[ WP ] , When they turn 18 , everyone gets a clear mental image of their Soulmate , the one person they 're meant to love . Today is your birthday , and you see yourself .

You spend all day trying to change yourself. From the cotton t-shirts to the denim jeans and scuffed trainers. The bag you wear is never cool enough and because your friend has a new one, you'll need to upgrade soon. Then there's the food you eat, no more Paninis and Mochas before class, those need to go. If you ever want to be successful that is. 
 
 You're feeling motivated and so the next morning you make a plan. It involves the kind of shit monk's do for fun, and which you've considered as much as the last National Geo documentary you watched. But this times the charm and so you bite the bullet, bleeding fake ink onto a document -- Google sheets. 
 
 When you're done, you figure life's going to be sweet. So scrumptious in fact, that at the end of these thirty days, you'll be rolling in more money than Gates and have enough sexual appeal dripping that the old cotton tee will be irrelevant to the hot bod underneath. 
 
 That morning you skip the Mocha for a cup of Chai, and replace the Nini with Kumara salad. There's nuts, almonds, and little black things that look like seeds but could actually be Alien pods shrunk down to size. You scoff the nutrients down while bragging about it and eyeing the Panini in distant intervals. You feel great, it's a small step but enough to get things started. 
 
 That evening you hit the gym, work your ass off, and decide to walk home. On your way past the cafe, you sneak in, grab a Mocha ( double ) and get the fattest most jam-packed Panini anyone that's ever graced this Cafe with their presence has ever seen. You scoff that shit down convincing yourself you've earned it and savoring every last drop. 
 
 Until you get home and see the list. That God damned dreaded piece of scribble turd that may as well have been written by Hitler. You stare at it, hit delete, and then watch your reflection on the computer screen for what feels like hours. 
 
 You do n't know how long you look at yourself, but you feel like something might happen and so you stick it out. 
 
 Then it hits you. Not the workout fatigue or the ridiculous stomach ache that follows the digestion of a dinosaur Panini. The realisation of who you are hits you, and how the fact that every decision has led you here and helped you become who you are now. 
 
 You understand that things did n't turn out that bad. In fact, you're actually kind of great. 
 
 The clock strikes twelve and the first Birthday call comes through, it's Mum or Aunty, whoever makes it first -- of course. 
 
 And as you pick up that phone to answer, you do n't give a shit about the Panini the Mocha or the ridiculous cup of Chai you drowned yourself in twelve hours ago. You do n't even give a shit that you're getting a Birthday call right then and you still have n't answered. 
 
 You're too busy staring at yourself and smiling like an idiot. Because you're you and that's pretty special after all. 
 
 
 

