It’s 1:00 a.m. on April 16th, 2017. An hour ago I turned twenty years old, but if we’re being statistically correct, I’ll officially be twenty in another four hours and fifty-three minutes. I’m sitting in bed scrolling through news articles and finishing some last-minute homework assignments, because school stops for no one, not even a freshly brewed twenty-year old. Besides, I feel like I’ve been 20 for a while now, it’s the first birthday where I don’t feel different, but rather frustrated that I’m not a year older so I can indulge in a glass of wine with my parents over a dinner that I for once don’t need to pay for as a college student. Being twenty is, inherently, inconsequential.