For a long time, I thought another birthday meant the beginning of the year that was represented on the cake if ever there was one. I once even argued about it when someone tried to tell me otherwise. Exactly a month from today will be my birthday. I will be concluding my 23rd year of existance, even though 23 is what will be written on the cake that I will demand for.
It has beena strange year this one. A year of beginnings and endings; of hard lessons and wisdom gained. So, look at me trying to sound profound at 22.9166666667 years old. This year is one definately worth celebrating. I managed to finish school, graduate and get a job all with in a space of about 4 months. I started this strange journey of finding myself as a writer. I never should have started it because after the frustration, angst, confusion and striving, I find that I was in the right place to begin with. My starting point is where I was supposed to stay.
I love poetry and words and all that staff. I wanted to write staff that moved people's blood the way theirs moves mine. I threw away my niche and said I was going to find it in the eyes of another. Recently I read an excerpt from, Letters to a young poet and this gentleman asked his correspondent
"ask yourself, why do you write?"
I have to go back and ask myself that. A good friend of mine told me to write for myself and I found it selfish, only because I didn't undersatnd it. I have to look within, fellowship with me and find out why I do the things that I do. Only then, will I communicate, only then will I be authentic. Only then, will I be true.
I will not pretend anymore. If I'm to take anything from 22/23. It is that. It is time to be real. I want a cake which looks exactly like that for my birthday.