what it means to finally be 18



Fairly legal

Welcome to the adult world

Nothing big

But the weight rests on our shoulders

Things don’t seem different

Age is but a number

But the meaning behind said age holds value

Grow up

Take responsibility

Move out

Remember you’re not a child anymore

Don’t expect to be treated as one

Who am I?

Where do I stand?

What is my purpose?

I don’t feel different

I definitely don’t look different

Then why is everything suddenly different?

Don’t take away all that I am

Whatever I am.

hello July


Hot. Sticky. Sweaty.

Hot. Sticky. Sweaty.

The month where it finally sinks in that school is very well around the corner. That you have been wasting your time watching movies and lounging around. Productive, it’s too late. 31 days left before you return to school. Back to the hectic school life that you wanted to escape, 30 days ago.


July. You wasted June relaxing when you could have been writing the greatest novel of all times. Unlikely. You broke the promises that you made to yourself. One of them was this. Write more. Write. Write. Write.

Pen to paper. Scrawl away. On a napkin. On a menu card. Let the genius flow. Inspire. Be inspired. Breathe life. Cut. Scratch. Toss away. Read. Read. Read. Write. Write. Write.

Is it too late? Inspiration does not ask. It comes when it wants. Granted it was late in my case. Not the fashionably late. The good old late.

Maybe one needs an adventure. A journey. To light that creative spark again. Invisible ink. Leaking from the fingertips. Creating life from touch. Machines well oiled in the brain. Worlds erupting from ears. Rainbows flowing down cheeks. Flowers growing out of the head.

Wipe the grime off the writing desks. Take the type writer out from under littered things. Blow away the dust. Feel pen against paper.