29

Last Saturday was my birthday, marking 29 years of my life. I’ve never really cared/celebrate my birthday and although I welcomed and was happy of all the birthday wishes, the Skype calls, the messages, the voice messages…I still felt that loneliness creeping inside me.

They say, we are born alone, live alone and die alone or something along those lines. And as much as one could argue it’s not ‘technically’  true; we are definitely not born alone by surrounded by doctor and nurses and definitely a mother. We do interact and socialise throughout our lives; it may not be meaningful. It may not be anything special, but we are not truly alone. And as for dying, nobody really can predict that; you can be surrounded by people or alone in bed. Death is not something you can really predict.

Still, the problem is not when or how you are born, how you live or die. It’s the loneliness.

I’ve always wondered what people do after we leave them. What someone that blind moment, after you say goodbye and they go on with their lives. A dinner with they boy/girlfriend. Lunch with their parents. Seeing with friends. Going on vacation.

And then you think of you. Because you is the only thing you know. You think of your dinner. Of the too much time spent inside the house. Work. Home. Work. Home. Work. Home.

And when your birthday comes, for some reason, you think of the past year and the years to come and it’s difficult to fight that loneliness, to focus on the good, on what you have and not on what you don’t and all the bad things that have marked those past years.

We always want what others have because we believe it will makes us happy. Because when we fantasise about them, they make us happy and then sad knowing others have this as their reality and we, only as a fantasy.

And when you reach 29, you realise you’re getting too old for fantasies.

Soraia

 

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