After a long hiatus, I've finally come back to writing. Nothing flashy has happened after my last post. I've had short work projects and worked extensively on getting my work published, and somehow, I haven't had the time to write. I recently realized how this is for and how maybe I haven't taken care of myself properly.
Two weeks ago I turned 31, and it felt like I was turning 100. I didn't tell anyone, I didn't do anything and I deleted from all my profiles, so that nobody who wouldn't know it before could see it. And it worked. All members of my family called or visited, including my grandmother, who turned 87 the day before. Surprisingly neither my closest friends or my crush remember it, and in a pleasant note, some friends who I haven't seen in ages, kind of remembered, the next day. I found it odd that my best friends wouldn't say anything, but I guess they trust Facebook a little too much and forgot to check their calenders. Anyway, I didn't want anything flashy and I definitely didn't want to turn 31. As in many of my other birthdays, my expectations for a particular age were too high and I'm not even close to where I'd like to be right now. The day came and left. I received a lot of presents from my parents, and I didn't have such a bad time after all. Now looking back, maybe I've always made a huge deal about my birthday, maybe because as a kid it was the only day of the year that my mom would bring breakfast to bed and everything seemed to be about me.
I've been reading quite a few nice books (more on that later) and I've come to the conclusion that I expect too much of others. I've expected them to give me love, patience, compassion and now I realize I should give that to myself first.
As I recover from my birthday and look forward to the present, the now (yes I've read it, "The Power of Now", totally recommend it), I've decided to start writing again and make my projects come true.
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