September 6, 2009. That day was my birthday, or my special day as what others would say. Yet I seem to find it unappealing. Maybe ever since my mother died, there was no reason for that day to be celebrated, at least for me.
My father wanted me home but I just don’t want to see his girlfriends’ face trying to touch everything her filthy hands could reach in our little kitchen—my mother’s kitchen. Ha! The face of her makes my blood rise with rage. So I decided to make up a story. I lied, plain and simple. My aunt Tess tried to reach me and texted earlier that day where the hell I was. But like what I did to uncle Dodie, I ignored her.
I was a bit sad though. I know that they knew when my birthday is but they didn’t try to contact me and say a one-liner greeting. Remembering my birthday is different from greeting me on that exact day. That goes for my family. Looks like they have forgotten I did exist after all. At least I have my friends who made that day fun and memorable. Thanks girls:D