Lonely birthday to you...

Being lonely in a nation of almost a billion people. A billion.

Cruel irony. 

I mean, you really have to have messed up big time. I mean we're the second most populous country in the world, soon to be first. 

What was it, though? 

One of two things, as always. You, or other people. 

Either you had it all wrong, or people at large just didn't care anymore. It could be the other way round too. Maybe you stopped caring, and everyone else had it all wrong. 

But that didn't really add up. Because if it did, they'd be having these thoughts, and you'd be out there doing what they do.

But here you are, on your 35th birthday, sitting in this empty living room with a butter knife in one hand, staring at this big, beautiful round cake kept on the centre table. With swirly white icing, and nougat, and cream and nuts and choco chips. 

One kilo minimum. Homemade. Baked with love by an overweight middle-aged housewife one afternoon while her overweight children were in office and overweight husband at his financial consultancy or law firm. 

Made with high expectations. Expectations of more orders, of favourable feedback and raving reviews on social media. 

"If you like it, please like our page and tag us at such and such." 

Fucking social media. 

They say loneliness is the best partner. 

Yeah well, how do you take selfies with him? 

Or her. Or however they identify.