Scintilla: A Super(ceded) Birthday

I tolerate birthdays. I know we have to have them. I know our culture demands us to keep track of our age and I know there are certain connotations with certain numbers that really have very little to do with what actually goes on in our lives.

Almost everyone has partaken in a pre-birthday freak out at some stage of their lives. Another year older, another new number. What does it all mean? Blah blah. But even when I'm mid-panic, I always have a little 70-year-old’s voice in my head whispering ‘you’re so young, you don’t even know how young you are,’ which I hope never fades.

Last year I spent my birthday on a garbage dump in Manila, the Philippines. There was a karaoke rendition of ‘happy birthday’. There was a tour of a house made of chipboard and scrap metal. There was the toxic smell of plastic burning. But it was an amazing birthday because we made this.

This year, instead of my birthday going unnoticed, Ramos-Horta announced that the second round of the presidential election was to be held on 16 April. Yay for a public holiday, not-so-yay for the possibility of some election-day violence. I tell you, there’s nothing like a young nation acting out democracy to put your birthday into perspective.

‘You’re 25? Well we’re only 10 years old AND we’re impressing the world with our peaceful nationhood, what have you done lately?’ I felt like Timor was saying to me.

But it seems my run of bizarre birthdays is not over yet – not only did I get a public holiday (thanks José), I got self-esteem boosting chalk drawings, a dance and song routine, a diamante crucifix (among other jewellery from my neighbours), pancakes on the beach and a cranking pair of blue plastic shoes that will edge me a little bit closer to fitting into the neighbourhood.

I also got a new number, but who really cares about that nowadays?