The night I turned 22 very few people remembered and fewer called or texted. This was something I had to deal with on my own. I had lost friends and the few who were remaining, I didn’t do a great job holding on to them. Then again some are still around, and maybe I finally learnt my lesson.


I couldn’t write anything about turning 22; about turning 21 I wrote a bit and was too happy to write beyond two hundred and fifty words. But 22 just seemed sober and felt like every other day and that was a little disappointing, I’d have loved a surprise party since I was nine but it never happened. Now it’s a little disappointing because I don’t think that it’d happen.

The day did have a touch, sparkle or whatever of nice, warm, fuzzy, and a few other stuff that I like. A friend took me out for lunch and we had a blast, she even made a pretty picture of me where I looked like a Zombie. We got back to college and I found out I was in the long list of a writing contest that I never expected would happen, so something had improved from last year, even though everything else seemed to have gone down the drain.

There was a performance of sorts with a boy playing a violin, another boy on a drum, a girl dancing to the music and another girl narrating. It was a very pretty experimental performance under the hundred and fifty year old banyan tree in the evening and the light source were little lamps around the tree. This was followed up by an acoustic performance with the singer under a spotlight, and I was flying. Sitting in the front row only made it seem like it was a private show for me.

It wasn’t the best birthday but wasn’t a bad one also, and I have list of awful ones so glad it didn’t make it into that list. I walked to corner house that night bought a caramel cake and ice cream and walked back home eating, all of this while I listened to Taylor Swift sing twenty-two.

A little after month from my birthday I wrote about turning twenty-two and it was the whiniest rant I’ve ever written and that’s saying something if you’ve read my blog. It’s three months since I turned twenty two, I made another attempt and this feels so much more sober than the last and doesn’t make me sound like a teenager who’s high or drunk. A great leap personally and hope that I don’t take anymore ‘U’ turns in life because I seem to be going in circles and that takes you nowhere apparently, I just found out.

The worst part is I hoped I’d be handling all my shit better by now and have something concrete in my life and the only concrete thing in my life seems to be my blog concrete sunshine.


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