Just as being a teenager brings with it the frustrating 'not quite a child but not yet old enough to be an adult' sense of angst, the 20-something-syndrome similarly involves a 'definitely an adult but not old enough to fully understand life with the wisdom of a 30-something' burden. The thing about ages, though, is that they don't always determine your mentality. Some really are old at 20, and some are still 20 when they're old. (I always found numbers to be arbitrary in maths and in life.)

But one thing that is true of being a 20-something is that's it's a moment in your life that will lay the foundations of who you will be for the rest of your life - or perhaps until a mid-life crisis. You've shaken off your teenage years with either pleasure or fear but always with excitement, only to find all the real reasons why it's so great that you're now legally allowed to drink aren't actually that great. (Not that I'm advocating drowning your sorrows in alcohol.) It's a time in your life where everything you ever thought you believed in, knew, or understood completely disintegrates. (Love conquers all? WRONG. You can now afford to move out? HELL NO. You can land your dream job tomorrow? ARE YOU KIDDING ME. And what about kids, marriage, am you turning into a cynic or is optimism really foolish?)

It's like growing pains for your soul, and every moment comes with a lesson that will eventually define you - whether you're someone who will continue to fight or immediately give up or won't give up without a fight. Whether you'll love until the bitter end or love yourself enough to walk away. Whether you'll stay or where you will go.

So you have all these doors in front of you that are neither open nor closed, but always slightly ajar, kept open by a padlocked chain. And you have all these keys, but you can't work out which one will unlock which door. And there, in a nutshell, are your 20s: a marvellous fumbling of endeavours and decisions and tryings and failings with a hell of a lot of letting-it-all-go.

Aisha Burns has let go of her 20-something discoveries into an album, aptly titled Life in the Midwater. Through her plaintive vocals and acoustic strums, Burns sings with a delicate sensitivity and wisdom that stands a resilient exploration of experience. 'Sold' sees her voice soar high above a grounding picked guitar, whilst 'Midwater' woefully follows a poetic stream of consciousness directly to addressed to a lover.

'Gatekeeper' drifts along with a more upbeat feeling of possibility, whereas the longer 'Requiem' incorporates a ringing electric guitar and harmonised echoes, breathing will a slow sense of reflection. 'Mine to Bear' directly addresses the importance of responsibility when it comes to owning the way things make us feel - especially the moments that hurt us - as Burns cries, "and you always wish someone could know just how you feel." By the time 'Nothing' hums itself to a close, there is a feeling of both completion and new beginnings, of the old and the new somehow resolved together in a more unified tranquil.

It is an album that sounds like a troubled pool looks - as each sung word skims across the surface of the melody, the debris of experience swirls beneath. A beautiful compilation of the ups and downs of life's metamorphosis, it is both comforting and inviting. And for those of you who aren't in your 20s, it stands as a nostalgic reminder of just how bittersweet those years were, the years you'll never forget, for better or for worse. Or, of course, what you've got to look forward to...