so the kewl mfs know that its my burfdae MUAHAHA so i have nothing to say except its August. 13, 2022 and my twin is the one and only Na Jaemin and i had a celebration the night before my birfdae because reasons and i read a speech to my fam and they cried and hugged me and kithed me and what not lmao so this is the speech that i read out loud AYYY

funny thing is... wrote all of this and HAD to include my fics ive written in it and so it might sound random or out of place but meh and the other kewl thing is that it has 2004 words... the year i was born lmao i found that out just now as i was transferring it

Number One. Today we gather here on behalf of myself in order for yours truly to present this speech from the bottom of my diaphragm.

Today I'm seventeen but on the morrow I am older, for within a few hours I switch a year and become an eighteen. An age many dread but simultaneously one that is rejoiced for, but as I stand and look, tis but a number that shows a year closer until the darkness of a perpetual abyss may consume one's mortal vessel.

Eighteen is small, yet also big, for when compared to everyday items, an eighteen is but many moons posterior away. A shoe, a cup, a dress, or even a dog, eighteen is old but again it is not. A turtle can live up to two hundred and an average human is seventy. Taking that into consideration, I haven't even lived half of what is to be expected. But why does ereyesterday and overmorrow seem so far when really it is mere steps away? 

Why does it seem as if turmoils are to come just because a new number has arrived?  Why do butterflies swarm and insides spasm?  Why does the human mind run rampant and pick you piece by piece until it leaves you a blank canvas for you to construct and build and fill with your own colours? Well, it’s not simple but it's easy to understand. Humans are like fireworks, simple and boring at first but give them a little fuel and they'll both implode and explode. Hundreds of colours, patterns, and sounds are emitted and there we can see, a firework is like a human and the difference between the outcome is age.

One that is new will be louder and significantly brighter. They have just left the factory and parts are in good condition but an old one may not even work nor might it explode in the way expected. A human is the same, but in action, and here we see that I am a firework but of a batch of production just beginning to age. This doesn't mean I'm the worst but it also doesn't mean that I am the best. I am in the middle ground.

I’ve grown all my life in a setting that I wish to be considered a walking dystopian arena filled with Matryoshka Dolls but just a tad bit turned down to prevent severe unsaturation. The sound of that alone may seem both comical and exaggerated but let me say, it is nowhere near that when it was more of an experience where your own life was prioritized over everything else. It was a setting where choosing which layer of the Matryoshka Doll would be best to use when, and a place where an entire layer of who you were was to be broken because in this world, it's dog-eat-dog and there's nowhere to hide because the wilderness holds no mercy and the prey are brutally slaughtered when all fails to prevail. 

I fought and I studied, nurtured and learned and did things against my will for a notion of my life that I now get to build and now I show, it will not be put to a side for all I do, I do with thought and pride, thought of myself and everyone not. I am human, I have the instinct so it's only natural that instilled within are the traits of pride and greed which have brought me here with a little more than just the mind.

Eighteen is beautiful but it is sad for this is the time where all look at you and expect you to have a mindset of a forty year-old Hyogo Shotokan Samurai instead of allowing me a chance to relish in my reveries for a while more. Fortunately, reveries are my specialty and won't be gone because anyone who believes eighteen is a time where you should suddenly fall into a trance of Hyogo Shotokan Samurai-ness probably shouldn't be given rights because that is the type of encouragement they give to the growing generation and let me say, that is only allowed to a certain point before it can no longer be Forgiven.

I don't exist because someone asked me to but rather because I chose to. Weird, isn’t it?

That besides the outside forces of the universe, you yourself choose to keep striving and for that, it makes you strong. You're strong for keeping yourself going day to day even when you have to fight to defend yourself because dying is easy and living is harder. But if I went through all of eighteen with nothing more than life-threatening situations, that means I can go the distance, I can plough through miles, I can do it all while wearing a smile because I'm the only one who can break my own records and the only one allowed to decide how I feel about myself or about anything in general.

Normally, an acknowledgement is given but really, I acknowledge myself because I was the only one who could see my thoughts and pains, and the only one who did things I never thought possible. What may these things be? That is disclosed information that only I will be aware of because how will I be proud if the entire population is allowed to know? Call it selfish and out of my rights but it doesn't matter because at the end of the day, it's night. But I do promise that every single one of my accomplishments have been indirectly acknowledged from the very first two words of this writing. Every single one of my fifteen or more pride filled works and it's all because I got word play when most can hardly form a letter. We all have word skill but my skill is way better and this sentence alone can tell you Anything and Everything.

This is a time where you seem to grow but really you don't because still within is a Panorama of thought Free to roam. Purple hues that crowd the brain and Stendhal's Syndrome that plays right into the imagination because imagination is a wonderful thing to have. It's a type of paradoxical event all in age, so appalling that bringing someone to Understand what you mean might as well be equivalent to throwing them superior to the ground in the middle of a forest of giant trees. Who knows, mayhaps in that grand spacious place where you'd much rather be, you might even stay and take time to listen to the cicadas create noises that might as well be falsettos because for a creature so small, why are they so loud? Why do they bound round and round as if they can't be caught by a predator at any second? Why do they live as if they don't need to fear? Do they Trust? Do they know that a noise as annoying as that can be reassuring? Because they don't know, but you do know, that they wont stare at you condescendingly even when you feel as if you'll never be anywhere near On top.

Secret of Victoria; Love Spell. What could such an unrelated yet prestigious brand and version be doing in the middle of my seemingly endless rant? To show that I at least know one brand or does it have a reason? Really, it's simple. The name alone can raise an eyebrow or make someone laugh due to the suddenness but really, it's a release that was hated and discarded. I, however, took a particular liking to that and I realize, it's like a firework. Made Ten years ago, it doesn't work the way it's supposed to. It's still newer than most but yet, it's older than many. It's one on the same level as me where both of us aren't liked by many but only a select few will choose.

What? Does it seem impossible that so many dislike me? It's actually funny. I wasn't liked a lot during my life. Even when it looked like I joked about being hated by people, I was telling the truth. People didn't like me at all and still don't, and me bringing it up seems like just another reason to tell me that I'm being over dramatic and that it's not true and I need to talk more. Well, guess what? Walls have ears and I have many walls.

I’m eighteen, I’m not dumb. The words said to me that I just need to get out more are a lie. I'm not even allowed out much in the first place so there is not a reason for me to believe that. What? Should I expect some type of Lord of Equestrians to appear before me? Should I wait for a nectar filled trap to hold me in place as someone tries to tell me I'm wrong about what I say?

I could go on and on, my words unending because although I'm silent to majority of the world, here, where I'm supposed to feel safe and at home, is where I can talk until my insides run dry and a pause for oxygen is needed. I once uplifted myself in words, a firm believer that if I dont motivate and value myself, no one will. I once said that I look in the mirror at times and see the beauty of the universe shining back and immediately after, was shot down out of euphoria for myself because the words said to me had no thought behind. No thought that I was never one to agree with what I had just said nor one that had ever looked at myself in the mirror before, unless necessary. Mere days prior I had finally accepted myself as someone that could be potentially considered an eye candy of some sort, someone that could finally live without thinking it'd be easier if my breath was no more and someone that had gone seven years without shedding a tear. But on that one night, I lay thinking that no one, not even myself will see me as worth looking at and a single tear escaped in which I realized that not even my own family can accept that I finally thought that I was okay.

Now, eighteen, I.N.V.U. 

I, for integrity, something I haven't learned to have. N, for nimble, because never have I been looked at as someone of delicate nature and that doesn't bother me but sometimes, it's interesting to think of. V, for vigor, a factor that I wish I had more of but still have enough to keep me where I want to be. U, for unfaltering, because in everything I do, I seem to have some flaw. For all this, I.N.V.U.

I do say, I seem to be sounding of a depressive nature and although that is mostly correct, mayhaps it is time for me to take some Sunshine Shots to up my spirits again. Summon the motivation of a Miyagi sports fighter or a '95 liner Gwanak resident, either one works if my goal is to overwork my brain or build a horribly inefficient sleep routine. Fortunately, the only things I really do need to keep myself satisfied are the phalanges of my hands and the deltoids and all brachial muscles of my arm.

Mandela effect or no and Mandela effect, it seems that elders have come to a conclusion that eighteen is still a child although expecting the utmost of them even though majority at that age are fresh out of school and know not the slightest of the real world. I stand as an enthusiast of myself to remind you that as of tomorrow, I'm legally an adult whether I have reached the full growth of my brain or not, and whether everyone likes it or not but, it has finally come the time where I can decide whether Happiness Ends Darkly, or not because this conglomeration of words has brought forth enough.

Took a pic on the dot 😎