One day at work, I accidentally typed the number “13″ in my browser and in the results, I found out, “13 is a natural number after 12 and before 14. It is the smallest number with eight letters in its name spelled out in English.” I clicked on the Wikipedia link and kept on reading. “It is also a Fibonacci number, a happy number, and one of only 3 known Wilson primes.” You’re right. Why am I telling you this? Oh, I don’t know. Why are you reading it?

I remember when I was 13. Tall, skinny, awkward. Young, shy, and extremely clumsy. My face felt hot whenever I made eye contact with someone, and I was afraid of speaking most times, so I listened. That was probably for the best.

I always thought it was a bad thing for people to notice I was from somewhere else. I knew they would notice my accent and the first thing they would do is question my nationality. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always told people where I was from. I never, not even once, denied my heritage, but I was also hesitant to just let it all out there.

Now? It’s one of my favorite things, you know? People who can tell I’m not from here and who ask me where I’m from. It’s not because of my accent because some people can’t detect it. I know it’s there though– subtle, fun, spontaneous. I like to think people ask me where I’m from because of probably the way I carry myself.  Not that I carry myself in any special way. That’s just what I like to think. Don’t over-think it. I like being from somewhere else because it’s fun to share and compare my culture with others who care to do the same.

Where was I? Yes, I was talking about the number “13″. Well, that’s also my boyfriend’s day of birth. He was born on November 13. Five years before I was born. We met in college. I still remember the first time he looked at me.  It’s a good feeling.

People are superstitious about “13″ though. Most people always mention Friday the 13th as the day approaches. I never let it bother me. I just think there’s a good ring to it.

“13″ is treize in French. I don’t even remember my thirteenth birthday. It wasn’t at all special. It sure would’ve been fun to have thirteen candles on a cake.

Here are thirteen kisses. Just because.