Birthday Boy

Twenty six.

Damn, I feel old.

Like old birthdays, I didn’t celebrate this one with an awesome orgy of flowing beer and artery-clogging pulutan; instead, I spent it applying for a job. Yes, a job that thousands of people aspire for; and pays for almost next to nothing, it’s almost illogical. But instead of complaining of how miserable and failure-ridden my life is, being a year older gave me enough maturity to be grateful of the simple gifts that life brings.

Like the Laker’s outstanding win over the Suns in Game 5 of their conference finals series. Or how the weather changed from hellishly hot to relatively cool with refreshingly gentle rain.

It’s also nice to spend time with friends that you haven’t seen for a while and have an engaging conversation about anything, even about inane things, over overpriced coffee.

I also spent a small slice of my dwindling resources on a book by Neil Gaiman (Fragile Things) which I am currently enjoying because it is a collection of his short stories, which is perfect for the kind of attention span I have, and his style of writing.

I’m also thankful for the bunch of greetings I got through calls, SMS, and the internet, some of which from friends from ages ago. This phenomenon changed my perception and I now believe that Facebook is actually good for something. I also got virtual gifts from people from The Man Blog, most of which involved Jericho Rosales and Boy Abunda.

But what I’m most thankful for is for having someone who loves and understands me, for the different moods and for all the imperfections that I have (naks!).

On a totally unrelated note:

After dropping off a resume in a hospital I already went to for a thousandth time, we decided to go to a mall to window shop and, if budget permits, buy something for ourselves. As soon as we entered the mall, a couple of feet away, there’s this lady who started having a seizure. It’s like faith put us there to do something about her condition. What do you think we did?

Birthday Boy

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