Eighteen.

I’m going to be eighteen in a month. In the words of the world an ‘adult’.

Since a very early age, I have been mesmerised by the prospect of becoming one. Yet as the time nears, the tag also scares me. To be an adult is to take care of life head on, to not rely on mom and dad for every single thing and also, for me, it means the end of high school.

My last day in this school would be somewhere around the end of this month, and then I have my CBSE board exams, and I don’t know where my life would be headed right after that.

Eighteen. It sounds so cool, damn. All these years I have wanted to be eighteen but now, I don’t know if I’m making any sense, but I want time to freeze. I want to relive all that I have already lived because the stigma that comes attached with the age of eighteen is, “freaking” me out, in very casual terms. Oh my god,  18.

Time when I can finally get a license and learn to drive, when I can finally go out and vote in the next elections and do everything I have wanted to do as a child and restrained myself from doing, waiting for the big day, the eighteenth.

Excitement and fear are killing me, oh lord. Do I make any sense?

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7 thoughts on “Eighteen.

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