Happy day

Yesterday was my birthday – and no, it doesn’t matter how many there have been so far. It was not a very eventful day; rather quiet, in fact, except for the phones that kept ringing. But it didn’t feel like I was older – that happened in December, when growing up suddenly became a priority and I took over as lady of the house when I was not quite ready to be one. What I really felt was old, tired to the point of exhaustion, fed up with all the strange tricks fate was playing on me and mine and definitely unable to cope with much more than was already on my plate. But that was a momentary lapse of sanity. A short while later, I was back on the bounce, masochistically wanting more to do and less time to do it in.

Some people are like that. Take Osama bin Laden, who wants to kill Americans, the more the merrier, the faster the better. Or Ghenghis Khan, who cut a sharp swathe through the lands and peoples he conquered, riding off into the sunset as a hero who not only ruled huge tracts of a savage land, but ate yoghurt to stay healthy as well. Or even Casanova, who laid down the ladies – in more ways than the obvious or the smutty – with a charm and panache that so few have yet been able to match that he is the buzzword of the art.

On the whole, birthdays have been fairly happy for me. One of my favourites is now family legend – maybe that is why it is one of my favourites, since it was too long ago for me to remember, but my parents always laughed so much when they told me about it that I giggled happily, too. It was a birthday party for me, the heroine of the piece, who was turning something below the age of ten. A young friend came, ate plenty of cake and then got into an altercation with me, the birthday girl, who was the only one authorised to fight with anyone on her special day. The little friend – male, of course, as you may be able to tell from his behaviour – threw a major huff and walked out, taking his present with him!

Birthdays are all about people, for me. Getting chocolates and diamonds is all very well; getting lots of them is even better. But what matters most is the good stuff: the love. I woke yesterday and wandered blearily into the kitchen, where my father gave me a huge hug – that set the day rolling with a smile on my face. The kitten came past and rubbed up against my ankles, rolled herself into my sheets and bit me wherever she could reach, which is her sign of trust and affection. And the breeze blew through my window, tugging at the sheers and sending a cool wave through the house. The jasmine bush outside my parents’ bedroom window sent clouds of scent into the apartment and the floors radiated light and the cool tinge of eucalyptus oil used to swab them. There were good things to eat, nice clothes to wear, a fond father o hug and a fuzzy kitten to cuddle. What more could a girl getting older ask for?