January 23rd 1954. My birthday. 1954? Really? Kok bisa, as folks here say. How can it be?
Yes, today is my birthday, and I'm seeing whether I can break a record--not only regarding just how old a young man like me can become, but also to see if I can go through the day without a soul wishing me a happy birthday. That is, without my mentioning it first.
So far I have failed in this second goal, given that one Facebook friend has already sent greetings. But we will see what happens the rest of the day. Will my children remember? (After all, I always remember theirs). Will my ex-wives remember? (After all, I always remember theirs). Will the dog remember? (I have no idea when the dog was born).
How odd it is to think that 66 years ago I came into existence in the world, and did not even know it--for I have no memory whatsoever of anything until I was about four, according to my hazy calculations. I remember chasing the dog, who had misbehaved, under the porch, and I remember my father stopping my pursuit to explain that the dog would not remember by this time what he had done wrong. Why this incident has engraved itself in my memory to the extent of being the first thing of all, I do not know.
I tell people who happen to ask my age, at any time of the year, that I am 38, kurang-lebih, again, as the Indonesians say. More or less. Most don't believe me. Some conclude that I am simply senile. Because, you see, I say this in full confidence, without cracking a smile.
On this 66th year of mine, I watch as the Senate of the United States runs a sham trial, or rather not a trial at all, regarding our president's clearly criminal activity, and it seems at this point not shocking, not outrageous, not infuriating, but simply normal, par for the course. I have lived too long. I have outlived my best years, just as the nation has outlived its best years.
I commiserate with the dog, who knows something about the hollowness of human affairs. Eat, drink, and be merry, says he. Oh, and sleep. A lot.
Another celebratory event on my birthday will be a visit to the eye doctor. I don't know why I'm going. I was only told that I must. So once I finish my coffee, I'll be off Sanglah Hospital and the doctor's office. Probably there will be no cake. Which is okay. Because there is no way in the world that I could blow out 66 candles.
Yes, today is my birthday, and I'm seeing whether I can break a record--not only regarding just how old a young man like me can become, but also to see if I can go through the day without a soul wishing me a happy birthday. That is, without my mentioning it first.
So far I have failed in this second goal, given that one Facebook friend has already sent greetings. But we will see what happens the rest of the day. Will my children remember? (After all, I always remember theirs). Will my ex-wives remember? (After all, I always remember theirs). Will the dog remember? (I have no idea when the dog was born).
How odd it is to think that 66 years ago I came into existence in the world, and did not even know it--for I have no memory whatsoever of anything until I was about four, according to my hazy calculations. I remember chasing the dog, who had misbehaved, under the porch, and I remember my father stopping my pursuit to explain that the dog would not remember by this time what he had done wrong. Why this incident has engraved itself in my memory to the extent of being the first thing of all, I do not know.
I tell people who happen to ask my age, at any time of the year, that I am 38, kurang-lebih, again, as the Indonesians say. More or less. Most don't believe me. Some conclude that I am simply senile. Because, you see, I say this in full confidence, without cracking a smile.
On this 66th year of mine, I watch as the Senate of the United States runs a sham trial, or rather not a trial at all, regarding our president's clearly criminal activity, and it seems at this point not shocking, not outrageous, not infuriating, but simply normal, par for the course. I have lived too long. I have outlived my best years, just as the nation has outlived its best years.
I commiserate with the dog, who knows something about the hollowness of human affairs. Eat, drink, and be merry, says he. Oh, and sleep. A lot.
Another celebratory event on my birthday will be a visit to the eye doctor. I don't know why I'm going. I was only told that I must. So once I finish my coffee, I'll be off Sanglah Hospital and the doctor's office. Probably there will be no cake. Which is okay. Because there is no way in the world that I could blow out 66 candles.
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