All posts tagged: Teenagers

Journey to the theatre part 2

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A year ago, when we were in a good place, If I saw you on the street, my heart wouldn’t skip a beat. My palms wouldn’t sweat, and I’d talk to you without remembering how I used to feel. Like, it never really happened. I saw you by the bus stop and we talked for 10 minutes or so and I thought about asking you for advice about the guy I liked. I thought you would be a reliable source, because after years of being love sick over you and receiving no affection – not even a pair of gloves which are usually the gift people receive that nobody really wants – from you, you would be able to help me out. I decided against it, and went with my gut instead. As it turns out, this guy liked me too, well, at least enough to date me for 2 months. It took me 9 or so months to get over him, but it wasn’t agonising, it was just something that was being played out and was going to take as long as …

Journey to the theatre part 1

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I fumble over my words as I search my mental lexicon as my mother sits opposite me on the train on our way to the theatre and I try to explain what it is that I am feeling. If you came into my life two years ago, I probably would’ve fumbled over my words to make you love me, but it wouldn’t have worked. You wouldn’t have loved me back then. It’s funny, I’ve said this before about another whom two years ago I would’ve done anything for. And on the day in Autumn when we went for a walk by the lake, it was really cold and you wouldn’t lend me your gloves, even though you weren’t wearing them. And a couple of hours later, I checked your profile on social media, and there was picture of a girl of your past, or apparently – a girl of your present, with your gloves on her delicate hands. I always thought my hands were too large to be considered feminine. Too shaky. I don’t know why they …

My father’s eyes and my mother’s dancing

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I have my dad’s eyes and 75% of his nose, the other 25% being my own. I’ll never know what my mother’s actual nose is like because her youth saw her break it too many times to even possibly take a punt at it’s original shape and size. My natural upper body strength must come from my dad too, because I’ve still never made it to any of those early morning gym classes I meant to attend. Mine and my dad’s eyes are very much connected to our smiles. When we smile, 80% of the smile is in our eyes. I like this about my face. Sometimes it hurts because it’s a very cheeky heavy smile, but most of the time it feels nice knowing that the projection of my happiness is not restricted to only my mouth. My dad and I experience fits of laughter for times that do not deserve such humorous recognition. It’s never a roar of laughter, nor the snorting type, it is by all means giggling. We were in the car when …

Lessons learned from a high school reunion

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Life is not static. It moves and changes with us. Sometimes that is exactly what we want and we let the past go without the shadow of a doubt. But other times, no matter how aware we are that change is inevitable, we refuse it. It does not matter how many people tell us to let something go and let what will be, be. Well, not if you are stubborn by nature, which I think most of us are when we care enough about something. But the saying is true that: ‘those who do not move do not notice their chains.’ Maybe there is some good that can come out of going back to a forgotten and abandoned place, person, time or thought. There is always going to be that particular memories that should never be revisited. Rekindling a flame with the one that got away will probably end repeating history and in tears, because no matter how much you vocalise how much you are over them, they are always going to be an occasional …

Very specific advice on how to be a good host

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Last week was the kind of week where you forget you are a young adult now and fall back into the mind-set of a teenager. The tantrums, the drama, and the pointless yet unavoidable angry feeling that you feel for no particular reason. I was writing notes for my coursework and kept writing whatever it was I was writing wrong, probably because I wasn’t paying attention, and I actually felt the blood boil inside me. I wanted to scream with frustration like you do when you are fourteen. The only difference is that it is more acceptable when you are fourteen because you are going through ‘a phase’ as every parent says. It was justifiable. Now? Not so much. Whether or not this week of feeling like a moody teenager was because I was on my period is debateable. I usually defy this norm. I don’t get this grouchy. The fact of the matter is, comparing then to now, the teenage feeling has gone (thank god) and I have set myself a deadline to finish …