The rumours are all true, I turned 21 years old today. Happy Birthday to me.

Even as a baby I was plotting things. If I could have blogged straight after birth, I’m sure it would have sounded like this…
“Yes, first I will get out of these diapers, a good world dominator can not wear diapers, they must poop unassisted! Then I must do something about this lack of walking. Hmm. Then a secret lair must be obtained. So much to do, I’m sort of sleepy now. Baby yawn. Will plot more tomorrow.”
Today wasn’t what I had expected my 21st birthday would be like. There was no celebration, joy, jubilation, nor any birthday fun. The reason why all those wonderful birthday feeling were absent is because my grandfather passed away on Monday and I spent today – my 21st birthday – making funeral arrangements with my family. People keep asking me “how does it feel to be 21?” and all I can say is “shitty”. I have such a mix of emotions going on right now, I don’t know what to think; am I meant to be sad about my grandfather passing away or happy about my birthday? I’ve been in shock and it didn’t really hit me that he was gone until I opened my birthday card – which my grandmother wrote weeks ago – and read the last line…

I think even if she had of wrote it later and left him off the card it would have still hurt the same, if not more.
