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!

Dear Diary, I'm 22. ♡

22 on the 22nd. My golden birthday, my not-so-golden year, and everything in between.

Dear Diary,

Twenty-two. On the twenty-second.

I've been waiting for this birthday for what feels like FOREVER. My golden birthday. The one birthday where the age I'm turning matches the date I was born. It's giving main character. It's giving once-in-a-lifetime. It's giving Taylor Swift, except I actually have a reason to make 22 my entire personality.

And yet, if you had asked me a year ago what I thought my life would look like today, I don't think I would've gotten a single thing right.

Not. One. Thing.

At 21, I thought I'd have a lot more figured out by now. I thought I'd be further along in school, more independent, maybe even in a relationship. I thought certain people would still be in my life, certain relationships would look the same, and certain things would have worked themselves out.

Spoiler alert: they did not.

But I guess that's the funny thing about growing up. You spend your teenage years imagining your twenties as this magical era where everything finally falls into place, only to actually get here and realize that nobody has a clue what they're doing.

Including me. Especially me.

Twenty-one was...a lot.

I genuinely don't know how else to describe this past year.

There were moments where I felt like I was finally becoming the person I'd always wanted to be. I went out, made memories, met new people, traveled, kissed boys (some of whom probably should've stayed unkissed), and experienced things that younger me would've absolutely lost her mind over.

But there were also moments where everything felt like it was falling apart.

I watched plans I'd spent years making unravel in front of me. I questioned my future, my relationships, my decisions, and sometimes even myself.

I experienced the weird feeling of growing up while simultaneously feeling like I was being pushed backward.

And, perhaps most unexpectedly, I learned that the people and places that once made you feel the safest can sometimes become the most complicated parts of your life.

For someone who loves nostalgia as much as I do, accepting that things are changing has been...difficult, to say the least.

I've always been the kind of girl who wants to freeze the good moments. I want everything to stay exactly as it was when everyone was happy, when relationships were uncomplicated, and when I knew what to expect.

But life doesn't really care about what I want, does it?

Rude.

The birthday I imagined vs. the birthday I'm having

For as long as I can remember, my birthdays have followed a pretty predictable routine.

I'd wake up to balloons from my dad, go about my day, and eventually end up at dinner with my family.

It wasn't anything extravagant, but it was ours.

And for years, I genuinely loved it.

This year looks different.

There have been so many changes in my family lately, and some of them are still things I'm trying to process. Relationships have shifted. People have grown apart. Things that used to feel so natural suddenly feel complicated.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, there's me.

The girl who's somehow on okay terms with everybody, even when everybody isn't necessarily on okay terms with each other.

For a while, I wanted to convince myself that we could still have our usual birthday dinner. That maybe, for one night, we could pretend everything was normal again.

But I eventually realized something.

I don't want to spend my birthday wishing things were the way they used to be.

I want to enjoy the way things are now, even if they're different.

So this year, I'm celebrating with my friends. The people who've laughed with me, listened to my endless rants, entertained my delusions, and somehow still willingly answer my phone calls.

And honestly? I'm excited.

It's not the birthday I would've pictured a year ago, but maybe that's okay.

Maybe different doesn't always have to mean worse.

Things I wish I could tell 21-year-old me

First of all, GIRL.

We need to talk.

I would tell her to stop trying to plan every single detail of her future because, spoiler alert, life is going to laugh in her face.

I would tell her that not every person who enters her life is supposed to stay, and that sometimes the lack of closure is the closure.

I'd tell her that attention and affection are not the same thing. That just because someone makes her feel wanted doesn't necessarily mean they're capable of making her feel loved.

I'd remind her that she doesn't need to act unbothered all the time. That being sensitive isn't embarrassing, and that pretending not to care doesn't magically make her feelings disappear.

I'd tell her that making mistakes doesn't mean she's ruined her future.

That one bad semester, one failed plan, or one disappointing relationship doesn't get to define her entire life.

And most importantly?

I'd tell her to stop measuring her life against the imaginary timeline she made when she was sixteen.

Because sixteen-year-old me had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

She thought she'd have her entire life figured out by twenty-two.

That's actually hilarious.

So, what do I want from 22?

For once in my life, I don't have some elaborate five-year plan.

Okay, that's a lie. I probably have at least three floating around in my head right now.

But I'm trying to be a little less obsessed with where I'm supposed to end up and a little more appreciative of where I actually am.

I want independence. Real independence. The kind where I get to make decisions for myself without constantly worrying about how they'll be received.

I want to fall in love, obviously. I'm still a hopeless romantic, and I fear that's a terminal condition.

But I also want to stop confusing the excitement of being pursued with the comfort of being genuinely cared for.

I want to make more memories. Take more pictures. Go on spontaneous adventures. Laugh until my stomach hurts. Wear the cute outfit instead of saving it for some hypothetical special occasion.

I want to continue writing, even when the things I'm writing about aren't particularly flattering.

I want to become someone younger me would look up to, but I also want to become someone present-day me actually likes being.

And maybe, just maybe, I want a little peace.

Not the kind where nothing ever goes wrong, because let's be serious, this is my life we're talking about.

But the kind where I can trust myself to handle whatever happens next.

A little birthday wish ♡

I think the strangest part about turning twenty-two is realizing that I'm simultaneously so young and so much older than I used to be.

There are versions of me that no longer exist. The little girl who couldn't wait to grow up. The teenager who thought she knew everything about love. The twenty-one-year-old who was so convinced she knew exactly where her life was headed.

I miss those girls sometimes.

But I also think they'd be proud of me in ways I don't always recognize.

Because even after everything, I'm still here.

Still dreaming. Still romanticizing the smallest things. Still getting excited over birthdays, pretty outfits, late-night conversations, and the possibility that something wonderful could happen tomorrow.

Maybe that's what I love most about myself.

No matter how many times life disappoints me, some part of me always believes there's something good waiting around the corner.

And I really hope I never lose that.

So here's to twenty-two.

To new beginnings, unexpected plot twists, better decisions (hopefully), questionable decisions (realistically), more love, more laughter, and becoming the kind of woman I've always wanted to be.

I don't know exactly what this next chapter has in store for me.

But for the first time in a while, I'm trying to be okay with that.

Happy golden birthday to me. ♡

With love,
Keke 💋

P.S. If 22 could be a little less emotionally exhausting than 21, that would be FABULOUS. Thanks in advance.