Curiosity kills
7 6 5 4 3 2 1 and College
There are seven days to go and I’m officially done with secondary school. Five long years of just being a dumb kid, I guess. So much has changed… I’m not the same person I was when I wad eleven, quite a shame. I’ve in a way forgotten who I was which kind of triggered this infinite sadness of mine. It made me reinvent myself over and over again and I became this person who tried everything but almost nothing stuck because I had to know who I was before I ran out of time. So in a way I’ve got to thank my eleven year old self. If she hadn’t lost it, I wouldn’t be me right now. This girl who writes, reads, who is sarcastic at every possible moment, plays and breathes music and who stopped caring about everything. I probably would have been someone much too annoying to stand, if I hadn’t been exposed to this thing I’d like to call reality. It made me grow up way before I should have. In the end even though being 12, 13, 14, 15 contain some of the most horrible experiences ever. I’m glad it happened because It helped me find some of my dearest friends. It helped me cope with all the things life was going to throw at me. It helped me learn how to defend, protect and love myself and even though it hurt to grow a shield I’ve got one now and I’m pretty fucking ready to fight of everything. But you know the drill with everything you gain you’re going to lose something else. I lost my best friend to the course of time. I’ve lost connection with my mother because I didn’t give her a chance to understand me. And although my only desire is to be a writer, my future is not clear. All I know is to take my sister’s advice and move on, even though I’m not entirely satisfied with the way things have turned out. After All it could all have been for a reason. I don’t want to start over but I don’t want to start exhausted and worn out by the five long years I spend trying to find myself. I don’t want to spend college having remind myself to get on with it and there’s only a little left. That’s how I got myself into this silly mess in the first place.
Sometimes I can’t seem to understand people.
Ever gone through an entire day, feeling like you world is standing still. I don’t mean in the love at first sight sort of way or complete and utter shock sort of way. I mean just that nothing interesting is happening in your world nor in your head. It feels like time is standing still because there is nothing to distinguish today for yesterday. It seems exactly the same. It happens all the time to me.
It has been like that for quite sometime but then it all changed. I saw an interesting character crossing the street. It was young man, boy not entirely sure. He had a broken arm which he cradled with his other arm and held close to his body.The young man was pacing, simply walking back and forwards and quite unaware that I had stopped in my tracks to watch him He had black hair or was it brown, little curls and he wore a black trench coat. I don’t know how he could stand it, with the sun burning his back. His skin was tanned I couldn’t make out his features but somewhere along the line I had let myself believe that he was very handsome, indeed. Isn’t that what we all like to believe about people we cannot or have not yet seen? That they’ll be beautiful and perfect? .
A story had formed in my head. I can’t quite put it into words but I have a story that’s alive and happening over and over again in my mind but I can’t seem to get it on paper. It’s these small moments that colour my life in. It’s like someone injected liquid from a bottle labeled “inspiration” into my blood stream and watched it work it’s wonders. But I’m not like those talented people who sit by a typewriter, a piece of lined paper or a computer and these wonderful words just come out of nowhere. I have to wait for it to come to me. There are times when I can’t write for weeks, months and everything I write is absolute garbage. However there are time when I need to write and can’t seem to do anything else, and then it’s quite alright.
All I can do is wait for it and until then it’s just alive in my head but not anywhere else.
I’m not entirely sure what to call this
I actually have no idea what to write about. I keep staring at blank pages thinking of what to write but so much is happening I haven’t processed it yet and when I do it’s been so long that it’s irrelevant and it wouldn’t make sense to write about something I hardly remember.
I remember slight details about the past couple of weeks but none of them as interesting as I’d like them to be. I could always lie, I suppose, make shit up. But there are always loop holes in lies and I do not have the energy required to cover loop holes. Also there isn’t really an easy way to explain how I went from some random, bored teen who likes to take pictures of her window, drink coca cola and sleep on other peoples beds to the boy who never grew up. Yes as you can see my lies are not very average.
There is anything that seems exciting enough nor worth writing about. I mean my sister did move out but that only makes me sad and I’ve vowed to stop sound like such a depressing little fuck on here. I also vowed that I would not ramble, which I’m doing now…damn.
I’ll get back to you when I’ve had an adventure worthwhile….
I’m starting to lose it. Lose it ever so slightly
They don’t smell the roses by the burned out houses
Something I find quite strange about myself is that when I see anything ruined, chaotic or destructive. At times something that looks quite ordinary like smudged eyeliner or the long halls at my school empty and littered with bottles and homework tossed away. I can’t help but find it beautiful and I can’t help wishing I had a camera to capture it or all the words to describe it.
It’s difficult to explain things like that to people. It’s difficult to find someway of explaining to them that you like the look of burned down buildings, the hooded men by the shop, their bloodshot eyes and vodka. The houses with broken windows and the grumpy owner who with a grimace wondered whether it was you who did it and you had returned to admire your work. The police tape across street and the pregnant girls and the boyfriends.
It’s very hard to explain to people that I find these things beautiful, even love it. And then somehow justifying it so, that in their eyes I remained sane.
I suppose I enjoy the look of my area because it has so much character. Because it does not lie and the council hasn’t had a chance to conceal the truth with new slides in the play ground without the word “wanker” on the side or introduced neighborhood watch program and white picket fences. It’s not that I don’t want good things to happen to the neighborhood, I’m not saying that even though a lot of things can be improved, they under any circumstances should not. Just that I like it the way it is; a giant hole in the ground.
I don’t know I like it, ruin, destruction, chaos, tears, stains, layers and layers of rot and decay. I know it’s fucked up.
I wandered across The Maccabees September this year. I was going through a really hard time and I felt pretty much like shit. It was something to do with liking someone a lot, a lot and that person not really knowing I existed. And something like that tends to leave people in quite a state. It left me in a cycle of constant sorrow, self-loathing and bitterness.
I took my problem out on all the wrong people and hurt myself and others. I lost quite a few friends actually. It’s a strange reaction to something like love I suppose, unrequited love. Some folks cry, some hide, some don’t feel anything and some destroy everything. I decided the only way I could possibly cope is by ruining everything and anything good in my life.
My life didn’t calm down until I discovered this album called Colour It In by a group of boys who called themselves The Maccabees. I started listening and instantly everything was better. It was different because when I’m sad I usually end up listening to something sad and quiet like Adele, Bright Eyes or Bon Iver. I did that too. But The Maccabees, woah that was upbeat, fast and loud and I remember distinctively at the time I couldn’t stand anything loud, nor daylight, anything sweet and people, especially people.
I think the best thing about The Maccabees was the lyrics. It was like someone had grabbed me, shook me and told me exactly what was wrong with me and what I needed to be fixed. Like Tissue Shoulders the main song which I probably had on repeat the most for the past eight months “Never cry on your own, never cry but when you cry. Just try and find the perfect stranger with the tissue shoulders on” and Mary “Down, down, down, down, down I heard you fell down and scraped your knee. Up, up, up, up, up pick yourself up and get a plaster on your cut. Cos it’s on and out”.
It all just made so much sense to at the time. I’ll read some of the lyrics and it wouldn’t make much sense now but before it did. Colour It In helped me a lot. I’m not the sort of person who turns to humans for comfort because the last time I did someone made an opinion about me and decided I was mess they didn’t want to deal with and others would just give me funny looks. I just locked myself in my room, hid under the covers and listen to The Maccabees. Not the best thing I suppose if I looked from the point of view of the worlds leading physiatrist but I emerged stronger and I can cope now. I caught up with school and I could focus and I could smile once more. I’m happy again.
Thanks to The Maccabees and thanks to music. You fixed me.
So I got in…which is good
Today I got my acceptance letter to one of the supposedly best colleges in my city. I beg to differ but that’s beside the point. The point is I got in and so did a shitload of other people from my school. The college is good and it’s got all of my courses and when I went there on the open day. I was greeted by the awesome film crew and welcomed like a long lost sister that had returned home. I guess meeting the film crew seal the deal and I decided it was the place for me.
I applied to two colleges and the one I was previously also accepted to send me over the moon. It didn’t have a particularly amazing film crew. In fact I never even met them because there wasn’t anyone there when I visited, just a film rolling (silence of the lambs). Otherwise it was quite abandoned.
When I got my letter from the college I previously applied to I was a lot more excited. But when i got the one from the other “better” college, the initially feeling was “meh”. I don’t know. It has all the courses I want, whilst the other one doesn’t. It has a better reputation and is famed for is cold, uninspiring and education system that somehow seems to produce a string of A* from most if not all students who attend. While the other not-so-good college is infamous for accepting just about anybody and has students who have remained there for five years (the max for most colleges is 3) trying over and over again at subject that they should know by now they can’t pass (but god bless their determination. I admire it to be honest). It’s known for being warmer and fun apparently, so fun that kids from other colleges go there just to have a good time.
I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. I suppose at one college I’ll have fun, a good experience and a lot of distraction. In the other I’ll probably be bored to death but get what I went there; an education. I won’t know until I go college, I suppose. I actually don’t know why I’m writing this or What I’m saying but I’m not feeling excited about this like I should. In fact getting accepted to this college was such a “meh” moment for and a “OMFG!!” moment for everybody else, that I don’t understand what has happened to me recently that has made something like this so….boring.
Argh! I don’t know what I’m saying, I’m tired. Ignore this I’m just rambling, sorry for posting stupid shit on your dash. I’m going to go to sleep now and re-evaluate my emotions when I wake up.
There’s more to love than you think
I hate it when people are so obsessed with being in love. I’m not saying that love shouldn’t happen; I’m not saying people shouldn’t want to love. I’m saying these little kids don’t understand that love isn’t just love purely on its own. It is so many other things that come together to become love.
I saw this picture on my Facebook timeline. It was about this old couple that had been together for 86 years. The post had a little comment right next to it that said “86 years of marriage!!!! 104 and 101 years old! (Insert tiny, black Facebook heart) Now that’s what I call REAL LOVE!!!God bless them!!!” Yes I know annoying use of exclamation marks.
Yeah they might be in love but that isn’t it. In fact it probably took a bunch of other things to keep them going all these years. Like tolerance, being able to stand that person and they’re bad sides. Actually liking them, liking each others company and all their strange habits and…phobias. Sacrifice, you might have to give up pets for them or the city life, can you do it? And then there’s the difficult decisions, the supporting one another, the willingness to become that pillow that they’ll fall on when they do fall.
Love, love comes much much later. After you’ve decided that you can do all that for that person. And even then, there still seems to be a shitload of arguments and disagreements and lots, lots of compromise to be made. But here’s the magical thing, you still stick around. You could leave, move on, find someone else but you don’t.
If I was like that old couple I’d be pissed if someone dared undermine my love like that. If someone made it seem like we fell in love and that’s that. No struggles, no work, no nothing.
Hey, maybe I’m the one who’s got it all wrong, after all I’m 16 and I’ve never really been…in love. But I’ve seen people all around me fall in love and really in love and as happy as they are there is always lots of work to be done. Then late nights, cuddles and long talks come along to warm things up.
But you know we’re all different I suppose, to some people it might be difficult and others a breeze. I’ll give you more details when I’ve felt it myself.
