Birthday memories

So I turned 26 yesterday. I couldn't stop thinking about how this is the age insurance premiums start getting steeper than usual? I don't know, maybe I read wrong. How birthdays feel so different as you age. Thought I'd make a list of the ones I remember so well.

The first birthday memory that still plays like a vivid old recording in my head would be that of my younger brother. We were in our old four-room flat in Bedok South and it was his first birthday. There was a huge party and I was made to stand next to him while he blew the flame out. He didn't. For the longest time, he stood frozen to the ground like a statue, mouth slightly ajar. I did the most natural thing that came to me as a four-year-old then. I blew, and all the expectant adult faces turned to me - the nosey elder sister - and laughed.

I think they laughed.

During my primary and sec school days, birthdays always meant ang pow money. In generous helpings. It was easy to get $100 from my pampering aunts and I would spend much time figuring out what to buy. Friends would make cards, beautiful pieces of art that I still keep in my aged shoebox in the cupboard.

In rgs, the Hardrock Cafe birthdays were the most memorable. There was always the surprise cake for the birthday girl and a "sabo" she had to do. Somehow I remember Yui Hua's one very clearly. The noisy waiter in the red and white striped shirt made her sink her pretty face into the cream, which she did sportingly. The photo of the entire gang always had some waiter poking his face into a space in the frame. Then we would troop out of the restaurant, stomachs bursting, clutching tightly to our Hardrock helium-filled balloons.

When I hit my 20s, these birthday celebrations became a very good excuse to catch up with old friends once again. They were also very good reasons for my family of three (sometimes brother's girlfriend in tow) to have a good meal together. Even now.

Now that I'm with Leo, birthdays are...I don't know...a time to spend more quality time together. Maybe it's the practical me, perhaps it's the older me, quality time is not a romantic dinner in some classy restaurant. So I told him to cook, a decision I made when we happened to be browsing at a supermarket. On the spot, we bought pasta and meat and last night, he whipped up something really simple. The TV was murmuring some Mandarin dialogue in the background, his dining table was still as messy as ever and our dinner ware was not even coordinated. He ate from a bowl, I supped from a plate.

Oh, and he forgot to cook the brocolli. We had red wine from one glass, or rather he drank 99 per cent, I sipped the rest. I opened the fridge and spotted some China brand apple juice. And I drank.

Just like that, my birthday passed. And I was another year older. And I felt happy for some quiet time with one of the people in my life who cared.