Another Day, Another Year
Today, around 2:30AM, I was born seventeen years ago.
Today, around 2:30AM, I will probably be sleeping.
Another year, in the end, is just another day, three hundred sixty-five times over. It's nothing monumental: it's only a big deal the first time your birthday came around, when you were born. Each additional year is just another notch in your bedpost, another candle added to a birthday cake, a new number to write in the "Age" spot on an application.
I don't know if it's the fact that I've really planned nothing for my birthday this year, or if I'm really just getting older (and more boring), but my seventeenth birthday is nothing new for me. It's not going to meet my imaginative expectations, It's not going to bring me more happiness or more wisdom or more anything, except more responsibilities.
You see, a year or so ago, I started reading Harry Potter fan fiction. Well, now, I am a fervent worshipper of Harry/Draco stories, especially creature!fiction. And that's where the trouble begins.
In almost all of the creature!fiction, there is an Inheritance age, usually when a person turns 17. And one of the creatures I've read about are Veela, lovely humanoids who are blessed with gorgeous looks, the power of flight, and the infamous Veela Allure. (Basically, they're like sex god/desses incarnate.)
And now, a part of me is still hoping that I might turn into something more, something better than I am. But most of me... Most of me is resigned to another day, another year, of this unsatisfying life I've made. (Except for my friends and family, of course.)
So... Happy Birthday to me...