On birthdays

By 11:58 ,


As I look back, my twenty-seventh year has been the most challenging and rewarding year of my life. I’ve been brave this past year but not fearless. I’ve been reckless but not inconsiderate. For the most part I’ve chosen to live through my experiences and adventures alone in an effort to become more familiar with myself. I hate birthdays, I really do. It leaves me feeling overly emotional and vulnerable and I prefer to shy away in the shadows and not exist for the day than be the centre of attention. I avoid most people and pleasantries, pretending that I no longer walk this plain because I know that I exist as different versions of myself in the mind’s eye of those you know me- so my existence remains assured for the day even without my own active participation.

I sacrificed a huge chunk of who I thought I was for who I am becoming. Challenge and adversity have thread me like a needle and stitched the tapestry of my life anew with vibrant colours. The crimson reds of love that is just out of reach, the sad opaque shades of grey that glisten in my tears, the vivid blue hues of the many oceans I’ve had the good fortune of swimming in. All these colours paint the halls of memory with a new spectrum of feelings and familiarity. I am grateful for the sadness and what often times felt like insurmountable challenges which I have faced because it has gifted me with a deeper sense of appreciation for all the small wonders and the breathe-taking beauties of life that I encounter from time to time.

I cry. I cry more now than I have ever done before. I’ve caught the reflection of myself crying, bone-tired and despondent. Salty tears gamble with my emotions, only offering sweet release on their own volition. But I’ve also wept at the desperate beauty of life. I’ve sat on the back of a big blue truck, bawling my eyes out as I watched a little boy deep in Slumber’s embrace, veiled innocence guarding his dreams. For some reason this is the memory that I hold on to with white-knuckled determination. No longer walking blindly, I can see the beauty in the simplest things around me. Beauty in pink sunrises, dark alleys and chance encounters. The haunting beauty of people. I now understand that it will always be people over places and things. That’s common nouns for you. Places are only beautiful because of the people who inhabit them.

I’ve found beauty hidden between the rise and fall of words. Beauty in paired words, strung like pearls on a noose. I can’t. He won’t. I shouldn’t. I’m fine. Vicious little lies we tell ourselves. Beautiful. Beautiful little liars we are. But liars are smart and resourceful, they’re inventive and convincing and soon those loaded pairs of words break up and get rearranged, revealing themselves as something entirely different.

I can. I will. I am.

I am.


Enough. 

You Might Also Like

0 comments