Birthdays are strange things. I don’t recall asking for mine, planning for it to happen, or even being there when it happened. All I really have to show for it is the sincere opinion of the mother and father who claim to be my parents and a piece of faded official paper with what appears to be my name on it witnessed only by the scrawled signature of some official faceless stranger who has never met me nor whom I will most probably ever meet and who would obviously not recall me or my name even if we did actually bump into each other one day.
Yet faithfully each and every year, this day is celebrated. Even distant acquaintances who hardly ever make contact join in and take the time to send celebratory wishes.
Birthdays are strange things! Indeed, to my mind they are one of the universes great and mysterious little illusions.
Also, this is possibly the only real fact I have about my life and my future … – that when I leave this world, of which I have no recollection of participating in any plan to decide where or when this will happen, someone else shall on my behalf receive yet another certificate which will mean nor matter not one little bit to me at all after I have left.
This grand forthcoming event too will be officially commemorated and witnessed by the scrawled signature of some official stranger whom I will have most probably never met and who would never even recall me or my name even if we did actually bump into each other in some other place somewhere out on another leg of the journey I’m not really so sure I’m even having now.
The funniest thing is that most of us are delighted when this day is celebrated and profoundly hacked off by any who forget to celebrate it for any reason whatsoever.
So, may I end off by wishing once and for all a most sincere and wonderfully happy birthday to you.