It’s funny I have so many thoughts and ideas rushing through
my mind anytime and about anything but once I find myself to be in front of a
blank page I’m just blocked. I think about what I want to think too much. Does
that make any sense? Well, probably not. Oh by the way, thank god autocorrect
exists on Word, I would be doomed otherwise and very surely thought of as
stupid.
I have a problem. I have a lot of initiative; I want to
start thousands of projects at once. I want to be everywhere, do everything and
invent what has not yet been invented. I want to take action. And that is my
problem. I never finish what I start, or I rarely do anyways. I started writing
this book about a teenage girl and it was just so awful I stopped writing 10
pages in. It was painful to read. I also wanted to start this book about
teenagers’ problems, and make a list.
A list like, number one: When you wake up and you have
5 minutes to get ready, number two: When your parents ground you for a stupid
reason… and so on.
This idea didn’t stick for very long. I do have this thing for lists though. I
make some on every occasion I get. The most obvious lists I do are the ones of
what I’m going to take with me on a trip, what I need to put in my schoolbag or
what I need to do, but sometimes it just goes out of hand. The crazy lists, I
make them in my head.
People already think I’m not “normal”- what is normal
though? - I don’t want to appear crazier than what they think I am. The funny
part of this sentence is if you know me, you’ll soon see that I do not care
about what my peers think of me as much as a high-schooler should.
If it can reassure any of you, I do have the symptoms of
most teenagers. I love talking about myself and my problems, I am terrified
about my future and also extremely lazy, I watch over 25 TV series and
therefore spend most parts of my days on my computer. I have terrible posture
and do my homework at the last minute and anytime I can, I upset my parents.
A boring profile, you might tell me. And I might agree although
I have always thought of myself as an artist. What do artists do, you’re asking
me? They do everything and fail miserably but still express themselves through
odd techniques. I’m an artist because I love singing, dancing, acting, drawing,
painting, sculpting and thinking. I have a very wide imagination, I do not know
how to broadcast it however. If I’m being honest here, I am terrible at what is
listed, except maybe for acting, which I love above all.
I still haven’t figured out the use of what I just wrote. I
am still glad I did write it. I should be working right now, but I’d rather go with my
guts, and they tell me to write.
In no way am I a talented writer. I can be a good storyteller
but that’s as far as it can get. I still have the need to express myself, and
words are art. So as an artist, my tools are words. Of course, writing is an art! I do
believe writers to be artists. Just like painters, they create a new universe,
a world that they control. They make you vibrate through their art, you are
able to feel, through the colours that are sentences and you bond with the
characters. Writing is art. It is pure and beautiful.
Some people are gifted and others not so much. It still
shouldn’t mean that the ones who can’t do should stop themselves. I am writing this
for myself because writing is appeasing, it’s a great way, for me, to deal with
panic attacks.
A seventeen year old with panic attacks? You have heard
right my friend. In today’s society, stress is what fuels us. We worry too much
and don’t enjoy the fleeing time enough. How hypocritical of me, isn’t it? As
expected I shall answer with a capital NO. I am frightened because of food, so
it has nothing to do with what I just wrote. Or maybe it does a little but I
don’t want to admit it.
Anyways, I am writing this for me and if anyone judges, feel free to do so.
After going through a lot of bullying from age 11 to 15 I
can safely say that people who hurt me help me. They make me ready for what is
to come, they make me ready to be rejected and hurt again and thrown away without
being noticed. I thank them. What I went through will allow me to get back in
the saddle as an adult, what I went through made me who I am (This is the part
where I won’t go: I’m a strong independent black woman who doesn’t need a man
because although I think of myself as strong and I know myself to be a woman, I
am not black nor independent- at least not yet).
My mind has wandered to how materialistic I really am. I am
very materialistic. I love my computer, my bracelets, shoes, clothes and
make-up and I feel inner joy when I get something new. I felt wrong for a few
months having those feelings towards such meaningless objects. I then realised
that the circumstances in which I grew up were not my fault and if I got lucky
and have nothing to complain about, then I should feel privileged and in no way
guilty.
I am not ready to be detached from society and I admire
people who actually are, but we each have our own path to follow. It is not
because you admire someone that you are ready to do the same thing as they,
and in the same extent. So I admire
people who are able to control their urge to consume or people who do not feel
that urge at all.
As I said previously, I am the usual teenager and when I
enter a shop, it looks like wonderland. There are so many places I want to
visit and so many activities I feel like I need to do, but I never think about
how much they cost. When I go groceries-shopping with my mother, I never look
at the price of what I’d like to eat and when I saw others did, I then understood
how extremely lucky I was and how hard I needed to work in order to get myself
this sort of lifestyle.
I put an extreme amount of pressure on myself, simply
because I want to succeed extremely badly. It does not couple well with my
irresponsibility however, which leads to me frantically thinking of where I might or will end up. I
want to get somewhere but enjoy life at the same time. How extremely greedy of
me. How innocent. I very well know it is not possible, yet I still dare to
dream one day I will have my very own Empire and still be able to have lots of free time.
I don’t even know what I want to do for the rest of my life-
and here is another absurd example of the ridiculous choices we have to make at
an age where all that worries us are our hormones. I have a feeling that after
this sentence, teens from around the world will riot about the stupidity of
what I just wrote and the stereotypes I encouraged. Now, back to what I was
talking about: my unsure future.
Growing up in a world in the middle of an economic crisis, I
am terrified. Not only do I need to think about what I wish to do for a
significant portion of my life, but also about if I will be able to find a job,
and if so where it will lead me. Now I am starting to see more clearly the
purpose of this long rent: to show kids in fifty years, what it was like to be
a teenager in the 2014s.
