Sunday 30 November 2014

One More Until My Favourite Month...

At this point every single year, I get very excited. No kidding. Like somebody high on Red Bull, I shiver, I shake, I behave erratically and I cannot wipe a smile cheesier than a wedge of Blue Stilton off my face. Only one day remains until the most glorious month of the year lands on our doorstep, promising gifts, pleasure and more chocolates that an acne-suffering teenager should be eating. Regardless of how old you are, this is a joy that never changes - and, in fact, is more appreciated with the wisdom of age.

Really, I'm scratching my head as to how we have nearly reached the end of November; wasn't it only five minutes ago when it began? What only feels like days ago when Christmas seemed so far away have slipped away, replaced with a hushed excitement that will reach fever pitch over the next few weeks. Ah, I love Christmas like a preteen worships One Direction: it is a passion that I completely adore, and preserve to use for many years to come!

On this day every year, I've given up fighting the urge to re-watch the same festive films or be touched by the numerous adverts that have been on air since the end of October; now is the time that I want to embrace Christmas, witnessing the anticipation blossoming into such a contagious fever that it would be impossible to not catch it. In other words, I'm ready for Christmas - the presents, the food, the quality time - and all that comes with it.

However, this day always distracts me from celebrating Christmas just yet. There is one special occasion that can never be ignored: my younger brother's birthday. Yes, the little boy who I've always played with, moaned and yelled at is now a teenager who towers over me like the Eiffel Tower; instead of looking up to me, I look up to him. Yet another curse of growing up! Now a streetwise fourteen year old, Little Brother has lost his childhood love of Scooby Doo, instead replacing it with an exceptional penchant for MP3 players and Fifa 15. Luckily, I don't mind this because listening to music or playing video games distracts him from winding me up; if only he'd discovered Xbox at the height of his let's-annoy-LikeATeen campaign years ago!

Despite an age difference of less than two years, my brother and I have different personalities - but similar mouths, according to our parents after receiving our recent school photos. I'm the ultimate bookworm - quiet, reserved and enthusiastic about my studies - where my brother is constantly nagged to tone his voice down (the year-long curse of his voice breaking), playful and more interested in spending the weekend watching Sky Sports. Although our personalities sometimes clash, we get on pretty well - of course, if he isn't pretending to not hear me when I'm talking to him - and have always looked out for one another, both at home and in school.

As I was the first one to hit adolescence, my brother has always struck me as the baby of the family - minus the cats and kittens - so it has taken me quite a while to accept the fact that he has morphed from a cheeky-faced kid to grimacing teenager whose once playful punches could now be as solid as stone. Still, I've lost count over the many times that I've hit him in the 'wrong' area - during our light-hearted 'bundles' - and been forced to apologize to him, whilst failing to disguise my faltering smirk in front of my parents. Both of us are pretty strong, though I know better than to play-fight him while his strength is constantly developing!

Due to his birthday falling on his day, it would be pretty unfair if all that I spoke about was Christmas, as tempting as it might be while he is describing his new football game. For the next week or so, his birthday will be the main event - especially as it has fallen on this weekend - so any hopes of decorating the house are unlikely to be achieved until the week afterwards. Besides, surely it must be so hard to celebrate your birthday while Christmas steals the spotlight - and deciding which presents you want when you'll receive another lot in a few weeks' or even days' time! Though my birthday is after Christmas (1st February - coincidentally Harry Styles' birthday), I still fall victim to this curse because I need to start thinking about presents around Christmas time - before receiving them five weeks later.

Christmas may be such a joy, but its joyous reputation is somewhat dimmed when it threatens to take away attention from your birthday - regardless of whether it is before or after! It hardly surprises me that my brother struggles to come with ideas for his birthday list, having already used them up for Christmas; then, once your birthday has passed, you are forced to wait until Christmas to go spending-crazy again!

Anyway, enough about Christmas: today is about my brother, who I wish a very happy birthday to. Sure, I might not have seen much of him because he has been playing Fifa 15, but I still hope that he is having a good time. And the best thing of all? I get a treat by indulging on a slice of coconut cake - a glorious present that needn't be wrapped!

So, happy birthday to little (or taller) brothers everywhere, or whoever celebrates their b-day before or after Christmas. It won't be long until I celebrate my own - and won't let anybody forget it!

Saturday 29 November 2014

What A Week!

When I clicked on the page to create a new post, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of writer's block. Otherwise regarded as my worst nemesis, the words that I had planned to pour into this article slipped from my mind, emptying it like one would with a junk-littered handbag. However, this 'wave' wasn't quite the same as the ones that I've experienced in the past - what nearly knocked me over like a gust of wind was the many things that I would tell within the space of several paragraphs. More news - of the extremely positive kind - than I've ever coped with before has heavily impacted my life over the past week. And, since the words have returned to my ownership, I can now express everything exactly the way I want to - whilst lifting a massive weight off my shoulders.

Who ever believed that words could be so heavy? To the naked eye, words are mere letters and bizarre scribbles that our fingers and Microsoft Word create: as if they could carry any weight! Yet words have the power to grab our attention and change us - unlike weightless feathers, they are not light and airy. If they hold the key to transforming our lives, I wouldn't necessarily assume that words are not heavy: until you feel their wrath, you wouldn't give a second thought about it.

Now, I'm almost crippled by the thousands of words resting on my shoulders, and cannot wait to relieve myself of their enormous weight. However, relief will not flood through my veins by simply placing them onto the ground: after all, there is a reason why we say words. As I wipe a trickle of sweat off my sizzling forehead, the words are dangling on the tip of my tongue. Might as well release them now...

It is all confirmed. The paperwork has been received and will be sent in the post as soon as possible. A trip to an out-of-town shopping centre will secure the purchase of new uniform. And, to my delight, I will be icing my annual Christmas cake whilst my peers lose the will to live as they struggle during a Maths test - the most priceless present on my entire Christmas list.

After six months of what I can only describe as sheer hell, I'm outta there. Nearly. One final day on Monday will hopefully secure the return of my countless books and work which, unlike everything else, were scarcely affected by the traumatic troubles that I endured. Then, once I leap off the grotty, foul-stenched bus one final time, a chapter will have come to a close. That will be it. No more early starts being blighted by aches of dread and tears of anger that, as hard as I would try to release them, would never glisten in my eyes. No more hours wasted on feeling like the loneliest person in the world. And, most important of all, no more questions regarding my safety.

After I go to school on Monday, I'll be going elsewhere - to what I hope will be a much better place.

Despite discussing it in a super-quick post on Tuesday, more news has stolen the spotlight - and gotten me nearer towards escaping the prison that I've been sentenced to since June. As of yesterday, I will be starting at my new school next Thursday, after having enjoyed two days of rest following my final day at what will shortly be the 'old' school. This news has really excited me and, unlike when I started at my old school, I don't feel nervous at all: if anything, I would start right now instead of counting down the days until the moment arrives!

Although moving schools is a major decision and, at this point in my education, quite stressful because of exams, it is a decision that I did not take lightly - but I knew that it was the right one. As much as schoolwork means the world to me, could I honestly take a risk and carry on going to school, in the hope that no more bullying would occur? Peace of mind - for both my family and myself - is priceless: if you feel comfortable in your surroundings, very little should distract you from your studies.

Due to switching schools, this has meant that I've had to choose my GCSE options again. Having first selected them while I was home-schooled and re-chose them earlier this year, I really don't want to hear the word 'options' uttered near me for a very long time! However, my new school has a greater selection and I was spoilt for choice as to which ones to pick: French, Psychology, Business, Sociology... Yet I knew that, in my heart of hearts, that French would be the ultimate option - especially as I intend to study it at A-Level - so, due to being in the same block, I had to choose it over my other great love, Psychology. Oh well, the school does offer Psychology at A-Level so I'll have my opportunity to learn it in less than two years' time - I can wait until then!

As Humanities and Languages are not compulsory unless you choose one, I was able to select two other options from the list. One block only offered three subjects - Computing, Art and Performing Arts. Initially, Computing interested me because it would be quite a good qualification to obtain, but I automatically changed my mind when it was stated that you must have advanced knowledge of Algebra - my definite pet hate! As for Art, a friend from my current school chose it, but has since been swamped with countless homework assignments, most of which she must complete at school because the folders are too big to bring home. Besides, my drawing skills haven't really progressed since I was five years old - even drawing a fish makes me break out into a sweat!

In the end, I selected Performing Arts. Despite leaning further towards the academic side, I can see the countless benefits of choosing the subject; it would hopefully boost my confidence in public speeches (enabling the option of becoming a TV journalist), and provide me with a break from stuffy classrooms! If my areas of expertise didn't particularly lie within drama, I could try my hand at dance, theatre production or even make-up! Or maybe my fantasies of picking an Oscar could be brought to life... who knows?

In the third and final block of options, my heart leapt when I saw 'Sociology' among the list. I'd decided a while ago that, if I couldn't study Psychology, I'd choose Sociology instead - at least my prayer was answered! Business Studies was also listed, but I cared more about Sociology which, according to what I've read, shouldn't be awfully difficult to learn.

All in all, I cannot wait to study those options and enjoy every single moment that I spend there; depending on my results, I hope to stay on to the Sixth Form and lose myself in the worlds of English, French and Psychology for another two years. Feeling excited about school is exactly what I've always wanted and was sadly deprived of at my soon-to-be-former one. What matters most to me is to put the past six months to bed and prepare for embarking a new, happier chapter with a happy ending in sight: brilliant GCSE and A-Level results.

Like my parents constantly say to me, one day at a time. What with cake being involved in my brother's birthday tomorrow, I'm definitely content with taking things rather easy - this has been quite a week that I won't be forgetting in a hurry!

.

Tuesday 25 November 2014

Flavour of The Day? Elation!

Hey,

A quick note from moi, Miss Trying-to-Behave-Like-A-Teen (yet, due to my passion for high end perfumes and disgust at One Direction's latest single, don't quite fill the bill), which will save me plenty of time from writing an essay worthy of an A*. 


Tonight, I feel like writing but am somewhat reluctant - ah, the curse of listening to music really does come alive whenever I'm trying to get into the zone! There is plenty that I wish to tell, yet the words are struggling to come out. Oh well, let's worry about the mess that I'll have to clean up later: now is all about spilling my guts and spitting the truth out. 

I've been offered a place at another school. After nearly six months of constant bullying, poor teaching and freezing treks in the frosty countryside, I'm finally going elsewhere - certainly to a better place! After waiting for the news over the week, I was informed earlier today, which was music to my ears - even better than Lorde's 'Yellow Flicker Beat' that I just listened to! In fact, I truly believe that there aren't any words that accurately describe how I feel right now; as I haven't really had a screaming fit (apart from one in the school toilets which only lasted five seconds) yet, it seems that the news is taking some time to settle in. 

Obviously, I have plenty to digest because the move - which I'm currently unsure as to when it will happen - will involve my changing GCSE options and learning a completely new syllabus. Although tons of work and a relentless supply of elbow grease will definitely play vital roles, I have no qualms about finding myself inundated with revision. 

What matters the most is that my safety is no longer in doubt, something which has been a pressing issue since literally my first day at my current (and soon-to-be-former) school. My mum, my dad and my younger brother, who will also be accompanying me to the new school, are equally elated because they have endured plenty of heartache: seeing your child suffer from the hands of bullies is a thought that I cannot bear to contemplate because the pain must be terribly indescribable. 

Not only were sharp-tongued bullies a major dilemma, but the standard of teaching has been quite concerning - one of my teachers has had a tendency to be absent for several weeks at a time, before reappearing for a lesson or two until she disappears into thin air once again. Also, watching films - which are totally not associated with our education - in some classes for weeks at a time (according to my brother) is a common occurrence: what difference would it make if we popped out to the cinema during precious learning time? Needless to say, my school has created and highlighted many issues that I could never have anticipated when I enrolled back in June - and now I've been given the opportunity to move on from this miserable blip in my life. 

Several things, such as my two pieces of A- and A*-graded English coursework, have been gained during my time at the school, yet they mainly reflected on the abilities in which I sometimes struggled to have faith. I've become more confident in Maths, learnt a little bit about Science - well, only when my teacher decided to show up - and proved to myself that gaining an A is entirely possible in French. However, I could have achieved those things at any school - all I needed was a workbook, a syllabus and some peace to get on with the work. When you strip things back, isn't that what school is all about? Instead, we are defined by numbers, letters, databases and computers which cause more grief than they are worth (as if I'm willing to forget the timetable problems that landed me in a lower English set at the beginning of the year!). 

Though I despise enduring those experiences, I've become a harder nut to crack - developing a skin as thick as my favourite variety of nuts, the creamy Brazil - and am more cautious of people, never accepting on face value. That isn't to say that I was extremely foolish and gullible when I joined the school - not at all - yet you would be hard-pressed to make me lose my guard. I hope that I won't have to analyse people as much at my new school as I currently do; even though safety is my main priority, looking out for myself drains me. Even then, your safety is not guaranteed which defeats the point, and the state of discomfort in which you constantly find yourself. Above all, I want to feel comfortable in my own skin and accepted for who I am; if everyone else has the right to do so, why should I not have an equal opportunity?

Hopefully it won't take too long until the details are sorted and a starting date is confirmed: the sooner I start, the better! In the meantime, I will have to carry on attending my current school until my new one is ready for me to transfer; in all honesty, I don't mind because it brings me hope to consider that, during my darkest moments in the Maths classroom, a place elsewhere has my name on it. I no longer feel that I'm compelled to endure two years or so of constant aggro - whatever happens now will be insignificant because I'll be leaving within no time.

Despite my excitement, I'm reluctant to announce the news to anybody at school. If word spreads, nobody will leave me alone - probably The Sun will interrupt my French lesson to ask me whether I'd give a comment on the matter. Everybody seems to be interested in somebody's business - especially of a juicy kind! When my final day does come, it will only be then that I'll inform my friend, but won't tell anybody else. I'd like to slip away in peace, before everyone questions my disappearance the following day or week  Leaving a mystery behind - which, unlike Donatella Versace's suspiciously shiny face, they cannot solve - will be quite satisfying!

Anyway, I'm so elated to have been offered a chance to re-start and escape a place that I've dreaded going to for way too long. Though six months may only be a tiny fraction of my life, it has been a time that I would prefer to forget and progress from. Success, happiness and a fresh start beckons - let's hope that I'm not forced to wait too long before that happens!

Sunday 23 November 2014

Another Cake That I Cannot Resist...

There are many things that I adore about this planet that, if I were to ever relocate to the Moon or Mars, would not exist. From breathtaking sunsets to H&M, I would feel entirely out of place if I didn't have access to any of the delightful things which makes me proud to live in Earth. Including one special cake which, like the devilishly chocolate variety, I am too weak to resist - cheesecake. 

Creamy, sweet and oh-so-moreish (which, depending on your cravings and waistline, can either be a good or a bad thing), cheesecake is the definite queen of cakes. Though it does not share the dense texture of a Victoria Sponge - which defines the foundation of a traditional cake - cheesecake takes cake-making to a whole new level, one of which I'm constantly eager to explore. Within the realms of my mouth, of course. 

As I licked my spoon clean after polishing off the remains of a slice of Oreo-flavoured cheesecake yesterday, I experienced what you might call an 'epiphany': what I had long assumed was a fondness suddenly transformed into a manic, relentless craving. Moments before, I had gotten myself tangled in a web of pure delight when I devoured every single bite of cheesecake (or Oreo) - the greatest position in which I'd found myself for ages. I never wanted to unstrap myself from the web because eating the cheesecake was a moment that I was desperate to prolong for as long as possible! 

The pleasure was too great to define, as was the flavour of the cheesecake itself: it's like a little secret that only I wish to keep to myself. And, when I'm focusing on nothing other than the slice presented before me, nothing else really matters - I hardly engage in conversation in between mouthfuls, preferring to remain in an airtight bubble. Minutes may pass, yet I'm not aware of its fast-moving pace; in that sense, I could have been strapped in a rocket and embarked on a journey to outer space without noticing my starry whereabouts: it was all about the cheesecake and I. Nothing else!

In my opinion, cheesecake brings your fantasies of pleasure, excitement and good eating alive; if made well, it ticks all of those boxes which reality sometimes struggles to fulfill. Without intending to sound like a nutcase, there is something special about cheesecake which some of us discover, yet cannot quite put our finger on what that specialness might be. Could the creaminess be the source of our attachment to it, a texture so rich that we cannot control ourselves from tasting it? Or is it perceived as a 'naughty' food that, despite its potentially high calorie count (which I'm too terrified to even consider, let alone find out) and alarm bells that start ringing in the heart attack ward, we are drawn to? 

For reasons that I'll probably never comprehend, humans are fascinated by what they are supposed to 'not' have - and, by the cream cheese content alone, cheesecake automatically falls into the 'to avoid like leather trousers' category. Even so, I still love, cherish, adore, crave, yearn for and am entirely, madly, wholly addicted to it. Yeah, maybe I am a nutcase after all - courtesy of the greatest dessert ever created on Earth. 

Anyway, cheesecakes come in many forms, all of which are equally great - and spoil you rotten! From baked to fridge-set, cheesecakes can take on various and unique textures, whilst still providing the addictive taste that establishes an life-long appetite for indulgence. And fluttery panics regarding the horrendous state of your calorie intake - fear of which consumes you more than you devour a slice of cheesecake! Still, that panic dies down as quickly as it was created, and you needn't wait half an hour until you find yourself Googling 'Philadelphia' (of the soft, cheesy kind). 

As a newcomer to the Cheesecake Lovers Club, my adventures have only gone as far as Oreo and chocolate-flavoured cakes - most of my experiences have been in the form of a lemon (with low fat cream cheese - hallelujah!) - cheesecake that my mum sometimes makes. However, I've now caught the bug to try more, and hope to be transported to places as great as the ones that Oreo cheesecake takes me! 

Lastly, I shall leave you (and, of course, myself) with several images of cheesecakes that I wish to indulge on at this very minute, but am unable to do so because a roast dinner will be served shortly. And tonight's dessert is sadly not of the creamy sort - it will be a while until I meet my favourite cake once again! If only I could put my hand through the pictures and have a bite whilst waiting for dinner...




Saturday 22 November 2014

Hope Beckons?

Since opening my eyes to a colourless, cold Saturday morning, I've been in a good mood. Wait, let me redefine that. The best mood that I've been in for an extremely long time. Instead of searching my face for signs of purple-ish bags and a cluster of ganglike spots, a picture of a brighter, more optimistic girl reflects in the mirror, which is in no way influenced by a pick-me-up glass of Coca Cola. 

Compared to the anger that rushed through me at the beginning of this week, I've since undergone a major transformation: the anger has gradually ebbed into a hush which I'm now able to put and lock away in a box, while a sense of relief seeps in, bringing waves of peace and tranquillity in its wake. Though it is not yet clear whether the red-hot anger will ever make a return in the near future, I'm nonetheless feeling better without its glaring presence; at long last, I feel as though I'm making a safe landing to Planet Earth, minus the wincing bump. The stress that I once feared would never disappear is slowly leaving me, replacing it with a calmer approach to life - the very last thing that I was thinking about less than a week ago.

Day by day, a light is becoming clearer, as the dark in which I've recently found myself is gradually becoming an indistinguishable blur. Reflecting on the events of the past week, I cannot contain the happiness that threatens to override me - and, in respect of the truth, I don't want to keep it inside for much longer. 

For months, the only way that I've dealt with my emotions is talking about them, then sticking them inside a bottle before sealing with an airtight lid. Though putting a bottle of water aside is as simple as it sounds, that bottle has been on the verge of exploding into a spectacular mess from the moment that I tried to contain it: doing so was asking for more trouble than it was worth. Whether I wanted to have some temporary peace or bury my head in the sand for as long as possible, doing either or both of these things took its toll on me. 

Like a handcuffed criminal, I couldn't escape and flee from my troubles. My eyes was focusing right on what was bothering me, unable to look at anything else. In fact, I haven't been able to look at or think about much else besides stress for a very long time - more than anybody deserves to endure. Months pass at a snail-like pace that provoke me to wonder whether time is really slowing down, or I'm the only one who believes so. Once you ask yourself that question, you have to absorb the truth, instead of hiding it and dealing with it one day in the future - what matters is how you react in the moment. 

After hitting a particular low point at the beginning of this week, there came a moment when I realized that happiness - the ultimate goal - could only be achieved if I made the efforts to obtain it. Frowning, sighing and having an elegant sulk about the matter wouldn't resolve the problem: only hope and a bit of time would keep my spirits alive. 

At the pace of a hundred year old tortoise, I began to develop a bit more optimism which, once I returned to face my cold-hearted menace on Wednesday, came about more easily. I lost myself in piles of work and half-interesting lectures, providing me an ideal distraction from the problem at hand - I rarely had a spare moment to think about myself, let alone the stress that I'd be under a few days before. And, without particularly considering it, my bubbliness - of no champagne kind - was reboosted, feeling as fresh and alert as a just-charged mobile.

However, happiness isn't necessarily created by time - something better happened. Though I'm reluctant to go into details (albeit I wouldn't put it pass the likes of TMZ and E! to have already discovered the truth) until I feel the time is right, I was on Cloud Nine yesterday, having given my confidence - and hope - the greatest boot that I could have hoped for. If all goes to plan, I'll be celebrating Christmas much earlier than usual: I would have received my main present! Still, all is not yet confirmed until early next week, so I'm not exactly in a position where I can get all my hopes up... yet it appears that luck is reflecting more in my favour, so I hope. 

Despite enduring the worst ever start this week, I've emerged as a stronger, feistier and more hopeful person towards the end of it. I've discovered a confidence that, until a few days ago, had scarcely been explored and used to my advantage - proving that I am not a person to be messed with, regardless of their so-called 'superior' position! Regaining hope has been the icing on the cake, yet I might get my hands on a glace cherry if my dreams are answered - and confirmed next week. 

All in all, does hope beckon for me? Judging by the light that I can see, I believe so. 

Thursday 20 November 2014

The Return of The Menace

Fast, sharp and cool. The rate at which it arrived was too much to process, let alone embrace, when I became aware of its impending arrival, whilst its sharpness - throwing my alerted senses into jeopardy - was much more a bit astonishing and the temperature that chilled me to the bone was unlike what I'd ever felt before. Needless to say, my emotions have been tossed into the air more than a batch of pancakes on Shrove Tuesday - finding my footing on Planet Earth is a main priority at the moment.

After all, are we not unlike our usual selves when we begrudgingly face a return to the menace, which twists our typical adolescent scowls into a glare that would chill the most heartless? For some of us, we turn into the sulkiest brats whenever forced to return to the weekend chores that we spend all week not thinking about, then cannot stop going over as soon as Saturday morning comes. When found in such situations, it amazes me how we swap from our typical happy attitudes to a persona that not even a drama queen would recognize - or we sink into a misery so deep that only we can save ourselves from drowning in such a glorious mess.

Although they mostly hover in the background, the menace's existence is difficult to forget about entirely, which justifies why we detest it with a capital D. However, I face a menace that must be confronted five days a week: school.

A monster for whom countless teenagers reserve a great hatred, school does not always treat you like a reliable friend, sometimes betraying your trust or causing an all-mighty blow to your confidence. If you're having a bad day, very little can prevent you from living through your sadness in five hour-long classes, juggling both the presence of classmates and schoolwork at the same time.

Yet the occasional bad day that everyone experiences from time to time is exactly what defines my time at school: it's the norm. As disappointing as it sounds, I've lost count over the many days that I've returned home feeling a thousand times worse than when I left seven hours before. Part of you chips away after the final bell of the day rings, signalling an end to an exhausting day complete with hassle. Though such experiences may help you develop a tougher and more over-cooked skin (as discovered when tucking into dry-as-a-desert meat in the canteen), a steelier persona doesn't ease the hardship that you have unwillingly endured. Whatever has happened and wherever you may, nothing can distract you from the hard-hitting truth that the menace is still present and as bothersome as ever.

With mixed feelings, a decision was made to stay off school on Monday and Tuesday this week due to numerous issues at my school, with an intention to bring about some form of action from the authorities involved. As all sleep-deprived teenagers would feel, I was elated about the prospect of having a decent lie-in until 9.30am (à la the much-looked forward to weekends) and not being obliged to remain glued to my seat in Form for fifteen minutes, which I've always perceived as a waste of precious learning time (that, if it did not exist, would enable the pupils to finish school early!).

Fifteen minutes after I got out of bed, my elation steadily died down into a blank emptiness, which was then replaced with an ache. Despite the overwhelming possibility that more trouble could occur, I wanted to be at school, entertained by the lessons and even smirking in spite of myself when the class jokester unveiled his inner Dalai Lama. Even though I sort of knew what would be covered in my lessons, working from home - which, what with few distractions, no rowdy pupils or ice-cold/boiling hot classrooms, was the ideal learning environment - wasn't entirely the same because I didn't have the actual work on hand. Plus, it didn't take long until panic entered the equation over whether I would be left behind or if I was doing enough work. As distracting as my school is, I have developed an ability to somewhat drown out my surroundings and focus on the work: without my books or lesson plans, how could I lose myself in thoughts regarding the reason for which I was staying at home?

Bearing these fears in mind, I came to a conclusion on Tuesday evening that, instead of waiting another day to see whether things would improve in my absence, I would witness them with my own eyes by returning to school. Though plenty of encouragement from my parents was required to influence my decision, my eagerness to return to lessons was far too great to ignore: another lie-in may have been lost because of it, but I would have missed on much more had I stayed at home for one more day.

As I prepare to attend the mother of all days - the 'chip-tastic' Fridays - I may be settling back in an undisrupted routine, though that comfort is somewhat ill at ease. The menace might be the very last thing that I would consider thinking about whilst solving an Algebraic equation, but it immediately returns to the furore of my mind once the final question has been completed and the moment has come to go home. Like a stalker, I'm followed to the front door by the menace, whose invisible disguise may not been seen by the naked eye, yet can always be sensed. The front door is locked, but the menace has gained entry in what I call my safe haven, the one place where I always feel secure - how can I fall into the arms of safety if plagued by such a cruel demon? The menace terrorizes me whatever time of the day, wherever I am and however I'm spending my time: not even two days off at the week makes a significant difference.

Like I learnt long ago, standing tall behind a shield is the only way that I protect myself from the menace; otherwise, I would never enjoy a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness. Keeping strong is easier said than done, but it provides a strength - both of the physical and psychological kind - that blocks you from being driven insane from a highly negative force of energy. Finding and eventually creating your shield takes time yet, once you hold it in front of you, you only realize that it is worth the wait. To this day, I sometimes lose my guard - along with the grip on my shield - but it is a thing that becomes easier to hold onto as time passes.

The menace may be ultra-fast, as sharp as a needle and cold like a heart of steel but, whatever happens, I know better than to let it get to me. A menace can only possess a power so great - as if I will allow it to gain even more!

Tuesday 18 November 2014

Coping When You Reach Breaking Point

Breaking point. What is the definition of the term? When you break something, that object either smashes into a million and one smithereens (e.g. an iPhone that your butterfingers 'accidently' drop onto tiled floor) and is, to an extent, irreparable. As for the 'point', it is a stage that you reach after leaping over many obstacles before that, um, point. Therefore, you'll in for quite a rollercoaster when 'breaking' and 'point' are combined - a ride that nobody wishes to hop onto. 

If you fancied reading a Google-approved definition of the term, breaking point is defined as 'the moment of greatest strain at which someone or something gives way. A terrible climax from which its victim suffers, breaking point harms you more than words can begin to describe: everything that you see and feel is as empty as a black hole. Coated in more darkness than a tacky coat of nail varnish, you are pushed to the absolute brink by toxic levels of frustration that are constantly injected - and carry a highly fatal risk. 

Each time that you reach breaking point is a further blow to your confidence, self-esteem and hope in society and, most important of all, yourself. Therefore, does it honestly shock you to the core that coping is the least of your priorities?

Well, I'm certainly no exception, that's for sure.

Since I hit an almighty low - or high, depending on how you perceive it - last week, I've been staying at home instead of leaping into pools of schoolwork head-first. Needless to say, bullying was the cause of my decision to stay away from the troublemakers, along with the sad truth that the school itself was failing to sort the issues out - months after they originally came into prominence. 

After nearly six months of daily intimidation, verbal abuse and, at times, physical attacks, I decided that it was time to take a stand against the authorities who were incapable of disciplining the bullies, despite the cost that it could potentially have on my studies. With the support of my parents, I've remained off from school for two days, yet am nowhere nearer towards reaching a conclusion - thus, breaking point remains a major and frankly worrying issue. 

Although I feel safer and more secure than ever at home, it frustrates me that several of my workbooks are still at the school and, instead of complying with my request, the school hasn't bothered to supply me with any work to complete at home. Considering that I haven't made anybody else's life an absolute living hell, why should I pay the price by falling behind while my tormentors gain an education at school? In between studying, my blood boils with so much anger that I'm running out of ways to contain it: unlike the foul habits of several of my peers, uttering as many F-bombs as the fruity ones that Lush make do not relieve me of any stress. In fact, I'm becoming more stressed out as each day passes because my faith in the school is decreasing to such an extent that I cannot entrust my safety in their hands - and, if things carry on as they currently are, will I ever muster the courage to walk through its doors again?

Undoubtedly, I'm certain that many of you will be scratching your heads as to why I'm refusing to return to school, despite the effect that has already impacted me. As a self-confessed lover of learning (in teen speak, geek might be the literal translation), I feel like I'm being starved of oxygen due to not having the required work and books - as bad as the teaching was, learning was the only thing that I woke up to achieve each morning. Even Google is depressingly letting me down with few suggestions when I type in the exam specifications: if the world's most famous search engine cannot help me, who can? My punishment is continuing, though I'm miles away from the school itself - and I have absolutely no doubt that the bullies themselves have received the dressing down that they should have had months ago. 

All of this drama - non-stop phone calls to the school, emails to the teachers, the long waiting period in between responses - could have been avoided. So easily that none of this could have ever resulted in such a terrible, sticky mess. Instead of getting my hands stuck in another piece of HBO-worthy drama, I want to wash my hands clean of every impurity that has blemished my confidence in the past five-and-a-half months of bullying. My hours in bed may have increased due to not getting up early for school since yesterday, yet I am affected by fatigue more than ever. I can't sleep. I'm losing my appetite for food. I have no interest in working. Basically, I'm not myself. If you ever wanted to witness the zombified version of LikeATeen, you are staring at her - grey-bagged eyes and blank-as-a-sheet-of-white-paper stare into the back of beyond. 

Like an empty can of Diet Coke, I am so deprived of my inner contents - all that makes me a typically happy teenager - that I cannot think about anything apart from what is going on at the moment. Whenever I'm at home, my mum usually has to encourage me to take a break from studying: this time, however, it is evident that I'm hardly in the mood for it. Finishing a unit off in my Biology book might seem excessive to some of you, but it is as basic as writing my name down, so I feel. My identity is defined by events that were robbed of my control: a snitch, a weakling and a loser are among the names that I sense are associated with me because of bullying. As all great people do, I aim to rise above it, yet there is only so much that you can take before breaking point consumes and destroys you. 

Therefore, I'm in need of developing suitable strategies that will enable me to cope during this difficult time - but how? I don't know what to do or think while my mind is positioned elsewhere, making itself a perfect target for another strike. Coping is essential if I wish to keep myself sane from now until whenever this chapter draws to a close - or should at least eventually do so - but I have to learn how to calm myself down when my anger threatens to explode. 

Albeit short-lived, watching half an episode of Sherlock last night (which was cut short due to wanting to see Gemma Collins embarrass herself on I'm a Celebrity...) took the edge off current matters for a while, an opportunity which I immediately seized. I enjoyed seeing Benedict Cumberbatch on screen more than his greatest 'Cumberbitch' (extremely obsessed fan, between you and I), though for reasons completely unrelated to a doomed love affair. Temporary distractions such as television may not address the issue at hand, but I welcome them gladly - any distraction would make do while reality is being such a miserable bother. 

And, perhaps to my inner sloucher's annoyment, carrying on as normally as possible - which applies to any Maths-related work - is highly important. I've survived as best as I can with my books, knowledge and the internet, in the hope of keeping up-to-date with my studies. Everything else might be up in the air, yet at least I can find some solace in analyzing a paragraph about the inner-working of plants or translating a page of French. Yet again, distractions are my heroes in disguise: without considering it, they have rescued me on numerous occasions. Hence the reason why I somehow managed to survive months of bullying at school - apart from break and lunch, work was on offer. 

Anyway, I hope to emerge from the other side as soon as possible, having gained more than what I had when this drama originally commenced. Breaking point should hopefully never be reached in the near future again, yet this experience ought to define me as a stronger being. Their hints of a six pack may suggest otherwise, yet the pupils at school possess a fraction of the strength that they regularly boast about. Appearance or words don't mean anything - only the truth does. Along with the fact that bullying is unacceptable and its death should be declared sooner than ever. 

Saturday 15 November 2014

Change in the Atmosphere

Throughout this week, the sky has reflected exactly how I've felt. Sunshine for the tiny spark of hope rising within me; colourless clouds representing the drained feeling that I've gotten used to; and heavy, seemingly endless rainfall which express the sadness of a thousand tears pouring down my face. Although it might seem to be a so-called coincidence, I perceive it as something much bigger than that: whenever I look up at the clouds caging me in my village, I needn't consider what my mood is. Even today's heavy fog accurately describes the emotionless, exhausted feelings that I refer to as my own. 

Besides, I sense a slight hint of something major hanging in the atmosphere which is in no way related to the weather or, indeed, my feelings: an important moment will soon be upon me. For ages, part of me realized that it would be approaching in the near future - because there was little chance that it would not arise - yet recent events have pushed its due date forward, influencing the atmosphere more than ever. 

For too long, I've spoken about a change needing to occur in my life. Fuelled by heartbreak and devastation from a source that I once welcomed as a fresh change, a moment dedicated to making a decision - that, regardless of its outcome, will have an impact - is no longer in distant shores. In fact, it has nearly reached the shore: days, weeks and months of waiting its arrival will eventually be over, which then transitions into a new phase. A phase of which will determine the course of my future - perhaps heralded as the most difficult decision that I will have ever faced. 

Decisions are never easy to make. Even the simplest ones can cause plenty of bother if you are not equipped with the tools to make them. However, the thought of making such a life-changing one can cripple you before you even get started. At the moment, I'm fighting fear in favour of reaching the courage which will keep my nerves at ease, yet I'm running out of strength; too much of it has been wasted on the subject of this decision. But a change needs to happen, unless I want to repeat another endless cycle of misery. You can guess which one I'll go for. 

And the cause of this agony? My school. Yes, that hellish prison to which I'm bound to attend five days a week has agonized me to the extent that I can no longer endure another second in a so-called 'educational' environment. After one too many incidents, a decision has to be made this weekend - will I return on Monday or was yesterday my final day there?

Having endured five months of ceaseless aggravation, bullying and plentiful quantities of maliciousness, I've had enough. Unlike many times before, I truly mean it. My whole family are more exhausted than I can begin to imagine because of what both my brother and I have faced at the school, a word which now sends shivers down my spine. 

Everybody and everything - apart from my grades - has suffered as result of attending that spiteful place over the course of less than six months. I'm lonely. I'm sad. And, perhaps the most significant of all, I feel cheated. When being guided on a tour around the school in May, the Deputy Head assured my family that not only would I receive a great education, but I would be in safe hands. After being pelted with inappropriate words in and out of school from fellow pupils and intimidated on various occasions, my safety hasn't exactly been a main priority. Plus, I can count the number of decent teachers on one hand - the rest either allow their class to run riot or they repeatedly disappear for no apparent reason (as if the pupils would be the first to find out why). 

As I'm recommencing work on my GCSEs, I cannot stick it out for another few months to see whether things will improve. The damage has already been done. A meeting with the Deputy Head on Wednesday didn't address the issues that we had with one particular pupil - who has not been disciplined for his actions - who then upped his hate campaign against us. Even a Head of House has declared that this situation is beyond him - where else can we turn? 

In the meantime, both my family and I are torn about what to do next. For reasons which I neither wish nor can explain, more trouble happened in the days following the meeting earlier this week. As a result, it would be too dangerous if I went to school on Monday - after what has happened, I would definitely not put it past this bully if he decided to resort to physical tactics, instead of the vicious verbal ones that he has used for months. 

However, I don't have the strength to ever go back to that school. For one thing, all this fear and worry has taken its toll on me, and I really don't want to push myself further - that should only apply to my studying ethic which, as I focus my attention elsewhere, is being pushed to the bottom of the pile of priorities. And, unsurprisingly, I have no desire of returning to school until I transfer to another one - why would I want to add more unpleasant moments as I'm struggling to forget the previous ones? At home, not only am I safe, nothing - from the presence of bullies, disruptive pupils or constant worries - distracts me from studying. As long as the work is supplied, I don't care where I study - my only request is that I'm not doing it at that hellhole. 

A risk that I constantly take is the possibility of losing my love for learning because I'm trapped in such a negative environment. When I wave goodbye to my mum as I set off to the bus stop each morning, I have no idea what will be spilling out of my lips when I return seven hours later. Will I have travelled through hell or, if luck allows it, had a relatively rare 'okay' day? Uncertainty is horrendous at the worst of times, yet even more hellish when it grips you on a daily basis. Two days off at the end of the week doesn't allow me enough time to recharge my batteries and mentally prepare myself for school. Even talking about it now, one foot still remains in the grounds, classrooms and bus; it is no way to live. 

Right now, I really have no idea which way to turn. I'm at crossroads - I either turn one way or the other. Such a crippling weight is being carried on my shoulders that I have to relieve myself from it soon. What should I do? Return to school next week, acting as though everything is normal? Literally from my first day, anything relating to school has not been normal. I'm hardly a Soap Awards-winning actress at the best of times, so why plaster a Hollywood smile on my face? If I do leave, I will be faced with an agonizing wait until I find out whether any schools have any places. Even then, would I have to stay at my current school if other ones in the local area were in no position to offer my brother and I two precious places? I wish that I could look into a crystal ball and discover the wisest path to follow because I can't pick one, yet this might be a case where I can only rely on my gut instinct. If only I had more faith - and experience - in following its lead. 

By the end of the weekend, I really hope that I will have made my mind up and, if anything, my future is looking a bit clearer than it currently does. Trying to see beyond mist and fog is never the easiest of all tasks, let alone the outcome of your near future. As much as I need clarity, insight and wisdom would be greatly appreciated; changes are not exactly the easiest things to get your head around, yet reassurance eases the shock that has the power to transform your world into a holy shambles. 
 
At least one definite change in the atmosphere will be a perspective on these matters - and hopefully the reignition of hope, providing me a solid foundation for achieving my dreams. Hopefully, my nightmare at that dreadful place is nearing an end - the beginning has only just started.

Wednesday 12 November 2014

Why Bullying Is a Demon

Bullying, bullying, bullying. Could there be a word which angers me more the one beginning with the letter 'B'? Afraid not, if you have ever encountered bullying - either on the receiving or witnessing end. Without delving into a heavily explored rant, bullying is horrible, horrendous and absolute hell for anybody who becomes a victim of it. As a current victim myself, I completely identify with those whose lives have been tormented by physical and verbal abuse: tragically, it seems that I've joined the saddest club to which you could ever gain admittance and is a place that I'm eager to lose my ties with as soon as possible.

Nobody likes to feel weak. Weakness is often regarded as a negative - why seek pleasure in experiencing those feelings when it offers absolutely no benefits to you? We take pride in being heralded as strong, seemingly bulletproof creatures: in some ways, living up to the 'ideal' image that we create ourselves or are influenced to believe by society. Standing up for yourself is a skill that showcases our strength at its very best and couldn't be further placed apart from the nervous, uncomfortable feelings that a 'weakling' would supposedly feel. Obviously, everybody aims to be as solid as steel. That's simply a fact of life. Yet does it actually immunize ourselves from the intimidating clutches of bullying? Not necessarily.

Ever since I started at my new school over five months ago, my life has been an absolute misery. A living hell. A nightmare in which I've been trapped since awakening on the first day of June and preparing for my very first day at secondary school - and have yet to wake up from. Usually my guards in armour, words cease to provide me strength when I describe the range of emotions I've felt over a five month period: lonely, depressed, angry. And, perhaps now the most significant of all, tired. Though my early starts in the morning obviously don't benefit my sleeping hours at all, the main cause of my frequent exhaustion relates to the bullying that I've been subjected to. Experiencing it, thinking about it and telling my family or whoever about it is more draining than one could begin to imagine. Like a bathtub being drained of its bubbly contents, I'm losing drops of energy as each second at school passes: by the time I get home, I would gladly lie on my bed and not dare to move a finger, let alone get up.

School shouldn't be like this. Nothing, from personal experience to discussions posted on the internet, could have prepared me for five months of constant aggravation. Absolutely nothing. If I did have a slight insight into what laid ahead of me, I would never have walked down this path that, since these incidents began to occur, I beat myself up for choosing. At times, my veins are pulsing with blood red anger, whereas I only need a small win on the Lottery to buy warehouse loads of Kleenex and release the sobs that rarely rise over the barriers. My emotions are often all over the place, and it tires me to keep them in check when I'm dangerously close to reaching breaking point. Is it fair? No. Should anybody be forced to endure torture in a place of learning? Never. But why is it happening?

In life, there will be many questions that I'll encounter, but will struggle to answer. From the potential existence of aliens to an Algebraic equation, I will certainly never be short of questions that will give my brain a greater workout than an episode of Countdown does. However, I've resigned myself to the fact that I will never uncover the actual truth about why I'm being bullied, despite creating several theories that may very well hit the nail on the head. When you face up to the prospect of sitting in the same classroom with your tormentors after waking up in the morning, you are so sick with nerves that you cannot think about anything else: reasons are easily forgotten because only the offensive actions made towards you matter. Still, we can second-guess that the cause of the bullying might be linked to our appearance, ethnicity, sexuality or background - or, in many cases, nothing at all.

Personally, I believe that my age (due to going back a year), previous status as home-schooled, appearance (not a single mini skirt or ballet pump in sight) and even my strong, refined accent could be taken advantage of by my tormentors. Compared to the majority of pupils, I stand out of the crowd: I've never made any effort to alter my behaviour, style and certainly the way I speak for the sake of 'fitting in'. I'm different, but my individuality shouldn't pose any problems. Unlike the offensive jokes that some pupils make, I'm neither harming nor offending anybody - why make a big deal over what I perceive as nothing? Sadly, I will never understand what goes on in some kids' minds and what provokes them to begin a hateful campaign against me; I guess that is a matter which mystery-hungry Sherlock Holmes will have the honour of figuring out.

Due to the upsetting nature of the incidents, I really have no desire to do an Oprah and reveal every single bit of the bullying I've endured - such things can be reserved for the publicity-loving stars whose sole purpose is to promote their half-funny rom-coms. However, I've been on the receiving end of shoving, offensive words and interrogation from pupils who absorb every fact about me like a soaked sponge: they are constantly hungry for new gossip. So, if I'm having an occasionally quiet day, what do these people do? Trapped in the land of boredom, they dig a way out by creating some drama... all of which is linked to me.

Conversations are resurrected with excitement if pupils have something juicy to talk about - especially if that subject is sitting several rows ahead of them in the classroom. Having developed a knack for hearing from far distances (due to my secret habit of eavesdropping as a youngster), I struggle greatly to ignore chatter about me. Only work distracts me from all of these problems, yet I'm plunged into a sea of deep misery once the bell rings for break and lunchtime - when the bullies can strike me more viciously than allowed during class.

Although my friend and I regularly hang out, most of her classes are different to mine, so we don't easily find one another at break or lunch, which means that I'm sometimes alone. When I was home-schooled, I always enjoyed having some 'alone' time because I could get on with some work and eat my lunch in peace. At school, however, these are definitely not times to be avoided: as soon as I've eaten my snack, I'm desperate to attend my next lesson because I cannot stand another second wandering in the corridors or fearing that a tormentor will find me.

For fifteen minutes in the morning and nearly an hour in the afternoon, fear grips me. If my friend is with me, my nerves are somewhat eased, yet I'm on permanent lookout when I'm by myself - after everything that has happened, I cannot afford to land myself in another incident which provides some juicy gossip that the entire school talks about for a week. And, as personal experience has taught me, telling the authorities can make the situation worse - although I would never dream of keeping these matters to myself. If somebody cannot get a grip on their bitchy behaviour, it is only right that somebody gives them a dressing down!

Demonic, devilish and downright distressing, bullying is a monster that I'm fighting to tame. As difficult as the process is, I'm trying my hardest to block out the bad stuff and work to the best of my ability; failing to do so would allow the bullies to believe that they have won. As if I'm willing to give them a hint of satisfaction!

One day, I hope to read this entry and look at my experiences with a different, wiser perspective. Obviously, bullying isn't just limited to children - adults can suffer from it more horrifically, yet experiencing it at school is equally horrible. I seek to emerge from this dark tunnel as a stronger person - despite occasionally falling prey to weakness and low confidence - who is better equipped at warding off stupid and vicious people. Do they honestly believe that they are the most powerful human beings on this planet or are they delusional? At times, school reminds me of a mental asylum: some people are just crazy. But I'm not - it is pretty fair to say that I'm one of the sanest pupils there.

Success beckons for survivors like myself - unless you gain a degree in the subject, I doubt that many of my bullies will lead charmed lives. During the darkest times, I get a kick out of imagining how great my future will be while they spend it at the job centre, receiving a cheque to feed their nine hundred kids or so. My gain, their loss...


Tuesday 11 November 2014

What This Chef Likes

After coming home having just finished another exhausting day at school, I opened the door and stumbled into the house, relieved to be back in my natural surroundings. Instead of greeting one of my four cats or even having a quick bite to eat, I was desperate to relieve myself of a hefty weight that I'd been carrying during my five minute walk home. In one of my hands was a pink Forever 21 which, when opened, revealed a plastic container. Inside of it contained a treat that I absolutely adored and could not bear to wait a second longer to try - fruit soda bread.

Having prepared and baked it at school several hours beforehand, I was itching to delve into one of the capacious kitchen drawers, find a knife nearly as long as the bread itself and cut a few slices, being transported to days gone by of home baking, winter evenings and sunny breakfasts which were defined by buttermilk-enriched bread. Typically made by my mum, soda bread had been left off the breakfast menu - or, indeed when I think about it, the lunch and just-arrived-home-from-frantic-outing-to-the-supermarket cravings - for quite a while, which justified my making it in school today.

Due to selecting Catering - better known as food technology or simply cooking for those unfamiliar with the rather vague term - as one of my GCSE options several months ago, the course requires participating in practicals on a weekly basis, in order to develop my cookery skills in various areas. Since the school year began in September, I've tried my hand at beef curry, chicken stir frys, herb-crusted fish and, of course, the horrendous deep-fried samosas which, to this day, are the only dish that have been photographed (and showered me in shame).

All of this work - getting to grips with different kinds of meat, poultry, fish, vegetables and savoury foods - contributes to a coursework assignment that I'll start shortly after Christmas which, when juggling millions of plastic bags whilst racing to the bus stop in the rain, somewhat makes this enormous effort worthwhile.

In such a short space of time, I've gained confidence (and hopefully not weight from testing the finished product) in successfully cooking dishes without poisoning neither myself nor my family which, after cooking a cod-themed dish last week, was eagerly consumed by all my cats! By the time that coursework begins next year, I won't have any worries about getting good grades: seeing my skills soar each week is absolutely reward and, undoubtedly, a perfect confidence booster.

Although I had an opportunity to study other subjects, I was drawn to Catering because of my ambitions to develop cookery skills that would remain with me throughout my entire life: the same certainly could not be said about creating a programme in computer science, could it? Though the course leans further towards the aims of a future caterer, I've nonetheless learnt plenty of skills and facts that will hopefully have not slipped from my memory come results day in less than two years' time; considering that I didn't know how to cook meat (without being gripped with the fear of giving myself food poisoning) several months, producing a beef curry simply shows how far I have come!

Besides, standing in front of a stove or oven makes a decent change from being stuck on a table and uncomfortable chair for hours on end, as is typical in 90% of my other lessons; during such an important time when focus is crucial to achieving exam success, variety could be the key to keeping me partially sane. Some pupils discover their reprieve when running around a field in P.E. (though I seriously wonder why). playing an instrument or sketching a detailed picture: I instantly forget about stress the moment that I walk into a kitchen. Obviously, I experience moments when I feel very little different from a contestant on Masterchef as the teacher roars over loud buzzings of chatter to remind us of the time we have left or I'm racing to save my dish before it turns into a burnt, unappetizing mess. Overall, I've found peace in what you might consider to be such a crowded, chaotic place which, wherever I am, instills a sense of calm within me: the kitchen is my safe haven.

As much as I enjoy every single second that is spent on preparing and cooking dishes, there is absolutely no doubt that I get a kick out of trying the finished product - after all, doesn't food taste a hundred times better when you've made it yourself! Teenagers have a well-known reputation for woofing down food quicker than an Olympic-winning athlete at the best of times, and I'm no exception; waiting until I got home to try my soda bread was agonizing, so I'll gobbled it down literally as soon as it was placed on a plate!

When I cook at home, I tend to lean towards sweeter dishes, such as cakes and biscuits. Yes, the WeightWatchers police would most certainly disapprove of this practice, but I find these recipes rather easy and less time-consuming than an actual meal; easiness and speed is important, is it not? Old favourites include chocolate chip brownies (the ultimate mood-lifter), gingersnap cookies and coffee and walnut cupcakes, yet I often try new recipes - once again, variety keeps the excitement of cooking alive! As long as something - sweet or savoury - has been made, I'm happy. The hit that I get after cooking is what I crave the most, though I wouldn't turn down a (homemade) fairy cake if offered to me!

Whether I'm at school or home, I love cooking in every form and am so pleased that I'll slowly progressing from the status of an amateur to an intermediate cook - at this rate, I'll land myself a job in a restaurant! The pleasure it gives me is priceless, along with the lovely-tasting goodies that it leaves behind. At times, I wonder if I'm luckiest girl in the world... or have just woken up on Christmas Day!


Sunday 9 November 2014

Listening To...

Every day, every hour, every second, I'm surrounded by sound. Wherever I am and whatever I'm doing, my ears are alert to the presence of sound - both in the form of loudness and near tranquillity. I hear people talking. My breathing. A gust of wind blowing past me. Unless I embark on a nature retreat in the middle of nowhere, noise is constantly present in my life - the only time that I'm immune from it is while I'm asleep.

However, there is a type of noise that is quite different to what you usually hear, and erupts a sense of pleasure when you listen to it, losing yourself in a stream of hypnotic beats. Music is a joyous noise that I constantly crave to hear, wishing to fill my eardrums with the soothing vocals of Sade instead of hearing the irritating stream of chatter whilst weaving my way through enormous crowds. 

I adore music as much as anybody else, and feel at peace while I'm listening to it. Escapism is a term that springs to mind when explaining the joys of listening to music because I literally escape to another place: is it limbo, or a paradise thousands of miles away from Earth? Anyway, I entirely forget about living on this planet when singing along to Get Lucky on my bed on a Sunday evening - what I hear at that moment is all that matters.

Currently, the music that is most meaningful to me are a variety of songs which I can't resist listening to, indulging on them like one would gorge on a box of truffles (e.g. me yesterday night). Long ago, I gave up figuring out why I refer to music during periods of craving peace because, at the end of the day, it always does the trick. Always. Unless deprived of inspiration when surfing playlists on Spotify, music is guaranteed to hit the spot - satisfying a desire to unleash my inner Mariah Carey or rocking out to feisty anthems - whatever I'm feeling. 

As a teenager, my emotions are central to what I choose to do, which music is even affected by. Is it any wonder that millions of young adults cherish their iPods like the Queen's crown jewels? Music ignites happiness within us, a feeling of which we yearn to experience again and again. Some people get high from taking drugs: I get my hit from losing myself in the world of pop, soul and timeless classics. Needless to say, music is very addictive - but I have no intentions of cutting back on it!

Therefore, I won't be easing on my listening to various songs, some of which have been selected as my current favourites today. If I'm bored, happy, down in the dumps or generally in the mood for some catchy tunes, music is my go-to friend. And, however old I am, I just can't get enough!

1. Changing - Sigma feat. Paloma Faith


2. Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde

3. Rather Be - Clean Bandit feat. Jess Glynne

4. My Happy Ending - Avril Lavigne

5. Wonderwall - Oasis

Saturday 8 November 2014

Why I Need to Move On From the Finishing Line

As soon as my final lesson of the week, the always looked-forward-to English, finished yesterday afternoon, I breathed a sigh of relief. A massive weight that I had been carrying on my shoulders was suddenly lifted when the finishing line - a now not-so-distant weekend - was reached by my aching legs. I'd felt like I had just run the London Marathon because I nearly collapsed onto my seat on the bus several minutes later, overwhelmed with exhaustion and aches throughout my body. Except that, unlike a professional runner who trains for one event months in advance, my situation was poles apart: I had only completed my first week back at school. 

Months since I switched from home-schooling to attending the local comprehensive, my head hasn't entirely caught up with the current state of reality: is it really true that, along with the majority of teenagers, I attend school? Everything happened so quickly - literally within a week after contacting my school - that I've barely had time to accept the changes that have had an enormous impact on my life. No wonder I'm in constant need of paracetamol - a pounding boom echos in my head if I dare to consider every single particle and events of the past few months. 

Although this is a subject that has been explored, analyzed and heavily spoken about various times, I haven't reached a stage where I can pull the curtains down and shut out the protruding light that draws me into a long, typically boring conversation whenever the feeling takes me. Closure is a stage that, from where I'm standing, seems so far away and probably involves overcoming many obstacles until I get there. By the time I land (without a slight bump) at the weekend, I really can't be bothered to leap over equestrian-style jumps to draw a close with this issue: all that I'm able to think about is sleep, play and more sleep. Unsurprisingly, 'closure' is tossed at the bottom of the pile, abandoned until next week and the week after that and...

You get the picture. I'm either too lazy or weak (having only emerged from bed less than two hours ago, my brain is not up to the task of determining which one) to gag myself from discussing the relief of finishing a week of school, so you and I are condemned to writing and reading the same thing over and over again. This is a perfect example of one of my faults: I can't bring myself to let something go. Before you utter the first lyric from Frozen's most famous song, let me get something in first - I'm not emulating a humorous comedienne whose tongue is dripping with sarcasm. 

Mustering the willpower to give something up isn't exactly the easiest of things to do, for reasons which I neither understand nor cannot explain. Unlike Princess Elsa, I'm dong the exact opposite: refusing to let go. And that 'it' is my reluctance to stop talking in-depth about my week at school and relief over the weekend being mine for the taking. 

Sometimes, I log onto my blog, buzzing with as much energy as a glass of champagne, and cannot wait to begin writing. Then, as soon as the editing page loads on the screen, I realize something absolutely terrifying: I have nothing to say. Nothing at all. Gripped by panic, my mind scrambles for themes and words as I (fail to) push my angst aside and begin to write, yet this action only makes matters worse: What I produce is, in my opinion, a holy mess: there is the noticeable lack of structure, interest and passion which usually satisfies me while I'm writing it. 

It goes without saying that everybody has their on- and off-days from time to time; would we really be human if we never fell prey to quiet moods and low feelings? Our emotions have the power to affect our performance in whatever we do which, despite its truth, is a fact that I don't want to accept. As if I can be happy about a short-lived teenage sulk preventing me from fulfilling activities which always put a smile on my face - it only makes me feel worse! 

Living with frustration is, well, the most frustrating feeling that you will ever know: you don't need a finger, let alone a whole hand, to count the positives. None exist. As for the negatives, you would need a spacious setting - perhaps one as large as the shopping centre I visited (and absolutely loved) last week - to list every single point, which does no favours for lifting your mood. 

My current surroundings - a darkly lit room with a window showing the very worst of what British weather offers outside - are unlikely to cheer me up either, though I'd probably be complaining if I was sunbathing on a sunny beach in Dubai! And, as a result of my extra long lie-in, I'm fighting constant urges to return to bed which, of all places, I'm sitting on to write this. Not what I'd consider as a brilliant start to the day...

There is a reason why I embrace change. Instead of waking up to a same, unchanged routine each day, I awake with a sense of excitement in the air, my heartbeat increasing as change makes its presence known. From visiting new places to trying new things, I love change - and wish that there could be more of it. 

After the first week of the new term two months ago, very little - apart from people's offensive behaviour towards me, which never improves - has changed at school. The work might be a bit more varied, yet I begrudge spending five days at a week in such a dull and lackluster environment. One of the few ounces of pleasure I've had access to is the weekly serving of chips on a Friday, better known as 'Chip Day', but I hardly got a kick out of eating the crispy skins yesterday. 

School bores me, frustrates me, upsets me and makes my life a living hell. There is so much stuff that I would never have the heart to discuss here because it upsets me so greatly or is inappropriate in line with the nature of LAAMT. Bullying stalks me, a less wouldn't be quite the same with expletives, prohibited items and threats of detention and the youngest pupils are not even immune to physical attacks which result in an emergency trip to the nearest hospital. Once Saturday rolls around, all that I'm thinking of is how relieved I am to escape that hellhole for two days - but forty eight hours are never enough. Unless I make a run from the prison that dares to call itself a school, the weekend will never fully relieve me of the fear that grips from Monday morning to Friday afternoon. 

Change needs to happen: how will I be able to progress if I'm left in this current state of affairs, which prevents me from progressing forward? I'm unhappy, lonely and angered by what both my brother and I face on a daily basis at our school. This week proved that, unlike what I used to tell myself, staying there until I finish my GCSEs is no longer an option. However, all of the decent schools in the area are oversubscribed - mine is the only one which is not. What can I do? 

For the sake of my family and my sanity, I'm trying to forget about these worries - yet have already proved that I can't take my mind off it - and enjoy the school-free time I have while it lasts. 

If there is one thing that I've learnt this week, I need to move on from the finishing line. There is a world beyond getting the week without bullying being a bother - it is about time that I've begun to walk towards it.

Wednesday 5 November 2014

How to Survive Your First Week Back

Three days might have passed since I gathered enough willpower to drag myself out of bed, slip into a so-not-Vogue-worthy uniform and mentally prepare myself for the first of many days back at my compulsory environment: school. Oh yes, fifteen lessons and counting are a tiny fraction of the many lectures that I'll be obliged to sit (and sleep) through within the space of a single term, yet the ones that I've already attended are definitely more than enough. Seriously, I would quite happily end the working week on a Wednesday and dedicate the two days following to indulging in a bath filled to the very top with pleasure: in my dreams, of course!

Having complained about the then-approaching second term at school before it commenced on Monday morning, please don't give me another of your dramatic eye rolls in my direction as I return to the subject, offering comments sharper than the scratches that my beloved Barticles left on my hand last night. Beyond the realms of the playground, I work full-time as a non-paid, professional moaner - as it comes with the territory, would you not expect me to speak my mind? 

Despite being reminded by my parents that moaning (e.g. frowning like the depressed Krusty the Clown) can cause wrinkles, I can't bring myself to suppress such a natural calling, which I constantly nurture and feed, letting my talents soar beyond the strongest control... The greatest joy of independent thinking!

Talking of which, my thoughts towards the first week of a new term are not the kind to make you settle into your chair comfortably; if you are anything like me, your skin will be crawling with the presence of a spider, frequently on edge and in the heavy depths of discomfort. Hell is not a word which many of us would associate as a positive thing - unless the Devil is a close friend of yours - so I can pretty much guarantee that you are missing out on anything remotely fun as you progress to different subjects (or units, as GCSE students like myself find), learning stuff that pushes you further than you have ever travelled before.

Studying for your GCSEs is recognized as a tough time by both those who are taking them and the ones who are lining up in the overcrowded queue until they get their turn - unwillingly. I've just restarted the first of the two year course so, compared to where I should have been at in Year 11, I could consider my current position as easy peasy, especially if it relates to my top two subjects, English and French. The work doesn't stretch me too strongly as a rubber band would, yet a panic nonetheless grips me if the word test is uttered by a teacher. Like the Titanic, I sink to the bottom of the ocean, drowning in a black sea of fear. 

Tests are literally a way of life in Years 10 and 11 as the pressure truly begins to stalk your whereabouts, but do I like them? No. Although I achieved an A* in my English controlled assessment last term, I hated every single moment that was spent in a computer room, sweat trickling down my back as I produced another word. The glory that might radiate from you after receiving pleasing results might somewhat ease the memories of struggle you endured whilst sitting the test, yet I wouldn't automatically declare that the panic was worth it. As professional moaners risk discovering at a point in their lives, it is never developing premature wrinkles - especially if a two-hour long Maths test was the cause! 

Anyway, the majority of tests are hopefully unlikely to haunt me until later in the term, which no longer distracts me from the main issue at hand: surviving the first week back. After having the time of my life whilst having luxurious lie-ins last week, I've landed back on Planet Earth with a loud, if not slightly painful bump. Ouch! My head is throbbing from the moment that I get out of bed each morning, despite extending my hours in bed by thirty minutes; as appealing as breakfast might be, waking up at 6am can never live up to the pleasure of trudging down the stairs three-and-a-half hours later during half term! Instead of being swamped with bags upon bags of shopping bargains from trips to inner city centres, I'm heaving with homework. 

Also, if it has even occurred to you, don't get me started on hunger - by ten in the morning, I could raid the canteen! In a classroom that is occasionally shrouded in silence, the peace is instantly broken if my stomach decides to growl like, well... a hungry lion! Unfortunately, my form is a Science lab which, if I dare to tuck into a bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit (believe me, it's the most exciting snack of the day), I would receive an automatic detention: no questions asked. 

As for other subjects, I can't exactly juggle writing essays with stuffing food down my throat, as desperate as I might be for a little nibble. While at home last week, I was in paradise: the fridge was mine for the keeping! Still, I doubt that many would find room in their squashed bags for a mini fridge - if there was a chance that it could work, I wouldn't think twice about bringing one with me!

Change is not often easy to embrace, particularly when you have gotten used to such a pleasant setting where you can settle into your comfort zone. One thing that I realized before going back this week was to not think too much about what was lying ahead, unless I fancied making myself sick at the potential prospect of sitting another Physics paper. Our imaginations are easily capable of going into overdrive which, once they have reached that point, can be beyond our control. Control is essential for keeping the worry woes away: don't undervalue it. 

Work and change might be your main distractions on the first day or so, but try to find time to relax, which can then have a positive effect on your attitudes towards school - or at least pose an incentive to get up in the morning. Despite its tendencies to bore me at times, I really appreciated the escapism that The Sims 2 offered me last night because it took my mind off the events of the day: I truly was in another world. If not relied on too frequently, distractions can actually have a positive effect on you. Rest is encouraged at all points in your education and working life, yet we can often forget to pamper ourselves. Don't let your forgetfulness deprive you of a much-needed escape!

Finally, the purpose of going to school is gaining an education, so we might as well embrace it during our time there. Getting decent grades might soften the blows from teachers who have despaired of your poor test results or many hours spent in a non-air-conditioned classroom: embracing is pretty much the only way that you open doors to success. It is expected of us to have 'down' days, which even adults face, but at least try your hardest most of the time - I like to believe that my hoping-to-be-a-C in Maths will make my lack of lie-ins worthwhile!

Survival is key in life, let alone in school. Before you know it, the first week will become the second, the third and so on, then Christmas will be upon you - let's hope it comes quicker than Halloween did!