Don't know when and how it happened but I've slowly come to terms with my adulthood. From a child who didn't want to turn 13 because she was sure that was when adult's problems started to a 19 year old calling herself an ex-child.
I can't relate with most sentiments and call it a journey but there's more to me than there was last year, may be the more isn't admirable even but I'm no longer at odds with the words 'adult'. I accept it, I'm responsible for stuff now, it's on me, most of it is. I won't let that thought weigh me down, it's rather liberating when I think about it. I, not anyone else, get to decide what I can be and when it should happen.
Oh, what wonder, I'm not an empty canvas, neither am I finished. I'm in between an incompleteness and perfection; an incomplete yet perfect being.