The silence after the crowd, the echo after the applause.
I’m not sure if it’s spring yet, but winter’s chilling arms still wrap me at night and dawn. The streets aren’t busy with summer visitors yet, but I can feel them getting ready for the annual gathering of tourists. These people, they come and they go. It’s 9:06 pm. My lovers’ laughter echoes in my ears, I’m 24 and I’m writing again.
The first Sunday of March, which happened to be its 5th day, I woke up with a new age. While everything, as far as my eyes could see, remained the same, my heart knew something had changed. But the reality of things being ephemeral is something you and I have faced in unique ways. The loss of a father, the absence of a lover, the abandonment of friendship, and NEPA taking the light. In various ways, we’ve all tasted the permanence of fleeting moments, but there’s a swiftness with which joy erodes when you celebrate the day you were born.
Birthdays come with a certain high. If you’re familiar with the concept of recreational medication then you can draw the similarities. At first, your world seems endless, and then you feel so small before you feel trapped in your body.
It starts with messages from close friends, those who care enough to wait until the stroke of midnight to wish you a happy birthday. After that comes your mothers' prayers. It’s warm, it feels like the first time you felt the sun on your face. Of course, you cannot remember, there’s something about nostalgia and how it makes everything familiar.
The messages from family and friends keep pouring in, then the gifts, and cheerful singing. “Happy birthday to you…”, you stand as they sing because knowing what to do at that moment was never wired in our subconscious. Your hands wouldn’t fit by your side, and your legs don’t know if they should dance or stay still, so you do both. Are you meant to sing along? No one knows.
But you keep checking your phone because regardless of all the people singing, calling, praying, and gifting, they are people you really want to hear from. Sometimes you are lucky, and a few of them kickstart your day, while it’s silence from the other half. So within all the merry, a dot forms in your heart, you don’t notice at first, but time reveals all things. Stay with me.
It’s afternoon, and eventually, you hear from them, but their wishes feel empty. Nothing personal, nothing to show they know you beyond social likes and comments. It’s a random message you know didn’t take a minute to prepare. But you reply regardless, you don’t want them to feel you left their message amongst the sea of others, because they mean something to you. The send button kisses your thumb and you wear a smile. It’s mandatory for the birthday person to be cheerful, regardless of how they feel. Who cares? Look at all the love surrounding you. Be grateful.
Let’s not forget the friends who have abandoned you for ages who would say, “Hi,” tell you they miss you and maybe you should catch up sometime. Also keep in mind the people who did you dirty and their regular “I know we’re not talking now, but I just wanted to wish you …” You smile when you see the notification, then you remember they’re not there. You left their minds the moment they hit send, and that dot expands a little.
It’s 11;00 pm, and you’re on your bed. The next day is Monday, so no overnight celebration; reality doesn’t take long before it comes knocking. You read the message again, the emptiness of the words echoes, and that dot grows even more. After that, you realize you’ve not heard from someone. You tell yourself in the midst of typing, “thank you so much, I appreciate it,” you forgot to take note of their message. But there’s nothing, and the dot is now a hole.
A hole that swallows every compliment, drowns the voices of the merry singing, and removes the joy of presents and presence. The more it takes, the larger it becomes, until your heart physically aches. In the silence, you loudly hear how common you are to people you’d cross a thousand seas, and climb the highest mountains for. In the middle of the chaos brewing in your heart, your lover calls, and her smile lights up your word. Your mum sends you a text asking if you enjoyed your day, and a dear friend posts a picture of you without a beard. Suddenly, you become grateful and thankful for the people who stuck around.
I’m 24 and I’m writing again.
