Notes on turning twenty and saying goodbye to my teen years.
Having just turned twenty years old, I feel as though I’m on a precipice. Less than 24 hours ago, I was nineteen. A teen; not fully adult, yet not fully a child either. My childhood now feels miles away, yet my adult life does not feel any closer. Two decades ago I was born, new to the world and everything in it. Somehow, today I feel just as new, as if I have been born again into an unfamiliar sense of identity, my life a blur.
My life is now divided into three parts: my childhood, and my teen years — now behind me — and the foggy abyss that is adulthood.
Some childhood memories are brighter-lit in my mind than others. I remember picking blackberries, running through the brambles with berry-stained fingers and doing cartwheels in the English summer breeze. I remember the treasured snow days, and how we tried to make snowmen even though the snow was mere dust by midday. I remember getting yelled at in class when I was ten for being ‘too political’, and writing my first essay that I was proud of. I remember choreographing makeshift dance routines with friends and the imaginative games where we pretended to that trees were our houses.
As a young girl, my concept of a teenager was crafted by the movies and TV shows I watched and the books I read. I had imagined that being a teen meant to be free, unwatched and adventurous. It meant having the liberty to travel on my own, or to uncover a mystery, or be involved in a heist or a chaotic romance. These were all fictional accounts, of course— but they fed my curiosity and eagerness to be one of them. A teen.
While my teen years were not as extravagant as my books and shows made them out to be, I had adventures of my own. My love for reading and writing as a child developed into a love for storytelling and reporting, which I now hope to piece together into a career. My relationship with music changed from being a purely personal hobby, to a creative endeavour, that has made me more extroverted. I discovered the importance of prioritising myself, rather than trying to please others who were not worth it at all, knowing that better friendships are out there. I found out my political beliefs and let experiences inform me; I became outspoken. I came to terms with death and life. I found my voice and know how I want to use it.
I also learned what it means to be a girl. I learned the true weight of gossip and friendship, the essentials to communicating in the complicated web of girlhood. I learned to never walk home alone in the dark, and to always be cautious. I learned how healing female friendships can be, and how long-lasting, when given the time and effort. I learned to not care about what others think of me —I used to have crippling social anxiety— and I learned how to do my mascara without my eyes tearing up.
Those teenage years are behind me now, but they form a fundamental part of my existence. It is almost as though I blinked and everything happened in an instant, and it is hard to grasp that I am the same person but older, and definitely not wiser. Time cannot be frozen, nor can I be trapped in it, as I often long to be. I am significantly more aware of time, now: how it slips away so easily, so subtly. I try to savour the moments that I know I will miss. I look back at photographs and videos, of the memories that I swore I would keep forever, playing ‘replay’ again and again. It is still not enough, though. Forgetfulness is as inevitable as the pull of gravity that keeps us tied to the Earth.
It dawns on me how malleable we are; every year that goes by is a door closed, another waiting to be opened. There are echoes of the past that seep through the walls, but it is crucial that we keep moving, no matter how many times we long to look back. We are on a linear path.
The teenage years are a time of beginnings and endings, and I would not trade mine for anything. Though my childhood is long gone, I will experience girlhood for as long as I live, stringing together the nostalgia of my earlier years and the lessons I have learned so far in my young life. I will ensure that my twenties and beyond are filled with the same the same blackberry-stained love of life that I experienced during my childhood. My twenty-year-old-self, though new to the world, is a reflection of everything I experienced as a child and teen.
My twenties lie ahead of me. Though I might feel unprepared, I remember how I felt as an anxious teenager when even trivial things seemed daunting. At that age, it was easy to get lost in how large the world seemed to be. In the midst of everything, I am now equipped with a confidence that I did not used to have. I have a clearer vision of who I am, as I forge a career, and a life of my own. I do not yet feel like a fully-fleshed adult; in my head, there is a part of me that is still fifteen. But life does not wait for anyone, and mine is only just beginning.