age

  As of yesterday, I'm fourteen. Catorce, my favorite number in Spanish. And yet I don't feel any different....
  It makes me think about the Sandra Cisneros story where she says that when you're eight you're really one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, and eight at the same time, so when you cry like a baby, that's the three-year-old in you, but you're still eight.
  Except that's not how I feel. Sometimes, before my birthday even happened, I would almost tell people that I was fourteen. Because I feel fourteen, but I felt the same way six weeks ago.
  I really don't get age. When I turned thirteen, someone asked me if I was a sophomore. When I tried to get into the ICU this past summer, they assumed that since I was with a younger sister who could also come in, I was at least fifteen. I get confused all the time for a ninth grader or even a high schooler, and no one ever believed I was thirteen.
  Right now, I feel fourteen, but in a few months when I feel fifteen, and people start thinking I can't be younger than a junior? Age just doesn't make sense to me anymore. It just doesn't fit me. If someone asks me how old I am, I'll say I'm fourteen, but it doesn't really mean that I'm really close to that age in my mind.
  I don't really understand anything anymore. It just doesn't make sense.