I find that word funny: fabulous. I don’t know why but when I say it in my head it’s always in this snooty, mocking voice that just cracks me up. I crack me up.
In other news, my birthday is approaching. But don’t worry you can hold off on the birthday wishes, my non-existent reader, for it’s not for another three months. I don’t know what made me think of my birthday right now (perhaps it’s because I’m supposed to be reading up on Germany: 1918-1945).
Even though it wasn’t the very best year (coming down with typhoid and being in the hospital for a month was the highlight of 2014—it was really fun, and no, I’m not being sarcastic) I have come upon the realization that I will miss being fifteen. Because being fifteen has been fabulous.
And yes it’s true that last year I was convinced Fourteen is Fun and the year before that I had termed my age the Thriving Thirteen, but Fabulous Fifteen is the best. This year I was sort of depressed on my birthday because the thought of turning fifteen was…upsetting to say the least (is there a scientific term for the fear of growing up?) because I was under the impression that this is when my life as an adult starts and so I cannot under any circumstances go wrong this year. It was a lot of pressure (having an overactive brain might be fun when writing essays for English, but it’s not the best thing for you when its 12:00 am and you’re reflecting on your life and where you’re headed)
I wanted to hold off on being a grown up just another year. But having got through 10 months of being fifteen, I have come upon the startling realization, that it’s not so bad.
In fact, I have messed up quite a few times—more than I have ever done since I turned 10, and the sky hasn’t fallen! My academic performance was at an all-time low—first time I’ve gotten below an A since third grade (I’m not bragging, it just really makes me sad). I had vowed on entering tenth grade that I was going to excel at my studies and all the pressure that I was putting on myself only backfired. Turns out my grey cells work better during an exam when I’m mentally singing show tunes from the cartoons I watch the night before than when I concentrate on what I’m writing/studying. Weird.
I was also depressed and afraid that unless I devoted every waking moment to being (my perception of) ‘productive’, then I was going to end up a failure and never become a doctor or a writer or a pilot or all of those things combined. It also didn’t help that my friends were going through a similar phase and so we worried and freaked out each other until I finally reached my breaking point and simply gave up. I gave up on studying, because I was sure I was going to fail anyway. But giving up didn’t stop me from worrying. Oh hell nah.
But after I got typhoid and was forced to take 2 months off from my normal life and studies and school, I gained some perspective. I stopped being vain and delusional enough to think that every move of mine was life-altering. These two months were spent entirely carefree and (for the former half) lying on a hospital bed with a fantastic view of another hospital wing and green trees and med students hurrying off to their classes.
Here, I decided that not getting A* for all my subjects was okay and not the end of the world. Perhaps I’m taking it a little too far because there is two weeks for my GCSE boards and I haven’t even started studying. But at least I’m happy. And instead of worrying that I’m never going to finish my syllabus, I’m going to give it a bloody good go.
So yeah, it wasn’t a great year. BUT. But it was also the year that I realized I’m going to be just fine. And yeah, it would have been nice to be thus enlightened sooner instead of just one month ago, but that’s okay. Better late than never, right? I’m afraid that this feeling of…of…(peace, is it?) is going to go away once I turn sixteen,because everybody knows sixteen is when your life as an adult starts and you cannot under any circumstances go wrong that year—wait, where have I heard that before?
In other, other news, there is a lizard staring at me.