Boxing Day is a public holiday in United Kingdom. Sales are everywhere and money could be spent crazily, as if you are the son of Sheikh Mansour bin Zayed Al Nahyan. Boxing Day is the day for shoppers to go literally box their way to stores all over to buy things at a much low price.

But still, Steven Gerrard is not on sale on Boxing Day, and his price is not going down this day, at least for now.

This tradition is mainly to channel some of the spending towards the benefit of the poor – so a Gucci bag on Boxing Day could get a poor guy a rubber slipper, or a pair of sock, if you may. In a way it makes sense economically but it is in much more way ironic to spend on shoes and bags when you know there are less fortunate people who struggle even to buy food.

And at the end of the day, people will be happy, maybe not so much because how much money they spent on cheap bargains, but because yesterday was spent with their love ones.

I myself don’t celebrate Christmas Day – but I enjoy having some free time and a day off, so as for other public holidays.

But I do celebrate Boxing Day, but not because of the crazy price-drops and live Boxing Day Premiership matches.

It is because my mother was born on Boxing Day.

It feels different not to join my sister and brother to put on signature and birthday wish on the jointly bought birthday card, and it feels lot more different not to kiss her on the cheek when she is sleeping when the clock strikes twelve.

But my love for her is never a new thing, only increases as my heart beats, that’s all.

I love her more than she knows and more than I could ever show. I hope she is having a wonderful birthday and feel loved more than ever.

I love her not because she allowed me to eat anything I wanted. I love her not because she cleaned my room when only rats and me could live in. I love her not because she loves my friends. I love her not because of her wit and unimaginable sense of humor, I love her not because she allows me to play football and care for football more than helping her in the kitchen.

I love her because she allows me to be myself.

A blog post will never be enough to tell how much I love her, so I don’t see any point of continuing.

So, thanks for everything. Happy birthday, Mama.

Am sayang mama. Sumpah tak tipu.