April is my birthmonth.
For why celebrate only a day, when inching towards the day itself, everything seems enchanting. And the days after are spent recovering from liquid infusion or at the gym peeling of layers of cake.
Given my infatuation with consumer behavior, fashion, and the cyclicality of trends, I pondered, as I often do, of my own existence. Quirks and traits that I possess, which must have been planted many birthmonths ago. And, quotably in synch with the frameworks portion of my chronicles, I have assembled mirror replicas of myself in nappy years alongside present day, with literary snippets epitomizing a behavioral synchrony. Hence, birthmonth: a time to create history.
From sunny optimism to a penchant for velvet accents on suits, a consistent white shoes and plaid fetish to my tired blank stares (early smolder practice?), from a fixated focus to a principle drenched point of view, notwithstanding the bow to health, I have a lifestyle of commonalities covered. Fun exercise; I am an Aries after all.
Followed by none other than a matrix to demonstrate our phases of remembering.
So, what makes us cling to past notions of literature, growth stages and a general passing of time? Just like shopping for our favorites, it’s a distinction of our needs and wants. In its most naked form, we live, breathe and create memories, without necessarily any needs or wants, many of which may be forgotten in time dunes. A memory gains substance when something beckons to be remembered for important destinies of decisions, often without a particular want. And if the latter exists without a need, it’s a whiff of nostalgia, which generally lends to a comforting ambiance. And inspiration is born when a memory is both desired as well as needed, for clinging to it will mean inevitable progress.
Despite some overt profoundness this birthmonth, I’m content at having converted certain memories to inspiration, riding on the leverage of sumptuous words.