A New Year, a New Attitude: The Fabulous Tales of a Moaning Teenager

However much I wish to whip my oval-shaped head away from the damning fact, there are hardly any available options where I can easily escape a famed truth which has been renowned for quite some time now: alongside my other often-unused title of 'Heffalump' (which, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense as I send shockwaves through the ground whilst pounding up the slightly unstable stairs in heavy leopard print slippers), I'm otherwise known as **** the Moaning Teenager - the asterisk is a clever cover-up of my real name, which, I'm dying to say, does not contain four letters - whose hot-headed temper is more ferocious than my brother's when his beloved football team loses against a highly applauded rival. Sure, I may not scream to the rest of the world with heartfelt pride about my unfortunate nickname, which is commonly mentioned by no other than my intensely irritating younger brother who has probably not yet realized that he is the main reason for which a razor-sharp comment - typically declared as an act of willful moaning - escapes from my lips on almost a daily basis. Come on, who could not expect me to complain every once in a while if an unruly sibling dares to trespass into your bedroom at your lack of consent?

Like many others across the world (or cyberspace, if a Facebook-surfing teen cannot release their testosterone-fuelled strength to check out a globe), problems usually arise from our surroundings and being a crazy, half-sane teenager doesn't offer anything other than creating more stickier-than-banoffi-pie dilemmas which only yourself can sort out - and what better way is there than to endure five tense minutes of unleashing your hidden anger by either writing about it (which, considering I run a blog and spend a plentiful amount of time sitting by my laptop, would be the most effective method of controlling bouts of angst-incited fury), knocking out a punchbag to your red-faced satisfaction or, as many find immensely easy, moan and explore your feelings through the art of communication?

On the basis that a large amount of us are increasingly abandoning notepads and pens (unless a Swarovski-adorned one is up for grabs, I'm not particularly thrilled about staining my fingers with bulletproof ink than anybody else), I highly doubt whether many people will find or choose to dedicate their time to jotting down their thoughts in a diary - is it just me or does almost everybody seem to be oh-so-busy all of the time? - and exercising your anger doesn't appear to be giving the keep-fit image which it promises to promote as obesity grows into a more startling and health-endangering problem across countless nations. Therefore, speaking out loud about the emotions swimming as rapidly as Olympic athletes inside yourself may be the sole means of remaining honest with regard to dilemmas driving you crazier than a manically behaving chipmunk high on caffeinated Red Bull (hence an explanation why I race faster than Courtney Stodden donning six-inch heels if Alvin and the Chipmunks is broadcast on TV) - and without having an anxiety-reducing complainment regarding a recent breakout of yellow-headed spots days before Christmas or issues bound to face us in the near feature, it makes me question whether we, as an emotionally-led species, would manage to stay as mentally stable as possible.

Yet, whenever a joke related to my 'hissy kitty', clawing maniac Benny, is brought up and somehow mentions my moaning tendencies (and I won't even go into shame-faced detail about Liverpool's anthem, which my brother swiftly swapped to 'You Never Moan Alone'), I can't help but experience a particular amount of annoyance towards myself that I allow my inner complainer - who, at the rate, will have a field day whilst returning a faulty bag of potatoes at the supermarket in twenty years' time - to take over my wiser senses all too easily, which has sneakily transformed itself into a habit far harder to break than an impossible, Malteser-sized hazelnut as I've grown older and more aware of the world surrounding myself. How could one making a meaningful effort to save money avoid feeling crushed and angered by reports of increased charges for services and necessities which the whole population relies on every day - of course, I may have many years of dressing up in above-the-knee dresses ahead of me yet it doesn't disguise the fact that a future concerning my generation doesn't twinkle as brightly as an heiress's collection of valuable diamonds! And instead of falling prey to an alcohol-fuelled culture which is threatening to destroy any morals and respects for teenagers and young adults of our era, typing at a million mph on my laptop to search for my opinions hidden behind daydreams of pursuing a career in the tightly-packed journalism industry is my method of soothing my strung-high emotions and reaching a solution which places my mind at ease.

Let's face it, nobody wants to experience the unignorable need to moan or mutter in a growling tone in relation to the situations which either bring the worst out of our typically amiable personalities or propels us into a state of destruction - a touch of feel-good personality is all which we strive to discover within our lifetimes, am I not correct? Leading a life commonly addled with oiler-than-a-deep-fat-fryer locks and a blood-red spot as large as a Premier League football doesn't particularly help when I've already been thrown into an easily irritable mood, but I can only make the most of what I've been blessed to have; would any of us deserve to be referred to as human if we were never prone to going through a round of bad, deeply unwanted luck? As most choices of making a break for it are firmly closed, I have to endure the inevitable, lip-pouting disappointment of being burdened with yet another rash of angry-looking blemishes, a sight which couldn't be further from a natural, spot-free image which I've permanently inscribed inside my mind - and venting my broken feelings through a few words isn't worthy of being called a crime or the butt of somebody's jokes, especially if that person's face is beginning to get covered in an ugly blanket of blackheads themselves. Now I have realized that being open about my emotions is no longer an offence (though I already knew that fact thanks to my trustworthy Law book) and moaning is actually good for people in general - but I clearly have no intentions of raising my moanful skill to a similar par with professional moaner Karl Pilkington, who is lucky enough to get paid for speaking his mind!

So, there is no longer any need to construct a New Year's resolutions list starting with a necessity to destroy my moaning habit - this attitude is one which is best suited to my character and, in certain ways, assumes the role of an inspiration during my countless hours of writing away on my blog. Why should I change it any time soon?