To The Roomie

Most of her things were stuffed into boxes and sat in the living room, waiting to be piled into the back of her mum's mini-van. I sat on the arm of the couch, half watching the television and half offering to help every now and then, but there was nothing for me to do. When everything was packed away and her mum and grandma stood at the door, I stood and watched as she hugged the rest of the girls in the house. She came to me and we hugged tightly. "Tanya," I said, "This is weird. I don't like this." I didn't want to acknowledge the fact that she was really moving out for four months. I wanted to ask her to stay - again. I pouted a little.

She pouted back. "I know. I'll miss you."

"I going to miss you so much." Squeeze.

And with that, I handed her an envelope (inside was a poorly written letter trying to express how great the last eight months have been, living with her has taught me so much) and then she was gone. Well, unless you count when she burst through the door half a minute later and rushed up the stairs yelling down that she should pee before the ride home.

Today, she turns 20. And we're at least two hours away from each other. Pout.

Welcome to your Twenties, Tanya. Though my experience with the decade has only lasted for a year, I can almost guarantee that you're in for quite the ride. Remember that the number means little to nothing, and that the best part lies in maintaining that inner child and growing up at the same time. It might be rough, but it'll be fun. Here's to hoping to that every up and down will be worth it in the end. Happy Birthday Dear.
6:11 pm