A new year
I take a self-portrait every birthday.
On the eve of my birthday I cried. I didn't want to get older. I don't know why. There was just something about it, being loaded. With doubt, with hopes, with expectations and I wanted desperately to escape all of it. The attention. Additionally I felt tired, of being. While some ear up for the new year on January 1st, and others by whatever calendar they follow, mine is my birthday. And this new year, in particular, has mealready exhausted.