Sometimes I think growing up is a performance. It's like I've been preparing my whole life to turn eighteen, the big grasp of adulthood at the tips of my fingers. I've been learning the choreography and running the lines for the main role: "The Adult". I can hear the applause as I get my first apartment, file my taxes, my first real career. The performance I've been preparing for since I've taken my very first breathe. All I have yet learned at the brink of eighteen is to smile and wave and pretend I know what I am doing as of everyone else has it all figured out. I'm waiting for my moment, for the curtains to arise, the spotlight to shine in my eyes, a wave of adrenaline rushing through my veins at the split second of time when the clock very hits 12:07 am on the 17th of August. But, I do fear humiliation. The fear of failure. The fear of coming to the final act. It's as if I forgot my lines, lost my steps, and fallen. And, that's all that is at the brink of 18, the curiosity as of what it is to happen next.
