My dearest FrogDiva Jr.,
As I have done for the past 21 years, I take you down Memory Lane in an open letter. My gift to you each year never changes: the gift of love, presence and hands.
At exactly 10:47 New Delhi time on March 12, 1998 I gave birth to a perfect, beautiful baby girl who had inherited none of her parents’ defects that the doctors feared you might. Everything was in place, in working order, and you were received with more love than any other child. You were, of course, the loudest child in the hospital nursery, and there was no mistaking which one was my baby.
It was Holi, the Indian festival of colours and as if the gods had predetermined your destiny, you were born into a world of vibrant colours and music. I did not know it at the time, but colours and music turned out to be the fundamental pillars of your character, the manner in which you express yourself best.
You never chose to celebrate with a party, and I respect that choice. This year is no different. Breakfast of homemade cheesecake and later on a dinner of sushi is our celebration of life, love and friendship. What do we need a party for anyways, when each day that we are alive and able to tell each other I love you every morning is a greatest reason to be grateful!
Your family, friends and loved ones stand by you today, as I do, and give thanks for the 21 years that you have blessed our lives with your charm, wit, creativity, compassion, generosity, and loyalty. Like me, you don’t stand for superficial conversations nor to you take bullshit sitting down. We stand up for what we believe in, no matter how controversial the decision is, or difficult the choice, but we march forward in the knowledge that you and I will always have each others back.
No matter how often we might stumble along the way, loose sight of our horizons, or feel completely helpless in the dark, the inner fortitude that is forged by a mother-daughter friendship gives us the strength to stand up again and search for the light. It has been a difficult year for us as individuals, and yet, here we are, counting our blessings.
A myriad of coloured hair, Goth period, self-inflicted pain, depression, broken spirit, identity crisis, divorce, loneliness, gay pride, artistic expression, going against the crowd, jumping out of an airplane, climbing up mountains, walking unknown paths, witchcraft, spells, magic, spirituality, and mixing strange cocktails. I loved every moment with you, adore what we share, and would do it over again. Anytime.
Happy Birthday, child of my soul.