This is one of the reasons I hate my own birthday. I get emotional. Again, I would rather have it taken off the calendar just because I am not that comfortable in having any spotlight on me. Of course, I do thank my mom tremendously for that fateful day, the almost 24-hour delivery and pain, and my dad for trying not to panic with our condition inside the labour room.
There are times when one does feel alone more than ever, even amidst a bustling crowd. This is how I feel, even without meaning to. I think I have this uncanny ability to push people away – a trait I would vehemently deny to be in my genes and one that I am never proud of. I’d like – love – to think that I am a peacemaker and happy-go-lucky, but for some reason I invite quarrels instead. Would love to be tagged as a warfreak, but that was back in highschool (exclusive for girls) when having your own spunk gets you on the “popular-and-must-hang-out-with” list.
Maybe I just wanted to go home. Just when the feeling of too much aloneness becomes oppressive. I guess it can be likened to comfortably sitting in a chair, closing your eyes, relaxing your arms at the armrest, only to find out that as soon as you rest your back the hard floor is to greet you with a wham. No one to support your back.
I’m in that black out state of seeing the ceiling and a couple of stars.
I had the best weekend, but I am back to sinking again. If only one liter of yakult can make me happy, I’d drink two.