The Eighteenth Finish Line

One hour and three minutes. That’s how much time there is left until I become officially an adult. I say “officially”, because that change don’t happen overnight.

You don’t suddenly become mature or responsible in a blink of the eye. There is no switch. You started that journey a long time ago. You didn’t notice it, but you made choices and mistakes: this is what adults do. People start treating you differently, but you’re still there standing a few centimeters ahead of yesterday. You haven’t moved much, but you passed the finish line. Hooray.

Thirty minutes.

I asked people what I should do with my last hours before turning 18 and most of them said I should do something new, something I never did before. So here I am, allowing myself to dream. There’s so much to do, so few hours in a day. You turn eighteen, but the world doesn’t stop. There is always more things to see. You never have enough. I am desperate to see things, to learn, to make.

I want to use what I have, make something memorable. I am now part of something bigger. I’m now part of what people call society, and it’s great. I haven’t changed much — and I never will — but now adults view me as I am.

I might have passed the finish line, but I’m already thinking of the next race as I walk my way home. I’m still moving. And I will never stop.