21

Written by Vanshita Sharma, BA (hons.) Sociology, third year

Edited by Vasvi Singhal

I'm standing at the edge of 21,  

staring into the unknown, and it terrifies me.  

I have no map, no blueprint, no grand design , 

just a heart that beats too fast when I think of the future.  

They say I should have a plan, a five-year vision,  

but I'm barely holding on, barely scraping through.  

The weight of responsibility presses against my ribs,  

whispering that I should be more, do more, know more.  

21 means independence,  

but I still feel like a child lost in a crowd,  

forced to build a life before I even understand who I am.  

I need to earn, to settle, to become

but what if I’m not ready? What if I never will be?  

23 days.  

That’s all that stands between me and the unknown.  

I’m clutching onto 20 with trembling hands, because no one

warned me how quickly it would slip away.  

20 was laughter, recklessness, a fleeting kind of freedom.  

But 21?  

21 demands answers I don’t have,  

expects a version of me I haven't yet met.  

21, please be kind.  

I’m not ready for you.  

But I hope you’ll be good to me anyway.

ￚV