Am I too old to start?

by Rossana Segovia

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The only thing I could see was the little flames dancing in between my mom’s hands.

In a living room full of darkness, the loud voices of my family were the main focus, singing an uncoordinated attempt of “Happy Birthday” while my mom, with a sweet smile, placed the big white cake in front of me, I stared at it for a long minute while my aunts filled their camera rolls with blurry pictures of my lost eyes, counting the number of candles firmly fixed on the cream, an amount big enough to make me worry about my achievements in life.

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