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!