Happy Birthday

There is a cake in front of me. White and round with pink flowers on it. Candles on top..a lot of them. It almost looks like the sun has descended to the earth. And in the darkness it illuminates the smiles of those around me. My  family, my friends and a few strangers..

There a hundred candles. They sing the happy birthday song and clap. They tell me to make a wish and blow the candles. I do not know what to wish for. And I am not able to quite blow out all the candles. They help me do it. Then they cut the cake and give everyone a piece. I get a piece with a pink flower and a letter on it. 

I don't feel the hundred. I feel normal. I try to think of a few previous birthdays..I can not. So this is how 100 feels like. I try recollecting a few incidents and I draw a blank. Most of my memories are from the recent years. I panic, my breathing grows shallower. What about the other years of my life?

Slowly they come to me in snatches. My mother cradling me on her lap when I was in the clutches of fever. My father taking me for a walk along the beach. My brother stuffing his socks on my nose. Playing on the streets with my cousins. Side way glimpses of my husband during our wedding. My daughter opening her eyes for the first time. Decorating our new home and falling down the ladder trying to make the awkwardly-hung picture straight. Running to meet our new puppy. My daughter crying because the boy she had a crush on did not even know she existed. My son walking his first of many steps. The school runs, the graduations... The happy happy weddings of both my children. The trivial detail of dropping my dinner plate on a new carpet. The paper-pressed roses from the bouquet my husband gave me for our first anniversary.The arrival of my grandchildren; the pride I felt on being a granny. The memories of those grandchildren bring a smile on to my face. Their stick drawing of granny with black hair and a red smile.

I don't feel a hundred.I feel normal.Yes, my eyesight is a little blurred; yes, you have to speak louder in my presence; yes, you have to walk a little slower. But I feel normal. And my years are intact with me.

I finally wish- for a strong memory- to hold on to the tiny little synapses, as long as I live.

Happy birthday to me.

The acceptance speech

My mind kept thinking about the time. At the corner there was a chant- Faster, faster, faster! The words came out in a rush. I thought the sentences were clear, but to my own ears they sounded a foreign tongue.
My heart swelled with gratitude at this life. My mind was finally accepting the truth and that made this all the more special.
"I think of the times that I spent rehearsing this speech. Now I finally get to thank all of the wonderful people who have been a part of my life and made it beautiful. I thank my parents- mom and dad for bringing me into this world, for showing me life is viewed with two pairs of eyes and one heart. For the courage they taught me. I thank my wife- so beautiful and strong. The most feminine woman in the world who taught me love. I thank my twin daughters, they have been my light ever since I knew they would come in 9 months. It been 4 yrs and I love them more everyday. They taught me to enjoy the smallest of things. I thank my friends, who have been there for me even before this journey began, who have been with me each step of the way and when my relatives could not take the brunt of my obsession over this, they were the light and oil to guide my path. To the strangers who have smiled at me when I was at the lowest. To all the ships that sailed past me at night, I saw you and I was glad for your company. To my Maker, thanks for the prosperous and rich life that I have had so far..
And finally to the unknown..here I come! "

Fond farewell

My cell phone is now switched off. I could not tolerate any more calls asking me why I had made this decision. I had made it spontaneously in the press conference.I am never going to sing again.There were a lot of questions about the reason. One of those spur-of-the-moment things. But the more I think of it, the more I like it.

My manager is banging on my door. My housekeeper had to let him in after he threatened physical damage! I refused to talk to him after the press conference. He has been my friend throughout the years, I owe him an explanation. I take a deep breath and open the door. I see anger, disappointment and betrayal.

I tell him to sit down. " I can not sing anymore. I can't write.I can not sing anymore."

A spark of understanding. I go on. "When I was a child, I wanted to please my parents. When I was a teen, I wanted to please my friends. When I got married at 20, I wanted to please my husband. I drank, I got high, I got arrested, I served time. I did all this. I craved attention and care constantly. I was a child even at 25. I was never content or secure. And I was depressed on top of all this. And this made me write. This made me sing. I could write when I was at the depths of despair. People loved me. I was their picture of a lost soul.The more adulation I got, the more I went down. I kept spiralling out of control.It was a vicious and dangerous cycle. Last week, I woke up and decided not to drink. Just like that. Everyone appreciates a good story. I had no story. And I sat down to write a song. Nothing. Blank.Nix. And I thought it was temporary. But a few moments at the press conference yesterday was all I needed to know. I am never going to sing again. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the coke. I am never going to sing again."

He understands. He hugs me tight. "There are so many shows that want to sign you on a judge. Everything will be great", he reassures me. He leaves planning his commission and thinking of the lights he will want for his new home that he will build with the money.

I look at the mirror. I never want to drink again. I never want to be someone else again.
I am never going to sing again.

I open the drawer. I see the gun. Just one of those spur-of-the moment decisions. I press it against my temple. I exhale slowly and squeeze gently. I am never going to sing again.

Elusive dream

You know of me, I am a myth.Yet I am reality. The elusive dream.
You get up in the morning with a vaguely satisfied feeling and a feeling of content. You can barely remember the complete details. There are a few ideas though. You first think that your best friend was in it, then you think it was maybe your bitchy colleague. Or was it the next door neighbor? Maybe they were all in it, or maybe no one was in it.
You wake up fresh from your sleep. You know there were a few incidents that happened. However as time passes you forget them and are confused. Did they really happen? How was it that you were one minute talking to a dog and the next minute you are floating in the sea. Maybe you have the sequence wrong. Or maybe your brain does not quite know what to make of illogical things connected by barely sane consciousness.
I am the elusive dream. You know of me, you have dreamt of me many many times. Yet when they question you about me you are left stuttering. A few have a grip on me, lingering and slippery it becomes.
You have a deja-vu when your girlfriend is wearing a dress that you have seen somewhere. You feel it when you utter words that you already have spoken. You know you have done it all somewhere and you think of me.
I am the elusive dream. I come once, I come at all times. You know me, sometimes you choose to ignore me. I exist and that is the joke.
I am the elusive dream...

Casual Pedestrian

I am the casual pedestrian.
When you are in a hurry to catch the last bus home and you walk hurriedly while looking into your purse for change not wanting to miss the bus, you bump into me. I am he, the casual pedestrian. When you are indignant and angry, I look at you as if it is your mistake. Of course, I was just loitering around, of course I saw you, of course I recognized your haste and of course I did not move. And so it is your mistake.
I love window shopping. I love moving slowly along the shop windows admiring my reflection on the glass and matching my reflection to the dress makes me think I almost bought those clothes. So even if you want to enter a shop you will have to go around me since I am window shopping. I am that casual pedestrian.
I am also the one who takes the leisurely stroll around the shop..I am going to buy nothing. I know it, you know it and the sales girl knows it. But I still insist on being in your way of reaching  the thing you most definitely are going to buy. I take pleasure in it.
I am the casual pedestrian.Not content with standing in one place and finishing a phone call, I choose to walk up and down the walkway to the restroom. I walk in the center so you will have to wait for me to move to one side or you can choose to go somewhere else.
I do not care for anyone but me. I do not indulge any other requests. The roads are made for me, I pay the taxes and I walk on the road.
Hate me..I am the casual pedestrian.

Love

Love don't cost a thing! JLo sure had it wrong.
The scene at the courtroom was sombre. There was a buzz in the air. Although everyone was silent, I could hear the thought loud and clear. The media was silently capturing the expression on each and everyone's face. I knew they would milk it for all its worth and at this point I truly did not care. My mind was on something higher.
Your mother was holding my right hand. How I love her. She has been so generous to me over the years and treated me like another son. Your father- never the one to really show his emotions has given me his class ring for the day; he thinks its going to be lucky for me.  Your ex-wife constantly smiles at me from the front row. I can understand how you fell in love with her.
Your brother stares at me from across the aisle. His face reads hate. Pure and unadulterated hate. I have seen it on many faces in the past few months. This battle  between him and us has a nation wide impact and people have been divided and I understand it too..I think.
When you died, I automatically resumed the work you were doing. The management also turned to me. Your home- that we lived in for decades became my home too. To me it seemed natural to continue in your path but apparently what I did was illegal. Negotiations with your brother failed. He wanted total control. Not having children was our greatest regret, yours till your last breath and mine every minute!
"The state recognizes the work the defendant has done in the name of the deceased and acknowledges the goodwill they have generated. But the law does not recognize the union."
The judge smiles benevolently. The media is in a frenzy. Flashes strike constantly. Their darling son has lost. Your brother is gloating and is addressing the media. Me..I am being hugged by your mother. Your father pats my back and your wife- she just flipped your brother off. Again media captures it all.
I am enlightened. I am surrounded by love. And it feels wonderful. While I will miss the comfort that I had the work that we did will speak for itself and I stand tall.
I miss you everyday and I love you more.

Humor

Have I told you how much I hate your humor? I do..a lot. I hate it more because you are my mirror image. Where you find laughter, I find the hearty guffaws annoying. Not that I don't like it, but I hate it. Does it make sense? I suppose not.
Am sure you will find a kick out of making a joke of what happened. To me it is the most horrifying thing I have ever done. It even tops that excuse of a practical joke you pulled on me on my graduation day.
I have been a cautious driver. You even call me a bicycle with four wheels when I drive. And to think I crashed head on to the car in the front merely because you faked a heart attack. I should have known better.   You were just talking about how your girlfriend's parents were going away for the weekend. Your heart would refuse to beat only if you forgo the opportunity!
And I screamed even more when I saw you bleeding. And then there was blackness.
I woke up a few minutes ago. I was planning my best strategy to avoid looking at you, talking to you. I couldn't forever pretend to not hear your flirting with the nurse who had originally come in to check on me and has been holding my hand checking for my pulse. I wonder how she is able to find it with the amount of laughing she is doing.
No way out! I fake pretend moving my legs and arms like you do when you don't want our mom to scold you for getting up late. I flutter my eyes like I have seen in movies. I see you. My mirror image.
"You scream like a girl you know!". I knew it. You heartless swine. I should have tried something when we were in the womb together and you hogged up all the space.
I hate your humor.