There’s something peculiar about celebrating birthdays.  It gets us thinking about stuffs that we don’t normally think about.

Morbidly, I thought about the inevitable.

Death. The one thing that we all have in common, eventually.

Coincidentally, a close friend who shared the same birthday had exactly the same thought.  We both imagined our funerals (if there was one) to be a celebration for the living, and not a solemn mourning for the deceased.

Let there be tears of joy, not grief.  Throw a big party where family and friends would gather to rejoice in the gifts of life.

It turned out that, pondering over mortality occasionally can be immensely beneficial.  I learnt to be more appreciative of every moment I have.  I could not resist the urge to dig out a favourite book that helped me survive the tumultuous adolescent years.

The following lines taken from Hugh Prather’s Notes To Myself had kept me wondering:

But it’s morning.  Within my hands is another day. Another day to listen and love and walk and glory.  I am here for another day.

I think of those who aren’t.

What does it mean to be here? What does it mean to have friends? What does it mean to get dressed, to have a meal, to work? What does it mean to come home? What is the difference between the living and the dead?

I sometimes wonder if the “dead” are not more present, more comfort, more here than those of the living.

Reading that, I felt incredibly blessed to wake up to another day.  Some didn’t.

Honestly, I don’t know how to practically live each day to the fullest or as if it was my last.  But at least, I could strive to be more fully present to the here and now – with the people I am interacting with, the things I do, and even with myself.

Today, I shall listen more intentionally, love more intensely, and walk more mindfully.

That’s good enough for me.  What about you?