There is a portrait of a woman in some museum.
Her body is draped across a sofa, or awning, or man, or forest floor and she is looking off into the distance. Maybe she is eating a grape or a peach or an apple and that is a symbol of something or other. Fruit is most likely in her vicinity. In her eyes, you see time. You see patience and longevity and the absence of worry. She is trapped and she is satisfied.
I have always aspired to be her. Graceful. Sophisticated. Elegant.
I turned 24 recently. I am still trying to cut my own fruit without drawing blood. My limbs still dangle in an uncomfortable way. My brain moves too fast for my mouth and my mouth is always taut. My body is tripping over itself and I am young enough to remember wanting that to stop. Life is moving fast and I am stuck without satisfaction.
At this point, aging is not a deterrent to living. By this I mean, I look forward to the long laugh lines. To the weight and slowness of life as it draws longer. I do not fear the time to come, but welcome it with open arms as only a person ignorant to age can. I didn't always want to live. Didn't always think I would. And yet, I made it to 24. Not too far and yet further than I ever thought I'd be. Still not elegant. But still living. Still.
When I look in the mirror there are very minor changes. Less facial piercings than I had last year. More tattoos. Less hair dye. More weight. The external is as recognizable as ever. I have a tendency to change my appearance (more than most), but if you saw me at 18, you've seen me at 24. Very minor changes overruled.
On your birthday people tend to ask if you feel different. Almost always without fail. It is in the same vein that you get asked "how are you" at a grocery store. The way you give out a "fine" at family gatherings. People ask you this as a formality, knowing very well that nothing changes in a day. It is a tradition honored and redundant. A little funny at the best of times, but ultimately irrelevant. Yet, we expect it. I expect it.
This year there was no question of whether I felt different.
There were a lot of quiet moments spent with my boyfriend and dog. A lot of familiar laughter. A lot of comfortable joy. In the morning, I danced to the mirror. "Adorn" by Miguel played in the background. I’ve christened this song into a self love anthem, letting it move my body to be its most graceful. For years I’ve done this, serenading myself in private. But in this moment, I felt a change. I felt that time had passed. I am no longer the 18 year old, fumbling into new selves. I feel solidified.
There is a portrait of me that, in the chaos of moving, I threw in the trash. Face frozen in a smize. Forever thinking about how to look effortlessly graceful, whilst falling. You see the worry. You see the insecurity and I guess that is why I want you here. Reading this. I want to be documented on the go, vulnerable, further and still moving. I cannot promise perfection. There will be a comma out of place. There will be a version of me tripping over themselves in my writing again and again. But I finally feel ready to be a constant. I am 24 and still moving. I am 24 and untrapped, unsatisfied, eating botched fruit, and learning. I invite you to learn with me.
I’m on the journey with you and looking forward to reading every word!