diary of a broken soul

Page 17

Dear diary,

Birthdays are about wishing that they will be celebrated with joy and happiness, loud songs, and laughter. A memory that will forever have a special place on a child's heart, or at least that was what I always wished to experience: to celebrate with true friends and family, candles on fire ready to be blown with wishes I believe will soon come true, people singing me a happy birthday song, and I will be the happiest little girl in the world. But unfortunately, even memories are just wishes, which I hope to have.

I don't have memories. Even a glimpse of them I can't remember. I don't feel the familiarity of the song they sang. They say I should be celebrating, but the candles are crying and the cake is burning. The noises were nothing but strange. The feeling is unknown.

I don't remember any of it.

I don't remember my father's greetings, but I surely know he did. I don't remember being celebrated or valued on the day I was born. All I have are remnants of me crying. The silent sobs are so familiar. They are so loud, I heard myself breaking. Tears are running in my face like a river, which they knew exactly how to flow with. All I could remember were images of me crying and imagining what it felt like to be celebrated.

For some reason, I don't have many pictures of me as my younger self. I only have some of them, which I can no longer remember. Other than that, I was nothing.

I am a stranger to myself.

I don't remember having a favorite color when I was a kid. I guess playing in a park during kindergarten or a family day isn't part of my growing-up activity. I don't remember bathing in the rain, but I know I did. I can only remember the show I used to watch, which always sang the song 'I love you, you love me'. It taught me to love people to the extent of giving everything I had until I was left with nothing.

Now who loves me, though?

I can only love myself.

I thought about one thing. If I can give that kind of love to others, then why can't I give it to myself too? I've done it for everyone. It's time for me to value what I have.

I will always be broken.

I can never be completely happy. All my supposed lucky days will always turn out so badly that I consider them my bad-luck days. It's always felt like a nightmare to me. But again, I just want to be happy and appreciated for striving to fight and live despite my thoughts of dying and giving up.

If no one can appreciate me, then I will.

I deserve that. That young, innocent girl deserves the world, and I will give her that.

I will buy a cake. I will thank myself. I will celebrate my day. I will blow that candle. I will make wishes. I will create memories. I will go sit in the park and watch the sun rise and go swimming through the sunset. I will appreciate every single star in the sky at night, thinking that when I was a little girl, they were the same stars I'm watching—that even if I can't remember anything, those stars surely hold the memories of the little girl who wishes to become a star one day.