Skip to main content

Twenty

 It doesn’t really hit you till it is a minute past midnight and people have started calling. You’ve never really looked at age in terms of numbers but more in terms of what you can and cannot do. Eighteen gave you a lot of freedom, nineteen gave you a chance to get used to that freedom and apparently twenty is supposed to make you use that freedom responsibly. It is not an abrupt change like going from seventeen to eighteen but a gradual one. It is going from staying up late to finish the last episode of the third season of YOU because of one Taylor Swift song that’s supposed to feature in the episode to staying up late to start your prep for that super important assignment. “How do you feel?” one of your favorite people asks, “you’re one step closer to death”. It’s a joke but it also makes you think. Not about death but about what else you’re getting closer to. A job in the field of your choice, an apartment of your own to decorate as you please, grocery shopping on your own, pushing your cart down the aisle, maybe picking up some of your parent’s favorite pancakes to drop off at their house and surprise them, going home and flopping down on your sofa, turning on your TV and watching a few episodes of your favorite sitcom. It is a simple dream but it’s yours. Well at least till you finally achieve it and it’s everything you thought it would be, then you can go find a new dream.

Your birthday’s fun, it really is. It’s not big and flashy but it is fun. You hang out with the people you actually like to hang out with, and it feels good. There are inside jokes and genuine good wishes along with lots and lots of chocolate, probably more than you could ever eat. And you’re twenty years old. You like long drives and listening to Taylor Swift albums, you like writing stories and scripts, you like oversharing and coffee, mostly both at the same time. You like complaining about Spotify ads even though you know you would never go for a premium account even if you could, you like playing guitar and writing songs people will probably never see, you like dressing like your favorite popstar and you also like putting on the first outfit you find in your cupboard and looking like you walked out of a 90s teen drama. You like hanging out with your friends and your family, you like watching shows that are so bad that they are good and sometimes, just sometimes you like writing blog posts for a blog that you often forget exists.   



For all my favorite people, you guys are the best

Comments

  1. No, you're the best you wrinkled beech

    ReplyDelete
  2. Aeweeewe thankkkkyuuuuuuuu urrrrr breathhhtakinnnggagssgsggshshhs 😘😘😘

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Think They Call This Love

  It was 4:30 am on a beautiful January morning and for once you didn’t have to drag yourself out of bed. The day was a special one because it was the day someone you’d looked up to your whole life was starting the next chapter of hers. As you put on your cotton dress and grabbed your bridesmaid stuff, you couldn’t help but feel excited. You always loved the idea of love, and in a couple of hours you were going to see two people who were crazy in love finally make it official. You had a sense of déjà vu as you walked up the steps to the bride’s apartment. Six years ago, you’d trudged up these very steps, tired and sleepy, mentally cursing the guy who’d invented Math. Yeah, you could multiply, divide, and recite the first six digits of Pi but at what cost? You don’t miss the 6 am Math tutions but you have to admit that you do miss coming here and hanging out with your favorite teacher even if it meant having to act like decimals were even remotely interesting.   The bride w...

The Friends We Make Along The Way

Cleaning out your cupboard has always been one of your favorite activities. Not because you particularly like cleaning, but because you’re always bound to find some old dusty diary that you’d used and discarded years ago. For you, discarding something means shoving it onto one of three shelves and rediscovering it a year or two later. This particular diary falls into your hands five years after you’d put it away, and out of idle curiosity, you flip through the pages. There are at least six different types of handwriting in the diary, but none of them are yours. That’s when you realise this isn’t just an ordinary diary, it’s a culmination of ten years’ worth of friendships.    You barely remember the day you bought the colorful diary to school, but you do have a distinct memory of peering over your friend’s shoulder, trying to read what she’s scribbling inside. She glares at you, and you take a step back, giving her her privacy. Another friend takes out her packet of colored ...

Pretty Is Pretty Enough

You’ve never considered yourself beautiful. Pretty maybe, if the lighting is just right and the angles are good, and your hair is being cooperative, and your clothes are falling on your body in a way that doesn’t make it obvious that you have never stepped foot inside a gym. It’s hard to consider yourself beautiful when your Instagram feed is filled with women who wake up looking like they’ve stepped off the page of a fashion magazine, and sometimes you wonder what you’d look like if you had the time, patience, money, and energy to present yourself so perfectly to the world. However, over the last year, you’ve noticed something unsettling. With more and more women speaking up about how much editing goes into a 30-second Instagram reel, your envy has changed into a distinct kind of sadness. Everyone’s not editing their flaws anymore; they’re editing themselves. They’re taking their perfectly normal human bodies and making them thinner, fairer, and spotless to fit a standard that was n...