I was in the middle of a meeting when one colleague asked me if I will be available to lead a business call on ****day, the **th. “I’m sorry, I will be on leave at that time. Can we reschedule?”, I said. Her next words were a trail of umms and amms, the hesitation in her voice I can clearly hear. I can’t blame her. In two weeks time, we’re going to facilitate a big system upgrade and we’re still in the middle of finalizing every prep work that has to be done. The agitation level of everyone involved is now on the steady uphill of reaching the apex.

She agreed, though, and scheduled another kickoff meeting for me; probably thinking what a diva I am. I am not. See, the boyfriend asked me to take a leave on said day and enjoy it away instead of working (which I have been doing for the past 4 years of my corporate life) because, well, it’s my birthday. And it would have probably helped if I told my colleague that. She would have gushed instead of the umms and amms and maybe even give an habitual apology that we people nowadays are so used to giving out. No need to say sorry, dear. You don’t have to know my birthday. I’m not fond of announcing it to the world.

I am not a birthday person; that much is clear. It is not all “Scrooge on Christmas” level, but I definitely don’t make a big deal of it. Yes, I am thankful that I get to live another year. I give out the occasional mushy message to parents telling them that I am lucky to have them whilst growing up, the sweet thank you’s to siblings, family members, and friends who actually remembered my birthday without Facebook’s help. Yes, the ones who actually call and send text messages, emails, or even surprise gifts. I also make it a point to reply to those who greeted me via Facebook, Twitter, or whatever social media there is. I do believe that a greeting is still a greeting no matter what medium is used. And maybe, the occasional coffee or dinner treat to select group of people who happened to be with me during the day.

But that’s all there is to it. As soon as I attend the mass and thank God for giving me the chance to complete another year of human existence and always wishing to not kill me on this day because that would be just sad, I would simply like all the hoolah-boolahs to end.

Side note: Hoolah-boolah is not a word. I just invented that to try to make sense of whatever is on my mind. But boolah is, according to Google.