Today, a pharmacist told me my birthday was a terrible day. I know she didn’t mean it like that, but it didn’t make me feel too great. I can’t change the way those events unfolded and I will always be reminded of the tragedy that coincided with my birthday.
I will always be empathetic towards those who have been deeply affected by those events, but I think it should go both ways. I don’t celebrate as openly anymore and I’m always surrounded by remembrances on what’s supposed to be my special day. I’d like to think that my life is worth celebrating, like anyone else who celebrates birthdays.
You might think this sort of interaction happens often to me, but this was actually the first time. Most people don’t even mention the connection. Sure, I expected it to happen someday, but certainly not from a supposed professional who regularly deals with people. I am so disappointed.
I won’t let anyone else tell me my birthday is “9/11.” I came into this world on September 11 and that’s what I’ll celebrate.
One of the best feelings is knowing that you’re wanted. Knowing that someone wants to talk to you, wants to know how you’re doing, or wants to see you. Whether they pick up the phone to send you a quick text or stop by your house to catch up, someone or something reminded them of you specifically. It just feels really nice to know that you’ve been on someone’s mind and that they care enough to let you know that.
There’s too much noise. All I want is a meaningful conversation with someone, right now. I desperately need a friend and a cup of coffee and just some dedicated time to talk. I miss doing things for no reason. I miss sitting and talking with no purpose, no rush, and no restrictions.
I was explaining to my 4-year-old cousin that some spiders will kill their mate for food after they have babies. I thought this was gross, but she was unimpressed as she said, "humans will kill each other for no reason, at least spiders kill each other for food." I have never been more ashamed to be a human in my life
“Here she is, all mine, trying her best to give me all she can. How could I ever hurt her? But I didn’t understand then. That I could hurt somebody so badly she would never recover. That a person can, just by living, damage another human being beyond repair.”—Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun (via 25184)
“When I was a student at Cambridge I remember an anthropology professor holding up a picture of a bone with 28 incisions carved in it. “This is often considered to be man’s first attempt at a calendar” she explained. She paused as we dutifully wrote this down. ‘My question to you is this – what man needs to mark 28 days? I would suggest to you that this is woman’s first attempt at a calendar.’
It was a moment that changed my life. In that second I stopped to question almost everything I had been taught about the past. How often had I overlooked women’s contributions?”—Sandi Toksvig (via passingfox, learninglog) (via rachelsueae)