As a child, I was small (shortest kid in the class and thin as a twig), painfully introverted (I rarely desired to speak to anyone outside my family other than one or two trusted friends), deeply imaginative (always drawing, reading, writing, playing pretend, building little towns that stretched from my bed to the doorway), driven to excel at academics, obsessed with animals, and had a bit of a superiority complex. I was easily moved to tears.
As a teenager, I was small (shortest kid in the class and thin as a twig), introverted (but managed to interact with my peers far more readily than I ever did as a child), channeled the majority of my creativity into writing, less enthusiastic at academics but still an excellent student. I still cried often. I was a neurotic mess. I learned how to stand up for myself as a minority instead of biting my tongue.
Now… I suppose I have grown into the qualities I had as a child. I am not completely changed. I’ve learned how to handle my introversion. It used to get in my way, but now I celebrate it as an important facet of who I am. I have not given up on my desire to write. I never stopped studying and that is paying off in spades at university. I cry less often, but I’m still a sensitive and compassionate person.