I just realized something about my birthday.
A part of me has always been sad I was born on August 7 instead of August 8, because 8 is an auspicious number in Chinese culture (its pronunciation, bā, rhymes with 发, fā, which means prosperity and wealth). I mean, I know my mother was in labor with me for 24 hours and it is greedy to wish she could have just held on for a little bit more, but I always thought that it would have been awesome to celebrate a birthday on 8/8/08.
Today, I realized that I did indeed celebrate (part of) my birthday on 8/8/08, because of the time difference between Taipei and California. How did I not realize this when it was actually happening? Well, I kind of had a minor stomach virus and was too busy cussing out my digestive system for not letting me have the sashimi-and-steak-tartar tower I was planning to celebrate with.
So that shows you the power of positive thinking. You don’t miss out on auspicious minutiae like this!
To be honest, though, 8/7 is not a bad birthday. It represents my mixed cultural upbringing — 8 is the lucky number of my Chinese roots, while 7 means the same thing in Western culture.