Thank you India; thank you terror; thank you disillusionment...

(Or, why S should not order an entire bottle of wine for the two of us at a fancy birthday dinner.)

The past year has been one of tremendous growth. In another journal, I reflected upon the different needs I had as I faced both my 22nd and 23rd birthdays; one's life changes so fast in the rapid progression from excited young professional to haggard old crone. (Or, in the words of my mother, "Just wait until you're 50. Then your birthday will really become a non-event.")

Anyhow, instead of babbling on and on about myself, I'd like to give some shout-outs. I'd like to thank the Academy and:
S -- for being everything and asking nothing, for showing me that I can be beautiful, for believing in tenderness and progress and love that doesn't have to be perfect, but malleable
NY -- for remember, across all these miles
SV & theek hai -- for getting me a birthday cake, and for apologizing because what you really wanted to get me was a case of Diet Coke
S's mum, dad, and bro in the U.S. -- for being unbelievably understanding, for never asking too much, and for calling and wishing me well, even though I haven't made as much of an effort as I should have to make sure you're comfortable in my homeland
T&M -- for ringing up from Canada, though we've never met face to face
D -- for freakishly getting engaged to a woman who has my same birthday, making it easier for both you and S to remember the date
Mass Com bunch -- for flooding me with the sweetest e-mail messages this side of Hollywood, and for reminding me how much the day meant to me last year
E-lizzle, J-dawg, etc. -- for being, you know, my hos, no matter what

The airing of grievances will have to wait 'til Festivus...