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There is precisely nothing special about the number nineteen. (Didn’t you know that there are 19 angels guarding hell according to Qur’an?) This is the reason why I’m not exactly ecstatic about my 19th birthday. Yep, again I am commemorating my anniversary of living within this cosmic punishment. I’m lonely not just this day, but these days. This I think is the saddest of all birthdays I had; I’m not even celebrating today. I ate pancit canton for lunch, welcomed a crazy weather, and took a jeepney home for the first time in months. A family merrymaking will happen this weekend but I don’t know which day. I know, I know, I sound too pessimistic and trivial about a supposedly important day in my life. But what else is there in the 19th really? I believe this is the part where a person should rewind his experiences and muse on the existential crises he has undergone in the past. This puts me in the hot seat: Am I worthy of continuing this voyage?