25 Plus One.

26May06

It’s a beautiful day outside. And even though I’m slightly down in the dumps (typically this happens the day after thearpy) I should try and smile. After all, tomorrow is my twenty-sixth. Last night my grandparents came over. My Dad was joking with me “how old are you going to be in five years” banter. Of course, I won the battle. My comeback is “well how old are you going to be in five years? Oh that’s right 60″. He probably wouldn’t like me revealing his age. Because my age is lower than his in five years, therefore I win. I think for him it’s hard to see his “little girl” grow up. It was funny when my Pop tried guessing my age. He guessed sixteen. Then the guesses kept getting lower and lower. I wasn’t sure if he was just joking around or being serious.

Birthday plans are quite low-key. Were planning on going to The Kowloon for dinner. They make the best eggrolls. I would always go to The Kowloon as a little girl. There’s one part of the restaurant that is my favorite. I like the way it looks. There’s a volcano painted on what looks like a screen. Smoke from the screen moves. I think it does. There’s a beach painted on the screen and parts of a boat hanging. It’s cool. That’s where I’m going tomorrow. That is if I don’t change my mind again. Hopefully there’ll be something I can find to eat that isn’t going against my restrictions.

Every year I somehow managed to create this “tradition”. I watch movies all night until the time I was born. Not so sure if I’m going to do that this year. I’m working this afternoon. It’s so pretty, warm and sunny outside and considering it is Memorial Day weekend, I doubt there will be any shoppers wanting cosmetics. Tonight I’m off work at 10p, but maybe I can squeeze outta there early. All week I’ve mentioned that my birthday was on Saturday. My birthday is important to me. I’ll explain why.

I know I haven’t touched upon this before, but I’m going to slightly. When I was born, I was born with a birth defect. That effecting my feet. My feet were… I guess I’d say disformed, but I know that’s not the word. The proper word is called Club Feet. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? If not, I’ll sum it up. My feet were turned inward so much that as a little girl, without operations, I would be unable to walk. Could you imagine spending your entire life in a wheelchair? Of course not. From the time I was born until about age fifteen, I’ve had multiple (count that ten in total) operations to correct the Club Feet. My feet aren’t nearly perfect. I paint my toenails and keep them painted so my feet look pretty. Otherwise, they aren’t. Because I was born with a birth defect, things in life (physical things) have always been a challenge. After each surgery I had to learn how to walk again. And again. And again. Growing up I was always teased about the size of my feet. Bottom line, I’ve been through a lot of trauma. And I’ve overcomed that trauma. The day I was born set up an automatic journey of struggle. So far, I’ve done so well. Therefore, that’s why my birthday is important.

Now? I’ve got to jet off to work. Later toodles.

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