25 and Dependent

Birthdays don’t mean much to me. It’s because I believe that pastries should be enjoyed as often as one can afford, religiously accompanied by a rich brew of dark roast coffee. Furthermore, shouldn’t friends hang out more than once a year, worse off when they assemble mainly to protect themselves from withdrawing from a ‘Favour Bank’ they haven’t deposited enough in? While we’re at it, someone remind me why we need to drink sodas on special days again? Hold an event without that sinister elixir of sugar, colour and acidic preservatives and you can kiss your place on the best birthday/wedding event goodbye. It’s so assimilated into our culture that when someone say’s they’re going to buy you a ‘ka-soda,’ we light up with anticipation like it’s a good thing.

All this was aroused by my 25^th birthday last weekend. With it came the somber realization that my temporal locus just slightly tilted towards 30. I was at first tempted to celebrate the dent I had made on a quarter century with a feast fit for a Norse god after conquering the Kraken. Only when I remembered I was a jobless, homeless (some say living with parents – same difference), 25 year old male did my halcyon days appear undeserving of revels. I felt I needed more to celebrate. Say a hot girlfriend or a blue Subaru with a loud exhaust or even better, a one million shilling bonus from Chris Kirubi.

Well, my small sister would have none of this. She jumped at my first thought to hallow the birthday, likely because she knew the next chance of me celebrating another another was 5 years away. That, ladies and gentlemen, is why I obliged.

Come to think of it, she’s a real planner. She’s the kind that obsesses over details like which side of the house the chairs should be set up. Is it the side with the garden or the side with the shade or maybe the side with more space or sensibly the one nearest to the kitchen? I just bathed in the glory of her acute excitement over a birthday that wasn’t hers. Girls are so strange, right?

Did I mention I am jobless? The politically correct term would be job seeking which is what I do when I’m not in school pursuing a master in something everyone already knows how to do – communication. But to celebrate a jobless, dependent, 25 year old single man (see how the single makes me look miserable) is like spitting on a forest fire hoping to quench its thirst and God would not have his son so embarrassed. That is why I was invited by a top tier firm to take an aptitude test for their annual recruitment a few days prior to the festivity. Yes! At least now we could celebrate a potentially employed but, for now, dependent 25 year old single man.

Needless to say, I am thankful and not just for a promising opportunity to change my status. Those who showed up to the party were all fervent in their estimation of my eminent success. They reminded me that sometimes, we need not only to celebrate our achievements but also the very chance to achieve. True, there’s no need for work in the grave but to be on this side of eternity is a blessing that many past souls would die to relive. I just hope the job comes sooner than 30.