31 (what happened after the blues attack)

It has been a hell of a weekend. 

But I meant that in a sparsely Waldo-There-You-Are kind of way.

After whining about the blues that was creeping into my system brought by the annual dread of existentialism (read the last blog), I was treated to a good birthday night (or early morn – tardiness it seems is a way of life in the Philippines) by a few friends and my bandmates. Prepared my signature spicy Italian tuna spag while Em (our bassist) gladly assisted with the preparation. I forgave her for spoiling 1 kilo of expensive pasta, but she made up for it by taking care of the steamed potatoes with mustard (which I ate for lunch today. the fridge is a wonderful invention.) She got me a cake too!

Though I am trying to be as sober as I can, how can I resist the mini Hip Flask bought by my bro Khalid and his sweet GF Valerie as a birthday gift. Unexpectedly nice, and that's from someone who doesn't appreciate surprises. 
Now, where did I put my vodka?

There were lots of food to go around, and a Black Label was given the royal treatment as the main course of the party. But the pleasantries of the loud evening did not end there.

Speaking of surprises, My better half has been keeping hers all wrapped up and somehow failing because of my paranoid streak. She knows better to keep secrets, but she managed to somehow control my urge to let her spill (I tried my best to no avail).

But oh boy, was she forgiven. That’s all I can say.

let me present to you: Mr.Smith

Finally, the Memoryhouse record (that a good friend from NYC has given me as a gift) has finally resonated against the four walls of my dusty wooden apartment.

With a hip flask, slim fit jeans and now, a record player, I’m on my way to becoming the first bellied Arab hipster in this side of town. Don't laugh.

P.S.

To decapitate the mood, Zestair conspired with MMDA to let us miss our flight to Bicol the next day. Life is a wheel huh? And didn't I just mention that tardiness is...nevermind.

 

Well, it did cost a few tears and we were 5 thousand pesos poorer, but the drive to be home was stronger. 15 hours later, we found ourselves in the quiet breathing of Old Albay.

 

Happy to announce that the meet-the-parents/children ordeal was a happy and momentous one.

 

31 years old and feeling like a blushing child for these great blessings.

31

As a child, we learn to define occasions in terms of gifts. Christmas was bombarded with reminders about giving and of course, the reaction was inevitable: expectations and anticipation. Not that it is a bad thing.  Gift-giving became a symbol of sacrifice, apology and appreciation. We want to make someone feel good.

Altruism is human nature. Selfish even. The receiver feels heavenly; BUT the giver, in that moment feels like God.  It’s a win-win situation, if you ask me.

Two nights ago, in a very uncharacteristic move, my mom admitted to her inability to provide us with what we want while I was growing up.  Broken promises were a common theme. That explains a lot why I would go berserk over the tiniest detail about cancelling plans and breaking promises. I shrugged off her admission like it was a tiny thing. But it was generally a heavy cross. When you are a kid, you only expect the best things, without much reason.  But such is the story of my life:

I always get what I don’t want.

I am adult enough to accept that gifts don’t define happiness, but it does give you the needed sense of importance. You won’t see people crying over you in your funeral so this is the closest to a statistic (about people who cares) that you can get.

Why am I whining?

I have been blessed with a beautiful girlfriend, a newly-released album and a new job that I enjoy doing.  This year started well, more than I have expected and I am thankful. I honestly am.

But that advice about counting my blessings has been exhausted and over-used.

I have been trying to verbalize what drives people to experience birthday blues. I am not an exception, and friends know it. Is it just about gifts? I think it may have something to do with existential questions but that’s me trying to be deep. 

But to feed your curiosity my dear readers, these are the usual queries: Why am I still here? Do I deserve another year? Why stay when people don’t care?

I honestly don’t know how to end this blog.

Maybe just an admission of my shallowness.

But are you really righteous enough to point that out without looking at your own expectations and wants?

My blues remains. 31 years and counting.