Sweet Agony
A Merry Christmas to one and all. And now the New Year is just round the corner ; new resolutions, new dreams, new hopes. Hopes for a better future, and a toast that the new year will be a better year for all. Good riddance to natural disasters, particularly in reference to Tsunamis, earthquakes, bird flu and poverty.
"Blue Christmas" would describe year 2005's Christmas perfectly. On a lighter note, there were many meaningful things done though. My birthday is in an hour's time. Perfect test to distinguish who the real friends are. The ones who bothered to remember and carry out that simple act of sending a wish are clearly the friends who have been keeping you in memory.
A birthday is not about glamour, costly gifts or anything superficial. You're organizing the coolest party by the beach, hired DJs, hired bartenders, ordered cartons of booze, sent invitations to the most popular peeps in town, scantily-clad hot girls gonna dirty dance to your party's groovy tunes. And so? The point is? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Because this party wasn't designed for your pleasure. This party was custom-made to compell party animals that you invited. And these strangers whom you "chill out" with are supposedly your real friends? I beg to differ. If the party was some mediocre party without free grog or exotic ambience, I bet the guest figures would drastically decrease.
Its a different story if its a couple of true friends you've got, your girlfriend who's stuck with you since prehistoric time, and your dear family who would be completely enthralled to know that you wanted them to spend your birthday with them. Of course, in some negative cases where true friends, girlfriends or family is scarce, then at least you know that there will be God from heaven who would not miss out on your birthday - cos' He remembers all His children's birthdates.
Sitting by the fireplace on a chilly night. The candle flames softly flickering in the pitch black atmosphere. Chimes of the ancient clock start to play in the background. With closed eyelids and a deep breath, rocking in that dusty old armchair and sipping from the wine glass, you whisper with waning voice "Happy Birthday to me". Shimmering glass smashing onto the velvet floor, the curtain calls. Life saga's swan song. Death is as sweet as Christmas's candy cane.
Andrew has left the building.
"Blue Christmas" would describe year 2005's Christmas perfectly. On a lighter note, there were many meaningful things done though. My birthday is in an hour's time. Perfect test to distinguish who the real friends are. The ones who bothered to remember and carry out that simple act of sending a wish are clearly the friends who have been keeping you in memory.
A birthday is not about glamour, costly gifts or anything superficial. You're organizing the coolest party by the beach, hired DJs, hired bartenders, ordered cartons of booze, sent invitations to the most popular peeps in town, scantily-clad hot girls gonna dirty dance to your party's groovy tunes. And so? The point is? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Because this party wasn't designed for your pleasure. This party was custom-made to compell party animals that you invited. And these strangers whom you "chill out" with are supposedly your real friends? I beg to differ. If the party was some mediocre party without free grog or exotic ambience, I bet the guest figures would drastically decrease.
Its a different story if its a couple of true friends you've got, your girlfriend who's stuck with you since prehistoric time, and your dear family who would be completely enthralled to know that you wanted them to spend your birthday with them. Of course, in some negative cases where true friends, girlfriends or family is scarce, then at least you know that there will be God from heaven who would not miss out on your birthday - cos' He remembers all His children's birthdates.
Sitting by the fireplace on a chilly night. The candle flames softly flickering in the pitch black atmosphere. Chimes of the ancient clock start to play in the background. With closed eyelids and a deep breath, rocking in that dusty old armchair and sipping from the wine glass, you whisper with waning voice "Happy Birthday to me". Shimmering glass smashing onto the velvet floor, the curtain calls. Life saga's swan song. Death is as sweet as Christmas's candy cane.
Andrew has left the building.
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