averageness, commonness, commonplaceness, normality


as posted on wecomeofage

I’ve never celebrated birthdays like a normal person does. The cynic inside me tells me that nobody really likes me anyway; nobody will go to my party if I ever hold one. Except maybe my parents and my siblings. Which sucks, ‘cause although you need to be surrounding yourself with people who trust and love you, you get sick of them anyway.

Another part of me just wants to celebrate it by rewarding my body something it doesn’t normally get: long sleep. Maybe I’m too busy with work. Maybe I’m too busy with the Internet or television or the movies. Maybe I’m an undiagnosed insomniac. Who knows? I just couldn’t get sleep for more than six hours — even if I spend 12-14 hours in bed.

The wise person inside me never wants to celebrate it on any significant date. It says it doesn’t make sense. It says I don’t look that much different from myself exactly a year ago which means I really haven’t age. Unless of course you compare me to myself five years ago, which is stupid. What are you celebrating for? You’ve just gotten fatter. You want to eat on your birthday? It’ll just make you even fatter. Get some sense to yourself.

Wise person can really be cruel. But he tells the truth. He’s wise. Who am I to challenge his authority? He tells me the only way you could have aged is when you learn something new or different. Something that will make you a better person. Better human being.

I used to hate the rest of the world. As I’ve said earlier, I have this feeling that nobody really ever liked me which makes me not like them either. Everybody’s a jack-ass. Then, for some reason unbeknownst to me, I somehow learned (maybe through the internet, I’ll never be sure) that, yeah, including myself, everyone is going through something in their lives. Something probably makes them feel depressed — even the rich ones. And you’ll never know what will push them over the edge. Since then, I tried very hard not to snap at anybody, cause you’ll never know. You just won’t. Until you talk to them and maybe help them with it.

I am 26 now, I turn a year older every December and I still think most of the people I know don’t like me as much as I like them. But I learned not to care enough to confront them about it. In it’s stead, I just surround myself with people who like me enough to spend some time with me on the day I remind myself that only my body gets old, my thoughts are still childish.

Filed under: about me, birthdays, wecomeofage