The Bad Boy and the Good Girl

 A self-proclaimed good girl, a boxer with bad-boy charm, midnight rendezvous, and the unfortunate realization that I might be catching feelings.

Dear Diary,

Happy November!

I genuinely cannot believe we're already in the second-to-last month of 2026. I feel like I blinked, and suddenly Halloween was over, the clocks went back, and Christmas decorations started appearing everywhere.

October was quite the eventful month for yours truly. Between turning 22, experiencing my annual existential crisis, and making some rather questionable decisions, I think it's safe to say that I've been keeping myself entertained.

And apparently, November is going to be just as interesting.

You see, dear readers, I fear I may have accidentally wandered into a Wattpad trope.

And not just any Wattpad trope.

The bad boy x good girl trope.

Yes, I know. How incredibly cliché of me.

But before you roll your eyes, allow me to explain how I, a 22-year-old woman who has spent the majority of her life being relatively well-behaved, somehow ended up sneaking out of her parents' house in the middle of the night to see a boy.

Because, quite frankly, I'm still trying to figure that one out myself.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the latest addition to my rather questionable romantic history, allow me to introduce Boxer Guy, or BG for short.

He's 22, he's a boxer (shocking, I know), and he's someone I've recently started seeing.

Now, I should probably clarify something before we proceed.

BG and I are not dating. We aren't exclusive, and neither of us went into this looking for a relationship. We both agreed that we were just going to enjoy each other's company and see where things went.

Simple enough, right?

Wrong.

Because apparently, I am physically incapable of being a normal, nonchalant woman.

But we'll get to that.

First, let's discuss my sudden descent into delinquency.

For some context, I've never really had a rebellious phase. I've never been the type to sneak out, run around with boys behind my parents' backs, or do anything particularly scandalous.

Sure, I've bent a few rules here and there, but for the most part, I've always been the good girl.

The daughter who stays home. The girl who overthinks everything. The one who considers approximately 47 different worst-case scenarios before making a decision.

And yet, at the ripe age of 22, I snuck out of my house for the very first time.

To see a boy.

A BOXER, NO LESS.

I genuinely cannot make this up.

It was around midnight, my parents were asleep, and BG was coming to pick me up. I had spent the better part of the evening getting ready, only to realize that actually leaving the house was significantly more terrifying than the idea of leaving the house.

My stomach hurt. My heart was racing. I was convinced that every creaking floorboard was going to expose me.

And, because the universe apparently enjoys watching me suffer, the back gate wouldn't open.

I spent ten minutes trying to get it unstuck before admitting defeat and going through the garage.

The very loud garage.

At midnight.

You can imagine how well my nervous system handled that.

But somehow, I made it out.

And the funniest part?

Once I was actually with BG, all that anxiety seemed to disappear.

Which is particularly ironic considering that the entire reason I was anxious in the first place was because I was sneaking out to see him.

Since then, I've done it again.

Yes, you read that correctly.

TWICE.

Apparently, all it took for me to discover my rebellious streak was a man with boxing gloves and a pretty face.

My teenage self would be absolutely scandalized.

But here's where things get interesting.

You see, BG has a certain bad-boy appeal to him. He's a boxer, he's confident, he has tattoos and piercings, he's attractive, and there's something about his whole demeanor that makes him seem like the kind of guy my younger self would have read about in a questionable romance novel.

And then there's me.

The girl who loves pink, Hello Kitty, romantic comedies, and the idea of being hopelessly in love.

The girl who's never had sex, has never had a boyfriend, and still gets butterflies over the smallest displays of affection.

If this were a book, I would probably accuse the author of being painfully unoriginal.

But what I didn't expect was how different BG would be from the character I'd subconsciously assigned him.

Because, yes, there's the confidence and the physical chemistry.

But there's also a boy who says the most ridiculous things just to make me laugh.

A boy who can go from being incredibly attractive and intimidating to acting like an absolute child within the span of thirty seconds.

And, unfortunately for me, I find that incredibly endearing.

There was a moment the other night when we were outside, hiding from his parents.

It was freezing, and I was shivering, so he wrapped his arms around me to keep me warm.

Now, for those of you who don't know, I'm 4'11".

Which means that when BG hugs me, my head rests right against his chest.

And in that moment, I could hear his heartbeat.

It was racing.

He had one hand cradling my head and the other checking his phone to make sure his parents weren't about to come home and discover us.

A truly romantic setting, I know.

But despite the circumstances, I felt strangely calm.

I wasn't thinking about getting caught. I wasn't overanalyzing his behavior. I wasn't worrying about what we were or where things were going.

I was just standing there, listening to his heartbeat, enjoying the feeling of being held.

And I think that moment affected me more than I expected it to.

Because I've spent so much time wanting to experience things.

Wanting to stop feeling behind. Wanting to stop being the girl who hasn't done this or hasn't done that. Wanting to finally have the experiences that everyone else seems to have had years ago.

But somewhere along the way, I think I forgot that what I crave isn't necessarily the experience itself.

It's the affection that comes with it.

There was another moment when we were lying together, kissing, and BG started saying the stupidest, silliest things imaginable.

I started laughing so hard that I could barely get a sentence out.

At one point, I jokingly told him I hated him.

He laughed, kissed me again, and continued being an absolute menace.

And I haven't stopped thinking about it since.

Which is ridiculous.

Because out of all the things that have happened between us, why am I so fixated on the fact that he made me laugh?

Why am I replaying the sound of his heartbeat?

Why am I remembering how his hand felt resting against my head?

Oh, right.

Because I'm a lover girl.

An absolutely incurable one.

And I think that's the part of this whole situation that scares me more than sneaking out ever could.

The possibility that I might actually be developing feelings for someone I initially intended to keep things casual with.

Now, don't misunderstand me.

I'm not in love with BG. I barely know the man.

And I'm painfully aware of that.

I know that chemistry isn't compatibility. I know that sweet moments don't automatically mean romantic intentions. And I know that just because a boy holds me like I'm something precious doesn't necessarily mean he wants to be my boyfriend.

But knowing all of that doesn't magically make me immune to catching feelings.

Especially when physical affection is something I've always valued so deeply.

I think that's what makes the whole bad boy x good girl dynamic so interesting to me.

On the surface, it's about opposites attracting. The rebellious boy introducing the sheltered girl to a world she's never experienced before.

But in real life, I don't think it's quite that simple.

Because BG isn't some fictional bad boy whose entire personality revolves around breaking rules, and I'm not some innocent little angel who needs to be corrupted.

We're just two people who happen to have different experiences, different personalities, and a mutual attraction.

And yet, I can't deny that being around him has brought out a side of myself I didn't know existed.

I'm becoming more spontaneous. More daring. More willing to do things simply because I want to do them, rather than because they're what I'm supposed to do.

At the same time, I'm discovering that my softer, more sentimental side isn't going anywhere.

If anything, it's becoming harder to ignore.

I can sneak out at 1 a.m., kiss a boxer in his bedroom, and act like I'm living out some scandalous coming-of-age movie.

But apparently, all it takes is one long hug to turn me back into the girl who just wants to be loved.

How very on-brand of me.

And perhaps the most confusing part is that I don't even know what I want this situation to become.

Do I want BG to be my boyfriend?

I don't know.

Do I want to keep seeing him?

Absolutely.

Do I want to get to know him beyond the late-night rendezvous and stolen kisses?

Yes. Very much so.

Because as much as I enjoy the thrill of sneaking around, I don't want that to be the entirety of our connection.

I want actual dates. Conversations. The opportunity to find out whether I like him, or whether I'm simply infatuated with the way he makes me feel.

And considering that I've been thinking about the possibility of him being my first, I think that's an important distinction to make.

I've told him that I want to know him better before anything happens. That I want to feel comfortable, and that I want to know he'll be there for me afterward.

He seems receptive to that, which I appreciate.

But ultimately, I know that actions will tell me far more than promises ever could.

So, for now, I'm not making any grand declarations or planning our hypothetical wedding.

(Although, knowing me, I should probably refrain from opening Pinterest.)

I'm simply allowing myself to enjoy this strange little chapter of my life while trying not to lose my head in the process.

Because maybe that's what my rebellious era is actually about.

Not becoming a completely different person, but discovering parts of myself that I've never had the opportunity to explore.

The girl who follows the rules can also be the girl who occasionally breaks them.

The girl who wants romance can also want adventure.

And the girl who's spent years being afraid of falling behind can finally start living without treating every new experience like another milestone she needs to check off.

Although, if we're being completely truthful, I still find it absolutely hilarious that my first real act of rebellion involved sneaking out to see a boxer.

I mean, seriously.

A BAD BOY AND A GOOD GIRL?

At my big age?

Someone confiscate my Wattpad account.

xoxo, Keke♡

last virgin standing.

on turning 22, invisible finish lines, and feeling like everyone else got the memo.

dear diary,

well, it's official.

i am the last virgin standing.

and no, i'm not being dramatic. okay, maybe a little. but seriously. my best friend, hannah, recently lost her virginity, which means that i am now officially the last virgin in our friend group.

the last one. the final survivor. the sole remaining member of a club that nobody even knew we were in.

and before anyone gets the wrong idea, i am genuinely so happy for her. obviously, when she told me, my first concern was making sure she was okay, that she felt comfortable, and that everything went well. because that's my best friend, and her happiness and well-being will always come before anything else.

but after the initial excitement wore off, i was left with this weird feeling.

not jealousy, exactly. because i'm not jealous of her. i'm not upset that she had this experience before me. i'm happy that she did.

i think i'm just sad that i haven't.

and i hate admitting that.

i turned 22 last week. twenty-freaking-two. and for some reason, being a virgin at 22 feels so much different than being a virgin at 21. which makes absolutely no sense, considering that i was literally 21 a few days ago. it's not like some magical switch flipped at midnight on my birthday.

but suddenly, i feel like i'm running out of time.

time for what? i couldn't tell you.

it's not like there's a deadline. it's not like the virginity police are going to knock on my door on december 31st and arrest me for failing to complete some imaginary rite of passage.

and yet, there's this tiny voice in the back of my head telling me that i need to lose my virginity before the year is over.

why?

literally, WHY?

i've spent years telling myself that i wanted to wait until i had a boyfriend. not necessarily until marriage, not necessarily until i found the love of my life, but until i was with someone who genuinely cared about me. someone who made me feel safe, wanted, and comfortable. someone i could trust with something that, to me, felt pretty intimate.

and i never really questioned that decision.

until now.

because here's the thing: none of my friends waited for a boyfriend. and they're fine. they had their experiences, made their decisions, and moved on with their lives. losing their virginity wasn't this monumental, life-altering event that permanently changed who they were.

so why have i been treating mine like it has to be?

why does my first time have to mean something?

and, more importantly, does it actually have to mean something to me, or have i just spent so long telling myself that it should?

now, here's where things get a little more interesting.

i recently started seeing someone new. for the sake of this blog, we're going to call him Boxer Guy, or BG for short.

because, well, he's a boxer. very creative, i know.

anyways, BG and i have chemistry. like, actual chemistry. the kind where you genuinely enjoy talking to someone, flirting comes naturally, and kissing them doesn't feel like an awkward performance.

and yes, he knows i'm a virgin.

he didn't make it weird, which i appreciated. in fact, at one point, he offered to be my first.

and i told him i'd think about it.

except, here's the funny part.

i wasn't actually thinking about it.

at least, not seriously.

i liked him, i was attracted to him, and i definitely wanted to see him again. but losing my virginity to him wasn't something i was actively planning. i was perfectly content with letting things happen naturally, whatever that meant.

and then hannah told me her news.

and suddenly, BG's offer started sounding a lot more tempting.

which is exactly what concerns me.

because did i suddenly become more comfortable with the idea of having sex with him? or did i just become more uncomfortable with the idea of being a virgin?

those are two very different things.

and i think that's the question i need to answer before i do anything.

i don't want to have sex just so i can say i've had sex. i don't want my first time to be motivated by some imaginary competition that nobody else even knows we're participating in.

but i'd also be lying if i said that part of me doesn't want to get it over with.

and even typing that feels strange.

get it over with.

as if it's some tedious assignment i've been procrastinating on. as if my virginity is a problem that needs to be solved. as if there's something inherently embarrassing about being 22 and inexperienced.

i know, logically, that there isn't.

i know that being a virgin doesn't make me childish, immature, undesirable, or less of an adult. i know that sex isn't some magical gateway into womanhood. i know that nobody becomes a completely different person just because they've slept with someone.

but knowing something logically and actually believing it emotionally are two entirely different things.

and emotionally?

i feel behind.

it's such a stupid way to describe it, because behind what?

behind my friends? behind society? behind some invisible timeline that says i'm supposed to have experienced certain things by a certain age?

i'm not even sure.

i just know that sometimes it feels like everybody around me has been living this whole other life that i haven't gotten to experience yet.

and i'm still standing at the starting line.

the irony is that i've never really been someone who was desperate to lose her virginity. i've had opportunities. i've met guys who would've been more than willing. it's not like i've been sitting around waiting for someone to finally find me attractive.

i've just always wanted it to feel right.

but now i'm questioning what right even means.

does it mean being in love? being in a relationship? trusting someone? being physically attracted to them? feeling comfortable enough to be vulnerable?

could it just mean wanting to?

and if that's enough for other people, why wouldn't it be enough for me?

i think part of growing up is realizing that the rules you made for yourself at sixteen don't necessarily have to apply at twenty-two.

but i also think there's a difference between genuinely changing your mind and abandoning your own boundaries because you feel pressured.

and right now, i'm having a hard time figuring out which one i'm doing.

because if hannah hadn't told me she'd lost her virginity, would i still be seriously considering BG's offer?

probably not.

and that tells me something.

maybe this isn't really about sex at all.

maybe it's about turning 22 and feeling like i'm supposed to be further along in life than i actually am. maybe it's about watching my friends collect experiences and milestones while i'm still trying to figure out where i fit into everything.

maybe it's about wanting to feel grown up.

which is funny, considering how much of my life lately has been spent feeling like a teenager trapped in an adult's body.

and perhaps being the last virgin in the friend group is just another reminder of that feeling.

another thing that makes me wonder why everyone else seems to be moving forward while i'm still standing in the same place.

but i don't want my first time to be something i do out of insecurity.

i don't want to look back on it and realize that the deciding factor wasn't the person, the chemistry, or even my own desire.

it was the fear of being last.

and maybe i don't need a boyfriend. maybe i don't need some grand romantic declaration or a candlelit bedroom straight out of a romance novel. maybe my first time doesn't need to be this perfectly scripted, life-changing experience.

but i do think i deserve to make that decision because i want to, not because i feel like i have to catch up.

there's a difference between being ready for sex and being tired of being a virgin.

and i think i'm only just starting to understand that.

so, will i lose my virginity before the end of 2026?

honestly, who knows.

maybe i will. maybe i won't. maybe it'll be with BG. maybe it'll be with someone i haven't even met yet. maybe i'll end up waiting for a boyfriend after all.

but i hope that whenever it happens, it's because i genuinely want that experience with that person.

not because another year is ending.

not because all my friends have already done it.

and definitely not because i feel like i'm losing some invisible race.

because maybe being the last virgin standing isn't actually a bad thing.

maybe it just means that my story is moving at a different pace.

and even though the impatient, insecure, newly twenty-two-year-old part of me absolutely hates that answer...

i think i need to learn to be okay with it.

after all, there's no trophy for finishing first.

and there shouldn't be any shame in finishing last.

xoxo,

keke ♡

twenty-two going on sixteen.

some thoughts on birthday blues, growing older without feeling older, missing the magic of childhood, and being twenty-two while still feeling sixteen.

dear diary,

first things first, i want to say thank you to everyone who wished me a happy birthday yesterday. whether you sent me a text, called me, posted me, or celebrated with me, i appreciate you more than you know. i received so much love from so many people, and i don't want what i'm about to write to take away from that. i'm so grateful for the people who took time out of their day to make me feel special.

with that being said, i have a little confession to make.

i cried today.

the day after my birthday.

and i'm honestly a little embarrassed to admit that.

yesterday, i turned twenty-two. twenty-two on the twenty-second, to be exact. my golden birthday. something i've known was coming since i was a little girl, and something i always imagined would feel so much more special than it actually did.

don't get me wrong, i had fun yesterday. i got dressed up, did my makeup, went out with my friends, took pictures, and celebrated another trip around the sun. from the outside looking in, i probably looked like a girl having the time of her life on her twenty-second birthday.

and for parts of the night, i really was.

but there was this underlying sadness that i couldn't quite shake. and now that all the excitement has died down, i think i'm finally allowing myself to feel it.

i don't know when birthdays lost their magic for me.

i've been thinking about that a lot lately.

when i was younger, there was this very specific feeling that came with birthdays. i don't even know how to describe it. it was like waking up on christmas morning, except the entire day was dedicated to you. everything felt brighter, prettier, and more exciting. even the air felt different.

i used to go to bed the night before my birthday practically vibrating with excitement. i'd wake up the next morning and immediately feel it. that little flutter in my stomach that told me today was special.

i miss that feeling.

and every year, i find myself searching for it.

i think that's the saddest part. i still get excited for my birthday. i still plan my outfits, think about my makeup, imagine the pictures i'm going to take, and count down the days. but when the actual day arrives, something always feels a little...off.

it's like i'm trying to recreate a feeling that only exists in my childhood memories.

and this year, i think that realization hit me harder than usual.

because not only did my birthday feel different, but my entire life feels different.

or maybe, in some ways, it feels exactly the same.

which brings me to something i've been thinking about since yesterday.

i'm twenty-two years old, but i still feel sixteen.

and i don't mean that in the cute, youthful, forever-young kind of way.

i mean that sometimes i genuinely feel like i'm a teenager trapped in a twenty-two-year-old's body.

remember that disney channel movie Sixteen Wishes with Debby Ryan?

there's a scene where her character wishes to be treated like an adult. and technically, her wish comes true. except, instead of simply being given the freedom and respect she wanted, she ends up becoming twenty-two years old. suddenly, she's expected to have an adult life, adult responsibilities, and everything that comes with being twenty-two.

but mentally? she's still sixteen.

she's still the exact same teenage girl she was before making that wish.

and i don't think i've ever related to a disney channel movie more than i do right now.

because that's exactly how i feel.

i'm twenty-two. i'm supposed to be figuring out my career, finishing school, becoming financially independent, making decisions about my future, and somehow knowing what i'm doing with my life.

but deep down, i still feel like that sixteen-year-old girl who was just trying to figure herself out.

except now, the stakes are higher.

at sixteen, i could make mistakes and remind myself that i was still a kid. at twenty-two, every mistake feels like it comes with consequences that could change the trajectory of my entire life.

and the funny thing is, despite being six years older, i don't necessarily feel like i have six more years of freedom or life experience.

sometimes, i actually feel like i have less.

at sixteen, i had to ask for permission to go out. i had to explain where i was going, who i was going with, and what time i'd be home. my life revolved around school, studying, and trying to meet my parents' expectations.

and now?

well, let's just say that things haven't changed nearly as much as i thought they would.

i'm still living under restrictions. i'm still having to justify wanting to spend time with my friends. i'm still feeling guilty for wanting to go out and enjoy myself. i'm still constantly trying to prove that i'm responsible enough to be trusted.

the only difference is that now i'm twenty-two, and the expectations placed on me are significantly higher.

somehow, i've inherited all the responsibilities of adulthood without feeling like i've been given the freedom that supposedly comes with it.

and it's exhausting.

i think that's part of why my birthday meant so much to me this year.

i wanted one day.

one day where i could just be a girl in her twenties. where i could dress up, go out, laugh with my friends, and not feel like i was doing something wrong by enjoying my life.

one day where i didn't have to think about grades, school, my future, family drama, or whether someone was going to be disappointed in me.

just one day that was mine.

but even that felt complicated.

for the past few years, my birthday has followed a pretty consistent routine. my dad would put balloons in my room in the morning, and later that day, we'd have dinner as a family. my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, and me.

nothing particularly extravagant. just a tradition that i'd grown to love.

but this year, things were different.

my family dynamic has changed so much over the past few months that the idea of sitting down for our usual birthday dinner felt almost impossible.

there are relationships in my family that have become strained, conversations that have become awkward, and tensions that nobody seems to know how to resolve.

and then there's me.

somehow, i'm on relatively okay terms with everyone, but that doesn't mean i'm unaffected by everything happening around me.

i think people forget that sometimes.

just because i'm not directly involved in every argument doesn't mean i don't feel the aftermath.

anyway, i knew our usual family dinner wasn't going to happen. or at least, not in the way i would've wanted it to.

so i made plans with my friends instead.

and i'm so glad i did.

but i would be lying if i said i wasn't disappointed by how things went with my family.

my dad still put balloons in my room and left me a card, which i appreciated. i really did.

but beyond that, there wasn't much.

no cake. no cupcake. no presents. nothing particularly special.

and i know how that sounds.

i know presents aren't the most important thing in the world. i know i'm twenty-two and shouldn't necessarily be expecting the same birthday treatment i received when i was a child.

but i don't think that's what bothers me.

it's the principle.

i don't need someone to spend hundreds of dollars on me. i don't need extravagant gifts or some grand surprise.

i just want to feel like someone thought about me.

like someone went out of their way to make the day special because they knew it mattered to me.

even something as simple as a cupcake would've meant something.

and maybe that's childish of me. maybe twenty-two is too old to be upset about not having a birthday cake.

but i'm upset anyway.

i think what hurt the most was realizing that the day wasn't going to be made special for me unless i made it special myself.

and i guess that's another part of growing up that nobody really warns you about.

eventually, you become responsible for creating your own magic.

but sometimes, i don't want to be responsible for everything.

sometimes, i want someone else to take care of the little things.

sometimes, i want to feel like somebody's little girl again.

and maybe that's what i was really crying about today.

not the lack of presents. not the absence of a cake. not even the fact that my birthday didn't go exactly how i imagined.

i think i was crying because i miss how things used to be.

i miss my family before everything became so complicated.

i miss the excitement of being younger.

i miss being able to make mistakes without feeling like the entire world was falling apart.

i miss having things to look forward to without immediately worrying about what could go wrong.

and most of all, i miss feeling like i was growing up toward something, rather than constantly trying to catch up to where everyone thinks i should already be.

it's such a strange feeling.

because when i was sixteen, all i wanted was to be older.

i wanted to be twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. i wanted the freedom to go wherever i wanted, see whoever i wanted, date whoever i wanted, and live my life without constantly asking for permission.

i thought adulthood would mean independence.

i thought i'd finally get to be the person i spent my teenage years dreaming about becoming.

and yet, here i am.

twenty-two years old, still feeling sixteen.

still waiting for that freedom.

still trying to prove myself.

still feeling like i have to earn the right to live my own life.

except now, there's this added pressure of knowing that i'm not getting any younger.

and i hate that.

i hate feeling like my twenties are slipping through my fingers while i'm busy trying to make up for mistakes i made in the past.

i hate seeing other people my age experience things that feel so normal to them but so out of reach for me.

and i hate that sometimes, something as simple as wanting to go out with my friends can make me feel like i'm doing something wrong.

yesterday was supposed to be a celebration of growing older, but i think it made me realize how much of myself still feels stuck in the past.

and honestly, that's a pretty heartbreaking realization to have on your birthday.

another thing that upset me was a comment someone close to me made about how it didn't seem like i was taking this semester seriously.

i know it might sound insignificant, but it really got to me.

because i've been trying so hard.

i know i haven't made the best decisions academically. trust me, nobody is more aware of my mistakes than i am. i've spent months dealing with the consequences of them.

but i've also spent months trying to do better.

i've sacrificed so much of my social life. i've spent countless hours studying. i've been trying to rebuild my future while also dealing with everything happening at home.

and somehow, wanting to enjoy my birthday makes it seem like i'm not taking my responsibilities seriously?

i don't understand why those two things can't coexist.

why can't i care about my future and still want to enjoy being twenty-two?

why does making a mistake mean that every aspect of my life has to become a punishment?

i think that's what frustrates me the most.

i'm old enough to be held accountable for my decisions, but sometimes i don't feel old enough to be trusted to make them.

and it brings me right back to that movie.

i feel like i made the exact same wish Debby Ryan's character did.

i wanted to be an adult.

and now i am one.

just not in the way i imagined.

i got the responsibilities, the expectations, the pressure, and the consequences.

but the independence? the freedom? the feeling of actually being a grown-up?

i'm still waiting on those.

and i know that makes me sound a little dramatic, but this is my diary, so i'm allowed to be dramatic.

i guess i'm just having a hard time accepting that growing older doesn't necessarily mean feeling older.

sometimes, it just means being the same person with more things to worry about.

and maybe that's why birthdays don't feel magical anymore.

because when you're a kid, birthdays are about everything you're gaining. another candle on the cake, another year closer to being a teenager, another year closer to adulthood, another year closer to freedom.

but when you're an adult, birthdays can become reminders of everything you thought you'd have figured out by now.

and i think i put a lot of pressure on twenty-two.

i wanted my golden birthday to feel like the beginning of something new. a fresh chapter. a different version of myself.

i wanted to wake up and feel twenty-two.

instead, i woke up feeling like the exact same girl i was the day before.

and the day before that.

and, in a lot of ways, the same girl i was six years ago.

but maybe that's not necessarily a bad thing.

maybe that sixteen-year-old version of me isn't someone i need to leave behind.

maybe she's still here because there are parts of her that never got to experience the things she was so excited about.

maybe she's still waiting for the freedom she dreamed about.

maybe she's still hoping that one day, birthdays will feel magical again.

and maybe i owe it to her to make sure that happens.

i don't want to spend the rest of my twenties feeling like i'm waiting for my life to begin.

i don't want to look back at twenty-two when i'm thirty and realize that i spent the entire year wishing i were somewhere else.

i want to make memories. i want to experience things. i want to make mistakes and learn from them without feeling like they define who i am forever.

i want to fall in love, go on spontaneous adventures, stay out late with my friends, travel, and do all the things that younger me imagined adulthood would look like.

and yes, i want to finish school, build a career, and become someone i'm proud of too.

i don't think those dreams have to compete with each other.

i want a future that i'm excited about, but i also want a present that i'm actually living in.

so, i guess that's my birthday wish this year.

not for presents, not for a relationship, not even for everything in my life to magically fall into place.

i just want to feel like i'm twenty-two.

i want to experience the freedom, excitement, and possibility that i spent so many years associating with this age.

and i want to find that birthday magic again.

because deep down, i'm still that little girl who got excited about balloons and birthday cake. i'm still that sixteen-year-old who couldn't wait to grow up.

and now that i'm finally the age she dreamed of being, i don't want to disappoint her.

so here's to twenty-two.

to the birthday that was simultaneously lovely and a little heartbreaking. to the people who made me feel loved. to the traditions i miss, the things i can't change, and the life i'm still trying to create for myself.

and to sixteen-year-old me:

i'm sorry adulthood hasn't turned out quite the way we imagined.

i'm sorry we don't have everything figured out yet.

and i'm sorry that sometimes, it still feels like we're living the same life we were desperately trying to grow out of.

but i promise, i'm trying.

maybe we didn't get the freedom we thought we'd have by twenty-two.

maybe we still have some growing up to do.

but i hope that one day, we get to experience everything we used to dream about.

and when that day comes, i hope it feels just as magical as we imagined.

until then, happy belated birthday to me.

twenty-two going on sixteen.

xoxo, Keke♡

me @ my bday dinner!