I would be 22 in half an hour. I don’t feel like one. I thought 22 years old would be the year of me blooming into womanhood and finally find my inner-poise. I am still me. That’s it. I don’t know whether it is something to applaud or loathe. Perhaps something in between. 22 is a difficult age, twisted with uncertainty and fear of not becoming the person I wanted to be…but might as well enjoy it.
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