I don’t think I’m really very good with words, especially not when it comes to talking about you. You’re my best friend, probably the one constant in the past seven years or so. I don’t really remember how we started hanging out - all I remember is suddenly being in your house one day and I have no clue why I went over at all - but I’m glad we did.

I maintain that I’m one of the worst possible people in the world to be best friends with. And with you, no less. Put a worrier together with a serial-getter-into-of-scrapes (I have no idea how I should phrase that), both of whom love singing silly songs at the top of their lungs (till your mommy ca si nang-ed us), hate shopping, are too lazy to dress up (except on our birthdays!) and you get a huge mess. But you get a huge mess that I feel more comfortable in than with anyone else in the world.

This year’s the first year we’ve had to spend our birthdays apart. That’s right - no more dressing up, no more wasting money on dinners for each other (not that a cent spent on you was ever wasted), no more ridiculous presents (the year we almost made each other the same thing was just the weirdest), no more dates with my best friend in the whole wide world.

But that’s alright. Because I know you have to grow up (like I’m supposed to be doing, but I’ve conveniently forgotten to), and you’ve moved away and the only important thing to me is that you’re happy where you are. Sure, I still miss you like crazy every single day (yep, I do), but it’s alright. I can live with that. Anyway, you’ll be back at Christmas lah. Then I can go appear at your house with a week’s worth of clothes and just refuse to budge. And no, you wouldn’t have gotten fatter than me, despite how much you claim to be eating, so it’s all well and good, ‘cos you won’t be able to push me away!

You see? Everytime I try to write about how much you mean to me, something just goes wrong and I end up making silly jokes. Perhaps it’s a defense mechanism of sorts, I just try to laugh so I won’t end up feeling as miserable as I am without you.

Whatever the case, what I’m trying to say is that I love you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and nothing else has ever come close to that. I was so scared when you first left that we’d grow up and grow apart, and I mean I’d rather stay in Neverland than ever have to live without you somewhere close by. But we both know that can’t happen, and hey I guess it’s alright, since I still get to talk to you pretty often, and since you and I are still the you and I that we’ve always been. Maybe a little less silly (nah, not really), maybe a little less noisy (definitely not), maybe a little mellowed out (perhaps?), maybe a little closer than we were when we first started out way back when.

So here’s wishing you a happy 19th birthday, I hope you spend it surrounded by friends whom you’ve grown to know and love, filled with happiness, and knowing that there’s someone else across the globe who’s thinking of you, and counting down the days till I get to rugby-tackle you in a bearhug and drive our neighbours crazy with the amount of noise the two of us can create. Miss you like crazy.

Edit: Sorry this is so melancholic, when it should really be bouncy happy!

Now Playing: Transatlanticism by Death Cab for Cutie