I am born on March 27, just like Jessie J, Mariah Carey, Brenda Song, Fergie and Quentin Tarantino...

Today, 56 years after, there is no celebration, no party, no dinner, not even a birthday cake. It is just a Saturday. My apartment is a mess, the replacement of pipes is started yesterday.

I'm known for my simplicity, an impulsive nature and aggressiveness. Some think I'm arrogant, well, so what, no doubt, I'm self reliant and adventurous although I love being at home. A quiet evening with someone I care about suits me well but there are times when I want to feel the heat. I want to party...

Not today.

Well I supposed to have a good time with friends or have a romantic dinner with someone special. I should be feeling secure and happy that my life is on track and I'm right where I'm supposed to be. Oh how young, vibrant, and beautiful I feel!

Happy birthday Zee!!!
...are you three, are you four, are you five?

Lucky me.

I've been deluding myself into thinking that for the past decade I'm still 35. I feel young and in my mind, 50-somethings is so fucking old! The numbers don't lie. I'm just beginning to understand the nature of the old age, the health issues and this society, the society which poisoned food, air and water, and made me a slave. I feel my life is just about survival with little or nothing to show. Where did it go?

See, the birthday is a sad day, it makes you think. I wish that somehow, magically my birth date gets skipped or erased from the entire calendar. From what I've observed, life gets shittier as you grow up.

and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started.