Some people count birthdays.
I counted down to 21.
Long before I got here, I had convinced myself that 21 wasn't just another age. It was theage. The beginning. The point where the person I had been building for years would finally arrive.
Maybe it was irrational. Maybe it was just a number.
But it never felt like one.
For as long as I can remember, 21 meant possibility. It became my lucky number. Whenever I saw it, I smiled a little. Whenever I imagined the future, I imagined being 21. I don't know exactly when that attachment began. Maybe when I was a child. Maybe even before I understood what birthdays really meant. Somehow, throughout my life, that number quietly became part of who I was.
And then...
I blinked.
I became 21.
It wasn't a magical switch. The world didn't suddenly change. I didn't wake up with all the answers. But something inside me did feel different. It felt like I had finally met the version of myself I'd been waiting for.
This year wasn't perfect.
Far from it.
I laughed until my stomach hurt. I cried over things I never expected would break me. I experienced heartbreak that made time feel slower. I questioned myself more than once. I met people who changed the way I think, some who stayed, some who left, and some who taught me lessons simply by disappearing.
I chased ideas that seemed impossible.
I abandoned others halfway through.
I built things.
I destroyed things.
I started over.
More than once.
Some nights I felt unstoppable.
Other nights I wondered if I was completely lost.
But that's what 21 became.
Not perfection.
Growth.
Every mistake carved something into me. Every conversation left a fingerprint. Every goodbye made room for another hello. Every risk reminded me that life only moves if you let it.
I don't think I'll ever love another age the way I loved 21.
That's the strange part.
People are usually excited to grow older. Tonight, I'm grieving a little.
Because I don't want to stop being 21.
I know tomorrow I'll still be me. The calendar changes far more than the person does. But there's something beautiful about closing a chapter that meant so much. It's like finishing a book you never wanted to end. You know another story is waiting, but you still sit there for a while, holding the last page.
As I write this, Gracie Abrams' 21 is playing.
It feels fitting.
Almost like the soundtrack to saying goodbye to a version of myself I'll never meet again.
Twenty-one taught me that people will surprise you. That love can heal you and break you in the same breath. That dreams are heavier than they look. That failure isn't the opposite of progress. That being strong sometimes means admitting you aren't.
Most importantly, it taught me that becoming isn't a destination.
It's a habit.
Tonight, I leave 21 behind.
Not because I want to.
Because time insists.
I'll carry every lesson, every scar, every laugh, every sleepless night, every impossible dream, every person who walked into my life, and every version of myself that existed during this year.
I'll carry all of it.
Twenty-two isn't replacing twenty-one.
It's standing on its shoulders.
So here's to my favourite number.
My lucky number.
The age I waited my whole life to become, and somehow wasn't ready to leave.
Goodbye, 21.
Thank you for becoming part of me.
I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make you proud.