A piece by guest writer Priscilla Yung
My dear childhood:
You must have noticed that we’ve grown farther apart during these last couple of years. You might have also noticed that I will be leaving you soon. I am seventeen going on eighteen. If I were magical, I would already be of age in the wizardry world. But here I am, in the real world, seventeen and a few short months away from being of legal drinking/smoking/anything-else age.
I want to bike to Baskin Robins for a mint-chocolate waffle cone, colour in the kid’s menu at Swiss Chalet, and down a million Happy Meals without worrying about a single calorie. I want to watch reruns of Phineas and Ferb, read only the comics in the paper, and win a game of Monopoly without calculating mortgages or even knowing what the heck they are.
I just want to lie in the middle of nowhere and wonder.
