I wrote this 12 days before I turned 21 a while back on a private platform, hence the title: 21 in 12.

#birthdaywishlist sister, mummy’s comforting smell in the morning, daddy’s crazy dance to Lady Gaga’s Alejandro, time machine, Lightsaber, a voucher to the plastic surgeon, a house full of dusty Philosophy and Literature books, a tub of belgian chocolate ice cream, a poet’s handwritten journal, golden beach sands in a bottle, a vintage wedding ring, Ariel (of the Little Mermaid) voice box, french speaking pair of lips, anything in silk.

21 in 12 days, and a rush of life settles uncomfortably on my shoulder. People tell me, they’ve been through it before, the heavy reality that 21 symbolizes that teenagehood ended over a year ago, and flashbacks will come haunting.

I’m taking my Paolo Nutini record for a run - and I only do, in moments of heartaches. But I feel that, this time, the lyrics are appropriate to the age of my existence.

I envisioned myself to be a in different version - definitely in much better exterior and knowledgeable mind. What did I end up with? 15kg overweight, an average passion towards academics and several life lessons - nothing special.

I’ve always talked about being afraid to drown in the city commotion, but I already have. The paths I’m building will lead me there - there is absolutely nothing special about me in comparison to the 6 billion people in this world. I’m just a tiny unit stepping on vulnerable ground, and soon I will fade into earth, just like humans are destined to be.

What is the point of all this? What is the point of living when we all die in the end?

What is the point of paying hundreds for gym membership, for University, for health (when we all are going to deteriorate anyway), for therapy, for beauty, for nightlife, for music, for movies, for a luxury car (that will look the same as a cheap one, if you run a bulldozer over it), for worldly unnecessaries?

I feel logic slipping away, my body still running, but my soul has escalated into the past.

21, one way ticket to adulthood.

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October 18, 2011 8:50 PM  

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I wrote this 12 days before I turned 21 a while back on a private platform, hence the title: 21 in 12.

#birthdaywishlist sister, mummy’s comforting smell in the morning, daddy’s crazy dance to Lady Gaga’s Alejandro, time machine, Lightsaber, a voucher to the plastic surgeon, a house full of dusty Philosophy and Literature books, a tub of belgian chocolate ice cream, a poet’s handwritten journal, golden beach sands in a bottle, a vintage wedding ring, Ariel (of the Little Mermaid) voice box, french speaking pair of lips, anything in silk.

21 in 12 days, and a rush of life settles uncomfortably on my shoulder. People tell me, they’ve been through it before, the heavy reality that 21 symbolizes that teenagehood ended over a year ago, and flashbacks will come haunting.

I’m taking my Paolo Nutini record for a run - and I only do, in moments of heartaches. But I feel that, this time, the lyrics are appropriate to the age of my existence.

I envisioned myself to be a in different version - definitely in much better exterior and knowledgeable mind. What did I end up with? 15kg overweight, an average passion towards academics and several life lessons - nothing special.

I’ve always talked about being afraid to drown in the city commotion, but I already have. The paths I’m building will lead me there - there is absolutely nothing special about me in comparison to the 6 billion people in this world. I’m just a tiny unit stepping on vulnerable ground, and soon I will fade into earth, just like humans are destined to be.

What is the point of all this? What is the point of living when we all die in the end?

What is the point of paying hundreds for gym membership, for University, for health (when we all are going to deteriorate anyway), for therapy, for beauty, for nightlife, for music, for movies, for a luxury car (that will look the same as a cheap one, if you run a bulldozer over it), for worldly unnecessaries?

I feel logic slipping away, my body still running, but my soul has escalated into the past.

21, one way ticket to adulthood.