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            "I thought it sounded poetic to die on the day of your birth. It's like a full circle, closing to finish the drawing of my existence. I'm thinking today sounded even perfect. Born on a Monday, died on a Monday. If I knew the exact hour and minute of that unfateful day, I might take that into consideration as well. I'm obsessed with patterns like that. I fixate on their probable meanings or assign one so that it sounds more special. I'm chucking over this interest in dying on my birthday as the same thing."


            "I'm merely obsessed with patterns. Nothing more and nothing less."


            "It's not because of depression, for I believe I don't have one. There was no doctor to tell me otherwise. I never went, but that's beside the point. I don't think having this thought every year on the same significant day should be a sign that I have it either. If I don't believe, maybe that'll eventually be the truth. And then I'd die, not because I'm crazy from loneliness and an underlying illness, but because of my crazy fixation like a psychopath. Another mental illness, but at least it won't mean that I was lonely. I'm not. If I am, then that would undermine all the efforts all those who care about me have given."


            "I actually have no idea what I'm saying. I started this script with the clear intent of sounding like a romanticist novelist. Someone who can make something that's supposedly tragic into a beautiful scene. I thought I had it in me to do that, but lately I can't seem to manage. Maybe that's one of the reasons that I want to die today, but I'm telling you now that it's not."


            "I find it odd that the birthday celebrant has to be the one to host a party and spend their special day toiling to treat others. Why should they be the ones fussing when they should be the ones receiving? After the guests have eaten and the food has been cleared, all they get is a simple greeting, and that's it. I feel like it's forcing someone to be happy about you existing because you don't feel that happiness on your own. You don't feel happy that you have existed for another year, with a new year of suffering ahead of you. Totally not applicable to me, but a hypothetical person hosting a birthday party. I'm not having that, so there's no way it can be me."


        "Yeah, I don't get parties. Especially birthday parties. Why are all these people happy about the occasion when they don't even know me? They obviously only came for the food. That was what I did as a kid, I tagged along to every kid's party, even when I didn't know them, because I was dragged there and my mother didn't prepare dinner. The party's food was the meal of the day. There's also the fact that n my parties, I don't really have guests. The people who visit are people who mistake my name for my sister's and were only there because my mother invited them. They are my mother's guests, not mine. And that's the reason the one in the red dress gets to hide in her room to cry on her special day, refusing to eat when strangers outside holler happy birthday to a person they haven't seen and wouldn't see until they get home. It doesn't matter if those words won't be heard by the person who matters. They had their fill and that was enough."


        "I'm rambling but believe me when I say that these aren't the reason why I wanted to die today. I told you, I wanted to be poetic!"


        "Isn't it beautifully tragic for a person who wasn't supposed to be born to die on the very day they became alive? Isn't it like a movie plot for a mistake to be corrected with a death on the day it began? A helpless gesture of a worthless child to fix the wrongs that should be right. A helpless attempt of a stupid child to atone for the consequences of their existence. A correction twenty-two years too late. A full circle, two years longer than it should have been..."


        "This is the moment I

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