What is it about us getting older, that we so nervous to say? Am I not proud of what I’ve achieved in those years I’ve managed to exist? Have I got nothing to say about time I’ve spent living? Was it a worthy time or wasted time?...I’ve been thinking why I couldn’t find any words to say on the actual day of my birthday? As if by saying I’m older now, I would immediately get additional wrinkle or extra pound...or maybe loose a tooth?...as if by saying my age out loud I would cast a spell on me to be that old…strange, huh? I thought of it today more calmly and came to the conclusion that it is just a silliness of me and nothing else. My birthday was yesterday and I’m 41. There, I said it…do I feel bad? Or do I feel better? Am I sad? Or am I glad? Should I really be asking myself such questions at all? Does it matter in comparison to the rest of me? Just a little piece, a definition, one of many…do you realise it too that in virtual reality we often try to hide the most insignificant details revealing the most shocking ones? What does my age has to do with me? In here – nothing. I’ve read diaries of much older people that sound much younger then me and I’ve read many words of youngsters that sound as a mumble of near-dead individuals…
So…another year older, what’s a big deal…and thank you to those who remembered…
So…another year older, what’s a big deal…and thank you to those who remembered…