Before his assassination, Martin Luther King wrote about his end in his journals. I know this, so I have always added it to my superstition. When people I know die, they come in threes. A white horse on a hill grants a wish, like blowing a dandelion. And I have always known that my next year is given to me upon hearing a loved one sing happy birthday to me. If no one sings happy birthday, well this is the only year that has ever happened, and I didn't know what to do with it. So in the back of my mind, I wondered if I would not live to be 37. Then I went on with about a month and a couple days ago, I got an empty fortune cookie (without a fortune tucked inside.) "That's it." I thought. "One more bad piece of luck, and I will die!" Superstition probably is really hard for non-superstitious people to understand. It's like these arguments I keep having with mostly family. I know I love my people more than the arguments, but too often I have chosen the arguments.

So my sister did something I found unforgivable. But I love her, so I decided to let my love win over the dispute, after all. It was really hard, but I am letting that part of me die, the arguer. I am letting that be the part of me that dies this year, that doesn't live to hear another birthday song or fortune. I am sorry for all of you whom I have hurt, even you other person who imagine I could just maybe be talking about you. I love you, in a little way, or a big way if my sister. I love you, and I am sorry.