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.