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At 25, I had almost forgotten the essence of birthdays. What are they about? One day I found an old picture tucked in a book, dust-covered by time. The picture is old, its tone in sepia and there were white marks on the surface. But, the story  the picture tells feels like it holds true today.

At the picture’s center was a baby boy with psychedelic boxes heaped from behind. I suppose there were toys inside those gifts, which the boy would love to take. He grabbed the lighted candle in the middle of the cake while showing off his most innocent toothless smile. There’s a glow in his eyes. The sight of it was contagious and makes you feel all your wishes were granted that day. I felt relieved thinking of the story for that was  my first birthday.

For more than twenty years, I have not celebrated my birthday the way I celebrated my first. Of course it’s inappropriate for a 20-something to celebrate birthdays  just like his first. I would not look good in a conical hat worn by tots on their first birthday. As I grew older I do not make it a point to remember my birthday altogether. There were years I wished July 25 never existed at all.

I don’t know. Maybe because of that one gift I wished I have. Every 25th of July, I used to go to church to pray and remind God of that one wish. I never desired parties, cakes, or similar worldly gifts, I don’t need them. I have always wanted to see my mother.

In 1997, I was freshman in high school then. A week before my birthday, my father told me to go home from school on the weekend. His friends and relatives were coming over. Though I have celebrations, I was happy to know he cared for my birthday. As far as I recall, that was the first time he offered that—in 13 yrs!

I don’t know if a jinx hit me by Friday afternoon. I was not able to catch the last trip. So, I spent my 13th birthday in the boarding house, alone. Though I used to be in that kind of scenario wherein nobody would notice my birthday, it was different that year. I thought something would happen—but, it did not.