19 April, 2011

Everyone's changing and I don't feel the same,

Thinking back to last year, an idyllic time when none of us thought about sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. We all listened to the Top40 on Radio 1 in our bedrooms on Sunday nights, had all our schoolwork completed and thought we were going to be fine. This year, it's about looking cool, not trying, really trying, be brave, not being too brave, being original, not being attention-seeking, trying something new, not changing your routine, letting yourself transform and mature, but NEVER, EVER, EVER loosing your routes. This year is a smorgasbord of contradiction, and something that none of us ever hoped to encounter. It makes me slightly sad and very wistful to see all these fresh, plucky young Year Seven's, full of hope and imagination. I'm still very full of imagination, but now also more cynical then I could ever have imagined. I'm sad because I see them all, I see myself in every scampering, excitable last one of them. But I know where they're headed. Some of them will go on to lead a life of hollow popularity, trying and failing to be the person everyone wants them to be. Others will stick it to the man and pay the price. This tme two years ago, I was juggling boys, singing the Beatles and generally Being Happy. This year, I'm holding a relationship, singing Blink-182 and generally Being Annoyed. I feel like I've aged a decade in two years, like there's something worth holding on to that I'm desperately missing, every time I pine for my seemingly lost childhood. I wish I could be a Year Three again, all small and bubbly. I wish I didn't know half the things I do know. I wish I didn't have some of the experiences that I do. I wish I was younger. But hey, fourteen...not quite over the hill just yet... In other news, my best friend, Melissa Daisy, has only gone and made a blog, inspired, allegedly, by my humble self...PAHA. http://stonedonabridge.blogspot.com Check it out. I refuse to give her any guidance, I want to see her words flow on to this blank challenging cyber-canvas, splattering the bare paper ruthlessly with thefintricate, swirling paint of words.

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