It doesn't feel expected. In fact, it seems a little too sudden. Where did the whole of a year went to? What have I done? Where have I went? It feels that eighteen only began when I went to London. It's amazing how a place can have so much impact on a person.
I'm not looking forward to my birthday at all. And I hate it how this cycle repeats itself every year. How I'd always whine about growing old, how I'd always whine about things I cannot change, cannot stop. This year felt the same, but different. I was caught by surprise this year.
It was a week before and it just came to me like a fist in the face. I am going to be nineteen. Nine-fucking-teen. What am I going to do? I don't look forward it and the worst part was that there was not enough time to get myself mentally prepared for it.
Dear friends, I'm sorry that I'm a wet blanket and I'm over-dramatic and I'm old.
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