They call your school years, the best years of your life; something tells me that this statement is wrong,
As we go through our awkward school years, we become conditioned to social situations;
We become independent, awkward, and have a sense a need more than ever to fit in.
These are the years we will find ourselves, in a world where we are no longer protected by our parents,
Puberty kicks in somewhere along the lines, and we begin to express our opinions as they form.
Nothing outside of the institutional learning is important anymore; as we start to drown in he said she said,
And she’s not talking to me;
Life takes on a total new meaning.
We learn the rules of life as we enter those years they call the best years; we discover that we want to belong.
We have an inbuilt need to fit in, to belong, to have friends, as we grow, school can be a total nightmare.
Those who are different will be outcast by their peers, groups of kids will form, the cool kids, the nerds, the geeks, and the misfits, the sports kids, the musically talented ones, the gifted ones, the naughty ones, and then there’s those who go out on their own, not wanting or needing to fit into any particular group, these kids are the rebels. (As we become labelled by our teachers, labels that will stick to us for life)
However these labels are not always accurate, although these labels are like a transparent tattoo we wear for life.
The best years of our lives my arse, whoever made that one up needs to be slapped.
School is often the worst time in anybody’s life, we are labelled, tagged and put through a system, the education system.
We are graded by numbers in reports after being tested on things that overall mean nothing in our real lives, algebra, and the square root of 9, Jesus, joseph and Mary, I have never needed to find out the square root of anything nor have I required the bullshit X =? Yet we are taught it, expected to retain this useless knowledge, tested, graded and labelled.
As we go through the years, and stages of life we find our thinking changes, as we realise that age is nothing more than a number,
And grey hair is classed as the new blonde.
We find our own niche within our worlds, or that niche finds us,
This is when life starts to click together,
Not smoothly I might add, however the puzzle is now starting to fit together.
It was with this niche the voice of Angel would be heard, as I took a stand against various things that I believe in and stood up as I asked the question why?
Why do we as people make living on the same planet as one another so hard?
Why do we inflict and tolerate such cruelty, selfishness and greed across our planet?
Furthermore how can governments allow suffering to continue, almost condoning it?
Greed and power is what I concluded when I looked at the overall picture.
It was at this overall conclusion I came to the reality that no matter what I did or said I couldn’t change the world, nor could I save all those who suffer within it.
All I can do is what I have always done, which is simply be me,
The girl who conforms in her own way
Often outside the box,
Always her own worst critic,
Often her own worst enemy as I continue to put my jigsaw of life into some shape.
Somehow learning that I have to find the courage to change the things I can, and to accept that I cannot change everything.
Somehow finding within me the wisdom to know the difference, and the will to continue to take one step at a time,
Reminding myself that we all learn how to balance before we walk,
That as we learn this fine art of balance, we do fall, and we do bump our heads from time to time, and yes the falling part does involve some pain.
Whether it’s a bruise we have given ourselves as we have lost balance, a graze or simply our ego’s as we jump back up onto our feet, not letting the world see that embarrassing moment we took that stumble.
Those stumbles we take, those mistakes we make, there part of learning, part of growing, part of human nature, as life continues to keep going.
As they say, we need to break a few eggs to make a cake, so I keep cracking those eggs in the big bowl of life, and wonder to myself, how many fucking eggs does it take to finally bake a cake?
I guess I will figure the rest of the recipe out as I grow, but for now I am happy to keep cracking those eggs.