At 13 you’re a teenager.
At 15, you’re slightly taller and more of a handful for your parents than when you were 14.
At 16 you can change your name to absolutely anything you like, and have adult sleepovers. In some countries you can drive cars and buy firearms.
At 17 you can join the army.
At 18, you are officially an adult, expected to act more responsibly, and now eligible for state-paid concrete-land holidays should you deserve it. Oh yes, and you can finally drink. I feel like the people in charge may have got their priorities mixed-up.
19 is like another year of being 18, woohoo!
I am now 20 years old. 20 is between 19 and 21. I was disappointed that my teenage blackheads didn’t magically disappear overnight, but I don’t feel like I want to be too close to the responsible grown-up age of 21 either.
When I came back to the flat, my flatmates had made a sign and got me a cake. They are amazing.
Tonight I went to a class run by Edinburgh Drum Society. The drum leaders have a great sense of humour. We were all crammed into one wee room. African drumming was great! It got really loud and part of the plaster on the ceiling broke off and nearly fell on someone. My hands hurt at the end, but I had so much fun! I hope I can make it every week.
Fishfinger Sandwiches for dinner again. Freshers Week is over. My course starts tomorrow.