Yes, I’ve just turned 18 on March 26, 2012, that sparkly age where you get the first lick at freedom. *Claps and cheers*
In actual fact, I don’t feel a huge difference at all. I spent the day wandering around a shopping mall with my most beloved mother, eating a meal an hour…
Alright, I’ll confess. Whatever we ate was on offer (the Phad Thai at a Thai restaurant, this tea set at Délifrance, the mixed fruit yogurt cone at Andersen’s). However, that didn’t make the food taste bad. One thing I realized at the grand old age of eighteen is that not being rich doesn’t matter. In fact, being middle class means that you’ll appreciate every kind of food you eat at a restaurant or diner or yogurt parlour. I’m loving it. Everything I ate today tasted so good to me.
I also got myself 3 movies (still can’t afford that Harry Potter box set…) from a ‘Moving Out Sale’. One tip for you all out there: Do not sell DVDs. I guess 3 movies for 10 bucks is quite an awesome deal here, considering the fact that they’re not pirated.
Birthday cake was an ice-cream mudpie from our favourite local ice-cream parlour. I’m sorry, I really don’t have a picture for it. It was so smooshed up after we brought it home that we had to eat it up almost instantly. Oh wait, I DO have one.
This ‘Happy Birthday’ sign was edible. Or so I thought. I tried cutting, licking and biting, but it didn’t break, so I left it at a corner of my plate and continued stuffing that sinful piece of cake into my stomach. However, strangely, it started melting. Curious, I nibbled at it, but all I got was a weird plastic-like taste and a dull ache in my stomach an hour later.
Hence, this marks the beginning of my journey into adult life and beyond. I’ve been a quite a screw-up this past year. I couldn’t keep promises (to my friends and to myself too), I cried a lot, I daydreamed half the time I was awake, I had to go for counselling sessions, I studied till way past 5 am, I was hooked on crossword puzzles, I got myself addicted to coffee, I slept more than 12 hours a day, I neglected my ukulele, I didn’t touch the piano, I talked to myself, I sang to myself, etc. You get the idea. No way was I the alcohol/drug addict. I seemed normal on the outside, but within lies deeper issues that have no reason to be there at all.
I had so many things people would want. I had a loving family, I wasn’t poor, I had self-motivation to study, I had friends who cared. But I thought too much. I spent my time thinking and thinking and thinking of things that could have been better, things that other people had that I didn’t possess. That made me so miserable. I thought only of myself. I expected life to be a bed of roses. I got a desert. But I didn’t think of the oases that lay somewhere in that barren land. I know my life isn’t the teenage definition of fun. I missed out a lot. Until recently, I wasn’t allowed to turn on the TV. My ‘private space’ is still the living room.
Sure, I have fewer creature comforts than many others out there. My clothes last more than 5 years (the drawback of being a girl and going through puberty early). My school bag has been with me for 2. I go to the cinema less than 3 times a year. I mostly only eat discounted food at restaurants. But seriously, who in the self-obsessed world cares? Me.
Not any more! My goal of the year is to be happy. Be happy, stay happy. I’ve realized too that results are not all that matters. They’re waaaaaay down that list of most important things in life. Number one has to be family and friends follow closely after. I’ve got 2 B pluses for my most recent semester and I couldn’t care less about it (compare this to the previous time when I planned my death). The best thing about being happy is that it’s extremely contagious. If you’re happy, people around you are happy. The sad thing is that if you’re not, people around you are very likely to feel the same too. That’s why, another piece of advice to you earthlings out there: Choose your friends wisely.
The next thing I will work on is to LOVE MYSELF. Seriously? Yes, seriously. I’ve been this kid with no confidence of herself for the last god-knows-how-many years and I’m TIRED of it. Back in the late 2000s, when I was in my early teens (yes, I’m that young), I was appalled by my own looks. Goodness! Who could look so ugly?! Well, you are what you believe. In no time at all, when I was still trying to find myself in secondary school, I had this classmate tell me straight in the face, “No offense, but you are the ugliest girl I have ever seen.” *Crumble* That was my self-esteem back then. And oh no! It didn’t stop just then. “I mean seriously, I have never seen a girl as ugly as you.” I was so shy and meek and I had those geeky glasses with thick rims (that are in vogue nowadays, much to my despair) and all I could do was nod! I still can’t believe myself! I nodded and replied, “Yeah, I know…” That was it. I couldn’t look myself in the mirror once and not grimace at the face looking back at me.
Fast forward 5 years to today. I don’t think I’m ugly anymore. That’s the worst synonym to the word ‘myself’ in the world. Hey, I’m not the gorgeous girl any guy would drool at, but I’m definitely not gruesome and neither is anyone in the world. All you pretty but nasty (I still love pretty and nice human beings!) people out there, please spare others from the misery I had to go through. You don’t know what it’s like to be labelled “ugly”. It took me around 5 years to crawl out of the deep hole I buried myself in and I’m still very afraid to meet new people, all thanks to that few sentences someone said to me when I was younger.
Yet another piece of advice to those who, unfortunately, suffered the same fate as me: Tell yourself that you look great/nice/beautiful/good/handsome/any nice words you can think of every time you look in the mirror. Do not shun yourself. It helped me feel much better about myself. I don’t walk with my head down often anymore (apart from the few instances I stepped on dog poo, it really feels much better). It takes practice, lots of them, but one day, you’ll realize that you’re not as bad as (or even much better than) some people deem you to be after all.
Lastly, I will always BE MYSELF. I’ve heard more stories of people trying too hard than fairy tales, so I’ve told myself that I won’t change who I am to impress others. I live my life for only one person, and that’s me.
Yes, I’m that girl with the short, asymmetrical, uncoloured hair.
I’m that girl who wore her mother’s make-up to prom because she doesn’t have her own and her mother forced her to (I still don’t have and don’t use make-up).
I’m that girl who wears boots (in the hot, humid tropical climate) to school.
I’m that girl with as many pink things as her brother.
I’m that girl who gave up her prestigious education for one that gave her more time to spend with her loved ones.
I’m that girl who dreams of a career in a field outside of science even though she’s studying science (this, sadly, still bothers me).
I’m that girl who denies that she likes someone every time she’s asked (vying for more juicy details? Too bad, next question!).
I’m that girl who rarely wears skirts and dresses, but still likes girls’ clothes (more boyish ones and strangely, certain dresses, though I don’t wear them).
I’m that girl who loves boybands (*groans* please don’t let anyone I know see this), young (One Direction!) and old (Backstreet Boys, Westlife).
I’m that girl who loves Harry Potter (books and movies) so much that she could stay up all night reading mugglenet and tumblring away.
I’m that girl who weirdly enough, loves films with historical settings (Go Sherlock Holmes!) and art house films (Harry Potter is an exception)…
I’m that girl who’s blogging away when none of her friends are reading her posts.
There are way more snippets about myself that I didn’t put up, because doing so will rob me of my good night’s sleep. Ah, I know you’re curious about the 3 movies I got for myself. Here they are:
I wouldn’t have chosen these a year ago. I guess our thinking changes as we age.
Before I leave, here’s the last slice of advice I’m giving out: You really don’t want to try insulting me now or ever again if you have already done so. I’m proud of who I am and glad I turned out this way. If you really have to try, just watch out for that bullet.
After all, how many girls can say that they first shot with a rifle at the age of 5?