I will be 31 years old in a few months. This does not depress me at all. I am not one of those women who thinks age is a hindrance or a representative of what I should have been or could be doing. I am not one of those women who thinks XYZ should be happening or already happened. Rather, I am still in awe in how I am ever-changing; I do not settle. I know that I can be better than myself.
Over the years, many have misjudged me; they have assumed they know me or that they know who I am. Reading this blog, one could assume I am a depressed, lost soul. One could assume I am a lovesick puppy who pines over lost love. One could assume that I live in a fantasy world because I prefer it to reality. One could assume I’m a recluse. Solitary. Abandoned.