Me At 20.


Twenty years old. It feels so weird saying this. I went eating fancy dinner with my family yesterday, then proceeded to be surprised by friends and we met up for more food and drinks. We laughed and talked and sang along to Queen. We were the last people in the bar and drank away Guinesses and White Russians. We almost got into a fist fight with unreasonable, strange, suspiciously fishy older men pestering me and my friends without reason but got away and I panicked a bit but my friends protected me and then I walked home at four in the morning with flowers in my hands whilst watching the birds fly over the bridge and everything was alright.

It will once again take a few days or even weeks to get used to saying "twenty". It's such a clean number, yet full of responsibility, fun maturity, anxiety, futuristic hopes and hopeful dreams. I feel old yet so incredibly young. Maybe I'm a kid at heart so it pains me a little to grow and realize that I'm growing.

I want to remember this moment. And this birthday in particular. No special or significant reason for that, really. Just to remember.

The night before my 20th birthday I had gone through old journals and transported myself to my sixteen year old self that was carefree and ridiculous and deeply in love with the adventures of life. But also depressed at some point and tossed into big ups and downs.

My mind clogged up with thoughts about the places I've been to and never feeling my age and not caring about the kid in me that showed itself on playgrounds on the swings, thoughts about the places I jotted down in my notepad for future references, thoughts about friendly neighbourhoods and heart-wrenching fates and flickering TVs in cozy homes. Thoughts about falling in and out of puppy love, not settling for anyone because I didn't belong to any city or man. Thoughts about being alone but not lonely and then feeling lonely whilst not actually being on my own.

And once I closed that book, I found myself again, as in the young woman that is right now. And as if I was looking back on my life, I wished to be sixteen again and not have to deal with taxes and bills and work till my limbs were tired and have the pressure to succeed in a subject that is going to determine my way of life.

I had a conversation with my best friend the night I turned twenty. I was legit sobbing (I had drunken some wine before and had a mental breakdown over my quick trip to the past) and I told her that I wasn't feeling myself and I felt like I should have something figured out by now but felt like I didn't get anything done really. And she told me something that was quite reassuring. "You've progressed so much. You grew so much in many ways and you may have not noticed it so you don't know because you progressed in a way that was a little different from what you expected as change when you were only sixteen. You grew, just differently."

And you know what. It's okay how it is now. I'm not entirely happy, I admit, there are scary thoughts in my head that I need to deal with when I sit with my therapist, but I have moments of overwhelming love that it's worth the day to day struggles because at the end of the day they're small and temporary and dealable. Happy 20 to myself.

Until then - stay cozy,

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