Thinking Beyond the Presents (Festive Post!)

As is typical with the festive season, I've been constantly wrapped up in layers of excitement, madness and sheer busyness as the countdown towards Christmas gets as close as the much-awaited release of the new Star Wars film (which, despite mentioning it so it looks as though I've actually bothered to take notice of current affairs of late, I'm not interested in seeing!). And now, with mere hours away until the day that shops, the media and our families will refuse to forget about for what feels like millions of months arrives - doesn't it just amaze you as to how the countdown is nearly up and the hardcore partying (with my cans of Tango Orange, nonetheless) simply awaits? 

To be honest, I've struggled to settle into the festive spirit, if you wish for me to call it such a term, this year than during previous Christmases, for reasons that I can somewhat understand and have absolutely no clue about, like why models always seem to have just missed out on purchasing a sold-out drop-dead gorgeous dress when they stomp down the runaway (though, as a so-called moaner according to my brother, I ought to relate more to it!). 

For starters, studying has consumed me like my brother devouring the richly fruity cake I made the other day for months and, although Christmas is the ideal time to toss my Science revision guides out of the window (for a little while as I'm not that kind of a rebel!), I'm not a robot in the sense that I can switch off my emotions, thoughts and indeed stresses. Like producing a mouth-watering souffle, time is the necessary ingredient in calming myself down as I get used to relaxing during Christmas and forgetting about whether I recognise the difference between infra red and microwaves for at least a couple of days. 

In addition to this, I feel that this year has definitely proved to me that I'm getting old. OK, not the kind where I'll swap my current present ideas of skinny jeans for anti-wrinkle creams so expensive that even thinking about spending a ridiculous amount of money is enough to create a particularly bad case of crow's feet! Instead, the aging blues affect me in the way that Christmas seems to live off the elation and pleasure that is mainly sourced from childhood delight which, as a once Bratz-loving eight year old (whose obsession with toys scarcely more dressed than a Victoria's Secret angel somewhat disturbs me nowadays!), I completely recognise. 

Ripping open teddy bear-patterned wrapping paper to find a Disney Princess mini oven (albeit years before The Great British Bake-Off graced our screens), travelling to a Toys 'R' Us in the middle of nowhere to choose which Bratz dolls my heart most desired for Christmas and receiving gifts that I had no slightest clue about until Christmas Day (unless my brother, ever the daredevil, decided to fill me in on the 'goss' upon 'accidentally' visiting the so-called 'secret' room beforehand) - these moments are not only the most magical memories that one could ever dream of experiencing, yet they are specifically for children which, as I closely approach my 17th birthday, I no longer identify as. 

Does it disappoint me to no longer be treated to special trips to mighty toy stores so that I can select which dolls or toys that spark a wave of happiness to splash within me, or I've now indeed progressed to using real (ridiculously hot) ovens instead of feeling like a pint-sized Nigella Lawson for producing a batch of mediocre, yet sweetly-flavoured cakes in my mini oven? Mostly, I'm grateful for progressing onto newer horizons because I now reserve the freedom to be more selective with what I want as I'm not limited to one specific category - a delightful mixture of books, CDs, clothes and lip glosses appeared on my Christmas list this year, which I suppose is more varied than the Barbie- or Bratz-addled ones I used to have as a pink-clad youngster. If anything, at least I can pride myself upon being able to make cakes and treats that no one in my family will pretend to like because they are actual food - there are only so many times that you can pretend that a limp-looking 'cake' out of a pink sachet is on a par with a homemade Victoria sponge, especially when you are no longer nine years old! 

Nevertheless, Christmas reminds me of how quickly I'm growing up which, like many things, both thrills and terrifies me at the same time; occasionally, I wish that Christmas could be like it used to be when I used to receive plenty of 'surprise' presents which, as pretty much anything girly went down a treat, I always loved. Despite reserving some of my budget for my parents to spend on a surprise gift, I travelled into nearest city yesterday to spend that budget however I wanted because they really couldn't think of anything that I might have liked. This once more proves the difficulties of shopping for teenagers - unsurprisingly, if I can't figure out what I want, it is very unlikely that anyone else can decide for me! Besides, I can comfort myself with knowing that I didn't impulse-buy which, when parents look for Christmas gifts to give to their children, must be rather tempting because it might look better to get something as modern day Christmas tradition seems to dictate that one must buy as many items, regardless of their crappiness, for their loved ones, even if they will probably turn their nose up to it or politely utter 'thank you' after receiving it before returning their 907th round of Flappy Bird.  

Sure, part of me might truly crave a surprise every once in a while - though I truly wouldn't be able to tell you what kind of one my heart craves like the voracious yearning for a Louis Vuitton bag - yet I'd rather receive things that I want instead of getting something which could possibly disappoint me, hence why I tend to prefer receiving money instead of gifts from relatives or friends because hardly anyone, let alone myself, has the precise answer to my shopping desires. Still, I'd never turn my nose up to a Dolce & Gabbana dress...

Since discussing my growing pains with Christmas today, I suppose that I'm feeling more 'Christmassy' than I previously did because Christmas can be presented in numerous ways, yet still retain its festive and certainly fun-tasting flavour. It might no longer taste as sweet and sugary as it did when I used to be presented with bags upon bags of chocolate coins (which I so wish could be used when paying for my shopping - well, everyone deserves a bit of sweetness here and then, don't they?), tubes of addictive Smarties or juicy Fruit Pastilles and selection boxes that contained my favourite chocolates, such as a plain yet extraordinary Cadbury's bar, a bag of Maltesers and Galaxy minstrels - yet Christmas is still Christmas in whatever shape or form you want it to be as you get older, which I should never lose focus of. 

Nowadays, my Christmases are more under-stated, quieter and (thankfully) less destructive towards my metabolism as I lose my taste for certain chocolates or sweets (though a novelty container of berry-flavoured Jelly Babies found their way into the shopping bag yesterday), yet I nonetheless appreciate them just as much as I always have and will. It's just that I now see beyond the presents, and fully appreciate the importance and beauty of the food, music, films (even the ones that I shouldn't really admit to watching at this age; Disney is to blame for that!) and spending time with my family. And also realising that I'm indeed not an exam machine and I deserve time to relax at home - and what better time to do that than at Christmas?

All in all, I wish you a very Merry Christmas and a brilliant New Year that I hope is filled with as much positivity, good luck and happiness as you deserve. Also, thanks for reading my blog which, despite taking a back seat from working on it for the past few months, still means a lot to me as it has proven to be the best possible platform for releasing the furious vibes that only one can experience during a spectacularly bad teenage meltdown. Here's to a fantastic (and minimally moan-free) 2016!

Appreciating Christmas

With just another four and a half days to go until I finally break up for my long-awaited Christmas break, it's fair to say that excitement is gradually bubbling up like a simmering pot of gravy; as each day passes in a rain-soaked breeze, festive spirit warms up even more of my room, which has now firmly established my appreciation of the festive holidays awaiting me. Presents! Food! Films! And so many lie-ins that my head will literally explode with extra sleep! What more could I ask for from my favourite time of year? The possibility of sitting terrifying exams - albeit less grotesque than seeing a live spider being eaten on TV last Sunday which, when coupled with my consumption of a hearty roast dinner, is hardly an award-winning combination - would be a particularly special treat, though I'm not banking on it...

However, one thing that I can most definitely rely on is getting a much-needed rest from exams, revision and homework for a little while: a present that, unlike the gorgeous penguin jumper that sent me into a fit of ecstatic squeals of adoration when I saw it on the H&M website the other week (hint, hint!), cannot be wrapped in lashings of teddy bear paper or stylised with a shimmery bow. Without a trace of amusement in my words, I really have needed a break from my studies for weeks because the workload is constantly increasing like adverts for overcooked turkey and scrawny-looking vegetables gaining more airspace on TV; in some ways, coming to terms with the spine-chilling fact that my exams are only six months away from taking place is slowly freaking me out. Big time!!!

Obviously, panic is only a natural emotion and, if I didn't feel at all concerned about having to sit approximately twenty exams within the period of six to seven weeks next summer, even more concern would be stapled into my already-fluttering stomach. That's not to say that I'm as thrilled as my cats receiving a new toy to play with to their hearts' content (in the form of my used cotton wool buds!) about my mini mental meltdown about establishing the paths I take in my life within less than half a year's time because, like all Year 11s across the country, I'm secretly sick about the thought of undergoing such an intrusive, stressful and dramatic process in order to get to my ideal destination: sixth form.

Although I sometimes think that one needs to suffer in order to enjoy the good things in life, I don't necessarily apply this belief to my own circumstances of sitting a ridiculous amount of exams - as whiny and reminiscent of a six year old throwing a tantrum in the toy aisle at Teso might sound, it's not fair!!! Still, neither I nor the millions of teenagers in this country possess the power to change the inevitable, which is sitting our GCSEs next year. And, just for at least a little while (as my Science teacher has decided to dump three past papers to complete over the holidays due to many people in m class getting U grades in their mock exams - quite unjust that I must be punished for their laziness, too), I want to get wrapped up in festive fever and remind myself to relax a little bit more.

Of course, getting decent grades in my mocks, controlled assessments, coursework, homework and my actual exams next year is my number one priority, yet there are numerous things that cannot be measured by letters listed on a piece of paper that I'll receive on Results Day next August. What will be among those things? Happiness. Without a good-sized dose of happiness in my life, I will certainly struggle to leap through the final hurdle before I sit and survive the gruelling exam season. Why? At the end of the day, I'm not an exam machine - and neither are all of my friends and peers who await the same fate as me. As if I want the day when I broke down in tears over struggling to revise the menstrual cycle to be my most defining moment of 2015! And yeah, of all the subjects to get stressed about, it had to be about periods - how I have such an ability to indulge in irony during my saddest moments!

Therefore, I absolutely cannot wait to kickstart the festivities next week, which will be celebrated by my starting the long, yet worthwhile process of making my annual Christmas cake, complete with thick layers of marzipan (giving me an ideal excuse for eating hand-sized balls of it when no one is looking in my direction!) and beautifully plumped up dried fruit that is rich with brandy (by the way, the closest that I will be getting to alcohol during the festive season). Beyond that, I'll probably rewatch all of the Christmas films that I've ever seen because, like stuffing yourself with more sausage rolls than one could possibly eat over the course of a year within five minutes, why not?

Though, if you are wondering, I'm not that fussed about eating the 'snacky' foods such as crisps (despite eating a bag of ready-salted at school yesterday, but that was a very special treat!) or canapes this year, preferring to eat the homemade stuff as it not only tastes a million times better, but it is usually healthier, too. Besides, as all long-suffering sisters will know, once your brothers reaches adolescence, you will stand a very slim chance of eating anything remotely 'unhealthy' - as he will have eaten everything apart from the crumbs first! No wonder that I'm left with little choice other than to hide biscuits and chocolate underneath my bed...

All in all, I'm increasingly warming up to the prospect of Christmas arriving on my doorstep in less than a fortnights' time - despite being closer to an adult than a child nowadays (as I'm less than two months away from turning 17 - yikes!!!), I still share the love and wonder of my seven year old self when Christmas is here as it is the best escape from the everyday hassles and going-ons in life. Just another few days until the holidays are here!

Settling Back into the Blogosphere

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes of destruction, I am rising from beneath piles of sheets, mind maps and felt tip pens to return to blogging, which I have desperately missed for ages. 

Honestly, losing track of the time in between uploading my posts is so easy when I'm consumed with work which, for the record, I'm definitely not exaggerating about - well, try sitting a ridiculous number of mock exams within the space of two weeks! Thankfully for my (and everybody else's) sake, my mocks have reached a delightful end, and I can now relax a little bit more; without a doubt, having a nervous breakdown over the menstrual cycle is certainly not how I wish to spend my weekend!

Anyway, I've been pretty much just trying to survive the unavoidable stresses which slap you in the face like a frisbee whacking a Hollywood star's fake nose all month and, if I do say so myself, I think that I've done quite a good job. For starters, I was one mark off a B in both my Biology and Chemistry mocks - so close to reaching my aspirational targets that I could literally feel euphoria bursting inside of me like a firework exploding in the sky - yet I'm nonetheless thrilled with my progress because I completely missed out on studying the specific units due to not attending my present school when they originally taught it. 

As was the case when I joined my school one year ago next Friday (which I shall be celebrating by sitting my Science ISA all day - never have I preserved such a ironic sense of humour), I've had to devote a lot of time to catching up in Science which, as it doesn't come naturally to me like annotating a poem or translating a passage in French does, has considerably stressed me out over the past few weeks. Despite my reputation for slightly over-exaggerating my views at times, I couldn't have possibly been closer to the truth by describing my immense fear of sitting my Science mocks around two weeks ago: I was certain that failure was destined to pour teardrops of despair upon me. Still, I carried on revising as much as I could, and hoped for the best - fortunately, I managed to pass all of my Science mocks, unlike quite a few of my fellow classmates who did not miss out on being taught the content! 

All in all, I'm only starting to pull myself out of the vast pool that is my studies for the first time in weeks and, between yourself and I, doing what I want to do - without being crushed by waves of guilt for 'wasting' precious hours that could be used for revision - has lifted a massive weight off my shoulders. Of course, I have no regrets over giving up certain activities - such as this blog - for the sake of literally tattooing algebraic equations onto my brain because my confidence in many subjects, such as Maths and obviously Science, has soared as a result of realising my abilities; beforehand, I wasn't entirely sure about whether I could reach my aspirations in all of my subjects, yet these fears are slowly melting away and being replaced with a strengthened belief in myself. 

OK, catching up with my favourite TV shows guarantees hours of priceless entertainment, but will it lend me a helping hand as I waltz down a path to my personal success? Not really. Making sacrifices has been difficult at times because I've been forced to fight against the urge to indulge in my deepest pleasures, such as baking a batch of cookies or going into town for the afternoon, yet I wouldn't have it any other way if giving up several things is necessary for achieving success. Besides, the said sacrifices don't last forever - as if I'd willingly stay away from the TV remote for longer than a week or two!

Despite my mocks seemingly filling up every spare moment that I've had of late, time has nevertheless been reserved for thinking about my future which, like Christmas, is approaching nearer and nearer towards me everyday. For a while, I had been asking myself about whether I wanted to stay or move on from my current school after Year 11 is over. The reason why? Unlike other sixth forms in the local area, my school would limit my A-Level options to just three instead of the usual four, which I strongly felt would make the usually agonising task of settling on a single career significantly harder because of having a restricted taste in possible subject areas. 

Although I only found this out around a week ago, my school has dropped French from its A-Level curriculum from next year, which is an absolute no-no: I would be a chef with no culinary skills if I had to abandon ma belle langue seconde! Therefore, whether I liked the idea or not before, I definitely will not be staying on at my school this time next year, which promises a fresh adventure for me before I hopefully go to university and beyond. 

A fortnight ago, I attended an open evening for the selective girls' sixth form in town, which ironically fell on the same day that I'd started my mock exams (in Maths and English Language) and was the night before my Biology mock (further contributing to my then-hysterical levels of panic). Nevertheless, I managed to block out my stress and worry for a few hours to be enchanted by the sixth form, which not only offers all of the A-Levels I want to study (English Lit, Sociology, Media and, evidemment, French) but demonstrated a calmer and quieter atmosphere that I much prefer. 

Instead of standing out for having a so-called 'posh' accent as I do at my current school (which people, even the ones I get on well with, have an habit of reminding me about), all of the girls at the sixth form spoke just as well, which made me realise that perhaps I'm better suited to their sort of environment. They dress smartly, unlike the sixth formers in my present school who consider a tube skirt which barely covers their underwear to be 'appropriate' for learning, and shared an enthusiasm for their studies which has established me as a 'freak' at my current school. Although most of the teachers are extremely willing to help their pupils to reach their potential, I've realised that my personal happiness at my current school is not the best that it can be, and I don't want to look back at my education in ten years' time and wonder why I didn't get a taste of different kind of place when the opportunity was available to me. 

As of this week, my application at the selective sixth has been posted, along with one that I'd sent to a non-selective, but high-performing school in the nearest city; I have no intention of making an application to my school's sixth form, so my academic life is destined to change once more in less than a year's time. After going through the stress of switching schools almost a year ago, am I unhappy at the thought of moving again? To be honest, I'm looking forward to the change. Sixth form only lasts two years and, before I'll even have a spare second to blink my eyelids, I will be walking among the millions of adults in the country, gradually forgetting what it was like to be young and on the cusp of freedom. If I have the choice to make those two years the most academically enriching and personally elated years of my school life, I will seize it with all of my might. Well, there are times for foolishness (like when I nearly stumbled down the stairs after my leg had decided to fall into a state of heavy numbness) - yet decisions as massive as these must be excused from such ignorance! 

On a less serious note, I'm starting to get ready for the upcoming festive season, which I'm getting more excited about as my enthusiasm for cosy jumpers, light-hearted films and chocolate logs grows each day; whatever happens, Christmas is always here, and I cannot wait for the holidays to begin in less than three weeks' time. Hopefully, I'll manage to sort out my Christmas list by the end of this weekend, yet doing so is always hard because my 17th birthday - which just proves how old I'm getting! - is only five weeks afterwards. Still, it will all work out; well, my parents are reminding me to get on with it!

Here's for a peaceful and revision-free (or at least refraction-free) weekend, which I've been dreaming of for more time than I'm actually bothered to count!

The Lessons I've Learnt This Half-Term

As the end of half-term reaches its final destination (noticed the pun on the cult horror film? Albeit a day late), I'm once again gathering the courage to face another round of coursework, revision and exams (thankfully the mocks - do you really think that I would be demonstrating the calmness of a Buddhist monk if they were the actual ones?!), which will occupy most of my time until Christmas arrives in its gloriously red packaging next month. Oh, how I'm truly excited about Christmas getting near now that we have moved into November - finally, the one time of the year when I fully embrace festive films is thrillingly close to being within reach! Still, my family haven't stopped themselves from dipping their toes into certain festive features, such as mince pies, which, if I had my own way, would be available all year around, but never mind...

If half-term has proved itself in any way, I suppose that it has been useful in providing me with a bit of time to decide what I'd like to put on my Christmas list. Unlike previous years, I've actually left the tremendous process of figuring out what little moi would love to rip open the wrapping paper to be greeted by rather late; of course, leaving your Christmas list till the end of October is always going to be likened to the frantic late-on-Christmas-Eve panic if compared to last year when I started writing my list just before the summer holidays ended!

Luckily, I'm getting used to the idea - and possibility - of purchasing the Babyliss Big Hair Styler which, despite its rather scary-looking size, can actually add plenty of volume and sleekness to your hair: an asset that would go down a treat with my naturally straight (and therefore thinnish) hair! Also, hair-related matters have been receiving more of my attention of late since I got a fringe at the beginning of the week which, to my delight, has softened my face and made the typically heinous attempt at wearing a ponytail less terrifying; at last, I no longer resemble a stern-looking governess if I dare to pull my hair out of my face! Other benefits of having my fringe is that, if I wear my yellow jumper (which, in my eyes, screams 60s babe to me), I emulate the glamour and beauty featured in Mad Men, a brilliant drama which I'm eager to refer to for its fantastic 60s clothing.

And, well, eyeliner has never looked so good on me since getting my fringe! It naturally draws more attention to my almond-shaped eyes; once again, I sigh at the thought of having to give up my favourite make-up staple for a few hours at school. Especially since I finally found a sharpener for my eyeliners after spending an entire week without one!

Hopefully, I've finally made my mind up as to what I want to put on my Christmas list which, so far, includes Lana Del Rey's latest album Honeymoon (if just for Music to Watch Boys To alone, though singing the hypnotic High by the Beach should be thanked for soothing my algebra-induced worries) and the Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy's collection of poems, Rapture, which contains Quickdraw - a poem that I compared and wrote about in my recent English Literature exam. Even though writing what seems like a million paragraphs on poems has defined my life recently, I still reserve a love for poetry and would love to explore it in a book by a poet whose work I've loved analysing. Besides, Duffy is a feminist, which makes me even more interested in deciphering the messages behind her poems; whereas some people like to study the science involved in movement, I'm more passionate about what 'silver bullets of your kiss' and 'high saloon' could symbolise!

Anyway, I've enjoyed taking things back to basics this week by devoting some time to watching TV, writing on this blog (a hobby which I doubt I'll ever get bored of - who has ever found liberation to be dull?) and doing some revision for my upcoming mock exams, which I'm a bit less worried about than I was a couple of days ago. Also, this week has provided me with the perfect motive to figure several things out in relation to my life and life in general, such as:

1. Some people hurt you. As simple as that - but such a gesture shouldn't be considered right because it definitely isn't. 
2. Don't waste time worrying about what other people think about you because, if you were doing anything wrong, you'd be the first to know about it. Besides, those 'other people' are practically strangers to you - do they know the most basic or intimate facts about you? Unless they are secretly telepathic or Sherlock Holmes in disguise, you can take a wise bet that they don't. 
3. If you're unhappy, do something about it - if not, at least plan ahead for the future when something can be changed. 

Facing up to several tough and truthful facts can be difficult if your mind is taken hostage by the moody blues, but I'm feeling more positive about certain things that I did before. As for that boy I used to be friends with, I can't say that I've gotten over his betrayal because saying that would be, in my mind, suggesting that I don't care about what other people do to me. Sure, it winds me up that he lacks the decency that I genuinely thought he possessed because, if that was made clear to me when we first met, I would have never bothered speaking or hanging out with him, but can I change him? No way. Even if he came up to me tomorrow and asked me whether I fancy meeting up with him, I wouldn't consider for a second to say 'yes' - from the moment you screw me over, you land immediately into my blacklist. Which, if you haven't already figured out, will remain there until the end of time. 

Therefore, I now appreciate that there are many lessons beyond what is taught in the classroom, which stay with you for life. And, without a doubt, learning how to make yourself happy is far more important than revising the sections of a plant cell, though sometimes you just have to suck it up - perhaps because, somewhere deep inside you, you realise that it's for your own good. 

Meanwhile, my head will be filled with many other messages and facts before long, yet something inside me says that I won't be forgetting this week's lessons in a hurry. Unlike some instances, I can just tell that they are right. 

Appreciating the Joys of Half-Term, Autumn and Essays

Half-term, Halloween and a hell of a lot of work - the perfect potion as I'm about to embark on the weeks leading to Christmas! OK, you might find a frazzled teen occasionally getting into a panic as she focuses all her energy (well, the best part of it; once a Lana fan, it is near enough impossible to switch off tracks like Music to Watch Boys To and Honeymoon in the radio station that is my mind) on understanding the Cosine rule which, to her annoyment, refuses to work properly on her calculator, resulting in yet another hurricane of rage... Just another day in the life of a modern teenage girl, as you have probably assumed.

Ah. Ever since the clocks went backwards on Saturday nights, I seem to have been paying further attention to autumn whose golden, shimmery beauty has never captivated me until now. Just a short while ago, I went for a walk as the setting sun was at its most beautiful state, which made me realise that autumn is truly the best season - and if only it could last a bit longer. Not only is hearing the crunch of leaves a delightful noise, but autumn symbolises fresh beginnings which, as I'm only days away from entering November, are becoming less new and more familiar.

Am I only the only person who gets a bit sad when new things - which, when they are first presented to me, maintain my attention and get me so excited as they have yet to be discovered and known like I recognise myself inside out - lose their freshness and eventually become old? For example, I mostly felt thrilled at the prospect of going into Year 11 during the summer holidays because, like Year 10, it represented new opportunities for me, which I couldn't wait to discover. Yet, nearly two months in, that excitement has worn off like a coat of lipstick, growing somewhat stale and a ghost of its unknown beauty which fascinated me in what felt like a week ago.

Is it a shame that all new things are destined to grow old? It depends on how you look at it. If I'd never gone into Year 11, I would have been deprived of numerous chances to demonstrate and develop confidence in my abilities and, in order to do so, I needed to 'break the ice', which I suppose is the ritual for getting used to something, rather in the manner of breaking in an unworn pair of shoes. And, by the way, my school shoes - once as clean as a just-bought dress - have definitely been worn in by now which I couldn't be more glad about, if not just for the sake of my once-blistered feet!

Anyway, whether I like it or not at times, I can't escape from the truth that I'm well and truly getting through Year 11 which, depending on how I view it (and whether my mood is being seriously affected by my horribly emotional hormones), is sometimes a relief and a curse. For starters, the thought of leading a Maths-free life by this time next year is extremely comforting when I feel close to tears on the occasions that I can't get my head around curved graphs (whose existence in this world cannot be explained, or so I like to believe), along with completing the remaining controlled assessments and pieces of coursework which, for several of my subjects, will seriously determine my overall grades before I even walk into the exam hall for my actual exams next summer.

However, preparing for my ever-nearing exams is a) not fun, b) extremely stressful and c) a horrendous reason why you cannot devour any new TV box sets because most of your free time is eaten up by homework, revision or coursework which, as of this week, I want to bawl my eyes out at the very sight of it.

For the first time ever (and hopefully the last, if the heavens above decide to bless my good efforts), I completed a 10000 word essay for Performing Arts yesterday, which took many hours of sheer suffering, nail-biting confusion (I use that term very sparingly - who, in their right mind, would nibble their nails in the one week where they can wear nail polish without fear of being given a detention or ordered to dunk their nails in pure acetone?!) and emotionally damaging procrastination until I finally saw the light that was my printer, eventually printing off my nineteen page piece of art.

Well, I don't really think that a piece of art is a term worthy enough to describe my work which was, in plain and fuzzy brain-friendly English, an evaluation on my class's trip to see Wicked in the West End last week. A performance which I absolutely loved watching, I guess that I really couldn't stop myself from going overboard when describing the symbolisation of green skin tones and black witch hats, hence why I reached the 10000 word mark for the first time in my sixteen years on this planet. Still, I've been comforted by a neighbour that the word count for dissertations at uni are considerably less, which has definitely confirmed to me that I am the QUEEN OF OVERBOARD.

Well, at least you can't fault me for effort, can you? Especially if it will get me an A*, just saying...

Moving on, Halloween is just three days away, yet, for once, I'm actually not interested in it. Even just writing these words makes my inner child, who is responsible for my obsession with cats and self-taught ability to steal chips from the baking tray at lightning speed when I think that Mum isn't looking in my direction, cry sorrowfully because a once valued event in my childhood has lost its preciousness. In many ways, I'm disappointed that I no longer show an interest in celebrating Halloween with all of its orange lights, pumpkins and countless bags of treat-sized Mars bars because, when I was young enough to fully appreciate it, I definitely loved it and every year I would look forward to Halloween as much as I would with Christmas and Easter.

No matter how nostalgic I might become over certain events in the past, falling back in love with them is never guaranteed because, as I've gotten older, one precious lesson I've learnt is that chasing old passions when you have changed can never be as good. Even though I'm pretty sure that Sade never wrote it to commemorate the occasion, her song Never As Good As The First Time truly justifies why I've lost the remaining sparks of a childhood love for Halloween, whose image has remarkably changed since I was six years old and used to love dressing up as a witch each year in the hope of receiving an extra bag of cola Haribos amongst my many other sweets. Nowadays, Halloween is way too commercialised and seems to be more about the amount of money that can be spent or made from it - in my opinion, that simply robs it of any value, whether in terms of money or not.

Oh well, I'll never fall out of love with treats, one of which I got in the form of a milky chocolate bar yesterday and cannot resist for a moment longer. It's a Wednesday and I've worked very hard to earn a square, so perhaps I'll give into my cocoa urges. If I'm going to do anything, you can guarantee that I'll do it my way - and certainly not anybody else's!

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Online

Boys, boys, boys... What would the world do without them? If the male species didn't exist, modern day life wouldn't be so vibrantly enriched with football, Calvin Klein and one too many empty packets of the chocolate biscuits which you lock away for yourself.

Well, nobody has the automatic right to declare their allegiance to the art of perfection, do they? Regardless of gender, everybody has the right to be decent human beings which, without trying to sound too biased (though, considering that this is my blog, you can accuse me of being so), I don't think is the hardest thing in the world. Seriously, possessing manners is exactly what I consider to be essential in life, precisely like being equipped with shampoo, clothes and emergency bottles of mascara (on the off-chance that stressing over coursework brings me to the emotional teenage edge whilst I'm out and about, you know).

Still, one thing that I can no longer turn my short-sighted eye blind to is this: everybody is different. For starters, you could label me as 'different' if you compare me to my peers at school, the majority of whom are within the 'popular' camp whereas I refuse to be labelled as anything other than remaining true to my individuality, regardless of the price that I might pay in terms of destroying any chances of becoming the most popular person in town. But do I care? Not at all.

As a teenager, thinking that you're the best person to have ever lived just demonstrates naivety because so many people have been trapped into that line of thought generations before mine was born - yet did they live up to the god-like greatness that supposedly symbolised them? Um, let me Google that for you: absolutely NOT! Whether you're fifty or fifteen, I very much doubt that anyone is able to be on a par with a god or a creature whose power is so mystifying that no one really knows its worth; therefore, is reaching that status likely for any ordinary people like yourself or I? Being a thoughtful kind of person, I'd prefer to not declare the answer because its obviousness is absolutely irritating. And, if you have yet to notice by simply reading this entry's opening line, I'm not really in the mood to waste time on stupid matters.

Like the person who, after meeting up with me several times over the summer holidays, cannot muster the energy to send me a simple text, despite my making several attempts to generate a shadow of a conversation. Just weeks ago, he was literally attached to me like a cat sticks himself to a scratch post; we had created what I thought was a strong friendship, yet I suppose that I hadn't bothered to find the proper definition of 'strong' because my relationship with him is now anything but.

Does it hurt to feel like a ton of bricks have fallen from the sky and landed on my head? Absolutely. Feeling as though I'm being ignored by someone who I truly believed cared about me tears through me like my kitten Teddy catching his claws in my clothes, yet on a significantly deeper scale because my trust has been betrayed.

Yet, if I'm being completely honest, I tended to think that betrayal was created by a purpose and, in some instances, could have been justified if the one committing the betrayal had been betrayed before in the past. No matter what, betrayal is betrayal and no amount of words, fancy descriptions or puzzling definitions can alter its negative representation, but there really is no reason as to why this boy has dropped me like a teenager leaving their childhood firmly behind.

Have I been rude to him or said anything which would have upset his feelings? As one of the most sensitive and emotional teenagers to have ever lived on Earth, you can bet your future Prada handbag that I would be the first to realise if I had hurt someone because guilt would flood through me until I had apologised. Like most people, I get no kicks out of apologising and, at times, I think that the other person should be apologising to me, yet I can't stand living in a hostile atmosphere and would rather forgive for the sake of bringing things back to normal instead of leaving matters up in the air. In my honest opinion? If someone had upset you, speaking up about it seems like the natural way to go - and I haven't received any of that from the boy. Or anything else, for that matter.

In fact, ever since I told him that I couldn't meet up with him one weekend due to being on a school trip at the same time (which I would have definitely not missed for the world - like who would say no to an opportunity to stay at a uni campus and go clothes shopping in town?), he has been, well, quiet. By this, he has completely stopped replying to my texts, which he claims is due to never 'having his phone switched on', while he never logs onto his Facebook account because he has either forgotten his log-in or simply 'can't' (a word which has the ability to drive me around the bend at times, believe me!). And school? Even when my friends are standing next to him, he doesn't speak to them, so obviously I receive the same treatment. And, really, what kind of friend looks through my friends as though they are ghosts? That just says it all.

Upon realising that this friendship is as doomed as the destined sinking of the Titanic, I have gone through a variety of emotions whilst trying to reach peace with not myself, because I haven't bothered thinking for a moment that any of this is my thought, but with the bastards in the world who pathetically believe that wasting any girl's time is an absolute joke. In many ways, this whole thing upsets me because I feel that I could have spent my summer holidays doing more things for myself instead of devoting three or four days to hanging out with him, which I only did because I thought that we were friends. Whether it relates to school or relationships, I will always put my all into making it work because, if I don't, what is the point in trying at all? At least that is one of the many things that I can't be accused of not doing when I was trying to maintain a glimmer of a friendship with him.

If there is one upside to this travesty of events, I've realised that having a friendship with a boy - especially a romantic one - is perhaps not the wisest of moves at the moment because, albeit not all, many of them are not quite as mature as I would like in order to sustain a lasting relationship. Even though it disappoints me a bit that the boys in my year are a bit of a way off from developing the maturity that I respect and possess, I don't mind because too much is happening in my life at the moment, which you only need to guess by looking at the few entries I've posted over the past two months.

Despite exam hysteria (both mock and actual ones!) defining every Year 11's life right now, I didn't use it as an excuse to completely cut all ties with this boy, yet it seems that my efforts were not enough to save what was destined to be a sinking ship.

Although I've had to face up to one of the most crushing lessons that one can learn in life - the one about people not necessarily being as great as they portray themselves to be - I have at least had the pleasure of appreciating some fantastic songs about boys wasting certain girls' time. And if those girls are among the likes of music legends such as Alanis Morrisette, Erkyah Badu and, the best one of them all, Taylor Swift, I know that I'm in extremely fine company.

Well, you oughta know, shouldn't you?

Impatience: Never a Redeeming Quality!

I. Am, Just. So. Relieved. *sighs very deeply*

After around six weeks since my delightful summer holidays - which, unless you are one of the few lucky people who are capable of remembering every single moment in your life - came to end, I'm getting closer to what is currently looking to be the best ever occasion to have ever taken place during my sixteen years on this planet: half-term.

Aw, the very word almost makes me squeal like an over-excited kitten with delight! Really, I don't even know how to discuss the very prospect of being able to enjoy a perfect week of lie-ins and Simpsons re-runs in the very comfort of my own home because I have so often wondered if it would ever happen. Well, as soon as I get through yet another action-packed week, then half-term will truly be mine to seize with all of the excitement that is constantly buzzing through me like a vibrating phone!

For starters, I needn't devote several paragraphs (which, if you know me well enough by now, you would have the sense to skip) to going on about how sorry I am for not keeping you updated over the past few weeks, but it is obvious now that my whole life is becoming extremely, ridiculously and crazily busy almost all the time. OK, my studies - which are intensifying bit by bit every single day as I get closer to sitting my all-important mock exams next month - are consuming as much of my time as I devote precious moments here and there to indulge on a few squares of coffee-flavoured chocolate (totally my new passion), but I'm also trying to juggle the seemingly easy, yet deceivingly difficult task of providing myself with enough relaxation along with keeping my friendships, happiness and family bonds as persistent as I possibly can.

Without sounding too much like a drama queen (because, believe me, I have given up on the hope of never portraying myself as an over-the-top madam as it is somehow chemically wired into my DNA), it cannot come across as the most shocking news ever to hear that I land onto my pillow at night like a plane arrives on a runaway and drift off into a slumber which, albeit deep, never fully cleanses me of the stresses, responsibilities and quadratic equations that I'm desperately trying to cope with on a constant basis.

Of course, I realise that life is hard and, when your responsibilities increase, so do your priorities - obviously, I'm always going to put my revision ahead of my aching desire to watch one of my favourite TV programmes, yet sometimes having to do the 'right thing' gets me down because seeing the bigger picture becomes as blurred as squinting through a steamed-up shower: it's just not always possible to look beyond the present moment, whether you perceive it as a positive thing or not.

For example, I get stressed from time to time when I arrive home late after staying on for a revision session at school because, what with only having so many hours in the day to stay awake, there is less time for me to stop thinking about work and actually treat myself to reading a book or listening to songs that provide a welcoming, comforting relief from the everyday woes of the world. Irritatingly, I usually get home just before six on a Thursday evening, which winds me up so much because I can just feel the tick of the many clocks in my house remind me of the few hours I'm granted to get changed, have something to eat, sort my bag and P.E. kit for the following day and other minor things which I can't be bothered to list. To you, my points might sound trivial and petty because the process of chucking a few books out of my bag and replacing it with other ones is definitely not the hardest job in the world, yet I can feel these tasks stacking up like a pile of homework (which I work ridiculously hard at to keep to a minimum, often at the expense of my free time once again) - certainly not the perfect formula to creating a potion of relaxation in amongst life's daily stresses!

Still, if there is one thing that the past six weeks have given me, it has certainly been my renewed ability to just 'get on with it', whatever that might be. Sure, there's nothing stopping me from moaning about the injustice of having the equivalent to two hours worth of exams on a Monday morning (as was the case this week and will be next week) yet, as time passes even more quickly towards my exams next year, I'm able to keep remembering the reasons why I put so much effort into my work, thoughts of which have helped me get through testing and emotional moments.

One highlight from this week was receiving two awards in my year's group annual awards ceremony, which meant a great deal to me because I was able to see that my teachers have recognised my efforts, especially as I had to contend with catching up in all of my classes upon joining at Christmas last year. Whether I was going to receive an award or not, I still would have applied myself in whatever way possible in my studies because I like to know that I've tried my hardest, which is the most that anyone can ask from me. And, obviously, bringing a small trophy home (for coming first as best effort in R.E., which I also see as a 'goodbye' from my old Sociology and R.E. teacher, who left after the summer) was such a brilliant moment, if you must ask!

Anyway, I'm now keeping my hopes as high as I can until half-term starts next week, though I really can't wait to go on my Performing Arts trip to London on Wednesday, where my class will see Wicked in the West End. As a part-Londoner - or so I like to think of myself as because both of my parents were born and raised there - I relish the thought of returning to southern soil which, despite embracing the area where I now live, I suppose I still miss because an undistinguished part of me automatically views it as my 'native land'.

Besides, I've never really been to London which, regarding my links to it, is rather ironic, but I'm glad to be exploring it as part of what looks to be a thrilling occasion. As ever the fashionista, I quickly sorted out what clothes I'll be wearing, which shall be a grey tunic-like dress and my Little Red Riding Hood-esque coat to inject a bit of colour and warmth into my rather dark outfit. Fortunately, I won't stumble out of bed at six on Wednesday morning without a clue as to what I'll wear - where I can be organised, I definitely will be!

Also, luck landed on my door like a parcel several weeks ago where I completed my first GCSE in ICT. As one of my least favourite subjects because I don't consider ICT to be useful unless it is used for purchasing items from Amazon or finding out what your favourite singer is currently doing on Wikipedia, I didn't see it as one of my best subjects, which tend to be heavily based on essays where I can ramble on for ever and ever until I literally need to be physically restrained from my pen! Still, surprises can still, well, surprise me, which I certainly got when I got around to finishing the course where I achieved an A*!!! Without a doubt, I was absolutely over the moon because I used to think that I was such a klutz with computers (and, to this day, I hardly know how to use a TV remote!), yet my family now think of me as an ICT expert. Perhaps I am, but I was more pleased about being treated to a slice of Oreo cheesecake at a restaurant nearby the other weekend - and obviously getting my first of what I hope will be several A*s!

And I suppose that is all I really want to say today. In the past few weeks, I've learnt that the lovechild of cheesecake and an A* is the best-tasting flavour on this planet, while I've developed a secret strength which should get me through any challenging moments that may arise on my path to self-actualisation.

A winning formula? It might not be deemed as the image of perfection, but I seem to think so.