Season's Grieving

I've decided not to celebrate my coming birthday. Putting aside the fact that the new number represents an invisible deadline I haven't been able to meet, I've grown to loathe "celebration" for anything as defined by the Hong Kong dictionary.

Since four or five years ago, birthdays, Christmases, New Year countdowns, Good Fridays, National Days, and numerous long weekends for me had all translated to "getting pissed drunk" in a karaoke room or at a bar with a bunch of friends' friends. Things have changed during the past two years and I've more or less moved to a spectator's role.

Just two days ago, I was invited to karaoke as a celebration for a good friend's 27th birthday. I said four things to him the entire night: "happy birthday", "I want a glass of that too", "thank you", and "happy birthday, bye". Though I'm sure there were others in the room who had said less than four things to him.

And nobody even got drunk.

Although we've all come to tolerate/support using someone, anyone's birthday as an excuse to party, watching a dear friend's special day go by like that just made my friend as un-special as the "friendship" among the party's attendees. Half the people there didn't know his actual birthday or how old he was turning, and at least one person didn't even know that it was someone's birthday.

Heck, now I don't even feel like celebrating Christmas. It's long been my favorite holiday, but now that I think about it, I can't recall any points to validate the claim.

Then of course, there was the split second last week when I gazed into the artificial snow gushing out from vents near the ceiling inside City Plaza and found myself filled with emotions. If it wasn't for the screaming kids hogging the scenery I might have really been able to enjoy the moment.