Questa è Enida

I would usually avoid starting a sentence in a post with “I” – hence you’ve seen many that started with “If”. Well, close enough. But tonight I am just going to let go of that care.

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I have read all blogs that are on my blogroll. Tonight. Yes. All of them. Loved the photo of the moth and the painting of a treetop-walk bridge on Emila‘s. Tagged along with Mak Andeh to Bali and made to miss those soft-spoken men of Bali. Drooled over Mat Labu‘s gulai’s. Sulked over Ahau-Dee‘s blog that has not been updated for 300 years! And got re-uplifted by the sugar rush on my daily Donut.

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I have also read all the early birthday wishes from families, friends, foes and foie gras. Five hours early for me, but hey… I celebrate my birthday 29 hours here in Moscow, 39 hours in Calgary. I know I am special. And I really should be working on the Thank-You replies right now. But I am not.

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I am just feeling a few degrees under the weather for the past 24 hours. The usual package: running nose, straying head, jumping tummy. You know, the lot. I am, nonetheless, still counting my blessings – thankful to be alive and feeling the pain of growing.

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No, I don’t feel my age. What I am feeling today has nothing to do with the aging process. Afterall, I made a pact with the devil on my 29th birthday in Paris… that my age from then on would be numberless.

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That my gray hair, each strand, would be a sign of wisdom. That my wrinkle, every line, would be an evidence of each road taken and well traveled. That my scars, each mark, would be a reminder of every lesson well learned. All, numberlessly.

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To all the well wishes sent by all well-wishers… Spasiba Bolshoi! I humbly dedicate each and every prayer I received today to the woman who made it all possible. Who made it all beautiful. The woman whom I was honored to be born to and through. The woman who was there on my happy birth day.

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I miss you…

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