A Tuesday Story

I was born on a Tuesday. 1985.
In a pleasant afternoon where the next day
All of the world rejoices
New Year has come.
My birthday was something kind of a jubilee
There were fireworks, celebrations and laughter.
Round things, wine and families getting together.
That day was a Tuesday.


I was born on a Tuesday, more than two decades ago.
They say that each day blesses each birth with their own traits.
And if Tuesday was a person, she's supposed to be lively and brave
A sensitive worker and a chronic worrier.
She is pretty much lazy and doesn't like new beginnings
Just because first days doesn't work out for her.
Which is lucky she comes right after Monday.
I believe I am a Tuesday.

 

I was born on a Tuesday, under a peaceful, sunny weather.
Embraced by two citizens waiting for a male firstborn.
I was not a male, but they gave me a manly name anyway
Because firstborns are important, like a first kiss of a tangible bundle of blessing from God.
56 days later, our country gained its democracy
People flooding a street fondly called EDSA
Lifting up a housewife on the pulpit of presidency.
It was also a Tuesday.

 

Tuesdays never had any significance to me
Until I realized it was the day I was born
So everytime it comes, it feels like it's my birthday
Week after week after week
And I feel revived, refreshed and renewed
Like it's something I can always look forward to.
Tuesdays don't have to be great days,
They can be normal days, like when I have to wash dishes
Do the laundry and go to work just like the rest of the week
But when you mark something special
Just because it did, more than a dozen of years ago,
Then maybe it is. It really is.

 

I was born on a Tuesday.