Welcoming birthday, again.
Birthday is getting less special when you grow old. Maybe I'm already bored with birthday celebrations. I have already faced them for 22 times!
So, this is me, in my 23rd. Nothing has changed since the last time I was 22 (21 minutes ago), except my hair getting more oily because I left it unwashed.
I am a grown up; birthday is not a special celebration; birthday is just another day.
I am a grown up; there's nothing special about birthday; what's so special is just life.
I am a grown up; I need to walk in the right path, in that special path, so I will leave bright and shiny traces in this world.
And yesterday an idea popped out in my brain. It suggests me to make a commitment to my self, one writing everyday and one painting every week, since today until the next time I find myself getting older a year.
Hmm, pinky swear?
...
Hahaha, why this feels so hard?
(Breath heavily)
Okay, one writing everyday! Pinky swear!
And this is my first article in my twenty-three.
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