I stared at my Vietnamese phin dripping out coffee, one by one, for several minutes into my porcelain cup. The tree branches brushed against each other in the wind, but their sound felt so muted.
Drip.
I don't remember why I was making coffee at 10 in the morning. I know I should be productive and get something done once I consume this amount of caffeine, but I just stand there, looking out the window of my kitchen to a narrow alleyway. A dull ache in my chest arose from this view — the fence and brick wall that face each other are closing in on a tiny patch of grass that glistened in the morning sunlight.
Drip.
“Happy birthday dude, I hope you have a great 25th!" I send him my thanks, not even bothering to correct him that my birthday is tomorrow.
The strip of sunlight slowly danced away from the grass onto something just beyond what I can see from behind the window where I stand. Inch by inch, the minute hand on the kitchen wall changed a few notches more before I noticed the dripping had quietly come to an end. Only the pocket of grass, unmoving despite the wind, remained — long after the sunlight marched forward.
Drip.
I open my eyes to a grey overcast sky, blocking the sun from shining through the bedroom window. Exhaustion creeps in as I scroll through a handful of birthday messages — I can't tell if it was the reality of having few friends who still care to remember, or the fact that 25 years have passed me by with not much to show for it, that made the morose seep into my bones.
Did I leave anything behind to be missed?
Heavy with the thought, I pull my blanket up to hide half my face and ignore all the messages. I tell myself that once I clean up and have my coffee, I'll have the mental capacity to respond back that I'll have a great day today. In the meantime, Instagram stories and Reddit posts scroll by my eyes as my thumb moves on its own, and self-control restrains me from unblocking my ex.
I keep hearing my therapist's words to “be kind to myself” echo persistently in my head. But my presence of mind is a currency that I'm running out of. How can I afford to feel grateful for those that still wish me happiness, when I feel like I'm serving a life sentence of earnestness? It's bankrupting my emotions.
I've seen enough; I turn my phone off and am greeted with a hollow stare in the black mirror. I pull myself from bed, barely more alive than before, only to face myself yet again in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles, messy hair, empty eyes. My nightmares are shaped like you.
The sun's slow rise and eventual descent hardly feel different to me today. Only once the last of the daylight, still hidden behind clouds, has slipped into blue hour, do I finally bring myself to message everyone back a gentle thank you.
Happy birthday to me.
Last night's procrastination to sleep led me to wake up later than usual. San Francisco‘s blue midday skies greet me as I roll out of bed. Birds are still chirping so loudly at this time of the day, and my neighbours’ kids refuse to grant me a few more minutes in my dreams.
Time is a mother, I tell myself. With this next revolution around the sun, I hope she begins being merciful on my soul.
My phin filter is still in the sink with the dried coffee grounds from two days ago. I don't bother to rinse it yet.
I stand in the same spot by the kitchen island, gazing out at the patch of grass that got to enjoy the sunlight that I was too late for. I keep thinking to myself how I want to be remembered — and that it's something we all selfishly ache for. How often do the people no longer in my life pause at the thought of me? Is it quieter now? I wonder if they restrained themselves from wishing me a happy 25th, or if they no longer care to remember. Already, I'm thinking about my 26th birthday creeping around the corner, and I can only hope the morning sunlight finds me standing somewhere other than this kitchen window before then. That I can right my wrongs before then.
“What's next?"
I'm... not too sure.
I know I must repay every interpersonal relationship that carries forward in me by living a happy life. It's my obligation, my burden. The height of the stars hasn't changed one bit, but it feels like I'm losing sight of the number of them. Just because I was raised for this, doesn't mean I'm built for it.
Some of the unread messages from yesterday still glow in my phone. Each one a small proof that someone thought of me. Maybe I'm looking for what was looking for me. Maybe next year, I’ll know which direction is home.
One more year at a time.
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