On the 25th of November, I turned 26. I turned 26 on the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women. This day is in commemoration of the brutal Trujillo-sanctioned murders of the Mirabal sisters, Patria, Minerva and Maria who protested Trujillo's dictatorship. Trujillo and the Mirabals were from the Dominican Republic. My mom is Dominican and one of the many godchildren of Trujillo (he baptized kids like crazy).
So there is historical and ancestral reasoning behind my hatred for my birthday. This is a very good cover up for the fact that I just don't like getting older. On my birthday, I always think about what I've accomplished and its never enough. I'm a late bloomer in many ways and I get supremely jealous seeing other people younger than myself accomplishing goals that I still have on my "to-accomplish-list". Plus I'm starting to get pressure to get married and have children from family members. I was spared of this until recently.
So now I'm old, errr. Older. I found a grey hair. I plucked it. Now I just have to appreciate my 26th year and make of it what I can before I turn 27 ::shudder::.
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Time sure flies, doesn't it? Almost scary to see how fast it's going. I can hardly believe I'm turning 30 next summer. Oy. It stuns and shocks me.
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