Ah, Britain. No, Great Britain: a country so smugly pleased with itself that we actually put an adjective in the name; just on the off chance any other regions were for a moment uncertain of our superior status. During an exchange programme, a few years ago, I realised just how terrible we English are.
There’s around thirty days left of summer vacation and freshers happens just to end it, so at the moment the problem for our year at school is to find out the best way to spend it…
Recently in my life, I went on a holiday with my friends, or squad, which we imaginatively called our squaliday. Considering that 90% of this blog’s audience are the people who went on the squaliday, it would make sense to write about our hilarious misadventures of the past week for the purposes of nostalgia and relatability.
Instead, I’m going to delve into a more pressing investigation. My hypothesis: Leonardo DiCaprio could’ve ‘drowneded’ in all of his films.
My mind is telling me no… but my body, my body is telling me yes: musings on a moral inclination towards veganism, but a severe lacking in dedication. Basically, I suck.
A Level Results day.
It’s also my dad’s birthday (little shout out – you should buy him a present) but I’m scared that I will be singing Happy Birthday in between sporadic sobs while clutching my tear-stained results in one hand. Admittedly, that’s probably the worst case scenario.
I don’t understand how to cope though. Roughly two months in between your last exam and the day when you get to find out if you’ve screwed up your life. I can’t handle that kind of pressure.
By this, I don’t mean that I’m hoping to be go into something stupid, a profession that guarantees disrespect and ridicule. I don’t know, something silly like being a semi-professional uni-cyclist or a politician or something.
I mean that I want to be a writer which means that I am destined to be poor.
We all have different personas based on who we’re with. The occasional time when you’re out with one friend and then see another and your behaviour visibly changes; then suddenly the existential questions come flooding in:
Why am I acting differently now? In what way did I just change? What am I really like? Who is the real me? WHO AM I????
It’s hard to focus on small talk when internally you’re having an identity crisis.