Sunday 29 June 2014

Kitty Time!

Since they became a part of my life on a dark chilly December afternoon last year, my kittens, Bart and Benny, have brought unimaginable joy to my world, offering renewed hope after the deaths of my previous cats, Tom and Jerry, a few months prior to their adoption. Indeed, I somewhat return to the persona of a former self - a person who, despite existing several months ago, has all but disappeared off the face of earth - whenever I discuss Bart and Benny on my blog because they have stuck with me through thick and thin, my trustworthy pals during difficult patches and stressful times.

However, I like to believe that I've made it out on the other side - or at least a side which features more sunshine than today's melancholy offering of summer rain - with Bart and Benny joined to my hip, though it is fair to say that I have not yet allowed the Hissy Kitty to get his claws upon my skin! They - along with cats of any kind - are my friends and treat me the way that I want to be treated: in possession of a sixth sense, my kittens know exactly how to cheer me up when I need it most and offer me cuddles upon cuddles of affection as of when I crave it. Therefore, I don't bat an eyelid at the belief that animals are friendlier than humans because that is the truth. Humans and of course fellow pupils at my new school often have nasty streaks instilled in their nature and, to victims' misfortunes, it is likely to be used despicably than concealed beneath an inviting smile. 

Unless they truly know how to disguise facial expressions behind a thick coat of glossy fur, cats make no secret of their feelings and are as up-close and frank as they could possibly be: wouldn't the world be a happier place if we were more in tune with our beliefs? Saying that, society would literally collapse into an emotional heap if we couldn't bear the thought of being disliked by those who ought to keep their mouths shut, but a different view is applied in relation to our beloved felines. Equipped with bags of Dreamies and an appreciation of their company, cats fall head over well-groomed paws for affection and are at their most content whilst surrounded by people besotted with them. At least that it is how it seems whenever my cherished two - now almost ten months old - hang out with me! 

Of course, I've missed my kittens' presence since starting at school almost a month ago and sometimes reserve a moment or two to thinking about them whilst I'm at school, more often than not wondering whether they covering my bed in tabby-coloured fur again. Forget about my gaining some precious beauty sleep once I leap into bed at night because it is nothing compared to Bart's luxurious lifestyle - from the time I leave home at 8.30am to catch my bus to the moment I walk through the door before 4pm, Bart remains on my bed all day! And, as he is seriously unable to wiggle himself off my duvet, his brother, Benny, is often dragged into my bedroom to give the sleepy one some company; they are otherwise known as partners-in-crime! Ah, what I would give to lie my head onto a soft pillow halfway during a rigorous Maths lesson...

Anyway, I've decided to upload some new pictures of the Terrific Two (for they are, on the whole, of such a nature) as a weekend treat, albeit it could be interpreted as an excuse to lie on my bed in a Bart-esque (a.k.a. lazy) manner. Some of the pictures featuring the fantastic Benny were only taken earlier today, but it needs to be said that I've been short of time recently; in a blow to my wannabe photographer, completing my Religious Studies homework has been deemed more superior to the likes of taking photos! 

Comme toujours, enjoy!

Without a doubt, cats - and indeed growing kittens - appreciate their sleep above anything else, making it out to be the most exhausting job in the world. Well, I beg to differ: you seriously wouldn't want to know the extremes I would go to in order to catch up on my sleep! In this picture, Bartzilla (as my family and I amusingly call him) and Benzimar (not my preferred nickname for him, but he must be called something, I guess) are sleeping on one of the many beds in the house, looking adorable as usual. Benny appears somewhat camera-shy and seems to be hiding behind Bart whose head takes up nearly half of the photo - how he adores being the centre of attention! It's one of my favourite pictures of the pair being together which, as both of them had a tough start in life, is what brings them pure happiness.

A picture only taken an hour or so ago, Benny had decided to sit on my parents' rocking chair for the first time, which immediately caused a frenzy to snatch my phone and take a picture of him; how could I not resist? From the day we adopted him, Benny has always looked rather regal and posh compared to his troublesome brother, and he would even put the Queen to shame in this picture which flaunts his ultra-stylish attitude. He is a role model to whom I aspire, to say the least!

Here is another picture of the oh-so-lovely Benny who is squeezing his eyes shut as the camera flashed, most certainly annoyed as he was gently falling into a slumber. Since we moved house in late March, Benny has been spending more and more time in my bedroom, which was the setting when I took this adorable picture of him. Although he is still a bit reluctant about being stroked, Benny has developed a bond with me which I believe will stand the test of time. Whenever I talk to him, he usually nods his head or blinks as I address him - needless to say, Benny pays more attention than the whole male population combined! He is a little (though his body is much longer than Bart's) sweetheart who is affectionate and loving in his unique way, and that's why I have such a soft spot for my beloved Benny.
Does he ever get bored of posing for the camera or is he developing a fondness for it? I can't quite decide in this picture, which I took whilst Benny was sitting on top of my desk - nowadays one of his preferred places in the house. Bart hardly intrudes Benny while he is sitting on it, which could possibly count as one of Benny's few-and-far-between alone hideouts. The only thing which bothers me about his jumping onto my desk is that he usually knocks my books off - not particularly great if any of them are for school! And, if he fancies a change, my bed is beside the desk, so several hours of deep slumber await him...

And finally, Bart just had to make an appearance! How could he not? He is, after all, the Amazing Barticles whose loving powers has cast a spell upon all who have made his acquaintance. This picture, unlike the ones above which are more recent, was taken before we moved house over three months ago; compared to how he looks now, Bart was literally a baby at the time of this photo being taken! To my disappointment, he no longer flaunts his snow-white belly like he used to, so it truly puts a smile on my face if I ever come across a picture like this one. It was taken during a time when Bart was getting used to us and developing his confidence, which has since flourished as he has gotten older; nothing is impossible, I say! On the other hand, Bart has forged new interests in the likes of catching flies, jumping onto my pillow while I (try to) fall asleep in bed and literally getting the cream at dessert time. Without needing to go further, the fun never stops for Bart!

Wednesday 25 June 2014

How to Beat Bullies - LikeATeen Approved!

From the moment that my uniform-clad self walked through the gates leading towards my new school almost a month ago, it was all but literally written in the stars that I, as a fifteen year old whose past seven years have been solely dedicated to home-schooling, would come across both the good and bad parts of society within the playground. By 'good' and 'bad', I'm referring to the kind-natured pupils who feel at ease with new students breaking into their crowd - and, after a certain period of time, accept them as one of their own - and of course the ones whose less loving side is placed on public display as soon as a stranger (or so their unwatchful eyes believe) turns up on their doorstep. Although I've been fortunate to immerse myself in the light-hearted company of my friendly peers since my life was swept into a whirlwind - one of which is not destined to stop until the final day of term in four weeks' time today - at the beginning of this month, that isn't to say that I've avoided the seemingly brief, yet seething with sarcasm comments being tossed in my direction from time to time.

These people's words have, at my lowest point, sliced me like a knife and bled me dry when I felt incapable of defending myself or indeed hurt at their nasty comments, some of which have even crossed the narrow line between a thoughtless remark and personal business. Undoubtedly, it is unfair that some young people possess a tongue which spreads as much venom as a poisonous snake's bite, and I cannot deny the oh-so-true fact that I've fallen prey to it on a number of occasions during my first few weeks, automatically unlocking a desire to flee the premises and return to the comfort of home. If it wasn't for my carrying a mobile phone - with my parents' phone numbers included - in my blazer's jacket at all times, the prospect of loneliness would forever overwhelm me as I take more and more steps towards 'fitting in', or at least breaking the ice for several of my classmates.

Without intending to adopt a sexist tone or lose sight of my women-friendly ways, it is almost always certain that my source of slight niggling hassles come from the girls with whom I either see briefly at break or whilst waiting for the bus to arrive in the morning. In just a few weeks alone, I've learnt more about female behaviour than a summer-long marathon of America's Next Top Model ever taught me - and, to the shock of my speechless self, now understand why men don't necessarily relate to our needs or mindsets. If all that men can fuss about is the current state of international football (and Luis Suarez's full or half empty stomach during a bite-tastic match), it is hardly a wonder that they struggle to even grasp the basics of our so-called 'issues' which, in my opinion, are often born out of ourselves.

Girls complain about not applying enough fake tan on their legs as though it is the end of the world - if that truly is the case in their heavily eye-shadowed eyes, what would their reaction be like if Boots ceased to exist? - and, as I'm surrounded by a swarm of people who make no secret of their ambition to resemble a Barbie doll, my blood pressure shoots through the roof. Not only does their ignorance towards my academic abilities irritate me beyond belief, but their stupidity when applied to the likes of holding a conversation and displaying polite manners is my near-daily source of stress, particularly as I literally have no choice other than to listen to their insignificant words. But that isn't even the worst of it - like multi-selling copies of Grand Theft Auto, unthoughtful comments aimed at my personal life have been added to the equation and, until this week, have started to lessen and hopefully disappear.

Like almost all teachers and parents will tell you - more often than not failing to sooth your nerves, of course - being the new kid at any school is tough. It doesn't matter whether you're about to start at the poshest fee-paying school in the country or an academy with a tarnished reputation: regardless of your background or contents in your bank account, society is united as one in cases such as this. And so, my expectations of being faced with situations of this kind had crossed my thoughts by the time that my first week arrived because, as my background was indeed unique in its own right, fellow pupils and my peers wouldn't restrain themselves from asking me questions. But at what point does one particular question - one of which related to the reason for which I wore 'high heels', despite measuring a mere 6cm - take on a deeper and potentially hurtful meaning?

To my initial annoyment and later anger, pupils from almost all year groups - and most of whom I didn't speak to, let alone knew - would keep approaching me either during break or lunchtime, tossing as many questions as one would with a pancake on Shrove Tuesday. From my shoes to my knee-length skirt, pupils wouldn't think twice about opening their mouths and asking questions which I would never dare utter in the company of my peers or strangers who, as I'd only spent a handful of days at the school, truly were unknown to me. A group of girls from the youngest year group even wondered aloud whether I came from a rich background because of possessing a 'posh' accent; as a girl who has been brought up by parents who have taught me the value of hard work and sheer determination, hearing those words felt like a slap in the face and, without a doubt, a step taken too far.

Unfortunately, a number of pupils at any school in this country and probably around the world are familiar with the concept of pushing the boundaries, what with manic hormones and adolescence marking its mark during the secondary school years. But shouldn't today's generation be taught about the drawbacks of pushing their luck a bit too far before they become untameable by even the best teachers on the planet? Along with teaching my younger brother and I at home for seven years, my parents added a subject which, despite not currently taught, ought to be included on the national curriculum in the future: respect. From our closest relatives to ourselves, respect shouldn't just be tossed to one side and ignored whilst poor behaviour plagues the education system for years to come - if respect was naturally instilled in the natures of past generations, who is to say the same pattern cannot be repeated in the twenty-first century? However, respect is a lesson which can only be properly taught and forever remembered by a child's parents at a young age, and goes to show that schools are only in a position to do so much for their pupils. I'm not suggesting in any way whatsoever that parents are solely to blame if their child or children misbehave or are offensive towards others, but who else can take responsibility apart from the culpit him or herself?

Alas, I've been given more homework than the others have received in the sense that I'm not only learning about poetry or a geographical outlook on the World Cup, but that I've had to learn to accept others - regardless of whether I like them or not - for who they are. It doesn't matter whether they apply enough mascara on their jet-black eyelashes to resemble a spider's legs or hike their skirts above their thunderthighs because, as long as I make no remark about it (which, from Day 1, I never have done so), I should be able to get on with life in peace. On paper or indeed a digital blog post, it doesn't seem as though I'm making a big deal about it and am quite eager to ignore my surroundings during the seven hours or so spent within school, but what am I supposed to do when people create problems for me?

If I were to go into full detail about past incidents and the drama - minus the actual lessons - I've endured in the past month, I will have missed the school bus by tomorrow morning and will be in a spectacularly bad mood. Not exactly the type of mood you want to be in after sitting on your fur-covered bed in a jet-black pencil skirt and have to later clean up before running out of the door by 8.30am for five mornings per week, but I wouldn't live up to my LikeATeen persona if I didn't spill all, would I? Anyway, by declaring that people have created problems through no fault of my own is not a mere exaggeration or a misuse of the English language because it is downright true; if it didn't mean a thing to me, would I even be writing about it at this very moment? These pupils' games exist in the hope of driving me around the bend, as a form of entertainment for those experiencing withdrawal symptoms from their TVs and Facebook accounts. And do I wish to be a part of it? No way. I might have a long way to go until my 'new kid' tag is taken off when the school makes way for the new Year 7 pupils in Septembers, but for the meantime I have no intentions of being anybody's verbal punchbag.

And now, at long last, I've reached that all-important stage in this entry: how to beat bullies. Despite my incidents with several pupils not going as far as bullying, it has nonetheless defined my strength and contributed to my confidence, which has helped turn something unpleasant into a positive on my part. If bullies or generally mean people are causing you to lose your special sparkle, please do not hesitate to discuss it with an adult, friend or a charity such as Beat Bullying: nobody, especially a great person such as yourself, deserves to go through bullying alone.

Stand up for yourself: Like people often say, 'it's easier said than done', and standing up to bullies when you couldn't feel more vulnerable or weaker doesn't come easily for all people, including myself. By standing up for yourself, I'm not suggesting that you engage in a war of words with the bully/bullies because conversations such as those will obviously not resolve your issues. But I recommend that you don't allow a sarcastic comment pass without applying a short, yet sweet dash of your own thoughts to the mix; you could cooly question the bully's words or ask them a question, which could knock them for six. Yet, if no words spring to mind and you cannot be bothered to waste a breath on them, simply walk away from the bully: at the end of the day, what are they worth? Nothing.

Hang out with other people/friends: As I'm still in the stage where I've yet to break the ice with several of my peers, there are times when I walk around campus alone in between lessons, breaks and lunchtimes; and, in my experience, it has usually been the time when annoying people have approached me and pushed my buttons beyond your wildest dreams. Although I appreciate my alone-time and often crave to separate myself from the loud and noisy blare of the classroom, it would indeed be easier if I hung out with my friends more often: after all, a group of people is deemed to be stronger than a sole survivor. Bullies loving cornering their 'victims' in an enclosed space with nobody apart from their accomplices surrounding them, and it is a trick which many people sadly fall for. In no way at all do I believe that you or myself should never be alone, but get to know when the timing for such incidents could occur: it might very well ease your bullying-related hassles or even bore the bullies themselves if they don't have anybody to play with.

Don't give up: Nothing is easy in this life, but giving up often seems like the simplest way out of a lot of things - including the troubling dilemma of being bullied. However, you must - oh, there is no way that you can escape this truth - realize that, by giving up, you are allowing the bullies to win the fight; and what satisfaction will it give you? In fact, your self-esteem will weaken due to the fact that you couldn't hold on for a moment longer or carry on fighting: it's tough and seems almost as hurtful as the bully's comments, but nobody can deny it. Breaking down in tears and allowing your agony to pour into a box of Kleenex is perfectly acceptable and, for many of us, we can relate to the sickening feeling growing in our stomachs by the time that we get home. From our parents to counsellors trained in bullying-related issues, all of them will say the same thing: don't give up. And, once the battle has been fought and won on your side, who will be complaining? Obviously not yourself, of course!

Saturday 21 June 2014

The Side Effects of a Two Week Blogging Hiatus

After almost a fortnight away from letting my heart sing on my most beloved platform - this very blog, of course - I'm literally bursting at the seams to discuss everything which has revolved around my life in the past two weeks. Indeed, my conscience was crushed with a deeply felt guilt when I failed to report on my latest happenings last weekend, albeit it was virtually impossible to find any spare time in which I would treat myself to an hour of non-stop typing. Not only were a few relatives coming over to see my family's home for the first time, but I was downright exhausted after five full-on days of schoolwork, homework and the general getting-my-head-around-returning-to-school business. It's no wonder that I now cherish my sleep more than a Tiffany's diamond, is it? And, as my family continuously roll off their tongues at any opportunity, I need to relax; otherwise, I'll never get another stress-free moment if my face develops premature wrinkles!

Despite what I've mentioned so far, I'm still firm in my belief that writing soothes and relaxes me in a manner which is uncomparable to the numerous techniques thrown at us on Gwyneth Paltrow's Goop website; staying away from my blogging-related duties for thirteen days has somewhat morphed into a disaster which will from now on serve as a reminder to relax via manic typing more often. In less technical words, writing is my means of sitting back and indulging in the embrace of relaxation - without it, a week of study at school becomes a drag in which I lose interest and, to a certain extent, a desire to learn. Needless to say, I have more than been made acquainted with stress since my oh-so-dramatic return to mainstream education nearly three weeks ago; if it wasn't for the fact that I was complaining about it again and again, stress and I probably would be attached to the hip for reasons unrelated to manic hormones.

Also, there is a large part of me - OK, a part as chunky as a man-sized slice of decadent cake with triple chocolate layers - which deeply misses my former existence as a home-schooler, a time of which not only seemed but was easier than the general difficulties of going to school for five days per week. I miss my family and two kittens with an ache which, had I not recognized my longing to be reunited with family, I would have mistaken for one too many slices of pizza the night before. The separation, to say the least, is proving harder than I expected and, as I will discuss in a moment, fills me with misery whenever the thought of being away from home becomes too much to bear.

Judging by the past three paragraphs alone, plenty has either been playing on my mind or grabbing my attention in the past fortnight, most of which would take until Monday morning to finish discussing and would distract me from the two school-free days I have with my family. In case a bout of confusion had clouded your thoughts and left you in the dark as to how I feel, let me clarify that, despite enduring moments which would have otherwise tortured me had I not risen above it, I do like school on a whole. By this, I'm referring to the teachers whose lessons are engaging and are very caring individuals, most of whom have asked me on the quiet how I'm settling in; realizing that people whom, if I didn't attend the school, would be otherwise classified as strangers care about me is a comfort when my longing to return home reaches its climax. And, in true LikeATeen style, my lessons - ranging from the likes of English (already a definite favourite) to even P.E, there is a broad selection on the curriculum - are a joy to attend and, regardless of how tired/mentally exhausted I'm feeling, I later leave the classroom bursting with optimism, getting my after-lesson buzz five times per weekday.

Although my lessons will soon be restricted to the subjects I will choose for my GCSEs (more on that soon), that doesn't mean that I can't have a go at the likes of Drama (albeit I've had plenty of it without attending a lessons), Art or the ear-achingly loud Music for the rest of term. Still, that doesn't mean that I'm devastated at the news of my fortnightly Drama lesson being cancelled for this upcoming Monday; as determined last week, my chances of picking up a Best Actress Oscar are as slim as a catwalk model's waist!

From the moment I awake to the time that I half-drag, half-stumble into bed at night, my mind is set upon what the day holds for me which, despite education being its main focus, has recently been distracted by other matters. In fact, my stomach lurched at the thought of returning to school this time last week which, as I would (unfortunately) discover a few days later, existed as a pre-warning of what destiny had set out for me.
The reason why? None of my bad feelings were associated with the fear of attending my actual lessons or studying - albeit I was swept up in a wave of panic related to completing an English essay last weekend - but were indeed caused by what seemed almost all the pupils at the school, whose questions and attitudes towards me nearly drove me around the bend.

Before my first week at secondary school began, it had occurred to me more times than I could remember that I would stand out from the crowd. Not only had my previous educational background been in stark contrast to others, but my behaviour and personality were not necessarily on a par with most teenage girls. If it wasn't for my speaking up during a debate, you would hardly know that I'm standing in a room because of my quiet nature - and, for almost as long as I can remember, that trait has always defined me. And, as somewhat of a slap in the face,  both my younger (yet irritatingly taller) brother and I were starting in the final term before the summer holidays which, unlike the hundreds who typically start in September, would draw plenty of attention to us. My stars couldn't have been more prominently written by the time that I set foot in my new school at the beginning of this month - regardless of how I behaved or, to my later annoyance, what I wore, there would be no source of distraction from the eight hundred or so pupils who would automatically recognize me as 'the new girl'.

Gosh, I'd never detested feeling so new, if such a word makes sense in this context, and sticking out like a sore thumb during my first couple of days at school, constantly being amazed by almost every single thing I laid eyes upon. Girls would scan me with the lazer beams they called eyes on the first time they caught a proper glimpse of me, taking in the style of my hair (for Monday and Tuesday, it is tied back into a ponytail because of P.E), the way I spoke and even the shoes I wore. This, as I kept repeating to myself on a daily basis, was to be expected for some time until people would get familiar with me and, in a sense, quench a curiosity which was otherwise attracting their attention away from more important matters: e.g. their schoolwork. But, even as recent as yesterday, I'm still being asked questions about myself and, to my despair, why I wear 'high heels'. For goodness sake, my shoes - whose so-called 'heel' only measures to 6cm - are not as sky-high as a pair of Jimmy Choos or 16in platforms which Lady Gaga has been pictured wearing (forget walking if your feet are 16 inches above the ground)!

There is no way at all that I am at fault when it comes to attracting attention from all kinds - the wannabe beauty queens whose aspirations only reach as far as modelling on Page 3 - because, as it has always been the case, I keep to myself and don't easily allow others to intrude on the limited territory I possess at school. But how can I necessarily suss out the good and bad types when hardly any time is given to analyzing people; more often than not, I'm thrown more questions (some of which are intrusive and downright annoying) than I can handle, and there is a fight-or-flight moment in which I must decide whether to stand my ground or canter away in my 'sky-high' heels. Some students have even joked that they assume that a teacher is walking towards them because of the sound which my shoes make; if they have an issue with their behaviour, I would only be too proud to send them scattering away in fear of getting into trouble!

Also, there are other reasons for which attention might be drawn to myself because, long before I settled on a decision to attend the school, I decided to go back an academic year for the sake of completing the coursework leading up to my GCSEs. As pupils aged 15 to 16 usually take their GCSEs in Year 11, I would have followed course next year, however I was uncertain about whether I would get the best grades or whether I would even return to school to study for my GCSEs. So, with the clock ticking, I made a decision to return to Year 9 - the year in which I would have been last June - in order to begin my GCSE coursework this September. Although this has meant that I have been somewhat separated from my true age group (all of whom are currently in Year 10), it hasn't detracted my satisfaction over doing what not my family but I believed was for the best.

Without a doubt, my decision relating to going back to school was always about my GCSEs, results of which will determine my future and hopefully assist me in my dreams of becoming a journalist. And, however hard it has been hard to swallow the truth that I have to socialize with pupils who, had I not voluntarily gone back a year, I probably would have never set eyes upon, it gets easier to handle and accept as each day passes by. But the fact that literally the whole school knows about my fetish for Carrie Bradshaw-esque 'heels' whilst a few remain unaware of my actual age - in Year 9, the ages range from thirteen to fourteen, whilst I'm fifteen - proves that several people are more interested in the least significant parts of life; who cares about what I put on my feet? If anything, my eyelashes don't resemble a spider's legs unlike some pupils who have taken matters too far with a flick of their jet-black mascara wand...

Unsurprisingly, my confidence - and ability to sense potential friends and those more likely to possess a 'hit list' (or so according to my brother) - has gone through leaps and bounds in the space of just under three weeks. By 'confidence', I mean that not only do I feel more comfortable about attending school and its hour-long lessons in general, but also the pupils with whom I go there. At the beginning, I almost saw red when several headstrong boys or chatty girls would disrupt lessons which would then distract me from my studies. Of course, nobody should get away with misbehaving or interrupting lessons - otherwise what would be the point of enforcing rules? - but I used to get so annoyed about it that I would struggle to separate myself from anger which could have remained under control. And, apart from one or two boys whose jokes have gone too far at times, all the boys that I've met - whether they were in my year or below - have displayed manners as sparkling as a glass of champagne; regardless of their joking ways, these boys are kind and polite at heart, and their sweetness has assisted in my relief over choosing to attending a mixed-sex school.

As for the girls, things - just like their tangled curly tresses - get a bit more complicated. Not-so-subtle whispers are rife and my eyes have never laid upon a girl whose face has never seen the likes of orangey foundation or violent lashings of mascara; compared to the laidback attitude upheld by the boys, girls are on another planet altogether. And, as a girl myself, where do I fit in? When I hear bits-and-pieces of conversations which, due to their explicit nature, I would never dream of repeating, doubts of going back an academic year creep into my mind. I might have somewhat sacrificed my chances of making friends with fellow fifteen year olds and have waved my pride to one side in order to achieve excellent grades, but being obliged to hang out and socialize with my so-called 'peers' whose attention is focused on adult-related matters is a step too far. Comme toujours, I keep my mouth screwed shut and endure the agony of listening to girls' sickening chats over the most worrying of all matters; at times like these, losing my hearing would count as a blessing because I have no desire to hear a single word of one's exploits.

Life is life, and each life is determined by how one wishes to lead it. However tempting it might be to let rip and give several girls a piece of my sharply outspoken mind - if they can even understand 'the big words' or 'long sentences' I use, as mentioned in their previous mocking tirades - only one option remains: keep my mouth shut. As long as I can release all which is swimming in my pool of a mind by the time I get home, I just manage to survive nearly seven hours of schooling five days per week; and the weekend, like this sunny Saturday, is otherwise my safe haven.

Despite missing the familiarities of home-schooling and having access to my blog whenever I wished (if only I could swap an hourly long P.E lesson for some time typing a new blog entry), there are many aspects of school which I love and have appreciated from my first day. For example, my French teacher - who, unlike many who teach the language up-and-down the country, is actually French - is always optimistic about my French-speaking skills and was delighted when I suggested taking my French GCSE next year, then giving me piles of papers to assist me with my ambition. Getting an A* in Higher Tier reading papers on Monday put me on a permanent high which has lasted throughout this week; at least I now have the assistance of somebody who is prepared to help me with the language and believes that I can achieve the highest grade.

Also, the school is holding its first End-of-Year Activity Day on the last day of term in a months' time, offering numerous activities which cater to all interests. I nearly screamed with delight upon finding out that the school was offering a News Desk activity, for which I applied as soon as the application forms were made available on the school's website; and, I'd hoped, my application had indeed been successful! My little brother took things way more dramatically and raced up the stairs when I finally remembered to inform him of his success at being admitted into the Computer Gaming activity; I suppose that excitement made up for the lack of trophies his football team, Chelsea, failed to pick up in the past season. If anything, it will be interesting to see whether other students will smuggle the likes of Grand Theft Auto or Call of Duty into the premises...

Ah, all of this - getting used to life at a secondary school, making friends and separating myself from home-schooling - is inevitably taking some time to digest, and I cannot expect myself to brush these feelings away by the time I hopefully write here next weekend. I have never been more surrounded by change in my life and I crave to reside in a world where everything is familiar to me and no upheavals are capable of upsetting me - if such a world existed, wouldn't everybody's lives be grand? However, I'm coping better with whatever people or life itself throw at me and my progress shall continue for probably as long as we live.

Learning doesn't just exist in schools, but is a path that we follow throughout the course of our life. We might obtain General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE) at the end of Year 11 as proof of our academic achievements, yet it doesn't mean that our means of obtaining an education reaches a dead end. Not only do A-Levels exist (for which I've already marked a desire to study Psychology), but work and experiences with life keep our minds open as to what we can learn. Going back to school after a seven year hiatus has not only marked a return to studying in the classroom, but has counted as yet another of life's lessons: not everything you learn, however small or significant it might be, is taught at school.

And, with the guidance of my family and a blog which unleashes the best within me, many lessons will send my mind into a spin as I prepare for two hectic years of GCSE mania - ah, if only battle could commence before September, I say!

Sunday 8 June 2014

Weekend Distractions

Despite getting her blogging fix several hours ago, this technology-mad teenager couldn't resist returning to her precious blog as soon as possible, especially as she will be yet again reminded to get an early night's sleep for tomorrow, in order to avoid falling into a Sleeping Beauty-isque slumber in the classroom. Indeed, pushing my blogging duties aside in order to focus on school has created somewhat of an ache which needs to be addressed, especially as my chances of finding some spare time during the week are as slim as a carb-avoiding model's waist. Therefore, as a means of satisfying my craving to write, I've made a spur-of-the-moment to jot my thoughts down here for the second time in one day which, for those unfortunate to be surrounded by an easily irritated teenager, will be greeted with a round of relief from not only my family, but also myself.

Although I've already developed an eagerness to attend my classes and keep on the good side of my teachers - had it not been down to my desire to learn, I may have decided to stay at home when I woke up with a cold and sore throat on Friday morning - attending school, or rather my first proper week at a secondary school, has drained me of all the energy I used to reserve for my hobbies, obviously including blogging. As I ease into following a strange new routine five days per week, the fact that I will no longer dedicate as much time to thinking and talking about my school day won't raise many eyebrows, including my pair which I try my hardest to steer clear of over-plucking (the era of the 'Scouse brow' will be nearing its end soon, if Cara Delevingne's thick eyebrows offer any imput).

This week, and perhaps the next few, was bound to result in a noticeable lack of time as I settled into a different way of life which, considering that I was home-schooled from the age of eight, it truly is. And, whatever happens, I'm determined to carry on blogging and writing for my personal pleasure whenever time grants me to do so - after all, who wouldn't want to stopping hearing the thoughts and opinions of a modern day teenager? Plus, my views and mindset are likely to strengthen and develop into a maturity beyond my imagination as I get older, a thought of which fills me with a breath-taking excitement. Some teenagers scream with delight over purchasing half-price One Direction concert tickets (albeit the price drop was related to a joint-smoking incident amongst two band members), whilst others like myself get breathless at the thought of their maturity in several years' time. That is not only who I want to be, but who I am as a person.

Thinking about whatever crosses my mind - whether it relates to my future plans or which percentage of dark chocolate I'm in the mood to try - is my idea of therapy because I'm immersed into a freedom from which adolescence somewhat restricts me, such as being able to go to certain places alone or buying clothes different to my typical style. Freedom equates to thinking clearly without restrictions blocking my path towards self-actualization, producing a happiness entirely suited to my tastes and needs. Unsurprisingly, blogging ticks all of those boxes whilst keeping myself amused on a Sunday afternoon - need I say more?

Moving on, this entry shall not reach the length as my previous post because, unlike the one I posted earlier today, the clock ticks closer towards bedtime as each second passes by, making each moment more important than the last. Plus, I also cannot afford to forget to print a recipe which needs to be brought into my cookery class at school tomorrow, otherwise a glare will be directed towards my dad - who, by then, will have arrived at work and may already be tucking into his lunch (how I detest waiting until quarter past one in the afternoon to gobble my cucumber-and-pepper roll) - because he will have failed to teach me how to use the printer properly. Ah, the perils of a Kodak printer which is incapable of printing a single page whenever necessary goes on like a Prime Minister's speech; if it wasn't for my younger brother's tendencies to get on my nerves shortly before bed (in many ways, I'm like a sheepdog because I have to herd him into his yet-to-be-unpacked bedroom), I probably would have been bored to sleep long before now because using a printer is ever so exhausting.

Anyway, the message is clear that time is restrictive and therefore as precious as a pair of Tiffany's earrings, so I really must hurry up before I am the one herded into bed. And my family knows that I have very little patience for dogs, let alone those who bark! So, tonight I'd like to give you a short, yet sweet (obviously sugar-free) glimpse into what distracts me at the weekends, resulting in an idealistic image of homely heaven. Some are simple and perhaps related to your habits, but the weekend is all about doing what you want to do - or, as I've proved in the past two days alone, all that I've wanted to do is hardly anything at all...

1. Shopping Therapy
Having only spent a penny here and there since moving house over two months ago, I realized the consequences of my shopping-free habits by walking into a shop called TK Maxx yesterday afternoon as a desire to pick up all the items in the store touched me deeply, albeit a little bit far. As one is expected to survive via spending a few pennies on the necessities, I haven't entirely gone cold turkey in relation to my shopping habits because the odd £5 or so has been spent on Maybelline lipsticks (one of which I've even worn to school), but what I truly needed was a mini shopping spree to clear the air. And guess what? I got my shopping hit only twenty four hours ago - at barely £40, it was much cheaper than an hour spent in therapy, to say the least!
Now that my time will mainly be restricted to the weekends, it seems fair that I ought to let my hair down at the weekend and, staying true to my gender, shopping is the perfect way of relieving myself from stress and bother I've experienced in the past few days. Picking up a new Kenneth Cole purse and tiger-print umbrella cheered me up after falling prey to a bout of the teenage blues a while before, along with a black-and-white rose-patterned scarf and two Parisian-inspired make-up bags making their way into my possession.
Perhaps I truly needed an hour away from home/school life or I deserved to spend a bit of the pocket money I worked hard to obtain, but it was worth it. And, if money and time allows, I recommend that all teenagers - including yourself, regardless of your age - ought to engage in similar activities because we have a right to treat ourselves once in a while. If anything, isn't giving into small indulgences a vital part of humanity?

2. Television
Without a doubt, millions of teenagers like myself reserve a fondness like none other for the all-mighty television because, however we're feeling or are interested in doing, it caters for our moments of pure craziness, happiness and misery-drenched sadness, especially as more and more programmes are aimed at our age group. In fact, TV couldn't be more exciting to watch in this day and age because teenagers are often a valued source of inspiration for countless programmes - is it any wonder that the likes of The Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girl have been heralded as hits around the world?
Anyway, that doesn't suggest at all that I mainly reserve my TV-viewing habits to programmes revolving around teenagers (albeit The Vampire Diaries is a major exception), if one could base it upon my DVD collection alone. Even from my early teenage years, I've enjoyed the programmes that my parents used to like when originally aired, such as Desperate Housewives and Twin Peaks, a cult classic of which I've craved to re-watch for weeks. Saying that, I don't limit myself to various themes because literally anything goes; on paper, who would have expected me to become one of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's biggest fans?
For the first time in almost a week, I sat down in front of the television to catch up with Revenge beside my father on Friday night which, since the third season returned to our screens in January, had reached its finale. From the second that Emily Thorne appeared on screen, I was gripped to the very end, wincing and crying out in shock when a major event - one of which I won't mention further, in case I let the cat out of the bag for some disappointed fans - rocked Emily's life and revenge-seeking plans. And, when my attention is focused on a fictional character's circumstances for an hour or so, I know that I'm at my happiest: isn't escaping reality one of the weekend's greatest pleasures?
Although I appreciate the gifts which reality brings to my life, there are times when I wish for nothing more than to be distracted for a while - and, without fail, watching television at the weekend fits the bill perfectly. Television satisfies a wish for peace and relaxation whilst answering my stress-free needs; if that's addressed, I demand nothing more at the weekend. And that's how it should be.

3. Family time
Many might assume that teenagers are keen to escape home as soon as the first bus arrives in town on a Saturday morning, but I'm not interested in leaving my home once the weekend arrives; in fact, the whole point of enjoying a weekend is about sharing it with my family, most particularly my parents.
Since I started school at the beginning of this week, I've had to wrap my head around the fact that fewer hours will be spent in their presence as school life gradually takes over my old routine, so this weekend has not been directly rooted in replenishing my needs, but sharing some time with the people I love most. My family and I have always been close, so it is somewhat out of the question to steer clear of them when an opportunity to hang out with them arises - how else would I prefer to spend my time?
I may function pretty well when sitting alone in my bedroom as I feel at ease in my company, but it is a comfort to realize that my family know me inside out, capable of sensing when I crave to be surrounded by others or wish to keep to myself. As it is bound to take some time until my classmates at school get to know me, I don't feel alone as soon as I step through the door at home because I needn't lift a finger to make friends and break the rock-solid ice which exists among strangers; my family are my friends and have always made me feel comfortable, a feeling of which isn't always easily discovered in a place like school.
It's great to have a break from tasks such as forming friendships, getting used to school life and, unless it hasn't yet occurred to you, accepting the separation I face by staying apart from my family for over six hours per week day, which reminds me of how important the weekend is. Family time is not a distraction, but a part of life which means the world to me, keeping my spirits alive during those moments when I crave it more than life has to offer.

Life is full of distractions and, as we get older and aspects of our world morph into other things, we have to accept that we will get distracted - either born out of frustration or need - from time to time. But the so-called 'distractions' as listed above create a sense of happiness which I like to have at the weekend when a two-day break is all but the main focus in my thoughts. There are many more distractions which steal the spotlight on Saturdays and Sundays, but I needn't go into full detail; if it makes me happy, then I'll forever be distracted by the likes of decent Saturday night TV, shopping sprees and even the company of my family. And you know what? I like distractions for the relief they bring towards the end of an exhausting week - and, whatever happens, should always be the case.

Starting School

This time last week, I was bursting like a hot air balloon over one of the biggest changes which was shortly set to revolutionize my life: returning to school. After seven sweet years as an independent home-educated student, I - along with my younger brother - had decided to resume my education at school, my recent move to a lovely village in the middle of countryside having given me some food for thought. Now that I've broken free of the past, it only seems right that I embrace a lifestyle which, for the majority of students up-and-down the country, is a part of everyday life which doesn't bear thinking about; attending school is what almost all youngsters do five days a week, isn't it? And, since my grand return to mainstream education took place this week, I've learnt more than I had expected myself to pick up, influencing my views over schooling for what I expect to be the long run.

Without a doubt, I've strongly missed jotting my thoughts down on this oh-so-precious blog of mine because, since it popped up on the internet late last year, it has become somewhat of a necessity which grants me the necessary peace to think clearly and, bien sûr, stretch my writing skills beyond the realms of a typical essay. As schools don't allow its students access to websites unassociated with education-related activities, unfortunately I've been forced to put my blogging ambitions on hold for a while because this week has barely offered me any free time or, to my exhausted body's dismay, some priceless beauty sleep. Not only have I been thrust into a routine which couldn't possibly be more alien to the one I used to lead as a home-schooler, but it has taken me longer than I expect to wrap my head around over how my life has been transformed within the space of several weeks, unsurprisingly depriving me of my high-end ability to clear my thoughts.

This, as I stated in last week's entry, was to be expected because I had no desire to increase any pressure which would have otherwise been piled by homework or whatever destined to grab my attention, but it doesn't take the edge off my wish to spend more time in front of my laptop. After all, I want to become a journalist one day, so writing truly does help me excel in my chosen (and hopefully future) profession - does it come as a major surprise that I miss my beloved hobby when the spare time previously dedicated to it has been snatched away?

Anyway, I'm more than glad to be currently hanging out at home - the place of which, regardless of how I'm feeling or whatever my tasks may lie, is where I crave to be - and appreciating the peace and quiet I've endured during this sunny weekend, no longer obliged to squeeze my thighs into a knee-length pencil skirt after one too many scoops of vanilla ice cream. Although I cannot turn a blind eye to the fact that I used to reserve hardly any appreciation for having a 'break' at the weekend when I was home-schooled, the weekend now represents a more important meaning to me which is a reminder of enjoying the time I have with my family and two nine month old kittens who, having stalked me from the moment we adopted them last Christmas, are confused as to why my brother and I are gone for so many hours during the week. It's nice to relax and regain the independence I lose in a sense when regulations need to be followed at school, bringing me back to the trustworthy attitude that my parents would maintain towards my brother and I because, as their children (a.k.a. halo-donning angels), they wouldn't think twice about trusting us with both our behaviour and learning habits.

And, with a sigh, I'm in no position to wash away the sadness that hits me when I'm left to my thoughts, often being reminded over how much I miss it. Home-schooling, I mean.

For more than half of my years spent in education, I'd be a home-educated student who, despite not wearing such a badge to proclaim her beliefs, used to beam with pride because I felt somewhat lucky, if not special for my means of gaining an education. After all, shouldn't all children across the world feel special for getting any education - whether it takes place within a classroom or at home - which later propels them to success? I was lucky in the sense that, instead of being addressed as one of the thirty or so students sitting in a classroom, my parents would teach me one-on-one, addressing my abilities up-front and giving me those vital pushes I needed from time to time. And, as I got older and education took one a deeper, more important meaning - comme toujours, examinations are literally the be- and end-all of a young person's existence - I was granted the independence to progress on my own grounds, without facing any restrictions as to what I could do. In my house, can't is a word which my family neither recognize nor deem as acceptable which, as soon as I got over my lacking abilities in the likes of Maths, I began to use as a source of motivation at the times I needed it most.

Now that my status as a home-schooler is written in the past tense and no longer referred to as the present, I somewhat sense a degree of sadness which is all but impossible to ignore in the humid June air, a constant reminder of what I chose to leave behind in the past - and, despite all the lessons I've learnt this week alone, I'm unable to take my mind off the ache which regularly persists in my heart. Adjusting to a change as great and significant as this one requires a patience which, regardless of my attempts to pursue a better understanding of the subject, I don't necessarily possess when it is needed most. Returning to school this week has created not only one but countless poignant moments which have been flooding to the centre of my mind since Friday afternoon rolled around, signalling the end of my first week at what I, alongside the many new yet soon-to-be-no-longer new boys and girls, deemed to be a strange, somewhat scary experience. After all, I had never step foot in a secondary school until a fortnight ago, so was it any wonder that I was a tinsy-bitsy scared to say the least?

Needless to say, cue several panicked expressions and a paler-than-Casper-the-Ghost complexion by the time that I was about to head out to school which, despite residing in a village literally in the middle-of-nowhere, is roughly four miles away (or rather an eight minute-long drive, according to my mum) on Monday. To make my nerves even more jittery, I had to go to school alone without my little brother in tow due to his being offered the day off as his class were set to travel to London on a trip that morning, so I was feeling more than a little nervous in the hours leading up to the clock ringing 9am - the official start of the six hour-long school day. However, my enjoyment of almost all the lessons I attended - surprisingly including tennis, a sport of which I've reserved a special kind of hatred since almost being hit by the ball as a five year old - kept my spirits alive and I walked out of the premises with a smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat's by the end of the day, relieved to have survived what I had expected to be the longest day of my life.

Though you may have personally figured it out quicker than I would complete an Algebraic equation, one of my most well-known traits for which I'm known is that I can easily slip into a trap of self-doubt, dismissing positives which even aliens from the likes of Mars could see from their (chocolate-less) planet. Therefore, this led to my flying into a panic at the last minute, an ache deep inside developing and taking control which, had common sense not come to the rescue, would have won the fight that I had unknowingly plotted against myself. And, as I sit here with relief evident on my face (and unblocked pores), have I learnt more than I would have picked up in even my favourite lesson, English?

Despite the law stating that all pupils ought to remain in full-time education until the age of 17 (the age is set to rise to 18 from next year onwards), we have as long as a lifetime to discover lessons which may or may not influence our way of thinking, provoking epiphanies or life-changing incidents to occur whenever necessary. By doing what I knew was right at the beginning of this week, I banished that small, yet powerful voice which, if I'd given into what I truly wanted, would have grown to a strength that returning to school would have required the confidence of Hollywood's biggest ego. And my weekly £5 pocket money wouldn't necessarily cover a hefty actor's wage, would it?

Even the most basic things, such as wearing a school uniform, preparing my backpack and choosing what to add to my lunch box (personally, I believe that Gwyneth Paltrow would nod her head in satisfaction that no sweets have found their way into my lunch, albeit a handful of sweet grapes supposedly 'break' the no-carb rule), take me by surprise because, in comparison, home-schooling didn't require as much effort or preparation. Being taught at home was fairly simple because I could get up, get dressed (without rules banning me from wearing a second earring, as is the case at almost all schools) and have my breakfast before settling down to study, literally for as long as I liked; there was no time limit on how long I wanted to study French or Maths, so my head could have been stuck in a textbook for hours on end! In that sense, I feel slightly robbed of the freedom I had grown used to having at home as schools are famed for imposing rules on matters which may not even enter your mind but, as I've discovered in just this week alone, some rules were created to be broken.

For as long as I can remember, I've never wished to go against society's idea of behaviour or engaged in any criminal activities because my parents brought me up to realize that it is downright wrong. And, if the Law says that harming another person is a violation, who am I to disagree? However, playground politics are worlds away from the bills proposed in the House of Parliament which, when dictated by teenagers half trapped in the body of an adult yet still stuck in the mindset of a child, can lead to many things. And rule-breaking is definitely one of them.

From skirts being hiked up beyond the knee to black-as-night mascara drawing attention to various girls' eyes, I was both unsurprised and taken aback by what I witnessed within moments of entering the premises, my head in a whir as I could neither understand nor believe what my eyes were 'supposed' to be seeing. According to the school's uniform policy, girls are obliged to wear knee-length skirts, one small stud in each ear lobe and steer clear of 'noticeable' make-up - and those were only the minor issues! From a quick scan around the playground, I stood out as the only girl who had stuck to the knee-length skirt rule as the others flashed what many would have deemed as much more than a bit of thigh (at times, it was like staring at massive chunks of meat in a butcher's), but it didn't bother me in the slightest.

If anything, I felt as though I was emulating a bit of style inspiration from Mad Men, applying neat chic to a uniform which only a handful wore properly - but what else should I have expected? When around half a school's population is made up by girls, teachers are only able to punish so many until multiple gangs adopt the unpreferred style, resulting in an unsaid agreement between the pupils and the rule enforcers because, at the end of the day, it saves plenty of headaches for all affected parties. And if it means that I can wear my favourite gold studs for both my two earlobe piercings and cover my blemishes via a sprinkle of Bare Minerals foundation, it is an agreement which - despite my loathing of such rules being broken - I can bring myself to agree with.

But, most importantly of all, my greatest joy was sourced from the lessons I attended, unleashing a joy which only makes appearances at celebrations, get-togethers and online H&M sales. Despite having a limited background in the subjects as a home-educated student, I quickly grew to enjoy the likes of Geography, Religious Studies (R.S) and - dare I say it - Maths, which reflected upon my teachers' attitudes within no time. As I'm fifteen and would have had to take my GCSEs next year, I decided that taking a year back to complete my coursework and relieve me of exam-related pressure would be a good idea, at least for the sake of my fiery temperament. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that I have so far found my lessons to be relatively easy because of being a year older to my younger classmates, but getting an answer correct gives me a thrill like none other. By succeeding in my lessons, I realize that going back to school was the right decision, regardless of the struggles I've endured to adjust to such a spectacular change, least of all I'm continuing to understand at this very moment.

Life cannot always be spent in front of a laptop (albeit a very good one) and this paragraph will lead to my waving another goodbye to this beloved blog of mine, expecting to return here probably this time next week when an hour or two is free. Dealing with change is difficult because it is not always in our nature to accept what choices or opportunities offer, but one must rise above the hardship and look towards the light which exists within ourselves. Judging by my bright (foundation-coated) complexion, I think that learning has switched on a light that has motivated me to survive this awkward, yet exciting time in my life.

After all, attending a school is what I wanted, but turning that fantasy into a full-on reality has sometimes proved more difficult than I dared to contemplate. Exactly like moving house in March, my (imaginary) fairy godmother has granted a wish close to my heart, yet hard work and a few knockbacks are included in the deal. Give it several weeks or whatever, and it'll be worth it. I promise you that.

Sunday 1 June 2014

Sunday Note: Let's Make It a Quick One!

Whoever reads this deserves a 'hello' (thankfully not the greeting 'cheerio' which, with no gratitude expressed towards foreign TV shows, is not associated with modern day British culture) as I write on this Sunday afternoon, keen to make the most of some spare time before a repeat of The Simpsons is aired in half an hour's time. Some things - even including childhood favourite programmes - never change, do they?

Since producing my farewell piece here two days ago, I've mainly spent the weekend getting ready for the upcoming week ahead, which now that I have less than twenty four hours to go until the new term commences, is playing more on my mind than previously before. But, in true LikeATeen style, there is no way that my courageous self will give into the nerves which would have otherwise plagued me like a seasonal cold if I had never discovered the true meaning of confidence: what is there to be afraid of? Millions of students attend school every day without even thinking about it, so the fact that I will be joining them shouldn't come across as a big deal - indeed, I couldn't imagine feeling happier about enrolling in a new school! 

Having already stacked more than I probably need (and can safely carry without running the risk of breaking several bones, least of all my back) into my backpack and on the verge of preparing my packed lunch later today, it is fair to say that I've literally done everything in the run up to tomorrow and the days beyond; though this day itself has been a quiet one, it doesn't mean at all that I've indulged in the luxury of self-pampering or laziness! Like a hungry kitten - one of whom has not pushed his luck in recent days, but has twice tossed my plant all over the mink-coloured carpet - awaiting his meal, I'm greatly thrilled about what tomorrow lies in store for me, along with the work and socialization which will surely be brought along with it. If my excitement has reached fever pitch at this stage, who knows how I'll be feeling - or buzzing - by tomorrow morning! 

Most importantly of all, I hope to carry on running my blog and fill you in on what is happening in the life of a modern teen; at the end of the day, isn't story-telling one of my most meaningful duties? I'm by no means a quitter nor a person likely to give up at the first hurdle, so I intend to try my hardest - also within my education - to write here whenever possible because I would loathe nothing more than throwing away the hard work I've put into managing Life as a Modern Teen. And, as proof of my naïvety, perhaps somebody has indeed read my articles at one point or another; whether I have a million followers (pretty pointless, when you think about it, as I decided long ago to abstain from social media altogether) or none, I will continue my blogging journey, if not for the sake of my writing skills! 

Sometimes, life gives you lemons - preferably in the form of a lemon drizzle cake, though the sugar would more likely irritate my spot-prone skin - and whatever else it throws at you, but the opportunity to return to school is what I herald as a wonderful gift. Like many things, the beginning can often put you on edge and I won't deny my short, easily forgettable feelings relating to anxiety in the days leading to tomorrow, particularly as this half-term has been somewhat of a 'goodbye' to my home-schooling ways. Certainly, my farewell to seven years of home education has been bittersweet because, whilst I cannot contain my joy over attending secondary school, I've grown up with it, which has unsurprisingly defined myself since I began being home-schooled at the age of eight. But, now that I'm older, I feel capable of embracing a change as big as returning to mainstream education and, as I experienced on my 'taster' day last week, I haven't regretted it in the slightest!

Of course, I'm growing more impatient by the minute as a desire to see my friends and catch up with them continuously crosses my mind, along with an eagerness to immerse myself into studying with a newfound motivation; if a library is only a short walk away, what could possibly go wrong? And I haven't even attended an English lesson yet, so there is plenty of territory which has yet to be explored!

Anyway, I'm trying very hard (yet failing terribly) to stick to my original intentions of keeping this note a quick one, but there goes my wannabe writer gaining control once again! Whatever happens, I want to maintain the easy flow of writing which Life as a Modern Teen has offered me since it popped up on the internet last October, though I don't expect to find tons of free time at any given moment. As I will soon learn, the weekends are to be cherished and a blessing for those tired of getting up at six in the morning for five days straight - my excuse for appreciating Sundays because of roast potatoes may soon no longer apply!

Comme toujours, I'm keeping it real and staying true to myself which, as many people are bound to agree, is the very best thing that I can do at such an exhilarating, yet life-changing time. Hopefully many doors will be opened to my dreams of becoming a journalist and whatever else has never even occurred to me, but tomorrow - and my first week at secondary school - will mark the beginning of a new era.

And, with my blog standing beside me as ever, let's start living it!