To Go Fly A Kite

Step 1: Walk through

it's the most wonderful time of the year...

stereos and boom box, among the houses i come across, blast yuletide carols to flaunt that the season of giving is already in the air. i could tell, as it's one of the signs that i'm finally homeㅡalone of the responsibilities that have piled up since i left this town; continually nudging me as they wait to be finished, done, and worked upon. what really saddens me despite the season approaching is the fact that i'm going to have my birthday as well. it saddens me, intensely. for all its worth, i think i'm the only one who fears his birthday is nearing. not because (1) i'm going to age, or (2) it's a compulsory to treat your friends. none of what i've mentioned fits for the question why and what am i so afraid of?

as a kid, i have dealt with so much birthday parties. year after year, since i was a one-year-old toddler until i become an eight-year-old infant. i literally have no idea why after you've come that age, you're stopped being celebrated, at least in my case. the way i see itㅡit's almost like there's no longer a reason for celebration.

the time i turned four, it was when my birthdays started to be remembered every other year. it's when i foolishly thought, i age every other year too. for the time being, i realized how my parents try to dwindle every thing and then all of a sudden... halt. stop. you're already eight and you're not anymore the person who thinks the earth is flat. right then, i was given an answer to my endless stream of questions. i finally knew what i've feared the mostㅡand it's myself. the fact that as i grow older, the more i desire for surprises, for more attention. the fact that i crave for support and all means to make my day unique and special to me. i figured how selfish i am. perhaps why i was so stuck to my eight-year-old self.

the first cut really was the deepest that i still ache bearing it all until now. as i bring this bad habit of expecting too much in the passing of time, i must think of a corrective measureㅡif my parents try to dwindle the pain, i'll start to care less... slowly or perhaps one at a time, albeit step by step getting through it as i walk through with time.

i would heal in time.