Saturday, 20 June 2015

An Oh-So-Quick Note!

Usually, I don't like to write notes on Life As a Modern Teen because 1) they totally do not cater to my style of writing - a.k.a. writing thousands and thousands of words within what is probably within the space of five minutes - and 2) I'm so unused to writing very little that I feel somewhat out of my depth when I force myself to cut down on the amount I write. 

Still, today definitely requires an oh-so-quick note, as this entry's title suggests: I need to make my point as clear as a spot-free face very quickly. The reason why? Time is eating away into everything that I hold dear, displaying a greediness more profound and noticeable than my brother's penchant for devouring a bag of Haribo wine gums as a so-called 'snack'. Within days, I've suddenly found myself wondering where all my time is going because it keeps slipping through my fingers like a greasy deep-fried chicken wing; play time has to be sacrificed, while hard work takes up increasingly more of my time. 

This seriously winds me up because I honestly assumed that all of my hard work - or at least the worst of it - would have been completed weeks ago, back to when I was simply living to survive my two awfully stressful weeks of mock exams after the Easter holidays. But no, I've been blessed with the honour of sitting yet more exams, all of which will be taking place next week - now the panic shall begin in full flow!!!

Right now, I'm trying in vain to keep my cool (even though the humidity here certainly doesn't help, making it harder for me to actually cool down) because getting stressed out won't change the fact that these mocks are quickly approaching: unless I disappear off the face of Earth for a week, there is very little way that I will avoid the nightmare which is about descend on my world. Although it is likely to be one of the most stressful ones because it is among the subjects that I'd like to study in sixth form (which requires me to obtain at least a B grade), I'm nonetheless glad that my Performing Arts mock will last all day next Friday because I'll get out of sitting one of my Maths mocks - and acting is definitely much easier than calculating the probability of which flavoured yoghurt Katie ate! 

Sadly, all of these mocks require preparation, which means that I'll be devoting quite a bit of my weekend to facing up to the extraordinarily exhausting week ahead of me - obviously not my idea of fun, but it cannot be helped! As a result, I shall be keeping an even lower profile on LAAMT for a while until everything calms down - which shall officially be after I get home on Friday afternoon, producing the best feeling that I could possibly experience after a full week of school! 

In many ways, I suppose that I'm coming to terms with the fact that all of these mocks I'm preparing for - which I take as seriously as watching each episode of The Vampire Diaries in order - are mere obstacles before I sit my actual exams in less than a years' time. Without a doubt, I've overcome my fears of sitting exams thanks to practising how to cope with my mocks, yet I have had to acknowledge that I need to put my priorities in order - including how to keep myself sane in between the stressful bits!

As much as I love blogging, I'm finding it increasingly impossible to juggle it with other activities, all of which require a decent amount of time and effort to get it right. If I can't produce my best work because time is pressurising me to write whatever I can for the pure sake of it, I really don't see the point in posting anything until that pressure has been relieved from my shoulders. And, with my calender being filled with numerous things at the moment, I need to appreciate the time to relax and breathe.

Before I waste another paragraph beating around the bush, I'll finally force myself to get to the point: I'm cutting down on blogging duties. Sob. Sigh. Break down into hysterical tears. Why, you plead upon stumbling onto your knees, do you have to leave ME?, you might be asking, yet I think that I've already made my point clear. I don't want to give up something that I'm really proud of yet, at the same time, there are other things in my life which also provide me with such a strong sense of pride. Forcing yourself to cut back on your loves is definitely not easy, but I've realised that it's better to do so now before I endure a mini breakdown in the near future - when any mistakes cannot be afforded. 

Besides, I feel as though I've reached a point in my life when I'm leaving one part in search of another. I'm now sixteen, no longer a young teen but not yet an adult: where in this world do I fit in? I'm too old to mess around like an innocent eleven year old can, but I'm not deemed mature enough to experience richer cultures and travel around the world in search of a fresh adventure. When I set LAAMT up at the age of fourteen, I had a stronger sense of who I was because I fell into a category which I knew completely represented me but, two years on, I'm not so sure. There are so many questions that I keep asking myself but don't know the answer to: what are my interests? Who do I care about? What do I value in a person? Yet these questions can only be answered once I've gained more experience in this life; until then, I have little to say asides from complaining about my eternal love/hate relationship with algebraic equations! 

In the meantime, I shall be enriching myself by getting out there and gaining new experiences which will hopefully serve to inspire me on those boring, depressing rainy days when I can't be bothered to do anything apart from writing. By then, perhaps I'll have plenty more to say - and stop feeling as though I've said all that has needed to be said. That might be the case for one part in my life, but definitely not in the new chapter upon which I'm embarking. 

Until then, see you whenever I'm around!

Saturday, 13 June 2015

It's On Against Spots... Again

Please, I really want to hear what you think: is it normal to be getting spots all over my face? More than finding out whether Lana Del Rey is going to release her latest album over the summer, I need to know why I, a teen who worships her vegetables more than a box of Poptarts, am suffering from the horrible nightmare that are recognised as red-coloured, bumpy and ultimately disgusting spots all over a sudden; it simply isn't fair!!!

In between studying and wasting precious hours browsing the internet on my oh-so-brilliant smartphone, I've been obsessing over how blemished my face has looked, which is now dotted with several spots all over the place. The result? My emotions are in turmoil as I come to terms with fighting a battle that I'm 99.9% likely to lose; even with my brilliant brain, how am I going to beat the monster which is actually myself?

Really, I don't need any distractions like these right now. OK, that statement would definitely be understandable this time next year when I will be nearing the end of the most stressful exam period in my entire life - of course, waking up with millions of spots dotted like blobs of cream on a cheesecake would threaten to ruin your motivation, wouldn't it? Yet, in the meantime, being infected with what feels like a contagious virus does no wonders for my self-esteem, which is constantly slapped in the face when I catch a glimpse of it in the mirror sans a trace of inch-thick make-up. 

In all honesty, I think that I've got quite a strong personality in the sense that I've been able to survive during really bad times which, compared to minor, typically temporary battles against spots, are more important and meaningful than mistaking your complexion for a pepperoni pizza. Still, I have a right to lose my temper over several highly irritating spots, don't I? After all, I'm a teenager; even though I try to steer clear of ever-so-annoying stereotypes, I'm part of a generation who are renowned for caring for their complexion like one would babysit the latest iPhone. Obviously, I'm going to step very near towards a mini breakdown if a lump of yellowish gunk decides to appear on my face or, God forbid, my lips - well, if I haven't got any spots dangerously near the lip line, luck couldn't have entirely abandoned me, could it? 

Anyway, I've endured years of battling spots, so one of the most important things that I've learnt - mostly for the sake of protecting my family from witnessing their daughter going on a screaming frenzy (worsened by my newly discovered acting abilities, thanks to Performing Arts - another reason why my parents must regret my selecting it!) - is not spend too much time moaning. Yes, my ears aren't deaf enough to ignore your sniggering in a corner - who would I exactly be if I didn't give into my moaning tendencies every now and then? Seriously, something would be up if I didn't feel like moaning, which I proudly regard as one of my favourite pastimes. My trick to enjoying it? Realise that there is a time and a place for moaning - and when stress is apparently one of the most common reasons for being affected by the spot blues, you will be amazed by how quickly you will shut up about how much foundation you'll have to put on to cover a tiny bump concealed by your hairline. 

Undoubtedly, this message struggled to sink in when I was a few years younger because my reflection in the mirror meant absolutely everything to me; yet, when you've got exams, friends to hang out with and a whole series of The Vampire Diaries to watch on DVD, spots no longer seem to be the centre of your universe. In recent months, I've hardly noticed anything amiss with my face, perhaps helped by having less free time to devote to staring at my lips for ten minutes straight in my en-suite (especially if there are fun-loving kittens eyeing up your sink as the perfect place to fall asleep), but it doesn't mean that I'm completely blind to any slight changes to it - hence why I'm dedicating this entry to my least favourite topic in the world (a title held along with the confusing circle theorems) for the millionth or so time. 

In my younger spot-battling years, I used to be SO tempted to stock up on all the so-called 'miracle' jells, creams and complexion-saving goodies in the skincare shops, somewhat influenced by their promises to restore blemished skin to its previous healthy state. At that point, I had a tendency to feel so low about suffering from spots because I felt like the only one with the problem; even today, I can't entirely stop myself from envying some of my friends, who can wear absolutely no make-up and not conceal a single noticeable spot. OK, everybody is different - some can go through life without getting a single spot (which makes absolutely no sense; doesn't everybody's hormones go equally crazy during adolescence or what?!), while others like myself can be plagued by them. Then again, I had the pleasure of starting puberty quite early; one of my least delightful memories as an eight year old was getting my first spot, which was located in the horrific location that is the nose. Because of my early descent into spotty misery, I suppose that my hormones are unwilling to let me go quite so easily, even though I would think that, as I'm now sixteen, my hormones should be a bit more settled because I'm nearly an adult - but who knows? 

Although I've never been fortunate to discover a magical cure for banishing spots, all I do nowadays is keep things simple - as my skin isn't exposed to the harshness of pollution, sticky temperatures or germs in bed, I only clean my face with water in the morning, which just about rinses the oiliness covering my forehead. In addition to this, the only make-up I apply onto my face - aside from mascara, eyeliner/eye shadow and lip stick/balm - is the classic BareMinerals powder foundation, which remains the only foundation that I've ever used. Not only is it completely paraben-free, but it doesn't irritate my skin at all because of being so natural; I truly think that my skin would be significantly worse if I wore a liquid foundation, which would only irritate it further. From time to time, I either apply a dab of witch stick or tea tree oil, both of which are natural ingredients that have been highly regarded for treating spots for years, whenever spots are truly winding me up. They manage to draw the spot out, which quickens the process of getting rid of a spot and allowing the skin to heal. 

In other words, keeping it natural is the very best thing that you can do for blemished skin. As devastating as it is to accept that I may never discover a magical cure for banishing spots, the only way that I can progress is to work with my skin problems which, upon consideration, are not as bad as they once used to be. Still, don't teenagers just love to exaggerate - all in all, making a huge deal out of a tiny spot only helps me to become a better performer! 

Sunday, 7 June 2015

When I reach the end of a week, there is usually a part of me that feels slightly sad, somewhat exposed to the disappointing news that a length of time has come to an end, with a new beginning once again on the horizon. To be honest, I've had a tendency to regard Sundays - supposedly once believed to be a 'day of rest', though my homework would definitely banish that ridiculous myth - as rather strange because, unlike any other day of the week, everything seems to grind to a massive halt. Instead of fantasising about places to go to or sensing that busyness hangs heavily in the air, Sundays are quiet, peaceful and, if you can never go five minutes without having something to keep you occupied like me, pretty boring - hardly how I would like to celebrate the end of the week!

Indeed, I've been racking my brain for ideas on what to do today, having quickly gotten bored of reading a new book, the thrillingly captivating City of Bones which I CANNOT believe that I hadn't picked up until a few days ago, and playing with my kitten, George, who has developed a worrying interest in hanging out in my en-suite and, um, messing about with things that we humans ought to keep to ourselves. Before you get the wrong idea - and possibly accuse me of whatever might be racing through your mind - George is fascinated with the shower and sink, which I'm pretty sure he is tempted to leap into one of these days, though cats are renowned for hating water. Well, even cats have a right to express their individuality, but I would prefer it if George expressed himself in areas other than my private space, which is bound to be covered in his extremely long and dark fur! 

Asides from kitten mayhem, I've been longing to be engaged in an activity that would stop me from thinking about boredom, which has a funny way of catching me out while I wait to have dinner (typically a roast - truly the only reason why I bother to get out of bed on Sundays!) on a Sunday afternoon. Therefore, I've decided to blog because I wouldn't be surprised if there were many other teenagers surfing the internet in the hope of relieving the hole that our hearts feel while boredom creates a cruel, emotion-wrecking emptiness within you. 

Of course, boredom is boredom - after starting a new term this week, part of me gladly welcomes it because it means that I'm not freaking out about tests, homework or revision for five minutes, a fantasy which I strongly wished to come true during the endless madness that took hold during the week. Honestly, I gave up counting the amount of times (which, believe me, was a lot; well, what else was I expected to do whilst bored out of my poor little mind in the dullest lessons ever?) I fantasied about being at home, lying on my bed as I'm doing now and not having to worry about getting through an hour of Physics for a short while. Mmm, the glowing image of perfect, pristine paradise! Yet, isn't crazy that as soon as I achieve my midweek fantasy that I'm wishing for the opposite of what myself a few days before would have given up anything to obtain? Talk about a lack of appreciation, but that's me for you!

While I try to drag myself out of the deadly deep sea that is otherwise known as my lack of imagination, a beautifully bright Sunday afternoon is passing by - a sad sign that the weekend is drawing to a close, even though it only feels like two minutes ago when I was literally dancing with delight around my room that Friday night had arrived. As I spent almost the whole of yesterday shopping in the city, I feel as though today has been my only day off - especially as I've got to wait until next Saturday to enjoy the honour of staying tucked in bed until past 10am! Oh well, I don't really have the right to complain about shunning an extra long lie-in yesterday because I got a few clothes, accessories and beauty products out of my early rising, which is far more than I would have achieved by staying in bed all morning, isn't it?

One thing that has officially confirmed to me that I'm no longer a sweet-faced, pink dress-wearing little girl anymore this week is discovering that I'm growing a wisdom tooth, a significant, if not highly irritating, milestone in my journey towards adulthood. After weeks of fearing that I'd taken my love affair with ultra dark - and equally hard - chocolate a bite too far and lost a tooth, I finally realised that a wisdom tooth was slowly, but most definitely coming through - an event that I honestly didn't think would happen until I was in my late teens, though it is impossible to predict when these sort of things will occur! 

Despite feeling more superior and mature (though I was already quite so before a tooth heightened my remarkable maturity), I've had to come to terms with the upsetting news that most crunchy foods - such as crisps and dry-as-an-over-baked-potato crackers - should be avoided while my wisdom tooth gets over the initial 'growing in' period, which I'm hoping won't take forever. Therefore, I've already had to deny myself a bag of crisps and a delightfully crunchy (to the extent that, if you don't position your teeth on it properly, you risk snapping your jaw!) seeded cracker, which has made me yearn to have my dinner sooner than ever - ugh, I would have never anticipated what emotional agony a single tooth could cause! 

And the worst thing of all? Thanks to my mouth feeling rather sore and numb, I had to take several mouthfuls of salted water - not the kind of water you'd use for boiling vegetables, but PROPER salt water - which tasted absolutely revolting. Even when I spat the horrible mixture out, the flavour of salt - for which I don't have a great fondness at the best of times - lingered in my mouth like a stale bag of crisps at a pub. Whether drinking this solution benefitted my wisdom tooth or not, I'm not really sure, yet I've so far managed to escape my mum's orders to swish the most disgusting drink to have ever been created on this planet today; let's hope that I won't be forced to taste such a terrible flavour any time soon, even if it's supposed to make my new tooth feel better! 

Tooth problems aside, I'm hoping to have a quieter week, as I managed to pass an ICT exam on Friday - beforehand, I'd failed a practise test, so I'm thrilled to have passed it with flying colours! Anyway. the first week back is always exhausting and busy, so it is no wonder that I'm amazed by how quiet today has seemed, despite enjoying a pleasant and relaxing half-term the week before. 

In the meantime, I shall return to waiting for my dinner, as you would always catch me doing every Sunday afternoon - well, I suppose that some things never change...

Saturday, 6 June 2015

How I Love Seeing a Film

First of all, good evening on what has definitely been an action-packed day for me! Usually, I wouldn't bother posting an entry so late into the day (especially as I'm 99.9% sure that I'll be tucked up in my oh-so-warm bed within the next hour or so), yet the urge to blog was too strong to resist. Seriously, all sensibility that has no problem in guiding my wiser senses during the week has created an irritating habit of disappearing like a TV remote at the weekend - undoubtedly causing problems that I'd much rather avoid!

Oh well, I can't help not being in a sensible mood; how often is it that I can stay up this late, anyway? Going to bed at around nine thirty on weeknights is obviously good for me, yet following the lifestyle of a sinless angel eventually becomes so boring... is it no wonder that I wish to express my devilish side every once in a while?

Compared to some things, such as taking a Hula Hoop out of a bag of crisps that your mum was having whilst she wasn't looking, staying up late on my laptop isn't overly bad - I definitely have a lot to learn about what truly deserves to be classified as bad! Anyway, there is a reason why I didn't manage to upload a post earlier today which, to my relief, did not involve the temporary demise of broadband (a catastrophic nightmare that is more likely to occur in the countryside, otherwise my home): I went to the cinema to see the box office hit, Pitch Perfect 2.

For possibly the first time ever, the cinema nearest to me - or should I say preferable, as my 'nearest' one is further away than the actual nearest one to me? - is actually showing a film that I want to see, so I didn't have to think twice about watching the sequel to Pitch Perfect, which is quite possibly one of the most hilarious films that I've ever seen. On several occasions over the past few months, I've read positive reviews about amazing films that I've been very interested in seeing them, but guess what? Nowhere other than London actually bothers to show these films, even when they are supposed to be on 'national release' - considering that there are many regions outside of London, I doubt that these releases are shown to the whole nation!

Yet, to my delight, I haven't been able to escape the trailers for Pitch Perfect 2 on TV or the radio since it came out several weeks ago, so I've been spared the suffering of logging onto the cinema's website to find that it isn't being shown anywhere at all. Really, I've given up counting the many times that my heart has been broken by brilliant films not being released in the local area, yet Pitch Perfect 2 has thankfully restored my faith in cinemas!

Typically, I end up feeling pretty disappointed with sequels because they hardly ever live up to the original film, which exposes the viewer to so many new things that keep them engaged and entertained through the whole movie. As you are bound to know and understand the characters in the sequel, such matters can hardly be referred to because you would simply be going over the same thing - or the plot could take a turn for such silliness that the usually dull idea of falling asleep in your chair suddenly becomes more appealing than ordering a cheese-stuffed crusted pizza from Dominos. Indeed, sleep can save you from the cruel embrace of boredom, yet it is a rescue that can be easily avoided!

Luckily, I didn't have to rely on sleep to save me from the dreaded nodding off feeling this afternoon because I was kept on the edge of my seat (even if it wasn't as wide as I often hope when going to a cinema) throughout the entire time I was watching the film, which I definitely think was better than the first. Yes, for possibly the first time in my life, I actually believe that a sequel can be a significant improvement to the first - one new thing that I've most certainly learnt today!

Unlike the first film, I didn't waste time literally screaming to the screen (which would have resulted in my being thrown out - not acceptable for a prefect like myself!) because the Barden Bellas couldn't sing songs from the 21st century, which literally took until almost the end of Pitch Perfect to do so. In the sequel, there were great songs, just the right amount of humour and attention-grabbing action - what more could you want from a film?

Unfortunately, it isn't often when I hear of decent films that gain my interest, so I really appreciate it when I do manage to go to a cinema, an experience that I never get bored of doing, despite the ridiculous prices of food and drink (which I always abstain from purchasing there) winding me up before I even go to see the film!

However, one trailer that I watched before the film started was the adaptation of John Green's novel, Paper Towns, which I read and loved a few months ago. A year on, I haven't come any closer to figuring out what possessed me to not go to the cinema to see last's year definite tearjerker (though I didn't cry a single tear when I finally saw it on DVD, yet Marley and Me brought tears to my eyes!), The Fault in Our Stars. This time, I'm determined to not repeat the same mistake, but at least I won't have to worry about mascara streaking down my face - perhaps the reason why I avoided seeing The Fault in Our Stars so no one notice my resemblance to a panda!

Hopefully, this will mean that my occasional love affair with cinemas will not be condemned to a bittersweet end any time soon, though I never lose the excitement of returning to a place I scarcely know every now and then because it still remains exciting - unlike some places I regularly go to, however much I really like them. And, most importantly of all, watching a film is the greatest form of escapism that I've discovered - exactly what I've needed after a long and certainly exhausting first week back in my final term of the academic year. Well, at least my weekend is turning out to be a pleasant one!

Sunday, 31 May 2015

Preparing Myself for More Craziness

When Sunday afternoons arrive each week, I usually groan. Ugh, the weekend can't possibly be already nearing an end, can it? I sigh when it suddenly occurs to me that, as of the following day, I'll be unable to treat myself to the luxury of staying in bed until ten in the morning, not being obliged to doing anything more testing than bothering to leave the warm sanctuary that is my beloved bed.

This temporary sadness typically occurs every week which, as I've gotten more used to sacrificing precious hours in bed, I have gradually accepted as a way of life; even though it doesn't lessen my slight misery, at least I'm not the only one experiencing the same thing, am I? Whether you have a job or go to school, nobody likes the ending of a short, yet super sweet weekend - hence why we spend the whole of the week looking forward to them!

Yet I've felt like I've had the benefit of enjoying a week-long weekend thanks to reaching the delightful milestone that is half-term; the truly special reward that one receives for managing to get out of bed to go to school for six weeks straight! Since last Friday, I've treated my week off as though I'll never enjoy such a relaxing one ever again because, before I even have time to fully appreciate the lack of work that I have to do (apart from pieces of coursework, which I made a strong effort to complete last week), I'll find myself back in a classroom, feeling as though half-term never happened. And you know what? Time slips through my fingers like a pool of water that you try to catch in the palm of your hand - no matter how hard I hold onto it, time has a unique way of escaping my grip, weakening the control that I yearn to have over it.

Although I'm now feeling a bit sorry for myself that I've got to return to school tomorrow, I have the pleasant reminder of the upcoming six week holiday - otherwise signalling the end of the school year - now approaching which, several weeks ago, seemed as though it would never arrive. However, before I can start obsessing over what to do during the greatest and longest holiday of the year, I've got one more term to get through - better recognised as the most tedious one of all!

Maybe in primary school you'd be expected to take things easy because, for most people, you would have completed any end-of-year tests or exams, which means that the hard work - and endlessly heavy stress piled onto your shoulders - is over. So, when you've gotten the hard work out of the way, that usually means one thing: fun! During my short period at primary school, I remember watching films or, in one year, having my lessons focused on the World Cup which, in the mind of a Bratz doll-obsessed girl, was the dullest thing that I'd ever had to learn about! But, back in the pre-most-important-exams-in-your-entire-life days, I didn't have to worry about revision or surviving life beyond seemingly impossible-to-pass tests; like a Cornetto, life was definitely sweet.

Fast forward several years, and I'm now in the oldest year at the school as the Year 11s finish off the last of their exams before going on study leave and not daring to return to the premises until Results Day in August. At long last, I'm approaching the exams that I yearn to leap over like a eight foot tall fence; a scenario which had once seemed impossible to reach so many months ago. Luckily, I've completed the majority of my mock exams, apart from Performing Arts and more Maths (which I'm desperately hoping will clash with my week away in France - fingers crossed!), so I'm fortunate enough to not be panicking about getting through a ridiculous amount of mocks within a short space of time.

Despite my reluctance to give up late nights and afternoons devoted to watching films for several weeks, I'm also looking forward to the summer term because I've got a new hair cut to show off to my friends - who, having never seen my hair so short, might struggle to recognise me! In addition to this, I'm hopeful that I'll find enough time to curl my hair tomorrow morning, which really shows off my recently chopped hair in its best way; having grown tired of the crimped look, it's about time to wear my hair a bit differently, don't you think?

Unlike some people, I've got the bonus of missing a week of school in order to go on a class trip to France, a country which I've dreamt of visiting for years; instead of being stuck in the lessons that I don't particularly like, I'll be fulfilling one of my life's ambitions, an experience that I would have been insane to decline!

In short, the new term is likely to be a hectic, tiring and rather mad one, but there is a light at the other side... though I'm rather hoping that it won't be in the form of the ultra bright sun! Whatever happens, I shall forever remain a sun hater, but warmer weather in France might somewhat ease my sunshine hatred!

Thursday, 28 May 2015

Ooh La La... Got a New Look!!!

Today, my feelings of excitement are not only the result of uninterrupted sleep, evenings devoted to re-watching old favourites (though I better keep my fondness of New Moon as quiet as possible!) and consuming massive chocolate muffins that I, a yet-to-be-discovered magnificent baker, made yesterday: in fact, getting a new look has sent shivers of delight down my spine, a sensation that I keep re-experiencing literally every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Really, what could be so different about me? OK, my face might morph into a pepperoni-esque pizza every now and then when hormones are raging more furiously than a Fast and Furious film, but I don't think that I have changed too much - though my hair would tell you otherwise!

Shortly before crawling into the leopard print jungle that is my cat-tastic bed last night, I managed to persuade my mum to cut the hair - as crazy as it definitely sounds, my hair has to be referred to as 'the' or 'it', which pretty much suggests that it has a life of its own! Well, truth be told, my hair is one of the most important things in my life because, unlike my daily struggles with battling unruly spots, it provides me with the utmost joy that a teenager could ever hope to experience. Sure, I've considered chopping it off during the periods when grease has claimed its reign on my lank locks, whose straightness - a trend that most girls my age seem to be obsessed with - has cursed me with excess oil that I absolutely despise.

While wavy- or curly-haired girls air their desires to achieve hair as straight as mine, tears well up in my eyes - because my fairytale ending would come true if my hair decided to develop some volume, and wave farewell to its days of boringness, which is definitely the only word that I can use to describe my dead-straight hair.

Before I'm plunged into a bucket of the oil that my hair is tragically able to produce (with hardly any effort, so it sometimes seems - I'm sure that the likes of KFC and McDonald's would relish an opportunity to save the environment with my greasy locks!), I'd been resisting the urge to get my hair cut for ages until yesterday. Why? In previous years, you could definitely place a winning bet on my moaning like an irritable diva whenever the warmer weather arrived because my hair used to be too short to be tied into a ponytail - most definitely the greatest creation that has relieved me from heatwave terror!

As important as my hair is to me, I seriously can't be bothered to wash or style it during the rare, possibly once-a-year occasions when a heatwave descends upon England, sending all of its inhabitants into a Cornetto-eating frenzy for several days. Once several years ago, I nearly passed out from straightening my already-straight hair - before you even complain, I've already had words with my twelve year old self over there being no logic in doing such a useless thing - when the heat was nearing 30 degrees, from which I've most certainly learnt a lesson: don't do anything during a heatwave! However, tying my hair back makes life much easier because I don't have to obsess for another second over how my locks look, in addition to having a massive weight lifted from my sweating shoulders.

Yet, as I asked myself yesterday, was it worth leaving my hair as it was - long, string-like and heavy - for the sake of being able to tie it back if England was fortunate enough to get some warm weather? As far as I can remember, there weren't any proper heat waves last year, though the climate is a bit cooler since moving to a different area. The answer to my question? No. By then, I'd grown sick of my hair, which had lost its thickness since growing past my shoulders and seemed to get greasier much quicker than usual - and, whenever I've reached that point, a haircut is usually the best solution.

Unlike some people, I'm not in the least interested in the current 'trends' in the world of hair styles - even though I've got no problem with people following these trends, I don't see why I ought to follow the crowd, too. My hair is under my control - one of the best things in which I can express my independence without being instructed by others on how to wear or style it. In all honesty, I've hardly seen any girls in my year with short hair, yet I've never shied away from being what you might call the 'odd one out'; in fact, I celebrate it because being the same as everybody else is depressingly dull in comparison to doing your own thing!

After much snipping and length-checking, I got my new look last night - and, without even having to think twice about it, I simply adore it! Slightly above my chin, my hair has suddenly transformed from a long, yet sadly lanky pair of curtains into a short, but adorably chunky bob; even though I was slightly shocked by its length, I've since grown to appreciate it, especially as I didn't wake up to strands of greasy hair glued to my face this morning. Well, I'm already hopeful that my hair's oiliness will be somewhat controlled by the new length, which will make my giving up a slicked back ponytail worth the sacrifice. Yet, judging by what I've already gained, I don't consider not being able to tie my hair back to be a devastating sacrifice!

What's more, I curled my hair several hours ago... and I feel like I've fallen in love. For the first time. I guess that wanting to kiss yourself in the mirror happens to most girls at one time or another, but I cannot resist looking in the mirror without letting a massive grin light up my face. At this rate, I reckon that all the mirrors in the house will be hidden away from me - I'm known to spend around ten minutes simply gazing at freshly washed hair!

Ah, anything is worth the effort if it's for the sake of my hair...

Tuesday, 26 May 2015

The Highs of Relaxing on a Tuesday Morning

Like a cat snuggled up on its favourite cushion while enjoying its daily rest, I'm curled up on my bed, doing what I like to consider one of my most relaxing activities - blogging. In my opinion, switching on my laptop and returning to my very space on the internet - while the sun is threatening to burst through some reluctant clouds outside - is the best way to wake up on a Tuesday morning. 

Well, how often is it that I'm hanging out at home on a Tuesday? Not very, I shall think. Really, I ought to be gazing at confusing questions in Science right now, forever glancing at my watch in the hope that break time will come quicker, yet that is the sheer joy of half-term: for a small while, I can escape the heavy-going and endlessly busy lifestyle which is better recognised as reality. 

Even though I've got the benefit of literally a week to relax, I honestly don't know what to do with myself. Surely you get what I mean, right? For example, an athlete could spend years and years - literally every second of their waking life - devoted to picking up a medal at the Olympics, hardly taking in anything else that is happening because that one event in the future is make or break for them. Let's say that they win a medal or, even better, actually win the competition itself - wouldn't accomplishing their dreams be the greatest feeling that they will ever experience? 

Anyway, fast forward a few days, weeks or even years later - and they are unsure of which path to follow next. The reason for this? As so much time was focused on getting through every single day, they abandoned all possible thoughts that could have determined their future after the event they were living for was over. As I'm nearly 100% sure you are dying to ask me, how does an Olympic athlete's life story relates to mine? Ever since I started the nerve-wracking task of revising for my mocks during the Easter holidays, I never bothered to consider what I'd do after all of my work - or, at least, the majority of it (as I've got a Performing Arts and another Maths mock in the coming weeks) - was completed. 

Almost every single day was about how I would survive writing an essay about characters whose motives I thought I barely knew, or figuring out formulas that could save my life in Science. And, even after most of my mocks finished, I hardly had a moment to appreciate my efforts: within a click of a finger, I returned to ordinary lessons, doing the same level of intensive work as ever. 

Up until last Friday, I was revising for tests and assigned work to do over the holidays - including a Performing Arts evaluation on masks, in which I was only several hundred away from writing 3000 words (how I pity my teacher - she'll definitely need the summer holidays to mark it!) - so my time spent in an academic bubble has scarcely relented of late. And, as I return to Planet Earth, I'm rediscovering my love of fun and laziness like never before; for the first time in absolutely ages, I spent a Monday afternoon watching a film (even if was one as cringe-worthy as Twilight, but I don't mind revealing it as my identity won't be shared any time soon, will it?). Seriously, I felt like I'd just hit the jackpot because of seeing a film - given the choice, I'd watch one every Monday if time was a bit more generous to me! 

Honestly, having less spare time is as saddening as the recent ending of Mad Men, which was one of the few programmes that would lift my mood to a beautiful and care-free place every Saturday night - the one true day that I would spend the entire week waiting for, anticipating another insight into the brilliant mind that is Don Draper's. When the new year commenced last September, I realised that more of my time would have to be dedicated to work - which didn't bother me because I've never lost sight of the fact that the effort I put in now will be worth it for a lifetime - yet I occasionally feel that some of the work could be avoided. 

Coursework, in particular, can be my occasional bugbear because you can find yourself editing tiny sections - miniscule little mistakes - again and again which, by the time you've handed in your final draft, has driven you around the bend. How I've almost gone insane with my Performing Arts coursework - it amazes me how my assignments never end! I suppose that is what you get for initially passing it off as a 'soft' subject, but I shall never underestimate a subject ever again!

Talking of underestimation, I doubt that I'll underestimate the importance of giving myself a break when it is needed; too often recently, I've been forgoing breaks for the sake of completing work or revising for tests which, like the mocks, I take very seriously. Although I can't help but recognise hard work as slightly more important than play, having some chilled out time is really the only way that I'll keep it together - teenage minds might supposedly be brilliant for remembering things, but I have no intentions of forgetting how to have a good time! 

Unsurprisingly, I'm pretty certain that you want to know what I mean by 'having a good time'. As my home is hardly like the party island of Ibiza, don't expect bars, cocktails and dance music so loud that your ears could fall off! Instead, I'll be taking it easy with watching films, reading books and playing with my four cats, who surprisingly still recognise me after weeks of my studying instead of spending time with them. While on the subject, I think that Bart, otherwise my second-in-charge, is waiting for me to get off my bed so he can reclaim his favourite sleeping spot, so I better hurry...

While some teenagers play video games (like my brother, whose music on Minecraft woke me up this morning!) or watch TV to relax, I get my kick from blogging, which remains my one true comfort when I need to let off some steam. And, really, why would I not want to share my happiness of having some free time to enjoy all for myself? Well, I'm definitely not going to take it for granted - and shall relish every second while it lasts!