On the weekend, I met someone I hadn’t seen in years. He looked just as shocked to see me. It’s amazing what the years can do to one. In his mind, I was probably still the little tomboy always in shorts, climbing trees with his brother and making noise,. But when he saw me, wow, was he surprised. I was a young lady. Quite a looker, even. He couldn’t even say much. He was on that, “Wow, you’ve grown. Couldn’t even recognise you” tip. Yes, yes. I matured. I’m wearing a dress, heels and lip gloss that’s popping. I look like a woman and fell like one, too. I actually have those dreamy eyes the boys talk about when growing up. I’m probably that girl the fellas never thought I’d be. Well, here I am. He’s married now and his wife is lovely but he had changed. He had gained weight but looked more or less the same. I never forget a face. I bet he was going to call up his brother who was once my best friend, and tell him, “You’ll never guess who I saw today?! She’s all grown up and looking like a woman.” I generally don’t like seeing people after a long time. Most of the time because they don’t recognise me and they keep going on and on about how beautiful I am, how I’ve grown and what not? Erm, did you think I’d stay forever young? I think it’s a good thing I have grown from the last time we saw otherwise there’d be reason to be worried about my lack of growth, right? There are, of course, those who I wouldn’t mind seeing in all my fineness and glory. Yeah, I grew and puberty was good to me. How you like me now?