Thursday, 30 October 2014

Drop the questions and step away from the teenager.

It has finally sunk in that after next week, I will be completely done with high school. Forever. And it's absolutely terrifying because I've never really thought about life after high school. I have two exams. I have formal and then nothing. It's an endless abyss.

I always imagined that finishing school would be the start of my happiness, but after Wednesday (our last official day at school as a collective group of year 12's) I'm not so sure that I wanted this time in my life to come around so quickly. Turning 18 and finishing school means that I, essentially, am responsible for every aspect of my life. A couple of weeks ago I had to ask to go to the toilet and after this week I'm expected to study, get a degree, have a family, vote for people that I want to run the country... I'm not ready for that, let alone to be separated from the most out-going people I've ever met in my life. My year level has definitely been a bit of a nightmare for both teachers and students. But they were entertaining. I've always known that after 2 months of Summer I'll be going back to school, in a uniform. I knew what to expect. But I don't know what's going to happen when I fall into the abyss after this week.

I mean: What do you mean that there is a life after year twelve and I will be expected to live it? Can I spend all day every day in bed? Is it now okay for me to eat nutella from the jar? How many cups of coffee does an "adult" person drink a day? Is 10 too many? Should I cut down? What about work? I can stay at KFC and only work 30 hours a week right? How do I go about catching up with friends? How often should I talk to them? I'm assuming that every day could get excessive but leaving it for months on end could be offensive. Is it still okay to binge-watch TV shows? How acceptable is it to be more emotionally invested in a fictional character (Damon Salvatore) than people in real life? Because I'm not ready to give any of them up, especially not him.



I can't even do adult things, I can't drive with more than one person between 16 and 21 in the car and I can't drive between 12 and 5 a.m. I can't vote. I've never even been to the doctors by myself. I'm still terrified of the dentist and I'm too lazy to deal with housework. I buy food because it's easier than cooking and I can't actually portion out food, I've been cooking for my family for months and I either have way too much or way too little. Furthermore, the most success I've ever had in my life is winning the mayoral make a book competition in year 2 and getting to the A-list on Kim Kardashian: Hollywood a month ago. I can't save enough money to buy a pair of socks, let alone money to budget with, buy a house with, create a future for myself with.

I'm getting ahead of myself, right? Wrong. I'm already being asked what my plans for the future are... how many kids I want, what job I want, where I'd like to go when I move out. Please, people. You're scaring the child. Drop the questions and step away from the teenager.

Friday, 25 July 2014

How year 12 turned me into a serial killer

At the beginning of this year, I noticed there was something different about me. About my approach to school, the people and my English class in particular. I realised that nothing was making sense anymore. I had these weird urges and methods that I needed to follow. I needed to do something to sort my head out, and... well... I became a murderer.

Of books. A murderer of books. Not people. Books. The first book I slaughtered? Ian McEwan's Atonement. The second? Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. I just don't think I can stop now, it's an addiction. You see, English Studies requires a hell of a lot of analysis, and the best way to get the top marks is to be able to back up every sentence you speak/write with a line from the book you are analysing. This means QUOTES, page numbers etc and the best way to get these is to make a note of them in the novel. Now, I always used sticky notes because I was brought up to respect books in the same way that I should respect a person, I have always stood by that,too. Until this year. It became too confusing to have 5-10 sticky notes on a single page, relying on the placement of the piece of sticky paper to direct me to the line I was speaking of in order to accurately quote it... and, well, that was when I pulled out my highlighter and blue pen and made the first, superficial wound. It was only a little. I could stop now, right?




Wrong. So very, very wrong. I could not stop. It became an addiction. "OH, THAT'S A REALLY GOOD INDICATOR OF THE CHARACTER OF CECILIA" *high-light* *annotate*. There's only so much insanity a girl can take before she needs to sort her messy life out, people. However now we are in a bit of a pickle. Because now I am reaching for the pens when reading a leisure book. Not out of a sheer desire to analyse everything I ever read, but because it's habit for me to now pick things to pieces (see post about why english studies ruined my life by clicking here)I couldn't even read Harry Potter without analysing the symbolism of Hedwig, Crookshanks and Scabbers.

Friday, 18 October 2013

Do Tell Me That

I often hear the people around me speaking words to the effect of “Don’t tell me that, I don’t care.” Just as often I hear the other person who was speaking shut their mouth immediately. This is something that has always and probably will always puzzle me. I love to hear things another person has to say.

I have never been one to tell people to stop being passionate about something they love, or stop being amazed by something that has impacted them. People are way too often caught up in what they consider the importance of their own lives that they can hardly spare a moment to consider anybody else, or appreciate the little things in their own lives. It’s tragic to think of all the wonderful tales that one person potentially could learn about another person; their hopes, dreams, ambitions, grievances if only they would bother to listen.
Similarly, there is so much to learn academically about the world. Trivial little facts, like the depth of the ocean north-west of the small island of Dumaresq. Yes, that is an actual place and I bet at least one of you would not have known that if you had decided that this sounded boring and skipped my piece. Knowledge is a beautiful thing. Being an aspiring writer I believe that a thirst for knowledge is almost healthier than a thirst for water and it continues to shock me that people don’t appreciate and take advantage of all the potential learning opportunities presented to them, almost on a silver platter.

I have, on more than one occasion, read a piece in Frankie or online that has truly inspired me or amazed me. People in this world are fascinating, they have fascinating stories, pasts and opinions. And while I’m not entirely sure how people can go through their life not caring about the things that matter to others, I’m learning to accept it. The little things things that most people don’t think matter to me do. I’d love to hear about how a person’s day has been, the highs and lows, what they had on their toast and why. To hear about the book they just read and why they liked it, their take on the day to day news and current affairs. How they feel about war and if they like reading or writing more. These things matter to me because they shape a person. They turn somebody into who they are, and that’s fascinating. Getting to know people is fascinating.
While I’m content with sitting, listening and observing those around me (I don’t mean that in a creepy way, despite how it sounds!) and taking in the inspiration presented to me in the form of another persons opinions I’m more than happy to share my own thoughts and experiences. It seems that all too often, unless somebody can significantly benefit another, people don’t care about the average human being despite being an average human being them self.