It must have been on my fourth birthday when family and friends sat with us around our large dining room table. The cake right in front of me. All eyes on me, the birthday girl. Just like Dad’s camera: „Jenny, look here, hello,“ he wanted to get my attention.
I didn’t want cake. I did not want a birthday or guests. Also, I would have given up the gifts, if there was no other way.
I ran to my room crying. That stupid birthday! I figured it is something I don’t want because someone had told me, the more birthdays I would have, the sooner my parents would go forever. They would die!
My little heart could not stand this thought. My big heart, still cannot. The birthday was continued after, I was convinced, that, had nothing to do with my birthdays!
Today, I know that there are children for whom there is no birthday-party at all. Nor do they fear of losing their parents then, because they have lost them long ago. They never knew how salty a piece of birthday cake tastes, after hours of tears.
There was never cake for them either. Adults for whom that piece of cake, when the time for their most beloved people came, tastes just as salty.
30 years are not enough. I have the best, you.
Even if 30 more years have passed, I will always want more. Grab that piece of time, all I can carry, as if it were only for me alone. Knowing that none of us has unlimited time, but we all have that moment when our time is up.
I had 30 years.
I had love.
I had home.
I had courage.
I had difficulties.
I had respect.
I had strength.
I had fun.
I had tears.
I had role models.
I had discussions.
I had my opinion.
I have you.
For my dear parents: I will never get enough.
Perfection is an illusion. But if it was real, you would be very close to it.