SEVENTEEN

Ten beautiful sunsets to go before I turn SEVENTEEN( Why sunsets? Because I was born while the sun is setting at 5:47pm on september 26, 1991. At that time, my sun was only beginning to rise while outside the hospital, the sun is preparing to set. How I love that irony in my life!). I gotta seize those last ten days that is left for me to act like a totally carefree teenager. Honestly, I don't really want to turn SEVENTEEN. It's something that I've been dreading since the beginning of September (which used to be my most awaited month of the year). I wanna stay sweet 16 for the rest of my life (so does anyone of you know where the fountain of youth is?). Anyway, SEVENTEEN is just a year away from 18, and when you're SEVENTEEN, you'll be dreading everyday that passes because you'll get closer and closer to being a full-grown and recognized citizen of this country...and I definitely don't want that. That's probably one of my weaknesses, growing up and welcoming changes.

In ten days, I turn SEVENTEEN. There’s nothing particularly earth-shattering about SEVENTEEN, no magical ring to it, to a 17th birthday. Nothing's really special. When you’re a girl and turn 13, it means bras and the right to play the “it’s my time of the month” card. Sixteen means first kisses and maybe a nervous sweaty-palmed boy holding your hand. Eighteen you get flowers and a ballot; 21, a job and tax returns and the license to get drunk in North America. But anywhere in the world, turning SEVENTEEN essentially means turning SEVENTEEN.

Ten days from now, I'll be SEVENTEEN, and I'm almost an adult. And being an “almost-adult-in-ten-days” doesn’t give any easy answers to why I can eat in McDonald’s with a barefoot 4-year-old knocking on the glass window. I remember writing this blog, when I turned 16, that I wanted to save the world and slay dragons. I’ve met several dragons, have realized that the world does not need or want saving, and that sometimes, terrible things happen to ordinary people.

In 10 days I turn SEVENTEEN, and have more questions than answers. I’m going to cut this short, before I ramble on about hating P.E. and my hectic schedules and KC Concepcion and why people should stop wearing lace-trimmed leggings under pink mini-skirts, but I’m getting old in 10 days, and that’s only 10 days left of irresponsibility. Next week, I will be rational and reasonable and relevant, today, I plan to walk in the rain, eat fastfood and salve my conscience with a few coins in a plastic cup.