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So I'm 26. The day just passed like any other day. Woke up at around 2.30pm. Had breakfast/merienda with Sanya and Janus. Went to Starbucks to have tea. Went to Cavite for a gig. Went back to QC for another gig. Went to Starbucks for Coffee. Hung out with Rhea, Janus and Allan at Select. Went home.I never really broadcasted that it was my birthday. Frankly, I don't feel that it IS my birthday. I'm not sure if this feeling is a product of 25 years, or if it really is like any ordinary day. Too jaded?

Ok. Let's give it a shot then. A little romanticizing will probably pump a few quartz of adrenaline into my spirits and make me realize this so-called "HAPPY BIRTHDAY".

I was born on September 12, 1977 at 1:24pm Daylight Savings Time (DST) in Polymedic General Hospital, Mandaluyong. It was a hospital policy to ask for the false teeth of mothers before they went into labor. My mom had a perfect set of teeth. When my mom was going through labor, the nurse requested her to "surrender" her false teeth. She exclaimed, "HINDIIIII IIITOOOO PUSTISOOOO!!!" And then, I came out.

When I was in grade 2, Mom and Necie (our helper) went to my class to serve spaghetti to my classmates. It was tradition for kids to hold their birthday parties in school. Mom makes the best spaghetti and the stomachs of my classmates were vehemently calling for the platter of spaghetti to be served. Sadly, I accidentally poured my glass of orange juice on the platter. There goes the party.

The last time I had a birthday party was in 2nd year college. It was a simple dinner/get-together at FRIDAY'S. I can't recall the last time I had a birthday cake.

Turning the sublime into the mundane happens when we repeatedly express its value. In fact, celebrating an occasion repeatedly diminishes the very value of the celebration.

Fr. Luis David once said in a sermon that most of the time it was necessary for people to exaggerate the events in order to make them more accommodating, more public, more acceptable, more appealing. In short, whenever we recall and event and we celebrate it, we impose some sort of narrative, some arbitrary meaning. We reconstruct the past by imposing meaning to it. We do not recall. We reminisce with nostalgia. Romanticizing the past makes it more appealing. Memory is not retrieved. It is re-created according to our terms.

So we celebrate. Big deal!

History is a celebration of arbitrary pasts. In fact, we are historicized because of this celebration. And we celebrate the struggle as well as the achievement for which the struggle exists.