it’s my goddamn birthday

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I visited my ancestral stomping grounds for my 20th-birthday dinner. Sponge cake and homemade dumplings, which I’ve requested for the past, oh, twelve birthdays. Spend two hours making fifty dumplings, and they’re gone in twenty minutes. I could weep tears of soy sauce.

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I wonder how one’s birth date affects one’s life. I grew up craving the semiotics of spring – lilacs, freshly mown lawns – at least in part because they meant I’d soon get cake and presents. What if I’d been born in midwinter? Would I crave snowdrifts? Would I be less inclined toward seasonal doldrums?

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Today I’m getting my fourth tattoo! T-minus three hours.

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Photo cred to my mom, who underwent major surgery on my behalf exactly 20 years ago!

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