My birthday party

I didn’t host yesterday’s birthday party because it was my birthday.

It was, my birthday, but I didn’t give a toss about this. I have never been the kind of person who make a big deal out of important dates. I think this mentality came from my mother, who bought me a random hiking scarf thing for my 25th. You know, the kind of functional number, which the older ladies would think it would be cool to wear it as a scarf but also as a headscarf. Disaster.

Either ways, the birthday party was organised because I wanted to see you. I already see you at least twice a week, but it is never enough. I want to see you in another social setting, and I want to see you when your cheeks turn rosy with the aid of a cocktail.

Nope, you did not come.

Obviously. You did not even reply to my text.

Nor did you text me, facebook me, do anything at all to say happy birthday to me.

The disappointment was not that big to my surprise since I have already established that you are not interested in me at all and the notion of relationship does not appear to be part of your priority for the time being. But there was still a bit of disappointment. That dress I bought specifically for the party, was not seen. That make up I spent a good half an hour to put on, in the hope to achieve a Miranda Kerr girl next door look, was not given notice.

Alone I walked back home from the tube station in the breezy wind. I was officially 25, and having a crush in your mid-20s is almost like a joke. A girl at this age should be old enough to get what she wants and should at least master a few flirting tricks. Yet, there seems to be this great wall between me and the crush, and I would want to retreat and equip with some powerful bombs and guns, in order to breakthrough the wall of defense to this unknown land of his.

Although, when I was equipping my guns and weapons, I couldn’t help but wonder, if the person at the other side of the great wall would ever appreciate all the effort I have made.


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