Monday 22 August 2016

Quick Post: The 3-Day Countdown

Just in case you were beginning to assume that I'd firmly ventured back into the wilderness that is better recognised in society as adolescent life and had therefore turned my back on blogging duties for the present time, I've somehow been lured back to this all-too-familiar site as I await the arrival of Thursday. Not quite sure what this Thursday represents, asides from pizza being served for dinner (as it appears to be the case in my household)? Only just scrolling through student forums at a Usain Bolt-inspired speed would instantly tell you that Thursday will confirm what many teenagers like myself have both been dreading and looking forward to (albeit not in the 'I-can't-wait-to-go-to-Disneyland' kind of way) for months: GCSE Results Day.

Ugh, the horror of opening what will be the most important envelope that you will ever come across in your life (until the even more dreaded AS Level results are received the following year - after Thursday, I'll have the not-so-delightful honour of attending another two Results Days) in a room crowded with equally terrified individuals catalyses such panic within myself, which is clearly not helping my sleeping patterns. As embarrassing as it sounds to those who suffered the Result Day woes long ago and probably cannot even remember what grades they achieved (such a possibility seems absolutely impossible to me right now - long will I anticipate the day that my Physics grade will slip out of my mind like an important, yet uncompleted chore), I've pretty much spent the past three or four nights lying in my bed, panicking over which grades will greet me or slap my horrified cheek on Thursday morning.

Such torture of this kind isn't even fair - the first half an hour or so of going to bed should involve my reviewing the scenarios that have taken place in the programmes I've been watching on Netflix then, in true fantasy style, place myself in those situations for my own past-bedtime entertainment. Believe me, fantasising over being situated in the same city as Mitchell from Being Human would be plenty enough to soothe me of any pre-envelope opening nerves (because, like a true worrier, I am concerned over whether I'll easily open my envelope or will require some assistance like a three year old asking their dad to tie their shoelaces up - a.k.a. my 17 year old self!), yet my stupid exam results have deprived me of such a luxury...

In a strange way, I suppose that a sense of calmness has finally descended upon me from today onwards because, at long last, I can finally utter the words 'this week' when discussing Results Day (RD) without fear of deluding myself. As a result, such dreams of being placed in hibernation until Thursday morning are slowly beginning to subside, which probably come as a huge relief to my precious cat, Bart, who has reigned supreme on my bed all summer - any time in which he has been barred from resting on my bed has been utterly devastating for his oh-so-poor self, hence why my hibernating this week would have deprived him of yet another sleeping spot! Also, the grade boundaries for the exams I sat will be released by all but one of the exam boards on Wednesday midnight which, if my maths skills have not yet completely died, is only thirty-six hours away; at least knowing the number of marks I will need to achieve various grades will distract me from my ever-growing pile of nerves on Wednesday, which will be more than ready to explode by the time that Thursday morning rolls around.

Honestly, I can speak for all expectant teens that the summer-long Waiting Game has been absolutely tedious - and way too long than anyone can reasonably tolerate! If people are of the knowing sort who can accurately predict what grades they will get, I would imagine that they wouldn't be too worried with regard to waiting an entire summer to discover their results, yet I constantly and repeat doubt myself because I really don't know what my personally-addressed envelope will contain. Such uncertainty - in addition to my unconfident attitude because, in my opinion, cockiness can backfire big time if grade boundaries or harsh examiners play any role in determining your future (and who is to know who will be marking your paper?) - only increases my worries because, until I finally find out my results on Thursday, I won't be able to take a deep breath and relax.

OK, that isn't to say that I've been completely depriving myself of a break this summer - otherwise, what would be the point of working hard during the exam period to only greet myself with yet more work? - but there is only so much 'relaxation' that I can do without turning my attention towards exam results. Additionally, being in scarce possession of patience has not helped me at all either and, now that I'm closer than ever to receiving my results, praying for the sake of developing a yet-to-be-discovered patient streak in my nature seems rather pointless!

Nevertheless, I will probably find myself praying that Netflix will list an addictive show that I can rapidly sink my teeth into (as was the case with discovering Being Human last week - suddenly, the idea of developing so much body hair as a werewolf seemed far scarier than getting a D in my Maths GCSE) as I start to count down the hours towards Thursday morning. Sod it, I'll leave it to Google to calculate the hours because my frazzled little head will be way too stressed to figure it out independently!


Sunday 14 August 2016

Panicking Like Mad Over Results Day

As is the case with thousands of teenagers across the country, I'm currently awaiting my GCSE results which, within eleven days' time, will be released to my increasingly impatient self: a moment that will mark the very beginning of my future. Terrifying, is it not, to have my future determined by one set of exam results that, despite sitting the very last one of all nearly two months ago, seem so separated and unfamiliar in my life - well, I suppose that my post-exam cocktail of Netflix, books and continuous playtime with my four cats has certainly helped me to forget that Pythagoras Theorem once played a prominent role in my academic alias earlier this summer!

In fact, a KitKat-sized chunk of myself (thanks to my clever creation of a fat-free Greek yoghurt ice cream with - you've guessed it - bits of KitKats mixed through it) is even wondering whether I sat my GCSEs this summer because I've completely lost track of time in the sense that my newly-plucked eyebrows wouldn't even rise in surprise if years had passed since I cantered out of my final exam (bolting away from the hideous first question on my Physics paper, of course!).

Strangely, I somewhat feel as though I've already embarked on the rocky and riotous road that university hopefuls have endured on their quest to A Level success thanks to completing the transition packs that my first-choice sixth form gave me, which has further aided in my brain's mission to completely purify itself of GCSE Bitesize, GCSEPod and MyGCSEScience (basically anything beginning with a G and ending in an E!). Still, would I have the faintest clue on how to answer questions on specimen papers for my selected A Level choices? Unless I'd managed to find an intelligently hidden bottle of vodka in the house (which even Nancy Drew would know does not exist) and I swapped an evening of PLL-bingeing for revising my specific subjects like my life depended on it, I probably would be an odds-on favourite to not be able to write an introduction as an answer, let alone actually answer the question itself! Hmm, hopefully I'll be able to look back at this in a years' time and laugh like a hoarse evil witch at my present inability to cope with A Level work... or cry with morbid shame if little has changed over the next twelve months!

Anyway, I suppose that living in limbo - which is pretty much the institution to which I've been moved ever since my exams were over because, until 25th August rolls around, I cannot even guarantee my place at the sixth form of my heavenly and oh-so-perfect dreams (although gut instinct, when able to burst through my niggling doubts and sea-deep worries, tells me that such a fantasy is within reach) - has created this barrier of isolation from my exams and the future ahead of me, which is quickly approaching. Seriously, I will living my future by this time next month at sixth form - though I cannot definitely say which one I will be studying at, which frustrates me all the more that, in comparison to last year, Results Day is being held much later in August.

Whereas last years' cohort received their results on 20th, I, along with thousands of fellow worriers (surely I can't just be the only one who is enduring Results Day hallucinations?), have been condemned to an extra five days until our doom - or, if I want to inject a bit of positivity into this post, paradise - is revealed. Honestly, my heart breaks for those awaiting their A Level results, which will be released next Thursday, because peoples' lives depend all the more on their A Level grades - it could make the life-changing difference between going to or missing out on university. Therefore, getting results a few days earlier make all the difference; exam papers can be remarked sooner, which could ensure that students won't lose out on offers from universities, while universities could provide more support before they are no longer able to offer places.

Obviously, one could say that students were unfortunate to have to wait a bit longer than usual this year - believe me, I've been wishing that my GCSE results didn't have to coincide with a leap year, which is the reason why results days for all students have been pushed back - but every single day seems as lengthy and slow as a year right now, regardless of how close I already am to receiving my envelope and ripping it open in less than a fortnight's time.

To make matters worse, my English Language result has already been released because it came under the iGCSE qualification, whose results day was this Thursday, yet my school refuses to release it to me until Results Day on 25th August. Honestly, thinking that an envelope containing my grade is only eight miles away from my clutches drives me around the bend whenever the thought pops into my head, haunting my fragile emotions. And, of all of my subjects, I'm most nervous about English Language because the exam board is an absolute joke - well, obtaining a D in a mock exam seems rather unlikely for an aspiring English teacher, doesn't it? Without a doubt, I'm not settling for anything less than an A* in English Language, yet it pains me like a blade stabbing my heart to consider that, if my school bothered to provide its students with usernames to access their iGCSE results online, I could have found out what I obtained by now. Hence why I'm trying to avoid using the internet when possible because most iGCSE candidates have been discussing their results on student forums and social media - meanwhile, I feel like an outsider peeping into something that I am entitled to be part of!

Nevertheless, Results Day will finally be in sight from tomorrow onwards because I can say that I'll getting them next week - certainly much better than the two months that they once were, isn't it? Undoubtedly, what will be will be, but I just hope that my results will be exactly what I've been hoping for. Life has taught me to never expect things to go the way that you cannot stop yourself from expecting them to because it only leads to self-disappointment, which is the bitterest flavour to wash away. Alas, I'm trying to prepare myself for obtaining grades that may not be in line with what I would like because, as is the case with strangers and examiners, I trust absolutely no one - especially when these grades concern my future, which is as precious and important to me as life itself.

Well, I'd love to be gushing and crying happily (without my waterproof mascara budging one bit!) on 25th August, but I'm so worried about getting myself tangled in a web of disappointment if I indulge in these ideal fantasies, which seem way too good to be true! In the meantime, let's focus my attention on escaping the worry-inducing wrath of social media over the next eleven days...

Tuesday 2 August 2016

Discussing My NCS Experience

After nearly a month's break from my blog-writing duties, I have returned - how I have missed typing Blogger into the search engine and arriving at my prime destination of writing glory, which is always as uplifting as indulging in one of those cheesy feel-good films that even the so-called 'hardest' person secretly likes. Well, plenty can happen over the course of a month - particularly during my extremely long post-exam summer (bet you were guessing how long it would take me to utter the E word, huh?) - and therefore I'm bursting like an overfilled cupcake case to reveal all that has happened. 

On the last occasion that I wrote here, I was just a week away from beginning my NCS adventure which, until that point, I hadn't really thought an awful lot about. Why? Bearing in mind that I'd booked my place on the programme as far back as January - I suppose that my New Year's Resolution of banishing my lazy, can't-be-bothered attitude was seriously playing with my thoughts at the time - I'd somewhat had the ideal excuse to forget all about it up until a week or two before I started it, especially as I wasn't in a position like some people to sign up at literally the last minute. 

In fact, in the months, weeks and days (luckily, hours and seconds were not included!) leading up to my starting NCS, I'd received numerous phone calls, texts and emails with regard to inviting friends to sign up - aided with the offer of £25 to spend at Nandos which, for non-British residents, is the chicken-flavoured equivalent to Pokemon Go (for those unfamiliar with the adorable Pikachu, British teenagers are obsessed with Nandos, otherwise known as Chicken Heaven!). If I'd known any friends who would have been remotely interested in signing up for NCS, I definitely would have invited them because, what with having last gone to a Nandos for my 16th birthday last year (for the first and so far the only time - unfortunately, my family don't really like chicken that much, so perhaps my next trip there will be toute seule), I have some desperate cravings for spicy chicken dishes and vanilla-flavoured gelato! Still, I suppose that life goes on - regardless of whether your dreams are tainted with images of chicken thighs soaked in mouth-burning and eye-watering spices...

Anyway, skip forward to around a week and a half later - at which point my NCS adventure was firmly over. And, in case you begin to wonder whether your Specsavers glasses have just tricked your eyes into seeing a word that you cannot believe is appearing on your desktop screen, you can firmly relax - I did quit NCS! OK, I genuinely had an understandable reason for leaving NCS halfway through my first week because of a family bereavement, which instantly established to me that I had to return home, albeit my home was over 120 miles away from the resort I was staying at. 

Typically, the first week of NCS involves staying away from home at an activity/adventure camp/resort (a group of considerate angels had blessed me by ensuring that I was not camping for the week - the heavens would have felt the wrath of a million moaning and irritated teenagers from just myself if it had been so!); therefore, I was staying at an activity site which, had it not been for too many people signing up in my county, would have been situated at the one just up the road from my village. Well, the angels could surely have not blessed me with the luck of a saint by setting my first NCS week significantly closer to home - in fact, I probably could have carried having my meals, showers and even bedtimes in the comfort of my home if my local activity site had been assigned to my group! 

Nevertheless, I only had two full days of NCS life before I withdrew from the programme for the above-mentioned personal reasons, yet those two days have already washed all previous fears and concerns with regard to starting at a new sixth form next month (no longer so far away from the beastly A-Levels now, am I?). To my delight, I befriended a pair of twins who only came to England two years ago yet, like one of my friends at my current/former school (kinda feel like I'm in limbo until Results Day!) who originates from Portugal, they speak English so well - in fact, I initially wondered whether they were born and raised here because they speak ever so eloquently and comfortably! As a result, I'm no longer feeling concerned and worried about making friends because most people in my NCS group will be attending the same sixth form as myself, so hopefully I'll recognise a few faces in my classes, which will help to put me at ease. 

In many ways, I'm glad that I took part in NCS - albeit only for two days - because I proved to myself that I can make friends with people whom I've never met before which, despite sounding a little tad stupid and ridiculous in print (because how else have I or anybody else struck up friendships in the past?), had been a concern of mine whilst attending my previous school as I didn't really trust the people there, who could have painted a visage of initial pleasantness before revealing a mask of cruelty. For the past two years, I've struggled to trust my 'peers' at the two schools I've attended because, in particular, many of the girls were less sophisticated replicas of Regina George - as if I wanted to be on the firing line of a hard-faced bitch! Yet, almost immediately, I sensed that these girls embodied the warmth, kindness and humour that I've always wanted in a group of friends - but why should these qualities be such rarities in other educational institutions? Nonetheless, I will be eternally grateful for attending the same sixth form as these kind-hearted and intelligent people because at least they do not resort to the bitchiness that strongly defined the culture within my former school. 

However, the NCS programme was ridiculously restrictive - to the extent that I often wondered whether I had returned to playgroup because literally every minute was controlled by the managers who ran the activity resort! Rarely did I have a spare moment to return to my cabin (which I shared with five other girls - believe me, organising showering schedules was a delightful inconvenience!) and chill out with my friends; the only time that I had to do so was at bedtime, at which point I was so exhausted that all I craved was to fall into an eternal sleep (impossible thanks to having only one flat pillow in my bunk bed!). In all honesty, I don't see why staying at various sites over the course of the NCS programme is necessary because teenagers like myself who are on the verge of entering adulthood - in my case, within six months' time! - want to hang out without being dictated as to what they can and cannot do. Therefore, it is fair to say that I'm relishing the idea of meeting up with my new friends over the next few weeks because at least none of us have to be forced to climb ropes or participate in activities that do not interest us. 

Besides, most of the costs attributed to funding each person on the NCS programme can be blamed on paying for stays at these activity resorts, which certainly don't come cheap! As a new government settles into their new roles, I'm wondering whether the NCS programme - masterminded by the former PM David Cameron - will survive the changes that are bound to come about over the next few months and years. If NCS is investing so much in its advertising campaign yet still fails to gain enough participants (even one of my friends dropped out of it, along with a few others in my group before the week began), a significant amount of money must be lost somewhere along the lines, which could be better invested in helping schools employ qualified teachers, afford a vast range of GCSE/A Level courses and maintain an adequate standard of education for the millions of students across the country. 

Still, I suppose that everyone has different views regarding NCS and may see it in a completely different light to myself, but at least I gained something completely precious from it - new friendships. And, as everyone will know, friends are utterly priceless!