You see, I’m actually bad at keeping up traditions or maintaining a long-term habit. But there seems to be one thing that never change even as years pass by:
I could never remember your birthday right.
Yes, Firenze, as per usual, I thought your birthday is next week at the 27th. Then I almost posted this yesterday. Sue me. And I couldn’t be there, again, as I wrote this in the office. Work does not sucks, but it sure does make impulsively crossing the 500++ km between us a lot harder.
But I suppose I ought to thanks Timehop because I found this Tweet from 3 years ago when I, for once, got your birthday right.
In the span of the more or less six years that we’ve been friends, though, I suspect that was the only time I got it right.
And I know it sounds like a heck lot of sucks. Why would you be friends with someone who can’t even get your birthday right? Who always forget that one important day when you came kicking and screaming into this world? Who could never be there to celebrate with you and your loved ones?
Truth be told, I don’t know the answer to that. It’s actually a wonder, that you’ve manage to bear with me up until now, despite me periodically mucking up your birthday date and the fact that somehow we never spent any of our birthdays together. Or, more importantly, despite me constantly whining about life and you giving me all the tough love I deserved because I’m such a crybaby. You know I always thought that being my friends had more cost than benefit, and long-term friendship is not something I excel at. So it is a wonder that you somehow stick with me through all this shit.
And I think you’re under appreciated. Even I have to admit that I rarely appreciate you as you deserve.
You’re brilliant, Firenze, even if you don’t feel like it at times because you’re stuck studying and working on something you’re not actually invested at. You’re brilliant and you’re such an excellent writer, and I’m still waiting for you to pick up on that story you posted on your blog. You were there for me when I’m at the point where I don’t know who turn to, you’ve learn most of my secrets and accept-slash-tolerate-slash-maybe-cherish me for who I am even though me and my thoughts are non-conventional and non-normative. You could brush off everything I disclose to you and face them head on with your nonchalant attitude, the way you face the world and whatever shits they throw at you. Nothing faze you, nothing could stop you once you set your mind to it, and nothing could make you bend – moreover break. You just have that inherent strength in you that I often envy, you’re adept at fighting your demons and warding them off of your loved ones, and you have people who would give the world for you.
You’re one of the most important friends I have, one of the best people that I have the luck to befriend, and you are one of the few that makes Jogja my home. One of the people whose companion I constantly seek out and would always welcome.
And I’m sorry that lately I haven’t been as present as I should be, and I don’t disclose as much. Because things have been quite murky and stormy here, so I’d prefer keeping you away from the clusterfuck I’m currently facing. Because trust me, darling, it’s a bloody sharknado up here and thing will most likely only get worse from here on out. And I’m afraid they’ll come baying for my blood – or worse, dragging you down with us.
You’re far too precious to be a collateral damage in this war I didn’t even sign the fuck up for.
And you have far more important thing to take care of.
So, you know, live long and prosper. Keep the odds in your favor, and whatever card you’re dealt with, do your best to leave your mark in this world. Take risk, break hearts, and get hurt. Don’t barricade yourself, go on out and see the world alone. Explore and run off to the sky, let no one keep your feet grounded or pull you away from the freedom you’ve always aspire to have. Not even him, or me. Sharpen your knife and carve your dreams, then make them come true even if people tell you that you couldn’t or that you should have dream bigger. Screw them, tell them to go fuck themselves, and go out in a blaze of glory. You don’t need to be a superhero or Time’s Person of the Year, just do whatever the fuck you want and excel at that. Make small changes, regardless of whether or not they’d snowballed into a bigger revolution. Just be happy, keep smiling and do things that would make you laugh years later on as you retell the stories to your evergrowing audiences. Write, Firenze. Write and keep your thoughts alive, share them to us peasants and give us a little bit of that wildly imaginative world you have hidden behind those bright eyes. They’ll appreciate it, appreciate your ingenious mind and quixotic writing skills.
You, Firenze, deserves the world at your feet. But since I can’t give you that, well, at least you know you have me on your sleeve.
Happy birthday, Raditha Firza.
À la mort,
I may never be able to get your birthday right, but one thing I always got right is making you cry with my birthday wishes. So tell me, did I get it right again this year?