20

 

For some, 20 is the score they got on the pop test that the teacher just surprised them with. Or it could be the rating of the lady in the bar, or the hunk who just walked in.

 

20 could be the bill handed to some random panhandler by an equally random pedestrian. 20 could be the number of shoes an average teenage girl has in her closet. It could be the number of freckles on someone’s forehead. Or the number of dead in one’s family.

 

20 could be the number of siblings in a given Chinese hutong.

 

20 could be the price of a cheap hamburger that you could buy off street corners and back alleys.

 

But for me? 20 is the number of years spent laughing, crying, stumbling, falling and getting back up again. It is the number of times that I have spent revolving around the sun. 20 revolutions within my self.

 

And yet I feel anything but.

 

However, I do feel a renewed sense of responsibility. I have decided to stop smoking. For good. Not on occasion. Not on night outs.

 

For good.

 

I haven’t gone to clubs in a while. I haven’t had a drop of liquor for a while. Save for wine. But yes, these and more I have done.

 

My friends find it hard to believe. Those who know me think I’m joking. But I kid you not.

 

I may be the craziest and zaniest person you’ll ever meet. Borderline bipolar and mentally retarded, somewhat. But when I set my mind on something, unless I have that “thing” accomplished, I can’t quite concentrate on any other thing. It’s like, I’m disturbed that I haven’t done it yet, know what I mean..? (Maybe that's why I can't sleep at night. I've got so many unfinished things to do...)

 

I’ve set my mind to set my mind straight. And I’m going to do it.

 

 

“I’m a big girl now...says I.”

 

 

 

Age is just a number, and as I say Farewell to the something-teen years, I will keep that in mind.

 

It doesn’t matter...