Nineteen.

Today is my nineteenth birthday. 

Nineteen. 

Far out, I feel old. 

For the first time in my life, I was not excited for my birthday this year. Eighteen was a pleasant enough age, I could do everything without being considered too old. I liked eighteen, not as much as seventeen, but I still liked it. But no, the world has to rotate around the sun and our stupid human ageing system marks me as a year older. 

Other than being able to legally drink in Canada, there is nothing special about nineteen. It’s a nothing age. Barely considered a teenager, but not the exciting parts of being an adult (are there exciting parts of adulthood? Because so far I’m just poor and spending my days being forced to read 17th century texts). . 

I just feel that by nineteen I should be accomplishing more than I have. That something more should be happening in my life. Nineteen is the first age where I’ve felt old, and I don’t like it. 

Okay, so I’ve done some pretty cool things in my life, but I’m a chronic comparer, and I can’t help but notice how much more everyone else seems to be able to achieve by their nineteenth birthdays. Some of them even manage to have paid (!!) magazine jobs. I just feel so…unproductive. 

In a conversation with some of my friends, I decided I should be turning twelve again this year. I act like a twelve year old most of the time, and if I was twelve, that would mean next year, instead of turning the dreaded age of twenty (I’m having nightmares already), that I would get to be thirteen again. Do all those silly teenage years over again, but with wisdom and hindsight. 

Quite frankly, I didn’t enjoy being a teenager. I didn’t do any of the stereotypical teenager-y things, and spent most of the six years (so far) on the internet. But I liked being able to say I was only fifteen, or still sixteen to people when I did accomplish things. It felt like I was achieving big things at a young age, and I liked that. 

But now I’m nineteen, and it’s expected for me to be a fully functioning adult. I just feel like nothing I do any more will be special, because it will be just what adults do. And as the years seem to be ticking away faster and faster, I begin to wonder if I will ever meet any of my dreams and goals. People my age are getting married, I’m still waiting for my first boyfriend. 

I’m having my quarter-life-crisis six years early. 

So happy birthday to me, I’m feeling a lot older, and not much wiser, and I kind of wish people would just give me presents and cake without the responsibility of actually ageing. 

frangipani princess xoxo
ps. For some less depressing birthday reads, you can check out what I had to say on my fifteenth and sixteenth birthdays. I was so naive. 

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