Dear Aditi,
It was my birthday this Sunday. I am 17 now. I feel like I am 7. I am as responsible as a 7 year old. And probably as mature as when. Just much more perverted than a 7 old year. I think mine is what a 17 year old should have. Why am I talking about this?
Anyway, my birthday was great. I was so happy. I couldn't stop smiling and I didn't want to because most of the people I care for were all there to celebrate with me. You weren't there, but we Skyped and you and Dave (who happens to be the number one reader of this blog) were the first to wish me. And I got great gifts. My mother gave me a cupboard and forced me to clean my room by dumping all my crap on the bed. I would do anything for sleep and my bed, so I cleaned my bed in record time. You gave me one of the best gifts I got. I mean, Kumamon. A Kumamon bag. I love it. I don't want to sound materialistic, but I am so what is the point of denying it. The weirdest gift I got was paan flavoured chocolate, which my Dad ate. He likes paan. I don't. Explaining paan to a person who doesn't know it is really hard; because no one knows what a beetle leaf is and the taste is not something that I really have word for except disgusting. But I don't think that's how I should explain things. What I am trying to explain, and really failing at is that I felt special.
I felt special because I was born. That is the greatest achievement of my life apparently. I felt special because I was appreciated. Between the realest birthday wishes, and I two word ones- I still felt like yes, I was born and that is a good thing. My life has effected the people around me in a good way, and isn't that what we all want? To be important. Now, I may not be important and I may not be known by a stadium of people. But I matter, to maybe just one person and right now, that's enough. I matter.
On a totally different note, the girl who I said I was madly in love with a few months back asked me about my blog. She asked me if I could send her the link. And me being the smooth person I am just said, "No."
Goodbye, pretty papillon.
Upa.
It was my birthday this Sunday. I am 17 now. I feel like I am 7. I am as responsible as a 7 year old. And probably as mature as when. Just much more perverted than a 7 old year. I think mine is what a 17 year old should have. Why am I talking about this?
Anyway, my birthday was great. I was so happy. I couldn't stop smiling and I didn't want to because most of the people I care for were all there to celebrate with me. You weren't there, but we Skyped and you and Dave (who happens to be the number one reader of this blog) were the first to wish me. And I got great gifts. My mother gave me a cupboard and forced me to clean my room by dumping all my crap on the bed. I would do anything for sleep and my bed, so I cleaned my bed in record time. You gave me one of the best gifts I got. I mean, Kumamon. A Kumamon bag. I love it. I don't want to sound materialistic, but I am so what is the point of denying it. The weirdest gift I got was paan flavoured chocolate, which my Dad ate. He likes paan. I don't. Explaining paan to a person who doesn't know it is really hard; because no one knows what a beetle leaf is and the taste is not something that I really have word for except disgusting. But I don't think that's how I should explain things. What I am trying to explain, and really failing at is that I felt special.
I felt special because I was born. That is the greatest achievement of my life apparently. I felt special because I was appreciated. Between the realest birthday wishes, and I two word ones- I still felt like yes, I was born and that is a good thing. My life has effected the people around me in a good way, and isn't that what we all want? To be important. Now, I may not be important and I may not be known by a stadium of people. But I matter, to maybe just one person and right now, that's enough. I matter.
On a totally different note, the girl who I said I was madly in love with a few months back asked me about my blog. She asked me if I could send her the link. And me being the smooth person I am just said, "No."
Goodbye, pretty papillon.
Upa.
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