An upset,
5 year old you would scoop chocolate ice-cream out of the tub by the fistful and out of spite, leave smears on the couch.
11 year old you would throw tantrums, and you would make certain that with the severity of their outrageousness, for ripples of tremors to run through the house in a way even slammed doors, raised voices and a thunderstorm combined wouldn't achieve.
14 year old you would reciprocate by throwing up a middle finger and cast baleful glares while uttering profanities under your breath.
16 year old you would sit, tight-lipped and unrelenting, radiating disapproval while conjuring up walls, solid and unforgiving for all it's transparency, the perfect barricade against justifications.
20 year old you cries effortlessly.
I like being 20.
