Monday, December 04, 2006

Surviving November 27

My Day. The day friends and family are one in reminding me in a very refine way that I am a year older. Of course they don't say that. Instead they say I'm a year wiser and wish me all the best, old boy. Right, old boy! Rub it in.

You say it's only a number -Age. But, boy, what a number! You have no idea. It's only a number, bah! It's a Big Deal to me, this number. You may not have a problem with that, fine. I have. It's depressing, I'm telling you the truth. Don't ask me why. I think you know why. No need sending me those electronic inspirational messages that supposed to uplift my sagging spirits. They don't work with me so pallllease, spare me! Especially when you ask me to share them with ten other people I care about. You don't only depress me, you're killing me. Yes, I get very edgy. Do that to me any other day but on my Day and I am your convert. You see I have those birthday blues.
Seems like only yesterday when a bus attendant, before issuing me my ticket, asked "Totoy, saan?" (Child, where to?). I was red in the face. There I was -all of sixteen, acting all grown-up and responsible as I could, already conscious of how I dress up, and yet still very much a totoy to a bus attendant. Can't you see, I 'm wearing long trousers? Totoys those days wore cortos (shorts) so just imagine the envy I felt when when my elder brother entered high school and wore his first pantaloon. For me it was a privilege. A symbol of manhood and all the things it stood for, for having finally arrived. Naive -cute you say- associations quickly shattered by a cruel bus attendant or kunduktor if you like.

Oh, what I would give now to hear that kunduktor address me totoy once more. Dream on! Tatang is perhaps the kindest words I could only hope for to hear from him while waiting patiently for me to fish out from my wallet that all precious Senior Citizen Card which would entitle me to a discounted fare. I'd consider myself lucky if he would not roll up his eyes.

No reason to celebrate, I told my friends. Why celebrate the day your sales value diminished in the job market? There were other reasons, they said, and began enumerating all the craps I didn't want to hear. They won. I was willing to lose the battle though. I gave a party and found comfort in the company of more sympathetic friends like Gruener Veltliner, Junger Wiener and Junker from Steiermarkt. All white and dry, absolutely, no doubt. But never mind, that's why I like them: young and fresh -Austria's early wines.

I should not wonder if I had put on weight. I don't dare step on the weighing scale -am not eager to know what it might tell me. I did well on the pre- and post-birthday celebs so just imagine how I fared on The Day itself. Friends who couldn't make it to my dinner party invited me to lunch the week before and after. I was depressed but did not show it. They could tell but were kind enough to keep mum about it, especially when I took The Day off and the day after.

Birthday dinner was on Nov. 26. Austrians celebrate on their birthday eve and, the copycat that I am, quickly adapted to the custom and have been doing it since. And that was many, many years ago, when I was still fresh and juicy like the butterball turkey we had the last time.

I said I was depressed but the celebration was made particularly happy and significant by the presence of two people I've met and made friends with when I was just starting out in Vienna. While I opted for single-blessedness, the two of them got married to their respective Viennese boyfriends and raised a family. Somehow I lost touch with them but would meet from time to time which was rare, like during birthday parties (their kids') which I tried to avoid the best I could like the plague but in vain. (Oh, I have nothing against kids. I like them as long as they are not mine. I love them from a distance. Am not good at baby talk, you see.) While my two friends remained loyal to our friendship, I drifted apart -for as long as I can remember. That was crying time.

But fate was kind, to me at least. We are together again. My friends' personal tragedies brought us back to each other. This year, one of them got separated from her husband. The husband of the other died of cancer middle of this year; their kids living separate lives. Suddenly it was only Us again. Crying time again for them but this time we have each other's shoulders to cry on. Together, it's going to be easy. We will survive, the way I always survive birthday blues I get on November 27.

Photos: Butterball turkey; friends proposing a toast to my being wiser; cutting bday cake with Adele and Bai - two friends from way back when