Every night on July 23rd, I just don't sleep. It's hard to tell whether I don't wanna sleep or that I can't sleep. At least not until the next day. I want to spend the first seconds of my new age to myself, to be grateful just to live. Because birthday always makes me think of death. And death makes me think of death. Birthdays somehow remind me that one day I will get old —if I ever make it there— and what's older than old is death. So the seconds towards make me question, will I ever make it to the next day? What if I don't? Every millisecond counts. We are living in this world where we don't know when we're going to leave. It's not like an instant jolly time popcorn that will finish popping after 7 minutes of 300w heat in the microwave. It's nothing like that. Even I —sometimes— still find some raw corn after that 7 minutes. I guess we'll never know the science of it. Just like we'll never know the science of when we're gonna leave. Of how or why. Because not everything is science. Not everything in this effin world can be explained.
I hope I get that right into your mind.
On my birthdays I'm always surrounded by the people I love. Not that I ask them to come —I hope I'm not putting any pressure ever to anyone. Not that I ask for gifts. Not a birthday cake. Not even candles. I'm just grateful for the time they waste just to be with me on my birthday. Not every other day would they want to do the things they do on my birthday. So for that —if you ever read this, you know who you are— thank you all for coming —and even the ones that want to, but can't make it. For the pointless chats. For turning my room into a shipwreck. For the balloons, candles, and flowers. For the cheesy galore pizza. For the red polkadot party hat that makes me look like a 5-year-old. For the wishes you sent me over long (and short) sweet voice notes. For the beautiful drawings of me. For your time, your presence, and the smile you have put on my face —and my heart.