Wednesday 28 October 2015

Appreciating the Joys of Half-Term, Autumn and Essays

Half-term, Halloween and a hell of a lot of work - the perfect potion as I'm about to embark on the weeks leading to Christmas! OK, you might find a frazzled teen occasionally getting into a panic as she focuses all her energy (well, the best part of it; once a Lana fan, it is near enough impossible to switch off tracks like Music to Watch Boys To and Honeymoon in the radio station that is my mind) on understanding the Cosine rule which, to her annoyment, refuses to work properly on her calculator, resulting in yet another hurricane of rage... Just another day in the life of a modern teenage girl, as you have probably assumed.

Ah. Ever since the clocks went backwards on Saturday nights, I seem to have been paying further attention to autumn whose golden, shimmery beauty has never captivated me until now. Just a short while ago, I went for a walk as the setting sun was at its most beautiful state, which made me realise that autumn is truly the best season - and if only it could last a bit longer. Not only is hearing the crunch of leaves a delightful noise, but autumn symbolises fresh beginnings which, as I'm only days away from entering November, are becoming less new and more familiar.

Am I only the only person who gets a bit sad when new things - which, when they are first presented to me, maintain my attention and get me so excited as they have yet to be discovered and known like I recognise myself inside out - lose their freshness and eventually become old? For example, I mostly felt thrilled at the prospect of going into Year 11 during the summer holidays because, like Year 10, it represented new opportunities for me, which I couldn't wait to discover. Yet, nearly two months in, that excitement has worn off like a coat of lipstick, growing somewhat stale and a ghost of its unknown beauty which fascinated me in what felt like a week ago.

Is it a shame that all new things are destined to grow old? It depends on how you look at it. If I'd never gone into Year 11, I would have been deprived of numerous chances to demonstrate and develop confidence in my abilities and, in order to do so, I needed to 'break the ice', which I suppose is the ritual for getting used to something, rather in the manner of breaking in an unworn pair of shoes. And, by the way, my school shoes - once as clean as a just-bought dress - have definitely been worn in by now which I couldn't be more glad about, if not just for the sake of my once-blistered feet!

Anyway, whether I like it or not at times, I can't escape from the truth that I'm well and truly getting through Year 11 which, depending on how I view it (and whether my mood is being seriously affected by my horribly emotional hormones), is sometimes a relief and a curse. For starters, the thought of leading a Maths-free life by this time next year is extremely comforting when I feel close to tears on the occasions that I can't get my head around curved graphs (whose existence in this world cannot be explained, or so I like to believe), along with completing the remaining controlled assessments and pieces of coursework which, for several of my subjects, will seriously determine my overall grades before I even walk into the exam hall for my actual exams next summer.

However, preparing for my ever-nearing exams is a) not fun, b) extremely stressful and c) a horrendous reason why you cannot devour any new TV box sets because most of your free time is eaten up by homework, revision or coursework which, as of this week, I want to bawl my eyes out at the very sight of it.

For the first time ever (and hopefully the last, if the heavens above decide to bless my good efforts), I completed a 10000 word essay for Performing Arts yesterday, which took many hours of sheer suffering, nail-biting confusion (I use that term very sparingly - who, in their right mind, would nibble their nails in the one week where they can wear nail polish without fear of being given a detention or ordered to dunk their nails in pure acetone?!) and emotionally damaging procrastination until I finally saw the light that was my printer, eventually printing off my nineteen page piece of art.

Well, I don't really think that a piece of art is a term worthy enough to describe my work which was, in plain and fuzzy brain-friendly English, an evaluation on my class's trip to see Wicked in the West End last week. A performance which I absolutely loved watching, I guess that I really couldn't stop myself from going overboard when describing the symbolisation of green skin tones and black witch hats, hence why I reached the 10000 word mark for the first time in my sixteen years on this planet. Still, I've been comforted by a neighbour that the word count for dissertations at uni are considerably less, which has definitely confirmed to me that I am the QUEEN OF OVERBOARD.

Well, at least you can't fault me for effort, can you? Especially if it will get me an A*, just saying...

Moving on, Halloween is just three days away, yet, for once, I'm actually not interested in it. Even just writing these words makes my inner child, who is responsible for my obsession with cats and self-taught ability to steal chips from the baking tray at lightning speed when I think that Mum isn't looking in my direction, cry sorrowfully because a once valued event in my childhood has lost its preciousness. In many ways, I'm disappointed that I no longer show an interest in celebrating Halloween with all of its orange lights, pumpkins and countless bags of treat-sized Mars bars because, when I was young enough to fully appreciate it, I definitely loved it and every year I would look forward to Halloween as much as I would with Christmas and Easter.

No matter how nostalgic I might become over certain events in the past, falling back in love with them is never guaranteed because, as I've gotten older, one precious lesson I've learnt is that chasing old passions when you have changed can never be as good. Even though I'm pretty sure that Sade never wrote it to commemorate the occasion, her song Never As Good As The First Time truly justifies why I've lost the remaining sparks of a childhood love for Halloween, whose image has remarkably changed since I was six years old and used to love dressing up as a witch each year in the hope of receiving an extra bag of cola Haribos amongst my many other sweets. Nowadays, Halloween is way too commercialised and seems to be more about the amount of money that can be spent or made from it - in my opinion, that simply robs it of any value, whether in terms of money or not.

Oh well, I'll never fall out of love with treats, one of which I got in the form of a milky chocolate bar yesterday and cannot resist for a moment longer. It's a Wednesday and I've worked very hard to earn a square, so perhaps I'll give into my cocoa urges. If I'm going to do anything, you can guarantee that I'll do it my way - and certainly not anybody else's!



Monday 26 October 2015

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Online

Boys, boys, boys... What would the world do without them? If the male species didn't exist, modern day life wouldn't be so vibrantly enriched with football, Calvin Klein and one too many empty packets of the chocolate biscuits which you lock away for yourself.

Well, nobody has the automatic right to declare their allegiance to the art of perfection, do they? Regardless of gender, everybody has the right to be decent human beings which, without trying to sound too biased (though, considering that this is my blog, you can accuse me of being so), I don't think is the hardest thing in the world. Seriously, possessing manners is exactly what I consider to be essential in life, precisely like being equipped with shampoo, clothes and emergency bottles of mascara (on the off-chance that stressing over coursework brings me to the emotional teenage edge whilst I'm out and about, you know).

Still, one thing that I can no longer turn my short-sighted eye blind to is this: everybody is different. For starters, you could label me as 'different' if you compare me to my peers at school, the majority of whom are within the 'popular' camp whereas I refuse to be labelled as anything other than remaining true to my individuality, regardless of the price that I might pay in terms of destroying any chances of becoming the most popular person in town. But do I care? Not at all.

As a teenager, thinking that you're the best person to have ever lived just demonstrates naivety because so many people have been trapped into that line of thought generations before mine was born - yet did they live up to the god-like greatness that supposedly symbolised them? Um, let me Google that for you: absolutely NOT! Whether you're fifty or fifteen, I very much doubt that anyone is able to be on a par with a god or a creature whose power is so mystifying that no one really knows its worth; therefore, is reaching that status likely for any ordinary people like yourself or I? Being a thoughtful kind of person, I'd prefer to not declare the answer because its obviousness is absolutely irritating. And, if you have yet to notice by simply reading this entry's opening line, I'm not really in the mood to waste time on stupid matters.

Like the person who, after meeting up with me several times over the summer holidays, cannot muster the energy to send me a simple text, despite my making several attempts to generate a shadow of a conversation. Just weeks ago, he was literally attached to me like a cat sticks himself to a scratch post; we had created what I thought was a strong friendship, yet I suppose that I hadn't bothered to find the proper definition of 'strong' because my relationship with him is now anything but.

Does it hurt to feel like a ton of bricks have fallen from the sky and landed on my head? Absolutely. Feeling as though I'm being ignored by someone who I truly believed cared about me tears through me like my kitten Teddy catching his claws in my clothes, yet on a significantly deeper scale because my trust has been betrayed.

Yet, if I'm being completely honest, I tended to think that betrayal was created by a purpose and, in some instances, could have been justified if the one committing the betrayal had been betrayed before in the past. No matter what, betrayal is betrayal and no amount of words, fancy descriptions or puzzling definitions can alter its negative representation, but there really is no reason as to why this boy has dropped me like a teenager leaving their childhood firmly behind.

Have I been rude to him or said anything which would have upset his feelings? As one of the most sensitive and emotional teenagers to have ever lived on Earth, you can bet your future Prada handbag that I would be the first to realise if I had hurt someone because guilt would flood through me until I had apologised. Like most people, I get no kicks out of apologising and, at times, I think that the other person should be apologising to me, yet I can't stand living in a hostile atmosphere and would rather forgive for the sake of bringing things back to normal instead of leaving matters up in the air. In my honest opinion? If someone had upset you, speaking up about it seems like the natural way to go - and I haven't received any of that from the boy. Or anything else, for that matter.

In fact, ever since I told him that I couldn't meet up with him one weekend due to being on a school trip at the same time (which I would have definitely not missed for the world - like who would say no to an opportunity to stay at a uni campus and go clothes shopping in town?), he has been, well, quiet. By this, he has completely stopped replying to my texts, which he claims is due to never 'having his phone switched on', while he never logs onto his Facebook account because he has either forgotten his log-in or simply 'can't' (a word which has the ability to drive me around the bend at times, believe me!). And school? Even when my friends are standing next to him, he doesn't speak to them, so obviously I receive the same treatment. And, really, what kind of friend looks through my friends as though they are ghosts? That just says it all.

Upon realising that this friendship is as doomed as the destined sinking of the Titanic, I have gone through a variety of emotions whilst trying to reach peace with not myself, because I haven't bothered thinking for a moment that any of this is my thought, but with the bastards in the world who pathetically believe that wasting any girl's time is an absolute joke. In many ways, this whole thing upsets me because I feel that I could have spent my summer holidays doing more things for myself instead of devoting three or four days to hanging out with him, which I only did because I thought that we were friends. Whether it relates to school or relationships, I will always put my all into making it work because, if I don't, what is the point in trying at all? At least that is one of the many things that I can't be accused of not doing when I was trying to maintain a glimmer of a friendship with him.

If there is one upside to this travesty of events, I've realised that having a friendship with a boy - especially a romantic one - is perhaps not the wisest of moves at the moment because, albeit not all, many of them are not quite as mature as I would like in order to sustain a lasting relationship. Even though it disappoints me a bit that the boys in my year are a bit of a way off from developing the maturity that I respect and possess, I don't mind because too much is happening in my life at the moment, which you only need to guess by looking at the few entries I've posted over the past two months.

Despite exam hysteria (both mock and actual ones!) defining every Year 11's life right now, I didn't use it as an excuse to completely cut all ties with this boy, yet it seems that my efforts were not enough to save what was destined to be a sinking ship.

Although I've had to face up to one of the most crushing lessons that one can learn in life - the one about people not necessarily being as great as they portray themselves to be - I have at least had the pleasure of appreciating some fantastic songs about boys wasting certain girls' time. And if those girls are among the likes of music legends such as Alanis Morrisette, Erkyah Badu and, the best one of them all, Taylor Swift, I know that I'm in extremely fine company.

Well, you oughta know, shouldn't you?

Saturday 17 October 2015

Impatience: Never a Redeeming Quality!

I. Am, Just. So. Relieved. *sighs very deeply*

After around six weeks since my delightful summer holidays - which, unless you are one of the few lucky people who are capable of remembering every single moment in your life - came to end, I'm getting closer to what is currently looking to be the best ever occasion to have ever taken place during my sixteen years on this planet: half-term.

Aw, the very word almost makes me squeal like an over-excited kitten with delight! Really, I don't even know how to discuss the very prospect of being able to enjoy a perfect week of lie-ins and Simpsons re-runs in the very comfort of my own home because I have so often wondered if it would ever happen. Well, as soon as I get through yet another action-packed week, then half-term will truly be mine to seize with all of the excitement that is constantly buzzing through me like a vibrating phone!

For starters, I needn't devote several paragraphs (which, if you know me well enough by now, you would have the sense to skip) to going on about how sorry I am for not keeping you updated over the past few weeks, but it is obvious now that my whole life is becoming extremely, ridiculously and crazily busy almost all the time. OK, my studies - which are intensifying bit by bit every single day as I get closer to sitting my all-important mock exams next month - are consuming as much of my time as I devote precious moments here and there to indulge on a few squares of coffee-flavoured chocolate (totally my new passion), but I'm also trying to juggle the seemingly easy, yet deceivingly difficult task of providing myself with enough relaxation along with keeping my friendships, happiness and family bonds as persistent as I possibly can.

Without sounding too much like a drama queen (because, believe me, I have given up on the hope of never portraying myself as an over-the-top madam as it is somehow chemically wired into my DNA), it cannot come across as the most shocking news ever to hear that I land onto my pillow at night like a plane arrives on a runaway and drift off into a slumber which, albeit deep, never fully cleanses me of the stresses, responsibilities and quadratic equations that I'm desperately trying to cope with on a constant basis.

Of course, I realise that life is hard and, when your responsibilities increase, so do your priorities - obviously, I'm always going to put my revision ahead of my aching desire to watch one of my favourite TV programmes, yet sometimes having to do the 'right thing' gets me down because seeing the bigger picture becomes as blurred as squinting through a steamed-up shower: it's just not always possible to look beyond the present moment, whether you perceive it as a positive thing or not.

For example, I get stressed from time to time when I arrive home late after staying on for a revision session at school because, what with only having so many hours in the day to stay awake, there is less time for me to stop thinking about work and actually treat myself to reading a book or listening to songs that provide a welcoming, comforting relief from the everyday woes of the world. Irritatingly, I usually get home just before six on a Thursday evening, which winds me up so much because I can just feel the tick of the many clocks in my house remind me of the few hours I'm granted to get changed, have something to eat, sort my bag and P.E. kit for the following day and other minor things which I can't be bothered to list. To you, my points might sound trivial and petty because the process of chucking a few books out of my bag and replacing it with other ones is definitely not the hardest job in the world, yet I can feel these tasks stacking up like a pile of homework (which I work ridiculously hard at to keep to a minimum, often at the expense of my free time once again) - certainly not the perfect formula to creating a potion of relaxation in amongst life's daily stresses!

Still, if there is one thing that the past six weeks have given me, it has certainly been my renewed ability to just 'get on with it', whatever that might be. Sure, there's nothing stopping me from moaning about the injustice of having the equivalent to two hours worth of exams on a Monday morning (as was the case this week and will be next week) yet, as time passes even more quickly towards my exams next year, I'm able to keep remembering the reasons why I put so much effort into my work, thoughts of which have helped me get through testing and emotional moments.

One highlight from this week was receiving two awards in my year's group annual awards ceremony, which meant a great deal to me because I was able to see that my teachers have recognised my efforts, especially as I had to contend with catching up in all of my classes upon joining at Christmas last year. Whether I was going to receive an award or not, I still would have applied myself in whatever way possible in my studies because I like to know that I've tried my hardest, which is the most that anyone can ask from me. And, obviously, bringing a small trophy home (for coming first as best effort in R.E., which I also see as a 'goodbye' from my old Sociology and R.E. teacher, who left after the summer) was such a brilliant moment, if you must ask!

Anyway, I'm now keeping my hopes as high as I can until half-term starts next week, though I really can't wait to go on my Performing Arts trip to London on Wednesday, where my class will see Wicked in the West End. As a part-Londoner - or so I like to think of myself as because both of my parents were born and raised there - I relish the thought of returning to southern soil which, despite embracing the area where I now live, I suppose I still miss because an undistinguished part of me automatically views it as my 'native land'.

Besides, I've never really been to London which, regarding my links to it, is rather ironic, but I'm glad to be exploring it as part of what looks to be a thrilling occasion. As ever the fashionista, I quickly sorted out what clothes I'll be wearing, which shall be a grey tunic-like dress and my Little Red Riding Hood-esque coat to inject a bit of colour and warmth into my rather dark outfit. Fortunately, I won't stumble out of bed at six on Wednesday morning without a clue as to what I'll wear - where I can be organised, I definitely will be!

Also, luck landed on my door like a parcel several weeks ago where I completed my first GCSE in ICT. As one of my least favourite subjects because I don't consider ICT to be useful unless it is used for purchasing items from Amazon or finding out what your favourite singer is currently doing on Wikipedia, I didn't see it as one of my best subjects, which tend to be heavily based on essays where I can ramble on for ever and ever until I literally need to be physically restrained from my pen! Still, surprises can still, well, surprise me, which I certainly got when I got around to finishing the course where I achieved an A*!!! Without a doubt, I was absolutely over the moon because I used to think that I was such a klutz with computers (and, to this day, I hardly know how to use a TV remote!), yet my family now think of me as an ICT expert. Perhaps I am, but I was more pleased about being treated to a slice of Oreo cheesecake at a restaurant nearby the other weekend - and obviously getting my first of what I hope will be several A*s!

And I suppose that is all I really want to say today. In the past few weeks, I've learnt that the lovechild of cheesecake and an A* is the best-tasting flavour on this planet, while I've developed a secret strength which should get me through any challenging moments that may arise on my path to self-actualisation.

A winning formula? It might not be deemed as the image of perfection, but I seem to think so.