Birthday Honour - continuación

Part 2

These days when I drive my car I put silver-coloured CDs by Radiohead or Blur into the stereo. That's the kind of thing that shows me the years are passing. And now I find myself living in the 21st century. Whether or not the person I think of as me undergoes any essential changes, the earth never stops circling the sun at the same old speed.
In just the same way, a birthday quietly comes around for me once each year. Do these birthdays make me happy? I would have to say, "Not especially". Just turning from 53 to 54: who is going to view that as a great accomplishment? Of course, if a man's doctor tells him, "You will never live beyond the age of 52. Sorry, but you'll have to resign yourself. Now is the time to organise your possessions and write a will," and then this man greets the dawn of his 54th birthday, that is something worth celebrating. That is a great accomplishment. For that, I can imagine chartering a boat and setting off a massive firework display in the middle of Tokyo Bay. In my case, however, for better or worse (although, of course, it is for the better), I have never been handed such a death sentence. And so my birthday never makes me unusually happy. The most I might do is open a special bottle of wine for dinner. But let me get back to this later.
I have had one very strange birthday experience - though it was strange only for me, personally.


Part 3

Early one birthday morning I was listening to the radio in the kitchen of my Tokyo apartment. I usually get up early to work. I wake between four and five in the morning, make myself some coffee (my wife is still sleeping), eat a slice of toast and go to my study to begin writing. While I prepare my breakfast, I usually listen to the radio news - not by choice (there's not a lot worth hearing), but because there's not much else to do at such an early hour. That morning, as I waited for my water to boil, the newsreader was announcing a list of public events planned for the day, with details of when and where they were happening. For example, the emperor was going to plant a ceremonial tree, or a large British passenger ship was due to dock in Yokohama, or events would be taking place throughout the country in honour of this being official chewing-gum day (I know it sounds ludicrous but I am not making it up: there really is such a day).
The last item on this list of public events was an announcement of the names of famous people whose birthday fell on January 12. And there among them was my own! "Novelist Haruki Murakami today celebrates his **th birthday," the announcer said. I was only half listening, but, even so, at the sound of my own name I almost knocked over the hot kettle. "Whoa!" I cried aloud and looked around the room in disbelief. "So," it occurred to me a few minutes later with a pang, "my birthday is not just for me any more. Now they list it as a public event."