I am going to sulk for the next few paragraphs.
First birthday away home and there are so many
things I miss right now.
My grandmother would prepare the payesh for me every
year only to have a hard time pushing a spoonful through my tight lips. Right now,
I would catch any damn train to go back and have a bowl of that.
My mother would hug me on this day, bit tighter and
longer than other days; maybe it was her way of saying that she is glad I
messed up another year and grew older by one.
My dog cared no shit about the birthday. He would
let me slip my cold feet under his belly and make them warm. And sometimes,
when he would be bored, he would go from room to room, find me, encircle me,
find him a good spot, place his paw on my thigh and sleep on it.
My siblings made me feel, it was more of their
birthday and less of mine. My brother would take me in his arms horizontally
and go round and round screaming birthday. He would also dance weirdly but let’s
not get there.
I still remember my last birthday with my
grandfather. There was no one home and I was as usual sulking. He called me to
his room, and pushed money and a piece of paper in my palm. When I asked him
about the paper, he told me to make a list of the favourite things I want him
to bring home for me. I couldn’t write a thing. He died exactly a week after.
Four years later, there is nothing I would not do to
go back in time, and write on that paper, his name.
My mother would come from office all sweaty and
tired, and still would cook up something favourite for me.
My father would take us out to eat; I would order
the same mainstream Chinese, and the day would end in happy burps.
Precisely, miles away from home, and the first time
at that, wishes from people I don’t even care for the rest of the 364 days,
choke me.
This place, I am at right now, there is not much
wrong about the place, but probably the only right thing is, it made me write a
blog after almost two years.
Pangs work in weird ways.
