Born on the Fourth of July
Lots of people celebrate their birthdays on the fourth of July. It’s just that I’m fortunate enough to have so many parallelisms – and so many idiosyncrasies, among many other ironies – that come with a very funny birthday. It’s hard enough to live up to the expectations of everyone you know, so much so that you flush most of those expectations down the drain and do things your way.
It’s definitely hard enough to know that even at your age, you still have a lot of growing up to do.
A year ago, I wouldn’t have expected being somewhat a peer to the literati or the blogging community, much less have the balls to help impeach the President with a bit of affirmative action. I wouldn’t have expected to last and withstand the grueling paths of the rat race. While I’m not successful at everything I ever tried to do, I think I grew up enough to make a name for myself, within the span of a year. It’s kind of funny, since these are things I wouldn’t have dreamed of a year ago. Suffice to say, I got a bit more than I bargained for.
I learned a lot when I was 23: the value of humility, the importance of diligence, living life a day at a time and taking changes step by step. Yet it wasn’t all sunshine and rose gardens: there’s alcoholism, bouts of laziness, and my seeming inability to look after my health and well-being. I’m in worse shape than when I started, yet my mind is still sharp and my thoughts are still clear. Above all, there’s the joy of a cruel irony: to be named after a feared dictator and a beloved president, and born at the twilight of their power, at the most interesting of times and dates…
When you turn into a self-harming teddy bear living a life just a step above boring.
Here’s to 24, staying cool, and being somebody’s fool this year.