Birthday Cake. For One, Please

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tual cake drawn by my nephew. (Thank you, technology and delivery services.)A couple of days after my birthday was my best friend’s birthday. He would have been 35.I spent a lot of time on our birthdays thinking about him. I watched and re-watched the videos of our birthdays and holidays together, looked through numerous photographs and text messages, and stumbled upon a WhatsApp audio clip of him singing a rather raspy and crackly version of Happy Birthday to me because he had just woken up.I laughed so hard when I received the audio clip and I remember feeling happy with a big grin on my face. But now, I find myself playing it on a continuous loop until my tears have dried and I tell myself that this is enough, for today at least.I had not thought about saving that audio clip because I thought we would have forever and many more opportunities to wish each other a happy birthday. Unfortunately, “forever” ended this year in February. The things you take for granted.Why do the birthdays of those who are no longer around hurt so much? Do they hurt more than death anniversaries? A good friend told me that we feel our loss more acutely on birthdays because

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we are reminded of what that day could have been as it would have been ordinarily celebrated.Society has conditioned us into thinking that birthdays need to be celebrated in a large and loud way. As a result of social media, people have become accustomed, and even see it as a need, to broadcast to the world that we are loved by having a large group of people celebrate our special day with us. But when our news feed moves on, our birthdays get chucked to the bottom and become “old news” in a matter of hours, new posts and likes fill our social media accounts, what happens then? We don’t remember the birthdays with the most likes. But we do remember how we felt and the memories from those birthdays, especially when they are memories created with people who matter most to us.This year, I have been (forcefully) given the opportunity to have a quiet birthday, a chance to reflect and to painfully realise that “forever” is not a concept that exists. Circumstances change. People die. Life moves on. I am trying to focus on the happy memories created, to find peace with “what was”, rather than focus on “what could have been”. The theory is excellent, the execution is a trudge through the mud.</article></body>

I have always loved birthdays. And I am trying to love this one.

Photo by Me

Birthdays mark a milestone, that you have lived through another year, and hopefully achieved, learned, grown and loved during the past year. Birthdays also symbolise hope for the new year to come.

Like so many people who are celebrating their birthdays during the coronavirus outbreak, this year’s birthday was different. Hong Kong was starting to emerge from a state of semi-lockdown and it was possible to go to restaurants and be around people. Loneliness is not about the number of people who surround you, but whether those who matter are with you. It is very possible to feel alone in a small city packed with over 7 million people.

It also seems self-absorbed to moan or complain about being alone on your birthday when there are so many people suffering and dying globally. My birthday was spent Zooming with my family and loved ones, and we had an amazing time over dinner, cake, family and a virtual cake drawn by my nephew. (Thank you, technology and delivery services.)

A couple of days after my birthday was my best friend’s birthday. He would have been 35.

I spent a lot of time on our birthdays thinking about him. I watched and re-watched the videos of our birthdays and holidays together, looked through numerous photographs and text messages, and stumbled upon a WhatsApp audio clip of him singing a rather raspy and crackly version of Happy Birthday to me because he had just woken up.

I laughed so hard when I received the audio clip and I remember feeling happy with a big grin on my face. But now, I find myself playing it on a continuous loop until my tears have dried and I tell myself that this is enough, for today at least.

I had not thought about saving that audio clip because I thought we would have forever and many more opportunities to wish each other a happy birthday. Unfortunately, “forever” ended this year in February. The things you take for granted.

Why do the birthdays of those who are no longer around hurt so much? Do they hurt more than death anniversaries? A good friend told me that we feel our loss more acutely on birthdays because we are reminded of what that day could have been as it would have been ordinarily celebrated.

Society has conditioned us into thinking that birthdays need to be celebrated in a large and loud way. As a result of social media, people have become accustomed, and even see it as a need, to broadcast to the world that we are loved by having a large group of people celebrate our special day with us. But when our news feed moves on, our birthdays get chucked to the bottom and become “old news” in a matter of hours, new posts and likes fill our social media accounts, what happens then? We don’t remember the birthdays with the most likes. But we do remember how we felt and the memories from those birthdays, especially when they are memories created with people who matter most to us.

This year, I have been (forcefully) given the opportunity to have a quiet birthday, a chance to reflect and to painfully realise that “forever” is not a concept that exists. Circumstances change. People die. Life moves on. I am trying to focus on the happy memories created, to find peace with “what was”, rather than focus on “what could have been”. The theory is excellent, the execution is a trudge through the mud.