Shinagawa, 2020
Today I turn 27. My initial thoughts are that I am now the same age as Cole Phelps from L.A. Noire and that I share a birthday with Himesaki Rinami from Gakumas.
As each birthday passes, I always think about how my age compares to that of fictional characters. When I turned 23, I thought, "Wow, I am the same age as Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment" or "Dang, I am the same age as Scott Pilgrim from... Scott Pilgrim." Heck, if there is one person that would really strike home, it would be Sato from Welcome to the NHK!
What first seems like neat trivia sometimes leads to deeper thoughts. It either turns morbid, like "Raskolnikov hacked two women with an axe, traversed 19th-century St. Petersburg squalor, and had /lit/ walks at night around bridges at 23. Meanwhile, here I am stuck at home, being paid to manage a Discord server and Twitter account, using my downtime to play eroge." Or it becomes overly comparative, like "Cole Phelps was an officer in the Marine Corps, a seasoned detective, and married with two daughters at 27. Meanwhile, here I am working a rather comfy 11-7 job, dealing with spreadsheets, where the worst thing that could happen is my annoying workaholic co-worker sitting next to me at a drinking party, exclusively yapping about client-related developments or reaching quotas."
Even before my 20s, birthdays were tricky. Growing up in the U.S., my parents would throw birthday parties for me and my classmates. I can’t recall where, but I’d guess places like Chuck E. Cheese or this go-kart racing venue. Sometimes, my parents would even come to my school, and we’d celebrate with cake and such in class. I still remember personally handing out invitation cards to classmates and feeling nervous when inviting the cool kids.
Before finishing elementary school, I moved to the Philippines and immediately entered middle school. I only remember one birthday party I threw at this Xbox 360 café near my school, and my classmates were startled when I handed them invitation cards. It wasn’t the culture, so I guess it surprised them. I even remember once spending another birthday at a friend’s house, playing Minecraft and Aliens vs. Predator on the PS3. Most of my other birthday celebrations revolved around weekends spent with my extended family.
High school and college were a blur, but I’d try to go home as much as possible to spend my birthday, at the very least, with my parents—even if it meant flying. The first day of an internship I did back in college happened to fall on my birthday. It was at one of the most prestigious recruiting firms in Tokyo, and by coincidence, the team I was assigned to was having a sendoff party for a colleague. Somehow, a coworker found out during the celebration that it was my birthday. It felt so awkward being congratulated and praised by people I had just met.
Before my 26th birthday, I remember hearing someone say that as a man, you shouldn’t put too much thought into your birthday and should carry on as if it were just another normal day. Some generic, stoic suck it up advice. I was initially sold on the idea since a lot of my coworkers would throw birthday parties and just horse around like millennial kidults, which I found unsightly.
So when my 26th birthday came, I let it pass by like any other day. Before the weekend, though, my boss threw a surprise party. Technically, it was a joint celebration—my birthday and another colleague’s sendoff (again?!). My boss surprised me with camping equipment, and a coworker did a cheesy comedy skit that actually made me laugh. I felt sad as it unfolded—not because I didn’t enjoy it, but because someone had actually acknowledged my birthday. So perhaps I do value my birthday after all?
I’m not sure if this is the best way to put it, but despite aging, I’ve never felt mature. I feel infantilized. I’m still the youngest person at the startup where I work, yet after three years at the same company, I’m still viewed as green. I aspire to be someone looked at as reliable or a senpai figure.
Perhaps I’m overthinking it, and nothing is wrong.
Perhaps a part of me wants to force myself to be the ideal image of an adult and reject pursuits others would call childish.
Perhaps I am stubbornly clinging to immature notions.
Maybe a bit of everything is true—perhaps that’s just part of the complex nature of being human. Birthdays always make me sentimental, and I always feel sad on this day. But despite that, it proves that it is indeed an important day to me.
Happy birthday to me. I hope I can look back on this years from now and laugh at my ridiculous rambling.