWENTY TWENTY TWENTY.
Bet you now the word looks weird. Same way it feels weird to me.
Veron left in the morning, and I sat in Starbucks after she left spending time with C.S Lewis. After a bit, I felt lonely. I thought about Ching's message to me just before midnight and felt warmed in my heart. To warm it even more and remind myself to stop being a sob, I told Leo the busker I met in the Orchard-Far East underpass to "please sing a song for me, it's my birthday", and so he did. Instead of singing just the usual birthday song however, he sang a song about how I was like a storm in the desert, how I was like a sleepy blue ocean, and a walk in the rain... it was somewhere around the "storm in the desert" where my eyes couldn't hold all the water in any more and started leaking like a broken tap.
The song is called Annie's Song by John Denver (I googled it) and he transited into the usual happy birthday song after wrenching up heart out and pouring in steaming Sara-made chai. My heart was bursting, and I felt filled with God's love from a stranger.
As Chings pointed out, I tend to overthink on my birthdays, I tend to question friendships and life and existence and meaning of things and it gets me down.
Somehow, though, God has a funny way of doing things. He forces, FORCES me to remember that no matter how much I want to protect myself from the love of my friends, no matter how little I want to vulnerable and to accept less love so I don't feel so vulnerable, he doesn't let me. I don't want to grow up and start to be cynical about birthdays and think that it's a social exchange where if we celebrate yours, then you'll celebrate mine... I want to remain in my childish notion of joy and love and friendships, but I do realise it's not going to be easy to maintain birthday celebrations with friends forever. But we will try. And we will fail, but the effort counts for something, and the memories, perhaps, even more.
My beautiful god-siblings Aly and Drey blow out my candles for me after we have a scrumptious dinner prepared by my darling Aunty Yeni. She even used little green-tea chocolates on my cake because my favourite colour is green.
Without having had my friends come over, I know that they love me.
In the words of Henri Nouwen,
A friend is that other person with whom we can share our solitude, our silence, and our prayer. A friend is that other person with whom we can look at a tree and say, "Isn't that beautiful," or sit on the beach and silently watch the sun disappear under the horizon. With a friend we don't have to say or do something special. With a friend we can be still and know that God is there with both of us.”
Thank you dear Lord, for the blessings of my friends, who show me how to be vulnerable when I don't necessarily want to. Thank you for my neighbours and my parents and my siblings and my grandfather and my Aunty who are representations of how you love me-- without reserve. Lord teach me to properly respond to these gifts of love. Teach me to do better in being a friend, a sister, a daughter, a neighbour, a student, a leader and most importantly, a child of god.