The end of the yellow brick road

Well it's my favourite time of the year. Waking up enthusiastically to the first few weeks of school/college. A brand new year with fresh pages, newly refilled pens and new bags/stationery (now clothes/shoes). A clean slate. The summer gave you a chance to be someone new. And in a way, I am. Because this is when my birthday falls.
But somehow this year I don't really want to be anyone new. I've been a teenager for 35% of my life and I'm clinging to its safety harness.
I don't know what I'd miss exactly. I was miserable most of the time-
1) whining and trying to get over some crush or the other
2) studying and struggling to pass Maths (and eventually getting more marks in it than the subject I used to top in-Economics)
3) yelling and fighting with my mum for unbelievably ridiculous reasons (I doubt turning twenty is going to change that. Case in point: last night.)
4) scribbling pages after pages in my diary about my lack of importance in this world...or how I am on the verge of conquering it.
The list could never end.
However, I could act mature and think of all the things I've learnt ( A LOT) , all the people I've met (numerous amazing ones, people who've changed my life), all the people I've retained in my life (people who've rocked my world since before I can remember), all the places I've been (not too many, but enough to count for experience) and all the amount I've grown.
As I come to the end of the bridge between childhood and adulthood, I realise that I can't say that I'm not a teenager anymore. I'll always be a teenager inside. I'll always feel fourteen somewhere.