I meant to write a long dramatic essay about how much I've grown, the lessons I've learned, the places I've been to. I also wanted to talk about how lovely the age 19 seemed to me before, how I thought it just screamed of 'responsible, intelligent grown-up,' and how nice I thought it is to be 19 and feel like my age is somewhat closer to my sisters' even if it really isn't.

But screw all that.

I'm 19. It's not like it's the most amazing age to be. And besides, it's just another day. Iwill look the same way I did a day ago when i was 18, even if I've always thought I'd be a tall, willowy, beautiful young woman by the time I was 16, for heaven's sake. People will look at me and still see a short girl skipping happily along, with a too-big, too-heavy backpack strapped to her shoulders.

I will continue living life the way I always do: allowing laziness to overcome me, guzzling too much soda, sleeping very little at night and too much in the afternoons, ranting and bitching about people, dreaming to be somebody someday, and alternately loving and hating my friends.

But even if I treat my birthdays like any other day, this year scares me most. you know why?

Because it means that, next year, I will be a goddamn 20-year-old. Now that's scary.