It’s my final year of being a teenager. Once I turn twenty, I expect there will be a lot of “Hey, congrats on beating teen pregnancy,” and “Only one more year until you’re twenty-fun!” and other bullshit clichés. Will I become an adult? I don’t think I will ever stop being a child in my parents’ and peers’ eyes. Even when my acne turns into wrinkles and I have children of my own. Or will I simply be nothing? Something in-between? A teen who has aged. What will initiate this change? Does it even matter what I am called? I have a name for a reason, a name I will hold onto all my life. I will only be nineteen for three hundred and sixty-five days. It’s scary, knowing I will be something else in society’s terms. I will feel old, and that’s not something anyone likes to feel. Then I will be twenty, with a whole new set of questions I don’t have answers for. In the less than three hundred and sixty-five days I have left of being this awkward age, I know I will make a thousand mistakes (especially when I’m twenty-fun). These mistakes will have consequences that I probably won’t always know how to deal with. But I will still be me, just a year older, and probably a little bit stupider. Twenty years is a long time, especially when you’re the one doing all the work of living. I guess the only thing I can do is hold on to the people and things I trust (and hope that someone bakes me a cake).