Space

What better day to start a blog than the night of your birthday.
The most depressing and agonizing night of any person who hates a spot light... me naturally.  Don't get me wrong, I love the happy birthdays in the hallways and the smiles and lets not forget the gifts, but beneath all my fake enthusiasm is a big sucking black hole of despair. 

I have no idea why I get like this on my birthday.  Like all kids, I used to love it.  I would count down the days as soon as we entered the month April, crossing out each day with a red marker before I drifted to sleep.  But when I turned 14, I developed a new attitude and  strangely enough, it was unintentional.  Just like all of my other birthdays I was giddy with anticipation and couldn't even think about sleeping the night before.  I remember imagining my science teacher talking to get myself to fall asleep.  It did work eventually.  And when the morning came, I just didn't feel like myself.  The whole day was a nightmare and when I finally got home I was physically and mentally exhausted.  It felt like someone had sat on my chest and pushed all the air out of my lungs.  It felt almost like my heart was sore from beating, my mind numb from thinking.  And I got to thinking about space.  I thought about how it seemed I had been in the same place all my life, growing up, playing with friends, going to school, living my life in the same small and secluded invisible town that I call my home.  When in fact, I had only been in this place 14 times in my life and it was really quite special.  The earth had been in the same position according to the sun only 14 times since I was born, one of which, was on the day of my birth.  Shouldn't that mean something?  The day when I came into the world may have been an important one for my parents, but to everyone else, it was just another day.  Another day of work, or school.  On my birthday, many other children were born, and many elderly citizens passed away.  On my birthday, three hundred years ago, Marie Antoinette married Louis XVI.  On my birthday, thirty years before my birth, students in South Korea held a protest against president Syngman Rhee.  On my birthday, in 1987, The Simpsons premiered on the Tracey Ullman Show.
My birthday is no day of consequence.  I realized that for the first time when I was fourteen.  Children in Africa don't know their ages let alone their birth dates, so why should I recognize mine with such enthusiasm?  My birthday is just another day.  The earth will not stop orbiting in it's path around the sun.  It will continue to drift in the ebony milk of space until it comes full circle back to the day that is said to be mine.  My birthday.  When in fact it belongs to everyone, and I am no more than a single thread in the intricate tapestry that is life, living on earth and taking up space.