Ok, my mom asks today if I were gonna celebrate my birthday. I can't recall the last time she has asked me or try to arrange dinner or party behind my back cause if she did, I would have remembered and tell you now in person the entire non-alcoholic extravaganza in reverse. And in German. It's a sweet thing she asked though. I don't look it but I do. That is actually good enough present for me.

I used to love birthdays. Sure the long-winded, whiny me must have mentioned it a couple of times in my other entries. I was even sure I have titled the entry 'Birth is a Present thing', something of the likes. Anyway.

I had yearned that this year it would be different. I can't tell you different how but I have anticipated my falling back into the habit of pain and the aftermath of running away from home like a dog. I wouldn't have otherwise put up that last entry about generiosity. Well, it's a test for the people who love me though I am quite convinced no one would care to pass.

There are some things in life you can't forget, especially when you try really hard to. There are other things you know you shouldn't want but must have and there is a certain someone I've got on my mind, not yet given up. Most people forget their past relationships, while some desperately erase what they call 'blemishes of their youths, of somewhat awkward younger days' . Well, not me. Nope, the memo must have slipped. I wasn't invited to the party. I could even swear, on some of my worst and absurd days, I could literally feel how weak and seriously pathetic I am and how I fight to disassociate myself with that stranger who wears my face and speaks a phony accent. But on most times, after a decade of honing and shedding or whatever really the process of getting less hurt is, I'm ok. I actually do very well sans nightmares. I can live without the cold, chilling wind breaking through the holes of my heart, and causing this piercing ache that takes my breath and socializing skills away. I am alone and I can be so.

See, the thing is, on my birthday, or really just on any days in general leading to a birthday or anniversary, it gets exceptionally hard. I lose the balance and fall and land on rusty spikes on several odd places. And I have to pick myself up again and pretend nothing's happened and roses are blooming. Right this very microsecond, I wish for Liesl's return. I don't know what else I can do. I wish there was something else I could do. I know I should stop but I can't. I probably won't. That, I'm guessing, is where the problem lies.

I smell and miss her like it was just this morning. I feel the blood spread. And her last words about my shirt. The screeching sound the tyres made and the make-believe funeral involving white satin, candles and a slideshow I wrote for my last project. She told me one time; the day will always end, the night will always take its place and stars will shine somewhere some place, watching and blessing you like I am. The one thing she has taught me is love. The one thing I must learn now, is also love.

I figure when I do make a wish on Sunday, I'll just wish that when the pain goes away one day, I won't freak out too badly and become displaced or feel like I'm in a mental ward. I am really, really scared but I would love to love, if that's all right. There, my birthday wish for 2009.