16 was a pretty magical fucking year.
I rose and fell. I was trapped and released.
I died and I dyed and resurrected several more times. I cocooned and metamorphosed.
I kissed and I cried, I mourned and I made.
I drove!
I said,
‘I love you!’
‘Which ones’ the brake and which one’s the accelerator?’
‘I really like you.’
and,
‘I got into uni!’
I made unprecedented progress on my ten-year plan and then tore it up and made many new ones because I am in love with the fluidity of life.
I met my spirit guides and hugged them. I sat in the passenger seat of my clueless friends and clung for dear life whilst they mounted curbs and flew over speed limits. I failed a test for the first time in my life. I realised the power of butterfly clips and scrunchies, and the crucial nature of decorating ones’ temple according to ones deepest desire. Ie. wear makeup and scandalous tops, no matter what the ugly boys or disappoving parents have to say about the matter.
For the first time in my life, I was overjoyed to come second.
I said,
‘Ayisha! I forgot what we were fighting about for the last 7 months. I miss you!’
‘I want to try Stiletto-shaped nails.’
and,
‘I do not know you
Anymore.’
Each day seemed like a mundane moment, a mere collection of the ordinary.
When I look back, however, I realise that each and every second of this year was incredibly extraordinary.
I have learnt that family and relatives are two very different things, brushes absorb a lot less foundation than beauty blenders, manifestation is really real and really easy, I should be the only one waxing my brows and that my hunch about all boys my age being feral and foul was right all along!
I said,
‘I’m Tik Tok famous!’
‘I cannot wait to escape the fishbowl of childhood.’
‘I hate being alive.’
‘Yes, I did peg ice at his head.’
and,
‘I love being alive.’
I sit across from my father, today, and it’s been a long time since I’ve last seen him. I ask how it was to hold me for the first time. He gushes about how I used to be the same length as his elbow to wrist and I had intimidatingly chubby cheeks (that are still there lol). But then he says,
‘When the nurse handed you to me, she prophesied, “She will be an exceptional leader. The world will not be the same.”’
So I sit here, at 7:39pm on Monday 4th January 2021. The sky is post thunder so the air is extra crisp, Bailey and Bambi sit to my right preening, there is a pile of clothes at the foot of my bed eager to be folded. My room is encircled by vine leaves held up by failing blutack, seasoned with sage and incense sticks that accidentally tranquilised Punya and plastered with vision boards decorated with Cher, Gough Whitlam and Sadhguru. I look at my paintings, they are my very first children. I remember each and every stroke, mixing of colour and oooh’s and aaah’s received when I show them off. I type these words by my window on my bed, my belly is full, my heart is fuller, I can sense all that is about to come and I realise that I am so utterly
Content.
16 was a magical fucking year.
I grew and expanded. I picked myself up after the blows and thuds of the human experience and gave myself the tightest of hugs.
I made friends that I will know for many lifetimes to come and reunited with soulmates from the lifetimes before.
I sang until my lungs ached and core shook with Punya whilst she drove, to the City Girls, One Direction, Burna Boy and Little Mix, under serenely starry skies or sacred, perfect sunsets.
I danced in perfume, and rain and sorrow. I endured the thuds and blows of failure, really weird drama and harsh heartbreak.
I saw beauty in the most unexpected of places and learned from the most mundane of experiences.
I argued, bore braced teeth, quite literally barked to diffuse conflict. I thanked, understood, held hands, and gifted.
I drove!
I realise now, as the reign of the Dancing Queen begins, that I truly loved each and every moment of being 16.
It truly was, as promised, so decadently sweet.
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