You're born. Screaming, crying, kicking, angry, unhappy. But at least you're here, right? Life goes on. You grow; you gain weight; put everything in your mouth; wail through countless diaper changes; refuse to eat pureed peas. You throw tantrums, throw up, throw your weight around, throw your hands around your mum, throw yourself into your daddy's arms, throw yourself into living. You learn; melt off baby fat; gain a best friend; tremble on a yellow bus to kindergarten; cry when you scrape your knees raw. You tumble off bicycles, tumble off a balance beam, tumble down a hill, tumble into friendships, tumble head on into mistakes you'll learn from only after you've repeated them again and again. You live; you're happy, you love, you are yourself because who else could you be? You leap at new opportunities, leap off a rainbow of monkey bars, leap at people coming around corners, leap into every puddle, leap into your first crush, leap into the world like you own the place. You doubt; you question everything and everyone; you don't take no for an answer; you stop believing in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny. You stumble through new experiences, stumble through oral presentations, stumble away from the familiar, stumble through your first slow dance. You resent; you give up; you're moody without meaning to be; you push boundaries; you scream, cry hot tears, slam doors. You fall out of line, fall into rut, fall in love, fall out of love, fall apart over the littlest things, fall into depression, fall into happiness, fall into place, fall up stairs, fall into tears; fall to pieces, fall head over heels into life. But at least you're still here, right?