For the last two years I’ve not missed writing stuffs on my birthday.
Now, here goes one — again!
This time however, I insist upon ‘stop feeling special on your birthdays’.
Why you ask?
[Well, well, well. Because! ]
First, for fuck sake, stop sleepwalking and ask yourself, why do you feel (or precisely stimulated to feel) so so special on this one day while mostly it’s your same self who’s sick, stick, stiff, stuck, dumb, exhausted, soul-less, worthless, defeated, broken, sad, complaining, inadequate, impatient, empty, searching, scratching and scrolling for the rest of the year?
Why?
Is that because, your so called friends or relatives who’d otherwise go into a year long hibernation come out of nowhere to drop a fucking ‘Happy birthday to you beloved or you are such a lovely sweetheart, HBD! or many many happy returns of the fucking day or love you infinitely and wish you tons and tons of happiness on this birthday sorts of Facebook messages, whatsapp texts, instagram stories, et cetera.
…
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[ to be continued]