To the relief of my joints, my bag soon ran out of space so I was unable to fulfil my dream of styling my hair whilst on the go - or at least during a painfully dull lesson. That job would have to be done before stepping out the door in the early morning light; hence a frantic scramble to get ready on time each morning. Yet, once I woke up and slid into my uniform (without any light bulbs switched on - the things I go without for the sake of not disturbing my sleeping family!), the routine of going to school instantly felt familiar. Like greeting an old friend, I was comfortable in my skin - as relaxed as you would expect whilst wearing a uniform - a feeling of which grew as my nerves died a death, perhaps helped by a serving of fruity and nutty (I suppose not the greatest combination for your sanity) muesli for breakfast.
Whether you love something with a passion or you are renowned for reserving a hatred for it, returning to a place like school creates a storm of emotions that you can either handle or will control you. A break slightly longer than the time I spent at my new school made me somewhat forgetful of what going there was like: my newly created memories were caught in a tangle of festive fever, presents and one too many Lindor truffles. Had I joined a week or two earlier, maybe my nerves wouldn't have reached such a dramatic peak yesterday, climaxing in my struggling to have a peaceful night (I didn't arrive in Dreamland until long after midnight).
Like a broken down car, excitement was abandoned on the motorway, ignored in favour of the fear that had taken me hostage. Being down in the dumps over Christmas ending didn't help either, but that's the problem with New Year - all that you have looked forward to for months is finally over, leaving you with very little to occupy your wandering mind.
In that sense, I'm thrilled that school has returned. Routine has been restored as new topics commence, so I no longer feel like I've arrived four hours late at a party. While everybody else was nearing the end of their work, I stuck out like an undisguised celebrity in a clothing shop. 'Awkward' doesn't even begin to describe how I felt, despite knowing that feeling so was pretty much avoidable. Apart from a few re-caps on tasks completed before I joined last term, everything else in my lessons is fresh and squeaky new - my first few weeks of being known as the-one-who-missed-the-term are thankfully over.
With precisely sixteen months to go until I sit my exams, there seems to be a different atmosphere in most of my classes, who are starting to let go of the somewhat relaxed attitude to grades when work commenced last September. You are taking tiny, yet significant steps towards improving your grades (which, even if you possess the most admirable skill in your best subject, is bound to be lower than what you are likely to achieve in your final exams). The heat is gradually getting hotter, providing a pressure that encourages us to up our game and truly aim for the stars - the A-style ones, of course. As always, I'll revise and work to the best of my ability - it's the best thing that I can do. If you display a hard-working attitude to your studies, what more can your teachers ask for?
If there is one thing that I've learnt and will remember from today is that I should squeeze everything out of the first couple of days back at school: while an easy-going atmosphere exists, you can gain plenty from your lessons before they are taken to a higher (in pupil speak, harder) level. I really don't know whether to declare a new found relief that was discovered in Maths earlier, because of studying an easier subject, especially as it is likely that I'll stumble across more challenging themes in weeks to come. Science wasn't too bad either, though I've made my mind up to purchase several books in order to catch up and gain the highest marks possible; a C grade is the target, but I'd like to aim higher.
And, undoubtedly, I was thrilled to see my friends again; most of them are in my classes, such as English and Performing Arts, so we were cracking up with jokes and chatting away about Christmas in between work. In several weeks' time, I'll be part of a play put on by my class, whose theme I suggested! I had to choice between dance, drama or singing so, despite famously declaring my impossibility of winning an Oscar during my lifetime, I put my hand up for drama. Well, what other choice did I have? In my dreams, I have Madonna's voice, but reality is much crueler: only those within an inch of me can hear me sing, if I even have the courage to do so at all! Dancing is a no-no because my family joke that a heffalump is raging through the house when I trot up the stairs; I get half the moves wrong in my weekly Zumba classes which, four months on, have not made me more graceful!
Therefore, that leaves Drama as my final option. The main reason why I selected Performing Arts was because I thought that it would boost my confidence, so I guess that now is the perfect opportunity - but isn't it always so hard to do something that is completely out of your comfort zone? I have no experience whatsoever in acting: in previous Drama classes, I'm either mute like a volumeless TV or rolling around on the floor, cracking up with laughter. I doubt that either of those earnt Meryl Streep any of her Oscars, as it won't for my marks!
To my relief, the play will only be put on for family, which will restrict the embarrassment that I may expose myself to. Still, I might put in a special request for my brother to not attend the play in case he mocks me afterwards, though I doubt that he knows the slightest thing about acting! At the end of the day, it will be an experience, a laugh and an opportunity to prove to myself that I can act... let's see how it goes by the end of term, eh?
Today is the first of many days - certainly of the cannot-wait-to-go-to-bed-two-hours-before-my-bedtime kind - but it hasn't disappointed me at all. It has relieved me of nerves that otherwise didn't have the right to exist and restored my love for learning; even a distraction as extravagant as Christmas could prevent that.
To my pillow I come!
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