Here I am, a year later, typing away at the same fuschia laptop - only slightly more battered and decorated - and baking myself a small cake for my birthday. Going to the museum and watching a film isn't too different, either. Nor is trying to find the words to write here. In fact, nothing much has changed. I've made some and lost some. It's still the same old me here, bearing that increasingly nonchalant attitude towards my birthday.
To think that half a lifespan ago - that's 8 years to you, having a sweet sixteenth equated to the proverbial celebration involving too much pink and glitter, as advocated in one too many movies revolving around high school. And here we are, 8 years down the road, along with too many vows made to myself (i.e. all thou shalt wear will be black), that celebration has translated to a quiet day with a good friend with promises of good food and quality conversation. The loud, pinker-than-a-suckling-pig celebration is nothing but snatches of thoughts from days past. This very realization makes me feel both so old and so young.
(I'm getting maudlin)
Now, I don't even want a fancy cake for my birthday. Hell, I don't even want a cake. Unless it's from Momofuku Milk Bar, but that's another story (that I'll share in time to come). I'd like bread. A good hearty loaf of sourdough would be sweet indeed. So far, no one has gotten the hint that I'd like to blow out candles stuck into a loaf of bread. But I don't fault them. It's a bizarre image indeed.
So for now, I'll just stick to my annual cake - this year with real vanilla beans, baileys and date caramel.
Happy Sixteenth, me.
Mini Vanilla Cake With Coconut and Date Caramel
time taken ~30 minutes
makes 1 small 3-inch cake
recipe for cake adapted from Two Red Bowls
To be continued.