It was my natal day, I thought you should know, yesterday - a day that, like a breeze during a summer afternoon too swift to be relished, went by barely noticed and uncelebrated except for the appearance of a glorified ice cream gallon on the account of my passing the board examination and becoming a genuine nurse (a great birthday gift, indeed it was). I have grown up unaccustomed to having nor knowing a birthday party and, as years passed, developed a certain dislike for them altogether that I request it myself, even there was no need to, never ever to be surprised with one. A kind kiss, a warm hug, or a simple tap on the back, should suffice. What of all those confounded balloons and useless gifts and needless merry-making? of singing and excessive alcohol consumption? of pandaemonium of hungry people and relatives who are only there obviously for the food? As if there was an important scientific discovery or a death of a dictator that deserved such fabulous frippery. I would rather spend my date of birth in isolation and celebrate its importance in a peaceful afternoon and contemplate the melodies of a guitar. Birthday party, indeed. What nonsense!