Mysterious Ms. Eighteen

In my mind every number has a colour.

Number one for example is red. Number two is yellow. Three is a darker pink and so on. But it doesn’t stop at ten. It goes on and on and on. So 17 is bright yellow. 18 is pitch black.

I was really excited to turn 17. It’s bright yellow! How could you not look forward to that? It’s the age when you’re taken seriously as a young woman, but you can still afford to do stupid stuff and mess around.

That’s not going to stop after tomorrow. But I feel like once you’re 18, there’s so much responsibility people seem to trust you with all of a sudden and you’re looked down upon when you act childishly (is that a word?). Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe nothing will change. I didn’t feel any different from 16 when I turned 17, just like I didn’t notice becoming a teen when I turned 13.

But I’ll be able to donate blood (yay), I’ll be able to drive once I pass my driver’s license test (and that? Is that a word?), I’ll be able to vote, I’ll be able to work, I’ll be having bank accounts and stuff in my name!

I’m not having a big party. What’s there to celebrate? I’ve survived the last 18 years on this planet! What an achievement, especially in a Western country! There’s no problem with celebrating, inviting all your friends around, as well as people you hardly know and getting drunk to tasteless music – it’s just not me.

So what am I saying with this post? Goodbye 17? I guess so. It’s just a number, but going from bright yellow to black is quite a change, I think.

Of course I’m excited to have new possibilities. But now I have to start taking driving lessons. Only today a friend asked when I’m starting. It seemed disastrous that I’ve not even called up yet :/

And then there’s my body. Most people finish puberty with what? 16 or so? Well, I’m happy with the way I look – but not as a grown-up.

You don’t know what I look like, I know, but I hope someone will be able to understand. This is the body I’m happy with as a teenager, as someone who still fits into skinny jeans, I can still go through as 14 with bus drivers sometimes! I just have to dress right.
But this is not the body that goes to work every day, not the body that has serious relationships and does relationship type of things (you get where I’m going, right?) and even I wanted to have kids; this is not the body to have them with.

I feel too short, too stick-like. Am I still going to grow? Science doesn’t think so. This is not a woman’s body. So when’s that going to happen? When am I going to be able to embrace my “feminine” side without wearing a push-up bra (which I don’t, by the way)? And where’s my butt? Seriously, there’s nothing there.

So – am I ready to turn 18? I’m making a big deal about this when I shouldn’t, I know. It’s just a number. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and nothing will have changed (except for a full inbox due to the gazillion of Facebook friends wishing me a happy birthday when they only just found out over Facebook itself and we’ve hardly ever spoken in fact). Maybe I should delete my account for a day.
Okay, I think this post is coming to an end, just like 17. Goodbye 17, you were great. Seriously, I had a great time under your bright yellow lighting 🙂 I met new people – I asked out a complete stranger for his number for the very first time! I had my first relationship, my first heart-break. You’ve brought me a few wonderful ideas and a few dreadful discoveries, some new experiences. You haven’t killed my maths teacher, so thanks for nothing, but I suppose there’s only so much you can do 🙂

I’ve changed in this past year. So goodbye, fair 17, and hello, mysterious 18.


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