It’s the eve of my 21st birthday. Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, I don’t even know, i could care less. Thinking back to last year, I remember having a quite and intimate lunch with the family. It was nice. Nothing too fancy or extravagant. Later on I went out and bought a journal. I titled it ‘adventures of a 20 year old.” I didn’t really write anything in it subsequent to the first entry on April 16. I’m awful with journals. I rarely keep them up. They often end up in the recycle bin without much written in them. I failed to document the adventures of the 20th year of my life.
I’m turning 21 tomorrow and I don’t really feel any different. I wonder if this is how old people feel. Indifferent to yet another birthday. Every birthday becomes the same after a while. It becomes a blur of cheering sing-song-y voices, candles, and birthday cards with money tucked within.
I’m not an overly bitter or pessimistic person for disregarding the day of my birth as just another day. I view birthdays differently from the way other people might view their birthdays. This perspective makes me sad. Most people like to think that they are progressing forward. I view it as a loss of a year of my life. I’m a year closer to death. This may sound overly cynical, but it’s the truth. Death is inevitable. No one is immortal. We are fragile beings who all are destined to die- right from the second we make our first cry as we enter this world. The day of our birth.
20th year of my life taught me a lot. I hope the 21st year of my life treats me well. all my mistakes, all my achievements, all the progress I make, I hope it molds me into someone worth admiring.