It’s strange to think of how to start this, so I’ll start by saying it’s strange to think of how to start this. Today is not too big of a milestone for me, yet I feel inclined to write something, anything, that means something to me. I’m listening to the album by Blood Orange that I was listening to yesterday, until my dad switched the WiFi off. I’m sat at the family computer 5 minutes to 1pm, even though the timetable app on my phone says I should be in Chemistry class, unaware that school is over for the summer.
That’s why I feel weird. School is over for the summer.
So much has happened this year. I’ve left friendship groups I considered poisonous, been in arguments that I didn’t know I was in and discovered music I never knew I needed. I’ve fell into holes that my future self may call depression, but my present self feels too touchy to diagnose. I’ve scared my parents and scarred myself, I’ve fell in love with feelings and aspects of people instead of how people make me feel and their flawed selves, I’ve began watching my peers do things like get drunk and party and felt no connection to it, no need to join the ‘fun’.
I know this is meant to be a good thing, but sometimes I feel like I should have some sort of jealousy or longing just to be a teen, to enjoy a time of my life I’m meant to enjoy the most. It’s just, I feel like ignoring that my -teen years are meant to be awesome may mean I can take all the best times and delegate them all throughout my life. Because I can’t saturate them into the five years between 13 and 17 now can I? If I did, what would be the point of sticking around for the future when crappy now is actually the best I’ll get? And when they say, don’t worry, it’ll get better, are they lying? Or contradicting themselves? Or being hypocritical? Who are they anyway?
I’ve learnt what I want to wear and what I want to spend time doing and what I want my heart to hear but not things that I should know like what I want to do for A-Levels and Uni and, well, forever. I can’t think about that now, I won’t think about that now, not when I hardly know about now-me let alone future-me and what would make her happiest. What will I do forever? Even OutKast didn’t understand: forever? they ask, Forever ever? ForEVER ever??
I can’t believe I’m thinking about Sixth Form/Colleges. It feels abnormal to feel closer to the girl who was starting Secondary School and dreaming about what she’d do after it but to be closer to the girl who is about to experience all that. I just can’t comprehend how I’m morphing, but not, you know? I know it’s happening and why it’s happening but I don’t know when it’s happening and what is happening. It reminds me of me when I was in Year 1 and I found out that the world was always spinning.
– But I feel so still, my 5-year old self wondered out loud.
– We’re too used to it that we just can’t notice it, my teacher replied, no matter how much we try .
That’s how the change is happening. And I want to tell myself to stop thinking about it, just to try make the changes work to my advantage, but I just keep changing in ways I want to pinpoint but can’t. Does that even make sense?
How did I get to this topic, anyway? What happened in my mind for it to change so seamlessly to this?
There are changes I know because I saw them happen, even though they were built of components too small for my mind to see. Like, the way you can’t see the bacteria seep up on the apple until you see the mould bruises its surface.
- I told my friend that I wish I was as close to my friends in my friendship group as she was to her’s. She looked me in the eyes and said, you don’t have to be friends with them, you know. So I stopped.
- I watched feminist TED Talks and discovered so many ideals, so many opinions that boost, that I just didn’t stop. I like this one, and this and this.
- I started ballet within weeks of telling my dad. It was one of the best choices of my life, but I couldn’t help but think about all the passions and sudden interests I could have partaken in if I just talked to my parents and stopped thinking of them as my worst enemies.
- I realised that I only have two terms of school left and that I’m going to be in Year 11, the last year of Secondary School. And I felt pretty speechless.
- I went into full analytic mode about why some older men perv on teenagers/young women because I don’t like knowing it happens, I don’t like seeing YouTube comments defend it on the vids of 15, 16, 17 year-old celebs that they fancy and I most defiantly don’t like how shut-eye everyone is to it. I hate seeing how much #EverydaySexism are written by my age mates and complaining about some guys put their penises before people – sometimes even literally. But then I read (1) these (2) genius (3) angelic (4) articles (5) and felt alright again.
- I went to France and had an absolute blast. I’d talk about it now, but I’ll blog about it better later. I promise.
- I ran in an Athletics race, represented the county of Berkshire in the League Championships, won all my races on Sports’ Day and got awarded the best female athlete of 2014/2015 in my school. How ace is that?
- On the way back from school, I snapped out of my wordless daydreams to realise the bus had stopped and dropped off the girl who I didn’t like, although I used to like her, although we used to like each other. I realised, her being my nemesis and all, that we probably wouldn’t see each other until we came back in September, and I just wondered why it was this way. And I wondered about why I wondered why it was this way. And I wondered when I’d stopped feeling burning rage and started feeling sad for a friendship that wasn’t happening, the sorry I never received; the bus rides where we ignored the other. I don’t know how it happened, all I knew was that Bowie was right when he said: time may change me, but I can’t trace time. I couldn’t trace the breadcrumb trail my emotions had left behind, all I knew was that I was here, somehow. Then I got off the bus and wrote this.
I hope your summer, whether it’s just started; will start or has already begun, will be merry and bright. (Is that Christmas? That is Christmas, isn’t it.)
Love, Sharon x
image by Joe Webb via An0ther