On my twenty-third birthday, the man I love is spending time with his wife
On my twenty-fourth birthday, my friend and I got very drunk
My twenty-fifth birthday, I finally have someone to celebrate it with me
Twenty-sixth birthday, it is a day about farewell
Twenty-seventh birthday, some people leave and some come back
On my twenty-eighth birthday, the man I loved finally gave me another birthday
On my twenty-ninth birthday, I had dinner with this man and invited another man to my house
Thirty-year-old birthday, that dull man is a bit boring
On my thirty-first birthday, I began to understand what true warmth and possession are
Thirty-second birthday, despicable and debauched is the best word to describe me
Thirty-third birthday, there will never be another birthday in this life
I'm thinking, where should I start telling this story, a story about depravity, betrayal, cruelty, and the ugliest and selfish nature of human nature? Should I start from the night I met Ken ten years ago, or from the afternoon six years ago when I had a great chat with Oscar, or from the morning two years ago when I watched the sunrise with Ye Xing on the top of the mountain...
In these ten years of my life, I seemed to be on a derailed road from which there was no turning back.