“You look more mature now, when I saw you last you were a teenager! Not anymore.”

My cleaning lady doesn’t know how I mourn for my youth, she didn’t mean to.

“She’s turning 19 in two months”

My dad tells her, as if 18 had passed already. He doesn’t know how that is try to hold back my laugh now so I don’t progress my smile lines.

“How old are you now? 20? 23?”

The people I meet also take my teen years under towe,

“im 18…. Do I look old?”

I feel like I do it’s a horrible thing because I’m only getting older, I must get past this fear, this end of vanity seems like an end of life.

Am I wasting time? Have I missed my chance? There’s so much more I could’ve been doing.

I must stop myself.

I’ve done more than some my age… but not more that the age I look…

I’m mortified for 19 although I remember my 18th birthday and how I felt finally I was ready for my age, for my new life and university. I hope only that the life I’ve made comes to me as an accomplishment on July 31 2024 when I turn 19z