Tonight I have just finished turning 33 and as is usually the case I tend to look back on my life a little bit and ask: Why? But that never gets me anywhere.
The last time I was home I took back a photo that had been hanging on my Grandmother’s bedroom wall ever since I could remember. It’s a picture of me still at the hospital in Montreal. I assume it’s only a few hours old.
*sigh*
I absolutely love the expression on my face. Fresh to the world and I alreadly look like everything is more trouble then it’s worth. That alone could prove that the photo is mine But I honestly can’t see myself in that photo. I don’t regonize anything other then what will someday be my eventual hair density again and the ringfingers on each hand. (The fingernails are flattened a little bit, different from the rest of the fingers) I can definitely see that when I enlarge the photos, so I know it is me. It just doesn’t seem to look like me.
Except for the look of Why?
33 years and I’m still asking.
