It has been three days since I last tweeted. In theory, this would classify me as one of those who tweet casually.
I am not out to make myself some guru or maestro. I like to believe that I’m no different from an ordinary Joe on this wee island trying to eke out a living. No matter what the Old Book says; no matter how many words of reassurance get spoken from the pulpit, being unique – even the bad aspects of it – doesn’t matter.
A handful of greetings trickled in on the phone and the Facebook page. They subtly reminded him of an age where balloons were the next best thing since sliced bread to a child – the times when laughter wasn’t just something people around him did for the sake of it. They were from the heart.
That was the time, he remembered, when a birthday cake was simple. As long as there’s a cherry on top of the buttery cream / icing with edible paper flowers, it was tempting enough for one to want to stick a finger and lick the cream off it.
There weren’t those MacDonalds’ party things then. Else, it could add another entry to the happy birthday memories in his life.
It would be a year before that intense, emotional period would come again to strip him of something he should reserve for himself. After all, the sweet happy moments have left him and never really returned for almost all of 25 birthdays.
It’s goodbye to all of that. Back to the normal monochromatic grey programming.