Today I am 19 years old. Nothing feels much different, except that I can now legally sell tobacco. But in reality, today is just another day. I did the same things I do every day, motivated by free food and the satisfaction of rebellion. But I can do those things every day. So why should today be special? I can celebrate my existence every day, not just today.
Fourteen years ago, I turned 5 years old. That morning 2,977 people died. They should be here to celebrate their existence. Mine seems pretty insignificant.
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