Wednesday, 17 April 2013

Except for the Fact it was My Birthday, My Stupid Birthday

 



Every 16 April since I was eleven I would wake up at 3:34 am to witness myself become one year older at 3:35 am. But the minute would come and then pass and I didn't really feel any grand significance or received some aurora of epiphanies. Turning twelve felt like being eleven, thirteen was just like twelve and fourteen was practically identical to thirteen. That didn't distinguish the eternal flame of birthday excitement I would have. I'd be a centimeter taller (that is if that old lady wasn't telling me an old wives' tale), people would shower me in gifts and attention and I could get away with bossing people around and, hello, original cake day!

Now I'm fifteen and a day and it means... nothing, really. I don't know if my lack of excitement is due to the bitterness that comes with age (in Mexican culture I am a woman) or if I'm in some sort of a rut or because this is the great epiphany I'd been searching for year after year. But it at least meant cake, presents and I can finally get a job.
Oh, gosh.
That's what I have to look forward to now. Getting a J-A-B.
At least I got this really pretty watch: (be jelly)



Khenzo xx

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We can also talk about the overweight, grey cat I'm gonna name Atticus one day or how you're feeling.

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