I used to think my twenties would look like a perfectly curated Pinterest board; clean, organised, polished and effortlessly cool. Honestly? It's more like a camera roll full of blurry screenshots, deep 2AM chats, outfit photos I never posted and notes app rants I will probably turn into something... someday...

Some days I'm reflective like I could write a book called "What I learned after deleting everyone's number." Other days I'm petty with screenshots and dramatic punctuation. Most days I'm both...

I've learned that being pretty does not always mean being put together, that healing is most definitely not linear and that sometimes you backslide into old habits just to remember why you had to outgrow them.

I have worn the wrong shoes to the right places. I’ve made pros and cons lists about people I already knew the answer to. Because honestly, if you reach the point where you have to make a list, isn’t that already a pretty big sign? I have fallen in love with potential and learned to love the present version of myself even more.

My twenties so far? A bit chaotic, a bit poetic and very much still under construction, but they're mine; pretty, petty and profound.

I spent the first year trying to be this cool upgraded version of myself. Cool like the girl who orders oat milk flat whites and never checks her phone twice after texting a man. Big spoiler: I AM NOT THAT GIRL.

I am the girl who re-listens to her voice notes to make sure they don't sound too eager, too boring, too me, and it took me a long time to love that.

I’ve gone through many phases, and somehow my hair has always been the biggest indicator of each one. Because apparently, my response to every life crisis is to book a hair appointment.

Pink hair that screamed, “Don’t talk to me unless you have a vinyl collection,” red hair that screamed, “Main character with questionable taste in men,” and yes, the one and only; the bangs era (THE WORST !!! the head moustache, the forehead curtains, the eyebrow roommates… yeah, you get it). A time of emotional chaos and scissors at 1 a.m.

I've grown out more identities than I've grown out fringes, but each one taught me something; mostly about the power of conditioner and starting over.

Then of course came the "I can fix him" times, where I tried to shrink myself into someone else's idea of love. I changed my laugh, my lipstick, my playlists... I learned the hard way that if you have to morph into a more palatable version of yourself to keep someone, you'll eventually disappear entirely.

And yet... my twenties weren't all melodrama and mascara-streaked epiphanies.

There were moments of profound beauty... Like realising your friends are your soulmates. Like dancing in your bedroom in an outfit too good for the outside world. Like choosing to take yourself out for brunch because you deserve the flowers, the pancakes and the good table by the window.

I’m not saying I have it all figured out.

But I am saying this: I don’t need to. Because maybe your twenties aren’t about arriving at some grand, glossy, final version of yourself. Maybe they’re about learning to enjoy the costume changes, the plot twists, and the overly dramatic internal monologues.

So no, I don’t have a five-year plan or a signature scent that says “she’s got it all together.” But I have a Notes app full of half-written thoughts, a closet full of characters, and a growing ability to laugh at myself in real time.

And if I keep showing up, maybe that’s enough.

At least for now.