Happy Birthday

He braced hismself for an evening of false politeness. He was not disappointed. The moment he stepped into the restaurant, he was greeted by smiling faces of people he hadn't seen for the whole year. He took in a deep breath, summoned up all his skills in deception accumulated through years of training in drama and debate and greeted them with the brightest smile he could muster, being as friendly to them as his conscience would allow.

They started telling him that he has lost weight. Were they just being courteous? Or were they truly concerned? How long have they not seen him to be able to have noticed that he lost weight? Some still thought that he was studying in UK. Some thought that he was still in NS. Others did not even dare to venture a guess.

He and his parents quickly made it to where they were designated to sit. His mother went off to talk to her sisters and sisters-in-laws. She went about it with a certain order. There was protocol to be followed, one too complex for him to understand.

He scanned the room, trying to put names to those vaguely familiar faces. He realised how much some of them have changed, some have blossomed like flowers in spring while others have had more lines added to their faces. He realised that he knew more about his friends than he did about the people in that room. He realised that he felt closer to his friends than these people who were supposed to be share blood ties with him. He realised that he could depend more on his friends to listen to him, to understand him, to support him in his time of need than these people who were supposed to be his family.

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of a old, bent, rotund lady. She has seen much in life. And that evening was to mark the beginning of her 86th year. She could not really walk. She needed the support of her umbrella to steady herself. She hobbled laboriously towards where she was supposed to sit. One by one, people went up to greet her, wishing her many happy returns. He went up to wish her happy birthday. She looked at him with vague recognition. He wanted to say more, but found that he had nothing much to say. He knew that there were more people behind him eager to fulfil their duties as children and grandchildren , so he returned to his seat.

Dinner started soon enough. There was idle conversation about what each person was doing. Lamentations of how fast time flew were repeated regularly. It seemed that everyone that night was nostalgic and yearned for a return to the good old times.

And after what seemed like an agonising eternity of prosaic platitudes, it was finally time for the cake to be brought out. In groups, they went up to take photos. The younger ones were then supposed to sing the birthday song. A funeral procession had more enthusiasm.

As he left the restaurant, he realised that the group of people that he called his family was held together only by one old lady. With her passing, there would be many of those people in the group whom he would never see nor hear from again. He wondered how his family gatherings have become such a perfunctory exercise. Was it because the people did not have anything in common? Or was it because they have not taken the effort to keep up with one another's lives? Or was it because they were so fundamentally different? Was there anything that he could do about it? Did he actually want to do anything about it?