You’re 12 years old. It’s your birthday. Write for ten minutes on that memory. GO.
No more kiddie parties for me. No balloons. No birthday candles.
I’m twelve. Just two months away from entering high school and only a year shy from being a teenager!
I call up my friends and we have pizza and pasta at the newest restaurant in town. We all feel so grown-up browsing the menu and placing our orders. We reminisce about our “childhood” (a.k.a. the years we spent in elementary school) and giggle over the silliest things.
I check my watch. It’s five o’clock. “Oops, it’s getting late. Time to go,” I say.
In my most grown-up voice, I call the waitress and ask for the bill. I then reach for my wallet and pull out the crisp one thousand peso bill my parents handed me this morning.