Twenty two. That’s a lot of number. God graces me more than I deserve. I never imagined I’d reach this age, become adult, let alone grow old. It is more like I don’t want to picture myself being a grown up, to be exact. I don’t understand why people must grow up. Growing up a year older for me feels like growing up a day older. It’s frightening how, at some points, growing up 22 years feels like growing up 22 days. Life is a flash. It’s a gazillion worth of moments yet it flashes in a speed of light. If I have to recall what part of me that may have changed, they probably be… the way I’m thinking? the way I’m writing? I’m still as lazy as usual. I also don’t think my musical taste is that different from last year. Oh wait! I only read ONE novel this year. That’s worse than last year. See. What I mean is that if I ever did change from what I was last year, it happened six feet under my skin. It is so deep I can’t sense it. My senses are dull for those gazillion moments flashing in a speed of light underneath my skin. I barely grow a day older.