As I write this, it’s 12:05 am 18th January.
I’m officially another year older. Wiser? Not so much. Happier? I hope to be.
Anything but be as low as I feel right now.
I took a quick peek at Facebook’s Memories feature, just to look back at what my previous Birthdays was like. Crazy what a few years can do.
Less than 8 years ago, I had friends literally waiting until midnight to be the first to greet me.
Less than 7 years ago, I had the entire week booked with dates with my friends and people from work who want to take me out to celebrate.
Less than 6 years ago, I had birthday posts flooding my social media, pouring endless love to me.
Less than 5 years ago, I had to go home with a big loot bag of gifts.
Less than 4 years ago, I was surrounded with loved ones waiting for me to blow out the cake.
But it ended there.
The birthdays that came after was just me sitting at the corner of my room like it was another typical day, waiting for time to pass. No happy greetings. No heartfelt letters. No cheers. No cake.
How can I celebrate if I’m not happy being alive?
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