chunotchyu
(1)
happy birthday.
birthdays are fun. you wake up in the morning, having not so patiently waited another year, knowing this is your day.
you get ready as fast as possible, as best as possible, to reach for your presents just a second earlier than the year before.
you don't count them, they're there and everything you've wanted and dreamed of the last two months while counting down the days.
chunotchyu
(5)
(this isn't really something I needed to share, but I just wrote this down instead of the next chapter of un-supposed, so I fiqured posting my thoughts of today is the least I can do. happy 16th birthday to me! might take this down when I feel more sane with mv actions, idk. feel free to comment about whatever, be it my stories, this post or a vent. I love reading comments and replying to them. you're not alone with your thoughts, just know that. I talked a lot with my mom about all this today too. just follow your heart and know that there is always someone who is willing to listen❣️ good night or day, wherever you are)
chunotchyu
(4)
I turned sixteen today. I think this day might be worse than the one two years ago, where I was angry at the planning of the church I now plan to leave. my mom turned fifty today. I still don't have a day of my own. and really, today started out okay. until my sixteenth birthday meant sitting crying on the bathroom floor, head against the door, feeling like a poor, helpless child. words are too much, sounds too loud, feelings to harsh. I wanted to go somewhere special today. I wanted to have fun today. we planned to eat out at a restaurant. we didn't. we ate like it was any other day. then I began crying over everything. over not eating at that restaurant, over hating pe and my pe teacher, over not feeling pretty, special or like I was doing alright.
because the truth is, I'm really not. not as bad so it's serious, not so slight that I feel like I can pretend any year longer.
I don't remember when birthdays suddenly meant thinking of the next math test, the next pe lesson or the feelings and burdens of my parents. I don't remember when I began hating my birthday, even though I love it. I don't remember when I lost my words. because how could I, a writer with feelings so deep, lose something so essential to my existence? until my sixteenth birthday was the reality check life had been waiting to shove down my throat.
I hate to see my eyes red from tears, and my expression so blank. I know it doesn't come close to the storm in my chest. I hope the creativeness that's sprouting from this seed of pain is worth it.
happy birthday.
chunotchyu
(3)
when I turned ten, I prepared to end elementary school. I had potential, I heard people say. but I wouldn't see my best friend every day in the future. and just some months before I had a falling out with two of my friends. I don't know how I felt when I turned ten.
when I turned eleven, I was more silent. the classroom was pretty dark. I didn't like the people or their words. I don't remember what we did that year.
when I turned twelve, I knew we'd be mixing classes soon. a new chance, maybe. maybe better friends too. I don't think that birthday was special.
when I turned thirteen, I became a teen. my family and I visited a different city for a weekend, because my birthday was a perfect friday. not really, though, if I remember the car ride.
when I turned fourteen, I hated where I was. I was on a weekend trip for my confirmation. I needed to, or else I wouldn't pass. it was a sunday. I felt angry for twelve hours of the day, with people I couldn't call friends and in a place where I didn't feel like I belonged. it's not every day your birthday is on a weekend. because of the trip, I wasn't able to do something with my family. I cried the day I found out the trip included my birthday. I don't want to remember the day I turned fourteen.
I don't remember what I did for my birthday last year. I turned fifteen. it was just any other day: still struggling in school, still too many ideas to bring all of them to paper. still too angry about the last birthday, still too uncaring of the next. it was a day like the one before, like the one after and like any other that wasn't mine to be claimed.
