Writing a four-minute article on my birthday

I am writing at the moment on my dingy bed. The bed that my husband told me to always put up after I have risen but then I feel that it is just too much of a chore to even fold the blankets. Yes, this is me. From 500 years ago. And I feel even until 500 years after.

Today is my birthday. I am 34 years old. I wish I were 35 just because it is a number divisible by both 5 and 7, two prime numbers that are just alright to be my allies in this aging body.

I just wished that during this time I would have finished at least one doctorate but decided I was better off as a full-time mom.

But then I thought better about it. That if we all had the liberty to choose what we would be doing, then I guess we would see mothers caring for their young and baby damulags.

The thing is, we are all struggling. One way or another we are all struggling. We struggle with the financial aspect. But first things first, if we just knew how to budget our money, then we wouldn't be lamenting about how small our income is. We struggle financially not only because of its worth but also because we fail to plan and do what we can to make it enough for our day-to-day living.

I for one, despite my wishful thinking to be a doctor, only because I wanted to appear grand to other people, wished that I be a full-time mama. I would be sending my kids off to school every day during school days, and I would walk with them home after class dismissal. But then my pocket isn't permitting me to do so. I have to work my ass off to be able to live the next day, one penny lesser than my debts. And even pay the remnants of my foolish acts of rebellion. I created scandals out of these messy thoughts and foolish pride.

Speaking of schooling, I think this season isn't just my time. I did enroll again a few years ago in an attempt to finish my master's studies once and for all but thought it better to drop out and call myself a dropout.

Honestly speaking, I am still in debate with myself whether a master's degree is essential for me or if is it just the ego that's pushing me to wish for it.

Ideally, I would need to finish at least one master's degree to be able to come to par with my contemporaries but then I am just too lazy to plan things out and make things work for me.

I wish I could go back to those times when I could just lay on my bed on the third floor of our old wooden house and fantasize about just anything I desire in this world-money, boys, paintings, girls, friends, books, etc.

In my quest to search for what could be the best thing that I should be doing, I experimented with writing, understanding books that seemed to appeal to me, fantasizing about different careers, and imagining myself as a homebody.

I chose to just write as I believe it is the best I can do for now. Inspired by local writers I used to read and learn from, I decided to write as well and try to make money out of it. I cut the story short and now I write as a hobby but refuse to learn things formally so I just learn the way I prefer to.

There were days I feel as if I were a typomaniac and I would feel elated by the thought of endless tapping on my keyboard. Unfortunately, the hobby wasn't supported much only because, according to an authority in my household at present, I should just be doing 'more important' chores such as doing the laundry, cleaning the house, planning my lessons, and finishing my paper works. I always retorted back then but thought better that I was in the wrong. Indeed, I do not have the liberty of writing all these long essays based on such standing but then I couldn't resist the urge of going all out.

And since today is my birthday, I am writing because I am on birthday leave.