Reflections on turning eighteen. 

If you’re reading this now, today is (finally) the day I turn eighteen. I’m writing this from the perspective of my seventeen year old self, so please bear with me 😁

Birthdays have always been the same for me; we celebrate, you get older. There’s cake on the table with candles, with people encircling you, singing Happy Birthday. Yet to age another year doesn’t feel different to me. It may do to you-and I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

There’s a lot of fuss about eighteen. I don’t get the social element. But I do understand the adult element.

Socially, it’s all the anyone has been able to talk about for months: “When are you eighteen?”   is now a common occurrence in a line of questioning. People I know have begun to drive. But what seems to dominate the topic of conversation? Alcohol. Drinking. Consuming to get very drunk. 

My personal preference is not to drink, simply because I dislike the feeling of being out of control. It’s seemingly as if weightless, potentially able to drift away, without your feet staying on the ground. I don’t mind that people drink, really I don’t. I just won’t necessarily be the one to join in. And that’s the social element I really don’t understand.

But the adult element? As I write this,Eighteen is something that is looming; the age of legally being an adult in the U.K. is something that denotes greater responsibility. (In The run up to turning this age for this past year, there have been many one-liners and whispered comments about turning eighteen; largely, the semantics have similarly denoted this. ) I guess it’s more relief, now, that I’ll actually be able to play my part.

I’ll be able to vote, for instance. And that is something I have wished to attain for a very long time.

Let’s see what the future holds!



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