I celebrated my birthday yesterday without the usual handa and regalo. I wasn’t keen on having them either because I’ve been used to it for several years.
The obvious and most simple fact is the age has incremented another year. It basically means that I’ve been walking this earth for twenty seven years now, minus the number of infant months when literally my bones and muscles won’t let me.
The question that is rippling in the waters of my mind is how much have I already accomplished? Or better put, have I already live my life to the fullest?
This is a question I’d like to know how my comrades would answer.
School days are long over. The time when minds were abundant of pristine ideals and the urge to do things was strong.
Today, most of us or, if not all of us, are trapped in our own race to success. The kind of race I would consider more as a struggle to be free. If medieval era had their war, this is our own version of fighting to be free, to live more.
It’s not everyday that I remember the fancied stories of how my mother born me out of this world. She would rather gladly tell it over and over again. Yesterday, I ate a plate of spaghetti and a slice of cake to feel the essence of the day. The same date next year, I wonder if I’ll be doing it again.