Meena
We are laughing over the phone. So busy the two of us these days, we hardly get to meet, to chat, to whisper and sulk and set off some mischief. Doesn’t matter much though, does it? When we do, it’s some kind of wonderful. Magic.

You tell me I’ve changed so much, so many times in the nine months since we first met. And that you’re astounded. I dunno. I’m a survivor, I will adapt. Things keep getting better.

It’s a choice.

Jason
You tell me to chill out. It’s my birthday you tell me. You guys are supposed to be doing the planning, you say. Yet I fret and worry and fear something will go amiss, that someone will not get the directions or the time or something. You tell me it’s all under control and I choose to believe you.

You have taught me to chill. It’s not about letting go. Just whatever, dude. Right. Let me get back to you on that one.

We don’t have to know someone really well, or share many (or any) interests, to be true friends. This knowledge is comforting. What matters is the friendship.

Henny
You are not amused at how I have dug up — in little bits and pieces, from one reluctant conspirator to the next — almost all the information about the now no-longer-surprise birthday dinner. I meddle too much, you tell me.

But I am amused. At the lengths you and the rest would go to make this casual the way I would want it, and yet maintain some semblance of formal birthday-partiness. All I want, I tell you, is to spend time with my best friends.

Surprise me with that. Will you make all of them appear? Will you miss out one or two? Or have a near stranger appear in one of the seats? See, this is now a game. For you and me.

Shahnon
I have been ill for days. I call up all my friends and whine. I tell them I’m in unbearable pain and that “I wanna die” and such nonsense as that. (Though truly did I mean them at the time, I’m sure.) I get sympathy and tender kisses and caresses and herbal tea and porridge.

When you heard I was sick, you called me. When I did my whining/wanna-die routine, you laughed. Bastard, you laughed. And laughed, and laughed. And then asked me if I’d be alive still for my own birthday.

That’s when I knew it was time to stop whining. And to recover. If only to throttle your neck at my birthday dinner. Can’t wait.

Alfred
You’re kinda like Daddy. You tell me to go see the doc and I do. You’re the sensible one. It’s easier to follow instructions, even stubborn fellas like me have to.

So you sort of surprised everyone last night when you arrived with all your artillery. Who knew you could be so bitchy, so full of quick comebacks and wit? I’m still counting the wounds on my ego. And of course, the rest of them fools joined in. And soon I was not fending off just one verbal sadist but everyone.

But with a wink of an eye, you knew I was enjoying it. Humour can be humbling, no?

Nisa
Knitting. Walnut bread and alfafa sprouts. Strong lime juice and a great cuppa joe. A public holiday announced on my birthday and we spend the early part of it simply doing the most mundane and normal things. It will always be this way, I think.

You are the brick that grounds me. But there’s always enough string for me to fly to soaring heights. I remember you telling me, “Kenny, whatever you do will be the right thing to do.”

Well, one of the best things I’ve done is getting to know you.

Rachel
The dinner is over. Everyone goes their own ways. I delegate a guy to each lady — to walk them to their cars — but I save myself for you. We have our own rituals.

Earlier that night, I was unwrapping gifts, and such brilliant gifts they were, though none greater than simply having all of you with me. Yours was last and it was a gym top, in green and white. I looked at you and we smiled. No one else understood till you explained it was for BodyBalance. I needed a top, you told them, if I were to start teaching. You still believe, and that faith is embracing, is selfless, is uplifting.

My angel.

29
I’ve been leery of aging before, and I’ve never liked birthdays. Each turn of the calendar another knock on my gravestone and all that crap. I would rather escape this and pretend getting older was something that happened to other people.

Yet this round… I enjoy the fact I am getting older, maybe because for once, I feel like I’m growing up too. I’m looking forward to so many things. So many good things. Not just for me, but for all my loved ones around me.

Birthdays aren’t about gifts or candles.

What gift could match the sound of easy laughter and spicy jokes, an entire table of your best friends come to celebrate our friendship together? And while you tell me to make a wish when I blow the candles out, I must confess. I don’t believe in wishing and I don’t believe in wishes coming true.

What I believe in is hope, and the grace of a prayer, a prayer for my dearest friends and all the good to come to you. Be well, everybody. I’m blessed to have you in my life, and if that is one true thing, that is enough.

~ * ~

Some Extras…
1. The entire photo collection of the birthday dinner is available here.
2. A birthday poem just for me, the sort which makes me sniff and snort in laughter at the same time. (Scroll down, it’s the second part, after all the juicy pictures of meat.)