Why I Love Your Birthday

I love birthdays.

But would you believe that I love celebrating other people's birthdays a lot more than my own? I find so much joy in planning or helping plan for a friend's birthday celebration, or a family members' celebration. But for me, planning for the birthday of the one I love is the best among them all.

I love waiting for the days to come nearer to the actual date, love the challenge of choosing a gift, or gifts which I think he would like. I love planning the venue for our dinner date (yes, we have a deal that our birthday celebration with each other will not consist of other people and will take place- free of charge for the celebrant- in his or my favorite restaurant). Most of all, I love the day itself, because I feel as if it were my birthday too, and I think I'm even happier than he is...

So tomorrow, my dearly beloved one- You turn another year older, and hopefully another year wiser. And even if I do believe that everyday should be spent as if it were our last- therefore spent wisely and happily, tomorrow, your birthday is a date I will forever hold dear.

I love your birthday because it was the day God brought you into the world, and therefore, to me.

When the dust bites

Yesterday morning, a batchmate of mine from college passed away.

Her name was Donna, and we were not what you would call great friends, but at one point, we were Philo groupmates and we've worked together in other projects as well. After college, there was zero contact whatsoever, except occasional sightings in malls or events, followed by the expected nod and smile of recognition.

And then, all of a sudden, all is gone.

Why her death (and illness) makes such an impact to me today is a mystery. I spent a huge amount of time the other day going through her Friendster page and looking at her pictures. I recalled her vibrant nature, her easygoing and friendly self and the extent of her intelligence. I said a short prayer then, asking for a miracle of sorts, so that she may resume her seemingly happy life with her family and loved ones.

But it was not to be so.

Some of Donna's friends are my close friends as well, and seeing their loss is as painful to me as if it were my loss as well. Why did God choose to take her, in particular, when she seemed to have had such a bright and promising future ahead of her? Why did he take away someone who was loved by many, and therefore grieved by many who up to this day cannot fathom the extent of their loss?

How ironic, that the few classes I had with Donna were classes on the Philosophy of Man, where we were taught that essentially, man was a soul, and that even as the body dies, the soul lives on. Donna was her soul. She did not die when seizures brought about by the sudden mass in her head killed any chances of brain survival. In many ways, perhaps her soul was liberated even at that moment, and will continue to live on until memories of the living Donna fade away into a myth.

There are of course, lessons to be learned. That life is, and always will be unpredictably futile, for we will never know if this moment is our last, or our loved one's last. We will never know if the last kiss we gave our parents or boyfriends/girlfriends would have been the last. Lesson number one: Live each day as if it were your last. The cliche is terribly present in that statement but it is also, terribly REAL. Lesson number two: Forgive and make peace. Say no to unfinished arguments, or sleeping with guilt ridden minds. Say no to the temptations of pride and selfishness that have been primary causes of war, devastation and loss.

The last lesson is the simple act of saying hello to people you come across, no matter how near or far they are. I remember the last time I saw Donna from a distance, a couple of months ago, in a mall. I remember exactly what she was wearing (a Cole Vintage dress and bag made by a common friend) and was contemplating whether I should go up and say hello. But before I made up my mind, she was gone. And I never got to say my last hello.

I am haunted, not by what has passed on, but by what is left in store. I feel unsettled and sorrowful, but perhaps, this is a good thing.

Perhaps this is what I need to truly be able to be freed from the bondage of these fleeting moments we call life.