Ahhhhh....I've taken such a long hiatus from my blog and now I've got my shit together and it seems like I'm back in business.
Thing is, I'm getting a tad nervous about this coming Sunday cos it's my 27th birthday. Much as I love birthdays cos it's such an excuse to do lavish decadent stuff like buying yourself 10 pairs of new shoes, I have to say I absolutely don't like birthdays. Okay, that's an understatement. I fucking hate birthdays.
Apart from the fact that I'm getting older and officially in the late 20s category, I hate birthdays cos I've been rather jinxed when it comes to birthdays. So far, ever since I've moved to this tiny island of durian eaters, I've never really had a decent birthday. Well, that's another understatement actually, especially when I can remember rather vividly the many rather disasterous ones that I've had in the recent years.
To start with, back to the time when I was still in school, my birthday was never remembered nor celebrated cos it happens to fall under the ungodly time of the exam periods. So nobody really remembered and bring out that cheapskate in me, I would tell you that I lost out most of the time cos I would chip some money to buy my friends present but then when it came to my birthday, I received nothing cos everyone was just too busy mugging away in the stinky school canteen and overcrowded stuffy library.
Then roll the years forward to 2003. That's possibly the worst birthday ever cos while in the midst of my "happy pills therapy" (read: popping anti-depressant), I was also in the raw painful state of a really awful breakup. I remember me and my colleagues went to Zouk for the 50 Most Eligible Bachelors event. It's a cheapskate way to celebrate birthday thanks to the free booze. But after a dozen of vodka cranberry later, even those semi-naked, 6-pec baring, booty gyrating hunks wouldn't do it for me. I felt like a mess and total cow dung cos Zouk was the place where I met my ex. I felt so shitty that I was suicidal and that was the closest I've ever been to really slashing my own skinny wrist and downing a totally unglam hard-to-swallow cocktail of Dettol and Panadol. It was simply traumatic.
Then last year...yet another shitty birthday. A couple of months before my birthday, I met some fucking asshole uncle-fucking bastard who was toying with my emotions. And as an attempt to not get let down by the uncle-fucking asshole and a desperate measure to escape my jinxed birthday fate, I fled to Ubud in Bali all by myself and spent birthday there. Okay, it was painful at first but I must say I ended up having heaps of fun with a bunch of nice strangers from all over the world in the most amazing jazz pub I've ever been to.
Thing is, it seems like spending birthdays with strangers is the best remedy to escape lousy birthdays cos when strangers are concerned, there's absolutely no expectation. You'll never expect them to know it's your birthday, let alone buy you a present and cake to smash your pretty little face in.
So here the stressful bit came. I have no runaway plan this birthday and the impending B-Day is causing me some anxiety which results in some pretty strong laxative effect the moment I think about it. Already, it's a bit of a let down to start with cos as I thought my mom actually flew in for my birthday this year (after realizing that she hasn't done anything for my birthdays for years!), she told me that she's gonna go to Batam this Sunday (?????). What a major let down. And with a new man who never quite has the habit of celebrating birthdays, I'm just scared shitless what kind of freak show material this birthday's gonna present me with. Gosh, I almost feel the need to log on Zuji.com now and book another ticket to run off to Ubud again!! But there's really no running away this time. And I guess I'll just have to face my official "late 20s" birthday with much gusto. I hate it. I seriously do. I'm so not looking forward to it. It's seriously stressing me up so much that I'm really dreading it.