Born Strange, Living Strange, Strange Birthdays.

Ughhh, it’s the 27th one.
Another year.
Another round of wondering who I am,
What I’m doing,
and where I’m going.

It always starts the same way —
with an ending.

These weeks, these years,
They built it into something heavy.
And the thing I’d been dreading —
silently, day after day —
was finally over.

I thought I’d feel proud.
Light.
Happy.
But instead, I felt something strange.

Unbound.

The load that once weighed me down
was also what kept me grounded.
Without it,
I didn’t rise —
I float.

Now I just sit in silence,
not knowing what comes next.
Still can’t figure out a lot of things.
Still can’t live like others.
Still stuck between choices
I never really made.

What am I doing here?
In this life?
This city?
With these people?
What am I even chasing?
And how did I get here?

I always thought having options meant control.
Plan A, Plan B, Plan C.
A map of safety.
A way to feel like I was steering.
But now I see:
Every choice I made
left behind a ghost version of me —
someone I’ll never meet.

The “what-ifs” echo louder than I expected.
What if I’d stayed?
What if I’d left sooner?
What if I’d chosen differently?
Would I be happier?
Stronger?
More me somehow?

It’s pointless to chase those lives.
But sometimes,
they’re the only comfort I have.
The only thing that stays longer than people.

Even the version of life
where I made all the “right” choices —
it’s just fiction.
It never existed.

We’re all living two lives:
the one we chose,
and the one we didn’t.
And sometimes,
that other life feels so close,
I could almost fall into it —
like slipping into someone else’s skin.

But even now,
in this life I chose carefully,
I feel like a stranger in my own room.
Everything’s familiar,
but nothing feels like home.

Still can’t do the best for the ones I love.
Still haven’t found someone to stay.
Still lingering in what-ifs
and almosts.
Still battling the highs and lows
this bipolar mind brings.
And yeah —
it still sucks.

But maybe
we’re meant to feel lost sometimes.
Maybe that’s the sign we’re still becoming.
Maybe not knowing
isn’t a flaw —
it’s a form of growth.

Even the best choices
cost us something.
Every path taken
is a hundred untaken.

And maybe, just maybe —
that’s okay.

I’m not behind.
I’m not broken.
I’m not less
because I don’t have it all figured out.

I won’t be 26 after that day.
I won’t be that young again.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not still becoming.

You were beautiful.
You are.
And you always will be.

So —
Happy Birthday, boy.