To the Chinese it is yāo bā, to the Jewish it is chaí, to the Hindi it is Jaya. To me, it is free.
As a teenager, I knew everything. My eyes often rolled at well-meaning, meddling parents. Sometimes I wished they didn't care quite so much, didn't still see me as a child. Dying for freedom from supervision and rules, I daydreamed about turning 18. Graduating from high school. Moving to Utah for college. Escaping. I longed for those independent days while I argued with siblings about bathroom turns, while I grudgingly completed chores, while I sat in class, bored out of my mind. I didn't know what adulting would be, what it would mean. To me, 18 was total freedom; complete independence. Until it happened. Until I was sitting alone in a cold apartment that I didn't have money to pay for. And I realized I was still a child.
