The Day I Had My First Breath

It was this day, 28 years ago, that these lungs of mine were first introduced to breath–it only took one, and I was hooked.  “I can vaguely remember the feeling of having a freshly developed set of lungs full of oxygen (and various amounts of other gases)”–said no living human ever.

Many parts of my existence, as I am sure all may relate, are a mystery to me, and much of my infancy is one of those vaguely mysterious parts. There is not much worth remembering of my infancy, and in a sense, I am relieved. I have filled my mind with many wonderful things in the time being, so those unrecountable memories are in there somewhere, just deeply hidden beneath it all. I know myself.

…That was deep. 

I was thinking of how thankful I am. I am thankful that I have survived in this concrete jungle another year. I am thankful for the people which continue to help me (though it may seem most the time–I presume–that I can’t even help myself). 

The day is pleasant, a fresh breeze carresses my being, and I feel its coolness–hairs sway–as I sit in a nice shaded area, in a somewhat secluded location, on a chair of one of the tables near the janitorial and security guard headquarters of this outdoor shopping mall. I sit enjoying a tepid cup of coffee from a local coffee shop.

Technically, to be more precise, if today was 28 years time in the past, then I would not have been born yet. My birth time has yet to pass–I looked on my birth certificate lastnight, out of curiosity (I plan to publish this blog at the exact time on my certificate of birth).

I don’t like to fuzz about my birthday. To others today is like any other day, but it feels nice to hear a person you care for wish you a warm, “happy birthday.”

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