The End Leading to a New Beginning

First of all, I want to make you aware of the nerves that are fluttering within my stomach (which, two hours on, is still recovering from a blueberry overload at breakfast), putting me on edge as I settle down into what I usually refer to as a peaceful, adrenaline-free hobby. Typically, writing whilst sitting on my backside and occasionally glancing at a wall which has neither seen the likes of Dulux paint nor even know what it is - for the sake of my short-sighted eyes, of course - is as easy-going as spending an evening in front of the 32-inch TV, absorbed into an interest like a sponge soaks up the remains of last night's dinner, but today is a different matter altogether. Unlike a craving to disclose hidden passions for Grace Kelly-inspired curls or letting you in on my well-kept secret over the condition of my glossy hair (that is one secret too many), the need to get what is playing on my mind into the open is growing more uncomfortable as time passes by because, compared to announcing a failure to curb my chocolate craving appetites, it is of an utmost importance. And by using the noun 'importance', one must immediately realize that I'm not in any mood - nor do I have the desire - to joke around. Well, let's get on with it before my nerves (a.k.a. Red Bull-addicted butterflies) eat me up. 

Since embarking on a highly exhausting journey to my new residence two months ago, I've been taken on one of the craziest rides known to mankind as adjusting to fresh-as-Febreze changes within my personal life, all of which I hold immense gratitude for taking place. Needless to say, my life has conjured a wacky mixture of excitement and nerves in recent weeks as one 'change' - if I dare to declare it - has become my main focus which, from next Monday, will enforce a different routine and a yet-unknown way of living, bringing a significant era to an all-mighty end. This 'change' in question is one of which most teenagers are accustomed to or, unlike myself, have known off heart their whole lives and, in less than three days' time, I will be joining the ever-growing legion. And what will I become? An uniform-clad student at a secondary school which, after seven years of knowing no different, will firmly put my previous means of education - home-schooling - in the past. 

As I've brought up this subject time and time again - as recent as last week after attending a 'taster' day at my new secondary school - I won't go into full detail about home education for the one hundredth time because, if you've relished my blog like a Starbucks cappuccino in the past, you will have learnt the ins and outs of home-schooling long before now. So, returning to mainstream education is quite a big deal for both my younger brother and I because the differences between home-schooling and attending a school are easily recognized - even more so as, until I visited my new school for a 'taster' day last Friday, I had never even set foot in a secondary school! But, to my delight, I felt at ease in my new school from the moment that I arrived and immersed myself into studying hard at all of my lessons, so my nerves are not related to the school's atmosphere or teaching in the slightest. In fact, I've been desperate to return to school since the bell rang at the end of the day a week ago; just my luck that I attended the final day before half-term! 

However, there are several aspects of secondary school which, as I was only limited to doing so much on Friday, will remain unknown until I officially start my first week next Monday, such as the amount of homework I will receive, GCSE revision and how my abilities in various subjects will be recognized. Although my original intentions were to take my GCSEs next year in order to study with those in my age group, I made up my mind over a month ago to retake what should have been this school year in order to catch up and stand a better chance of excelling in my exams which, as alarm bells start screeching at the smallest opportunity, has eased my anxiety enormously. 

This means that I'll be studying with pupils around a year younger than me but, as I had more friends in the year below me at primary school, I'm not bothered about being unable to socialize with younger teenagers at all; in fact, it has extended my love of studying for another year, which poses no issue at all! My biggest fear when I attended the school last Friday was whether people would gawk at me if I disclosed the fact that I had indeed gone back a year - if you didn't have an inkling as to one's background, wouldn't curiosity cross your mind? - but my fellow classmates were very accepting, a reaction of which flooded me with relief. The very last thing I wanted - and needed - was to be heralded as the new girl with below-average abilities which, when education all but means the world to you, is as much of a nightmare as Amazon raising the price of my must-have copy of The Vampire Diaries. At least I reached a conclusion with a major fear straight away and have been able to move on - but what to? 

Due to rarely being given homework whilst being home taught, I'm somewhat nervous as to the amount of homework that teachers will hand over to me next week because I fear that I won't be able to cope with all of it or, worse still, will be extremely short of time to complete it. If the homework is relating to a subject that I particularly enjoy - for example, the likes of English, French, Geography, ICT and even Religious Studies are my top favourites - I shouldn't been faced with any issues over finishing the paper on time, but the same may not necessarily be said about Maths which, to my horror, isn't my best nor most beloved subject. If I have to spend more time revising for subjects that I half-like, where will the time go? Though I usually describe myself as organized borderline OCD (my determination to go to bed on time proves this), I'm unsure as to whether I'll fall to pieces by receiving one single piece of homework: my drama queen will strike once again! 

Most importantly of all, I don't want to express any negativity about attending school next week because it truly fills me with joy that I'll see my friends again, along with the prospect of studying English with whom I hope to be an equally enthusiastic teacher. Yet these quiet, yet persistent feelings cannot be pushed to one side and ignored until that moment - which features my head exploding into mess that makes even Mount Etna look tidy - occurs and, with the weekend ahead of me, I need to address my niggling thoughts whilst I still have my head screwed on (albeit half-tightly). The beginning is bound to be difficult to get my head around at first but, within some guidance, I should settle into new routines and banish my worries to the back of my mind; failure, or not initially achieving the grades I desire, won't hold me back in the sense of being unable to fulfill certain ambitions in life. If getting a bad or lower than expected grade shifts my motivation into a refreshed focus, I don't mind as long as I perform to my highest standard and, as I cannot stress enough, excel in whatever I do - several things have proven that almost anything is possible!

But, unless you figured it out before I even reached this paragraph, one thing - a very important message nonetheless - needs to be mentioned as it will leave a significant impact on both my personal life and the existence that I have shared with Life as a Modern Teen since my second life as a spot-suffering blogger was born last October. As my priorities will lie within focusing on my studies and enjoying what school life has to offer, I may be left with no choice except to step back from blogging for a while until I've sorted out a perfect balance between both school and home life. Although I love writing here with all of my heart, something has to give - unless I transformed into a British-born teenage version of Superwoman, how am I supposed to juggle so many things without stress taking its toll on me? 

In a few days' time, I will make myself acquainted with a well-known feature at school - pressure - and will fall into its grip as my education represents a deeper meaning, especially as these school years are vital towards achieving my dream career as a journalist. Written down on paper, it seems as scary as a Stephen King novel but, considering that I watched Alien as my first 18-rated film at the age of eleven and thought that the just-born baby alien resembled a hot dog, I'm not easily scared - and why should pressure send a shiver of ice-cold fear down my spine? In other words, I need to be practical with my time and make the most of the spare moments that I can use towards finishing homework and, of course, having a life. At times like these, I wish that a few extra hours could be added to every day, but I'll have to learn to cope with whatever is thrown at me. And besides, I'll get my bursts of writing inspiration at school on what I hope is a daily basis - at this rate, I'll be spoilt rotten! 

Yet, unless I have some spare time to kill or am in need of getting away from my brother for a while, please don't expect me to finish an entry as long as this one anytime soon; for all that I know, blogging may be strictly reserved to the weekend for a while. And, in all honesty, I don't mind because the moments that I share with you will be more special and, as I will hopefully be bursting at the seams with plenty of stories to tell, more interesting - you know, there are only so many times that I can digest a topic associated with chocolate! Throughout my hormonal woes and changes within life itself, this blog has remained as solid and stable as it was when I set it up on a dark October evening last year; where would I be without it? Not only has my confidence within writing gone through leaps and bounds, but I have achieved a renewed sense of myself which, in my opinion, only writing could bring me. Though I will admit that not all of my entries reached my hard-to-impress LikeATeen standard, I'm nonetheless proud of my skills and happy to have shared my experiences with yourself, if not the internet - over half a year on, and I still struggle to find my blog on Google's search results! 

Hopefully this entry won't be the end of my blogging career which, as I was turned down by almost every newspaper going in my search for work experience last year, has been the best job and indeed experience that I've ever had, but one must retain practicality if a situation - including a return to school after seven years - requires it. I may even pop up here during the weekend, but now feels like the right time to get my thoughts across and say a temporary farewell or whatever whilst the inspiration existed at its brightest. Even though an end must come at one point or another, I seriously cannot bear the thought of finishing this entry - and what feels like my blog, if you can understand such a thing - but my English teacher wouldn't be pleased if I didn't finish it well, would she? 

Like the title suggests, an end may have arrived but, in many ways, it has enabled me to embark on a new beginning. The beginning partly began last Friday when I got my first taste of secondary school life, but I will truly feel its embrace next Monday when studying all but consumes my attention. Am I excited? As my inner brainiac is dying to cry out loud, bien sûr! 

See you soon, 

LikeATeen 

Teenage Loves: Music

Morphing into a food-obsessed teenager who flies into a rage worthy of being compared to King Kong may bring many unwanted problems into one's oh-so-hectic life, but I wish to assure you - whether you have been thrust into the grip of puberty or waved goodbye to your last spotty breakout long ago (how I envy you so!) - that a light exists at the other end of the tunnel, or rather when your years of growing up-related misery comes to an abrupt stop. A light, as many of us already knows, creates a sense of calm and gives us perspective into believing that whatever we're going through - greasy hair that wouldn't have looked out of place in a deep fat fryer included - will be sorted out or, though whilst we're stuck in the mighty deep end we would prefer to not think about anything else, isn't as devastating as we automatically believe, hopefully avoiding a toddler-style tantrum from your inner Oscar-winning drama queen. Within all of us, a light is waiting to be switched on to full power as it is supposed to, but it isn't the biggest surprise of the year if we sometimes struggle to find the switch-on button; after all, how can we catch a glimpse of light if darkness (and irritable moods) surrounds us? In my wannabe doctor mode, I want to offer you guidance towards discovering your personally-sized light and leaving your days of blue feelings firmly in the past - lights, or whatever is our source of happiness, come in all shapes and sizes!

Though our parents are quick to tell us off if we leave our bedroom light on for a long period because of the forever-rising energy bills, you needn't be gripped by sharp-as-a-knife panic by coming across the button which brings your light to life; unlike our so-called 'energy-saving' bulbs or 'environment-friendly' lamps, your inner 'light' won't make as much as a dent on the bills nor affect your weekly pocket money fund either! Within a paragraph and a bit of discussing it, referring to my theory as a 'light' has quickly become boring and, to the naked eye (or those who have skimmed through the sentences without taking in my beliefs), is confusing, but what I intend to express is that happiness - which, if you think about it, engulfs us in a glorifying light like nothing else - persists within everybody. Otherwise, how would we ever be open to the idea of putting on a smile or enjoying ourselves, both well-known symbols of happiness? 

Yet there are occasions when we lose sight of happiness and forget to stay in contact with it, which is a common occurrence throughout the tedious growing up years: adolescence. If I had all the time in the world (and a potion which would grant me the necessary patience), I would write a book as long and heavy as a copy of The Lord of the Rings about the many perils I have encountered - and continue to do so - throughout puberty, but I think that people both young and old can relate to the issues that teenagers go through without needing to be glued to a book heavier than my overfilled handbag. Of course, adolescence is an exciting time because we gradually get ready to swap a free-and-easy childhood for life as an adult, which grants us more freedom than our once-naïve selves can dare to imagine, but what would life be without coming across several obstacles - even those spot-shaped ones - along the way? 

At first, you are acquainted with a 'friend' who, beneath its tempting allure at a time when you trick yourself into believing that you need it most, is truly a friend in disguise - self-obsessed pity - which, once you've cried your heart out over your catastrophic complexion (your words, not mine), deprives you of the happiness that used to be in your reach. And then, how do you feel? Sad, lonely and prone to sinking into a sulk are a few of the many emotions that teenagers experience on a regular, if not daily basis, but if you poke your head out of the water which is hiding you away from the surface, perhaps you could see that a light - of any source - still glows in your direction, otherwise solid proof of the fact that you are not alone. 

If it is any consolation to your up-in-the-air feelings, it is the most ordinary thing in the world to feel upset or trapped in a room with only your mind for company because, after all, it is expected at our age - and will remain so for many generations to come! But now that I've addressed the bad feelings element which places our inner light in lockdown, it is time to look at what cures or, at a push, calms our highly-strung emotions, hopefully resulting in our renewed ability to access happiness - and also switch on our non-bill-related lights - with ease. 

Since setting up my blog, I've talked about various interests of mine to great detail - who could ever wipe their memories of my famed entry solely dedicated to a life-long passion for chocolate? - but there haven't been any particular stand-out moments where music has taken centre stage or, in this case, inspired me to spring my wannabe journalist into life. Among my bookcase-load of books and expanding collection of DVDs, music has been counted as one of my major loves since what has felt like forever - after all, I'm still using the same walkman (embarrassingly a pastel pink-coloured model) that my parents bought me for Christmas almost a decade ago! 

Though my original tastes are nowadays more likely to turn my face the shade of a cherry tomato (ever heard of Girls Aloud , anybody?), age has motivated me to evolve in terms of my musical preferences which, during those moments when I struggle to relax and am in need of taking my mind off small matters, becomes much more than a minor interest or a means of killing some spare time. Whilst I was mainly interested in the beats and vocals at a younger age, lyrics are more likely to be the be- and end-all for me nowadays because they either hit me with their importance or leave me colder than before I listened to the track, proving that all areas relating to the production of music cannot be ignored or indeed sacrificed in the sake of selling a chart-topping hit. 

Unsurprisingly, dance-inspired tracks are all about getting the listeners up from their seats and dancing to the sensational beats - considering that around half of the songs featured on my Spotify playlist are nightclub anthems, I'm all but familiar with this practice - so lyrics may not necessarily be such a priority, but we adapt an entirely different view if the nature of the song changes, particularly if the track is a ballad or sung in an emotional style. Singers like Taylor Swift and Bruno Mars might not have enjoyed such glorious success had it not been for their songs featuring lyrics which are not only imprinted upon our minds, but represent a strong meaning - but, as these two examples have proven, it is possible to write beautiful lyrics whilst maintaining the quality of the track's beat, both of which are vital characteristics in today's all-or-nothing music industry.

That is why it means a lot to me when I listen to a song which ticks all the right boxes for the first time because, more often than not, I'm likely to feel disappointed as a track doesn't always live up to my expectations or, in a sense, doesn't bring them to life. Singers and bands must face such a struggle to produce songs that are in favour of their musical style whilst attracting the fans they need in order to become a success; in many cases, countless talented musicians are often left with no choice except to quit the job they love due to little or no exposure, along with their must-have burst of sweet success. And, whether you've experienced it or not, I'm often taken by surprise by all types of singers and bands - regardless of whether they appeal to the mainstream or not! But it is easy to catch onto what is popular because a singer or band's popularity must exist for a certain reason; surely your chances of liking their material are higher than taking a leap of faith with an artist whose name is mainly based underground? And, as I'll present to you in a moment, my music tastes reflect this, though that doesn't suggest in any way that I've deprived myself of anything different. In any case, would the term 'one-hit wonder' have ever been created? 

My love for music has not only permanently installed several catchy tunes in my memory, but has lent a helping hand at the times when I needed something great, attention-grabbing and, most importantly, fun to engage me. Down below is a list of a few artists who have popped up along my journey towards discovering my 'inner light' - who knows how I would've survived without them! 

Sade: Despite the name often being referred to the Nigeria-born British singer, Sade is indeed a band that was formed in 1984 and, though the albums have been few and far between (it took a decade until their band's recent album, Soldier of Love, was released after 2000's Lovers Rock), the songs have always been of the utmost quality, otherwise very worthy of being listed as one of my favourite bands/singers. 

Helen Abu, better known by her stage name 'Sade', is famed for her softly sung vocals which compliment the band's jazz-infused vibes perfectly, and is exactly what you want to hear after a long, hard day at school or work. From the likes of the catchiest song ever - the irresistibly jazz-inspired Smooth Operator - to the rockier No Ordinary Love, Sade reformed the image of the jazz genre, modernizing it whilst remaining loyal to its roots. 

Whenever I'm having one of those days in which I don't fancy modern or old-school pop, I turn towards Sade for a burst of jazz entwined with soul, a hybrid of which I haven't witnessed nor heard for as long as I began listening to music. And almost always as soon as the song nears the end, I yearn to hear it again - it hardly matters if I've heard the same track hundreds of times before! Not many singers or indeed bands have captivated my attention or been cherished as much as Sade have, so it somewhat a big deal if such a thing occurs; it shouldn't be a surprise that Sade is on my oh-so-short list because the music from all eras never falters in quality or style.

Even talking about the band is starting some hunger-like cravings to listen to one of the many fine tracks that they have produced, so I ought to put a lid on it before my desire to hear Cherish the Day spirals out of my control...

Best for: Lovers of soul, jazz and subtle vocals which tell a bigger story than any lyrics, however meaningful, ever will. 

Best tracks: Smooth Operator, Never As Good As The First Time, No Ordinary Love, Cherish The Day and Soldier of Love

Madonna: An obvious preference for a wannabe 80s' child (somehow, I just about made it onto the 90s' baby list, though NSYNC mania had then destroyed all hopes of witnessing the popularity of shoulder pads and Dynasty), I've been fed on a diet consisting of Like a Virgin, Papa Don't Preach and Like a Prayer - all the controversial ingredients nonetheless - since discovering Madonna at the age of eleven, whilst taking a hiatus from Australia's equivalent pop queen, Kylie Minogue. Expressing my femininity through music has all but been an important job for me because pop music represents girliness - and nights spent singing into a hairbrush, of course - like nothing else, so I was thrilled when I had an epiphany in the form of the Lucky Star music video almost four years ago. 

Seemingly ageless and as prominent within the music industry as ever, Madonna has built a reputation which, despite throwing her image and public persona into jeopardy over the year, continues to grow at a super-fast rate, immune to downfall or calls to act her age (she will turn 56 this August) at long last. But, in true iconic style, Madonna refuses to listen and continues to wear outfits which would look even a step too far for the likes of Lady Gaga, though it is her past catalogue - minus the neon yellow nail varnish - which I love and cherish so greatly. 

Making her name with timeless tracks such as Into the Groove (always a favourite on British radio almost thirty decades since it was released), Material Girl and Holiday in the 80s' has made Madonna a force to be reckoned with but, despite loving all the tracks listed, I was more drawn towards the work she produced during the 90s, which I've heralded as her most creative and, in part, misunderstood era. When 1992's Erotica was released to horror from critics and fans alike for its highly 'erotic' nature (it was in the name, after all), Madonna didn't stand down nor allowed others to prevent her from singing the songs she wanted which, as singing is her job, ought to be respected. Apart from the eponymous single, the rest of the album wasn't what I deemed to be erotic in a noticeable manner, but was a hidden jem which the music industry has yet to appreciate. And since that album was released over twenty years ago, I don't think that the public has understood or respected Madonna's work as much as they did during her 'heyday' during the 80s - but that's only my opinion! 

I will admit that I have little fondness for her most recent albums, such as Hard Candy and 2012's MDNA (the title's reference towards drugs wasn't appreciated in the slightest), I still listen to her old work because it is timeless. And how will I ever stop singing the lyrics to Lucky Star?

Best for: Pop fans who would curtsy in front of what many would called The Queen of Pop. 

Best tracks: Burning Up, Lucky Star, Like a Virgin, Papa Don't Preach, Like a Prayer, Deeper and Deeper, Nothing Really Matters and Hollywood

Lana Del Rey: Although my first encounter with the American song-writer came at one of the worst times in my life - in fact, the day after my beloved cat, Tom, passed away - it was however a positive one and, more than a year after I was introduced to Born to Die, I continue to relish the album as though I only picked it up yesterday, falling asleep to the sultry vocals sung on Blue Jeans.
The reasons for which I like Lana - a.k.a. known as Elizabeth Grant, otherwise her birth name - are rather simple: whilst appealing to the mainstream charts, Lana injects a burst of old-school blues which enlightens her listeners to a long-gone era in her trademark style. Like dance queen Madonna, Lana Del Rey is original in her own right because, quite frankly, there aren't any other artists which share her classic style nor an obvious fixation with 50s'-inspired blues whilst maintaining a modernized edge - in other words, her breakthrough single, Video Games, is therefore a classic as it cleverly combines emotive and retro-style vocals with a modern day beat, revitalizing a fresh image for the beloved ballad.
Through my tears and sadness over losing Tom, Lana was my sole source of enjoyment as I learnt to the lyrics to Off to the Races and began to emulate my new favourite singer wherever I went - how could I not resist singing along to Born to Die whilst washing my hair? Her stand-out tracks - including the likes of This is What Makes Us Girls and National Anthem, my favourite track on her album - would sometimes hit me hard with their meaning or remain stuck on constant rewind in my mind for days afterwards which, upon reflection, is a difficult feat for any singer to achieve. All of Lana's songs are memorable and easily enjoyed from the very first listen; she possesses a power which guarantees satisfaction whenever you listen to her songs!
As her upcoming album, the attractively titled Ultraviolence, is set to be released next month, I'm literally bursting with excitement about getting my hands (or ears!) upon her newest tracks, having been blown away from her rock-inspired West Coast over a month ago. Her style might have changed - gone are the innocent girl lyrics, and here come subtle inspirations from L.A. - but I still love her music just as much as before. And, when you put your mind to it, how many artists are capable of keeping their fans on board throughout their varying eras? Lana is definitely one of them.
Best for: Those craving music of yesteryear and indie lovers who are in need of joining the mainstream whilst staying loyal to their roots.
Best tracks: Born to Die, Blue Jeans, Summertime Sadness (do not listen to the Cedric Gervais remix - the original is the best!), National Anthem, Ride, Cola and West Coast

The Aftermath of Excitement

Barely an hour since I half-forced, half-willingly left the comforting warmth of my bed in favour of getting on with a new day. I'm lying back on my leopard print duvet, caught in thought over how I even got here, let alone found myself falling into a semi-deep sleep while the rest of the neighbourhood awakens. It's a Sunday morning and, as tradition has almost always been, being stuck in our thoughts while lunging our arms into the high-as-a-tower cupboard for some cereal is a typical incident on a day like this, which rings home the truth that weekends are all but dedicated to expressing one's inner lazy chic minus any restraints.

A day ago, it took me all that I had (surprisingly, it included an energy-boosting apple of the Jazz variety, if you are so intrigued with fruit) to stay awake and keep going as I recovered from the day before's events, which involved my very first day of secondary school after being home-schooled for the past seven years. As soon as I arrived home after school finished, my inner chatterbox was awakened as I talked non-stop about my classes and the new friends that I'd made, seemingly speeding at 100mph without neither giving myself a break from discussing it nor thinking about it. Even by the time that I went to bed, my mind kept rewinding certain parts from the day and, if I could remember clearly, might have also featured in my dreams, though my memory is as useless as a goldfish's when I'm startled awake in the oh-so-bright morning. Needless to say, I was not only recollecting the day, but was still living it as though the calender date had never changed and was indeed stuck in that particular moment in time - so how was I supposed to feel the day afterwards?

With no lessons to attend or any friends to talk to during and in between breaks, it came as a massive shock to my system that I wouldn't be experiencing the highs of walking through the school gates as I did twenty four hours before, sending my emotions into an erratic spin. While my day had been structured to a fashion that not a single moment had been wasted nor wasn't following a specific plan at school, I was free to do whatever I wished at home - a freedom which all teenagers relish - but hardly any time had passed before I stumbled across a big problem: there wasn't anything that I wanted to do. Apart from writing about the previous day's events on my blog and washing my hair, the rest of yesterday's plans melted into a non-existence that everybody dreads whenever a sickly bout of boredom is coming our way, pushing aside potential desires to engage in any activities which could beat the fatigue-related blues. Besides, I quickly grew tired because, having been too excited to get more rest before preparing for school the day before, my body was struggling to catch up on the sleep that it needed, a consequence of which I'm still paying for a day on.

Does it seem so cruel that, for all the effort you put into excelling at whatever you want to do, it typically results in awful after-effects once that precious moment that you'd been waiting for has passed, that excitement gone with the bat of an eyelid? One moment I was bursting with delight at the prospect of making new friends and attending lessons, then out of the blue I was struggling to deal with returning to reality, my perfect day of learning and cherishing new experiences as far away as the joy which had swept me into a wave of elation several days ago. As many of us have either realized or been exposed to at one point or another, letting go of previous events is difficult as it is sometimes a struggle to except that, despite it representing a specific meaning to us, the moment is over and we must focus our attention elsewhere.

By saying this, I don't mean that we should automatically break off our line of thought full-stop when it is no longer relevant to our current activities - otherwise what would be the point of cherishing memories? - but we ought to distinguish whether these events are interfering with the present and, as I have just learnt, our emotions. If it wasn't for the fact that one foot was stuck in the classroom and the other was firmly placed at home, my feelings of loneliness and hunger-like cravings to return to Friday may never have come into existence, but at least I have since mastered the art of distinguishing the hard-to-notice differences between remembering fondly to staying behind in the past.

Maybe what I hadn't quite anticipated - or, as I suspect, prevented myself from hoping for, in fear of my hopes being let down - was that my first day at school would involve so many great things which hadn't even crossed my mind beforehand, most of which took me by surprise. For example, I hadn't expected to meet many people who would later hang out with me at break and lunchtime, all of whom took huge interest in me and were very amical about my previous means of education. In some ways, I had made more of a preparation for some students to make remarks about my former home-educated status because, as I discussed in full detail in yesterday's entry, I was wary about people dismissing home education as a weird practice, most worryingly tagging me with an unpleasant title or singling me as the odd one out.

Astonishingly, it didn't take long until it dawned upon me that my fellow classmates were of the friendly nature that I'd hoped for, each and every one of their kindness touching me deeper than I'd realized at the time. Besides, there were hardly any moments to spare as I was either caught up in a conversation with my friends or learning the ropes at the school, such as finding my classes and studying the rules off heart. As you may have worked out long before my sluggish mind has,  yesterday was my true proper day to contemplate about these squeaky-new changes as no lessons - or mini food fights on semi-wet grass - were available to captivate my attention, steering me away from the craziness which surrounds my mind.

At the moment, I'm feeling less dazed and more 'with it' (otherwise known as in the flow or whatever you refer to your state of mind) than yesterday, partly due to listening to West Coast whilst lying in bed at seven in the morning, but I still have almost all of today to rifle through my thoughts, putting certain feelings into separate piles until I resume my organized manner once again. If I'd been informed of the now well-known fact that excitement results in an exhaustion similar to a hangover once the fun has been had, perhaps I wouldn't have given way to overusing my energy before I had enough to continue with my party of a day at school earlier this week. Surely this must be the way that one feels if they spend more money than what is currently available in their bank account? As strange as it sounds, I feel like I'm borrowing energy which doesn't really exist, unsurprisingly affecting my metabolism and attitude towards making the most of every moment. How I'm somehow keeping my body up-and-running is as much of a mystery as my little brother's fascination with zombie apocalypses, yet I shouldn't really muster the ever-so-precious energy to contemplate about that one, should I?

This exhaustion brings back memories of the first few days that my family and I spent after moving home which, having all but lived for the occasion in the weeks leading up to moving day, caught up with us in a spectacular fashion as soon as the big event came and went. Despite being half-asleep at the time, I still recall opening my eyes the day after we moved, believing for a split second that I was sleeping in my old bedroom, though the differences between my old and current rooms are easily distinguishable. Although I have thankfully not forgotten where I live (for now), I can relate to the dazed state which I was in around two months ago, a problem of which affects literally everything you do. But that problem only gets out of hand if you give it V.I.P. access to all aspects of your life - in other words, it's a battle worth fighting for!

Being tired may affect my willpower (and desire to finish off a bag of Maltesers before lunchtime), yet I haven't lost sight of my determination to beat this small, yet hefty battle which needn't steer me off focus from the most important part of my life: education. By deciding to return to school, I was letting myself in for a manic ride of emotions which, at the beginning, can produce side-effects as you get used to a new scenario and, as it goes without saying, a new way of life. With these facts in mind, it never once dented nor harmed my ambition to attend secondary school because positivity - and success - was more than likely to be discovered at the end of it which, as my confidence soars higher and higher, I'm taking steps towards achieving. If a short-lived bout of sleepiness was all but guaranteed in the deal, so be it: what is the harm if it is only supposed to last a short length of time?

For the next week until half-term finishes, I have enough time to come to terms with my new form of education, along with preparing to attend school for five days a week and working towards studying my GCSEs. Deep down, I know that I'm alright, but catching sight of puffy eyes doesn't help lift one's spirits, does it? My brother has also been complaining about his tiredness, so at least I don't feel like the only one whose sleep has been affected (though I don't wish a restless night upon anybody!). As long as I can keep an eye on my brother at our new school and I have plenty of friends to hang out with, I'm confident about doing well at school, which will keep my hopes alive as I continue to adjust to these oh-so-many changes.

Unlike today, the sun failed to make an appearance yesterday which, when you are at your lowest ebb or hormones are throwing you all over the place, is capable of affecting your mood. I want to make the most of this morning's sunshine before it disappears or - even worse! - transforms into a thundery storm, ruining previous hopes of wearing my new trainers in mud-free grass. Sunshine helps matters, along with talking about your thoughts and taking things easy; after all, life is too short, isn't it? Before I know it, I will have sprung back to my usual form and won't give a second thought to how I currently feel - in all honesty, it isn't worth thinking about!

In the future, I'll try to keep a tighter lid on excitement for the sake of the purple-ish bags underneath my eyes but, like Chelsea losing in the Champions League semi-finals, some things cannot be avoided. As I had never stepped foot in a secondary school, I was bound to be excited about getting my first glimpse into life at a secondary school which, if I hadn't expressed a desire to visit it, would have been a great worry indeed! All in all, I can't wait to return after half-term, though part of myself is dying to get my schoolbooks out and start studying at this very moment; right now, my inner 'geek' is holidaying in paradise!

And finally, here are a few words of LikeATeen wisdom: whatever you do, please do not bring up the possibility of afternoon naps, regardless of how tired/excited I am!

Turning a New Leaf

Regardless of the amount of times that my parents have reminded me to not fall into a strict routine which must always go to plan, I cannot deny nor will willingly let go of my habit-forming habits for a while yet because, as long as I achieve all that needs to be done by the time that I stumble into bed (and wait for another thirty minutes until my brother stops jumping all over the place like a kangaroo high on Red Bull), I'm at my happiest. As teenagers are more often than not heralded as rule-breakers and people of whom who relish nothing more than challenging instructions within reason, it may come as a surprise that I hardly have a calling to bend the rules in any way whatsoever, therefore putting me in the running to claim the title of Miss Goody-Two-Shoes of the Year. It doesn't matter whether I yell at my brother to LEAVE ME ALONE at the top of my lungs on a daily basis or I forget to turn off the water after thirty minutes - think of the bills, think of the bills! - because you can usually rely on me to do the right thing, often without my even thinking twice about my actions. 

Yet, tout d'un coup, an alarm bell has rung through my ears, shifting me from one routine to one which is as unfamiliar to me as players competing in next month's World Cup, though I haven't made much of an effort to read up on the latest football happenings. In so many ways, it is exactly what I have wanted but nonetheless sends my nerves over the edge because I require plenty of patience and, to my profound annoyance, to succeed in whatever interests me when the time to pursue my dreams lands on the doorstep, ready to be transformed into my ideal reality. What could be throwing my routine - and mostly all that I've known - into the air, one kick away from being disposed for good? The article in question is an aspect of everyday life for pupils all over the world, let alone a greasy-haired teenager living in an Emmerdale-isque village: school. 

For as long as I could read and appreciate the words that entered my mind, I've read over and over again that one's years at school are the very best in their entire life which, when you think about it, makes perfect sense. Once you get your first job and are introduced to working life, there is no going back to your care-free days as a growing youngster at school, whose worries - if any even exist - lie within achieving satisfactory grades and making friends. On paper, school should be as pleasant as a summer breeze for those who try their utmost to work hard and stay on the right side of the tracks, but we needn't forget that school isn't the sole means of gaining an education which, after spending seven years as a home-educated student, I know all too well. 

Although I spent the first few years of my education being taught in primary schools in which I felt happy and had no problem with the work given to me, it wasn't until my family and I moved to a different area when I was eight that home-schooling - the term used to refer to children being educated or schooled at home, either by a tutor or their parents - became a possibility, after coming across several issues at my new school. For starters, the happiness in which I used to bask myself at my previous school had all but disappeared at my new one due to bullying and a dislike for the school itself, whilst my parents weren't pleased at all by the poor teaching standards and lazy attitudes held by the teachers themselves. This then set upon my little brother and I's seven year-long era of home education which, after returning to a county where we were at our most content while attending primary school, officially drew to a close yesterday. 

Despite figures for home-schooled pupils steadily rising since my brother and I started being home-schooled, I still get the impression that many people look down upon us because they immediately create assumptions that these pupils have a troublesome streak or ran into trouble at their previous schools which, having a loathing like none other for criminals and bad-natured individuals, I find extremely hurtful. By writing this blog alone, would you add my name to the pile of students who ought to be written off by the system for exploring a different means of education? Home-schooling isn't necessarily easy because families are left with no choice except to fund schoolbooks and the child's education themselves without a single penny being paid by the government - who, if I'm correct, have maintained their values for each child being entitled to a free education - yet this doesn't mean that I didn't make the most of it as an education is still an education. 

For those blinded by short-sighted views of others who have neither had any experience with home-schooling nor are acquainted with any home-taught students, let me fresh you with the truth that home-schooled students are as normal as the pupils who attend state-run schools. appreciate the company of others (there goes the myth that socialization goes out the window) and choose their form of education to comply with their best interests. Whenever I bring up this topic, there is quite an uncontrollable urge to blurt out my feelings and make others aware of the fact that home education isn't weird in the slightest - if anything, how did many well-known stars and respectable faces achieve the successful careers that they have? 

Anyway, my brother and I carried on being home-schooled for the seven years or so that we lived in our former town, then a possibility to start afresh at a new school in a different area of the country became our main focus because, as we had more faith in the education system in this county, we were highly interested in resuming our education at school. Moving house was stressful enough - to this day, I still get overwhelmed by the hassle I endured before, during and after the Big Move - but the thought of returning to school kept my spirits sky-high because it unleashed an excitement previously unknown to me, giving me something more than cardboard boxes to think about. 

Eventually, The Big Move came and went within less than twenty four hours, then the aftermath - unpacking time - occupied my family and I's attention until we gradually steered our thoughts to other matters, which included returning to school. Although I made no secret of appreciating my status as a home-schooler, it could no longer be denied that I was eager to go back to school, so my family began the process of finding a new school, believing that it wouldn't require much effort (nor many telephone bills). As my schoolbooks had not yet been discovered in one of our many boxes, finding numbers for various schools around the county was my equivalent to a week's worth of homework due to our struggle to find a school which was not only within the county's borders, but was also in a position to offer a place to both my brother and I. What was the point of enrolling in a school which only had enough space for myself while my brother was obliged to travel twenty miles or so to another? Imagine many empty boxes of paracetamol (to cure splitting headaches) and you get an accurate image of the battle that my family and I faced to obtain a vital part of every child's life: an education. 

To my relief (and the sake of our medicine cabinet which, at the height of our search for schools, was bulging with no room to spare), my family and I discovered a school that was not only able to offer places to both my brother and I, but is based a mere four miles away from our home. Bearing in mind that I was contemplating about applying for a faith school around twenty miles away, hearing the news was music to my ears - at long last, we had found a school! 

On the off-chance that you were curious as to what my plans were on Tuesday morning and the whole of yesterday respectfully, I can clarify that I was indeed at the school, having planned to view the premises with my family on Tuesday before attending the final day before half-term yesterday as a 'taster' of what was soon to come. Needless to say, I was chuffed to bits with the school, a fact of which quickly soothed the nerves that had been planted in my queasy stomach beforehand. I was also shown on a tour around the school - which, as it is situated in the middle of the countryside and lies next to a main road, looks stunning on a sunny day because of the many fields that surround it - and, despite expecting it to be of a largish size (as all secondary schools are), I wasn't knocked for two as the classes weren't extremely difficult to get to, especially as many of the lessons were mainly based in one block. 

Due to better attendance, the school was holding a non-uniform yesterday yesterday as a treat before next week's half-term, so my brother and I were invited to come along and get to know our new friends - of course we said yes! Although we had picked up most of the school uniform a few days prior to yesterday (Friday), it was a relief that my brother and I wouldn't stand out from the crowd by wearing our ordinary clothes compared to the others dressed in their uniform, though I reckon that my brother was tempted to try on his new blazer! Also, there wasn't a single opportunity for us to get lost in search of our classes because each of us were teamed with a student from our year, both of whom helped us break the ice and get comfortable to studying in a friendly, though sometimes lively school environment. My proudest moment by far was offering some help to several of my new friends in French at the end of the day - sharing my passion for a language for others who may have struggled to comprehend it gave me such a buzz combined with gratitude for being able to put my French-speaking skills to good use.

Typically, the last day of term before a week-long break begins isn't always a reliable indicator of how students may usually behave, but I couldn't have faulted the polite nature that the fellow students in my classes maintained, particularly if they were holding a conversation with me. Like the butterflies that flew around my stomach a few days before, my shyness gradually disappeared into a quiet confidence as the day progressed, focusing on succeeding with my schoolwork and having fun with my new friends. All in all, I had a great day and cannot wait for school start the week after next - I'm already counting the days! 

In so many ways, it feels like yesterday when I began my first day as a home-educated student seven years ago, but now the time has come for me to embrace a new start and, inevitably, turn a new leaf. By attending a new school, I'm opening myself to the opportunity to make friends and progress further within my education, which has always been my ambition. However, even I couldn't hold back from expressing some sadness when the car drove away from home yesterday morning, officially confirming the end of my years as a home-schooler. Letting go is tough, but if I know that it's for the best, I must put those feelings aside and move on, should I? 

For the time being, I'm going to prepare for my first proper week at secondary school which, with around a week or so of half-term left, is sending shivers of excitement down my spine. As soon as I walked out of the premises yesterday afternoon, I craved to be immersed in another lesson, my desire to learn as strong as ever before. You know what, there is no doubt about my fondness for this school - I'm going to like it very much! 

Flying on Broomsticks with Witches

As life provokes you to expect at any given time, one shouldn't shudder their shoulders uncomfortably at the thought of difference passing through their minds. One of the many aspects of living life as a (hormonal) human - and blogging teenager, of course) is that all of us have hidden depths which, if it were not for the occasions when they may come to the attention of others, would otherwise remain buried beyond the old papers and chocolate wrappers we secretly hide underneath our beds. Who couldn't deny the fact that life is indeed a massive adventure, even if we do experience boresome moments from time to time?

Today's adventure, however, will unfortunately not take you to the likes of a mountain thousands of miles away from a semi-decent Wifi signal or a quick rummage through the latest clothing sales to help boost the economy (and rob us of our hard-earned money). Contrary to what society chooses to promote from the persuasive manner featured in advertising to influential figures, adventures needn't embark to a foreign country or, as many believe, grow in age before we are supposed to get our hands upon an experience of a lifetime. In my opinion, nothing at all should block your ambitions of kickstarting an adventure wherever you live or when you reach a certain age - if anything, anybody is capable of exploring!

But, unlike an afternoon stroll in the woods which may or may not be home to so-called 'poisonous' snakes (at least in the village, so my reptile-loathing self hopes), my adventure doesn't involve going outside to get close and personal with a thrill associated with exploring nor even leaving my bedroom. From the moment my fingers begin the hourly process of typing to a journalistic fashion, it is fair to say that my adventure - at the very heart of my writing passion - has commenced, in which I embark on search for discovering unknown beliefs and reaching the other side as a more open-minded individual whose voice has been found and, most importantly, heard.

Long ago, I faced up to my slim-as-a-beansprout chances of television channels recruiting me to star in a new adventure programme as, unlike Bear Gryll's skills of setting up camp (and residing in a hotel with breakfast on the menu), my snappy attitude and agitation would even send a deadly alligator around the bend, though I've never professed a passion for the typically called 'great outdoors' in the first place. Instead, my adventure is one which was born out of interest and, thanks to my ability (as passed down by none other than my father) to choose wisely, good TV shows and films. The theme? Look no further than your modern day witch, whose extraordinary powers amaze the likes of oh-so-ordinary humans who wouldn't decline the opportunity to delve into a bit of magic.

Gone are the days of witches being stigmatized as evil, green-skinned creatures who would melt into an ice cream-like mush if a bucket of water was poured over them, as depicted in the 1939 classic film The Wizard of Oz. Although evil witches continue to be a popular costume choice at Halloween (even my six year old self dressed up as one, despite my dress being splattered with streaks of neon pink), we fantasy-lovers have looked beyond that out-dated and frankly embarrassing image, which is no longer relevant in modern day society. Why I have a fascination with these fictional creatures is simpler than several of the many questions I've been asked in the past because, to a certain extent, more people may relate or even wish for the same thing: I want to experience magic.

In modern books, films and television programmes, it never fails to amaze me when a girl - typically a young woman or teenager whose eye-catching prettiness wouldn't look out of place at a beauty pageant - digs deep into herself and unearths powers beknown to society, giving a glimpse into a fictional world which doesn't exist in the life as we know it. As many of us may have thought at one time or another, having some cool powers on speed dial wherever you are is something which we would love to have in reality, if not for the joy of playing around with magic for a while. And, as a permanent reminder of the things in which I used to believe in as a young child, magic brings back memories of the stories I would read at a young age but, instead of witches being downcast in comparison to innocent fairies (who are caught up in another fantasy altogether), modern day stereotypes are more relatable because they often lead similar lives to our own, albeit with a dash here and there of witchy powers.

For example, the television series, Charmed (1998-2006), followed the lives of three sisters living in San Francisco who, after discovering the Book of Shadows (otherwise known as a grimoire or book of spells) and reading a spell, unlock their powers, which make them aware to the fact that they are witches. What made the show highly interesting (and worthy of several seasons being purchased on DVD) was that it combined a mixture of ordinary life - scenes throughout a typical episode would feature the sisters' workplace or drama affecting personal relationships - and general 'witchiness', in which they would read spells in an ancient language and supernatural woo-ha would occur, often to their peril. Along with the good looks and pin-up beauty of the sisters, Charmed reinvented the image of witches and modernized them for the twenty first century, ridding our minds of the ugly pictures that used to haunt classic films and stories which were hardly child-friendly.

In general, I appreciate the benefits of residing in an evolving, continuously exciting century in which patience is no longer required as much due to technology improving (though the same cannot be said about public transport arrivals), there are times when I wonder whether magic ought to become a part of this world because it does look spectacular on the many shows and films that I've watched over the years. As an impressible teenager, is is a surprise that I've been wooed with the idea of developing powers that not even the smoothest talker could gain?

Among dedicating time towards revision and maintaining a balanced routine for life in general, teenagers have a craving for fun like nobody free of hormonal issues could anticipate and, on one too many occasions, we may take the wrong route towards letting our hair down, in spite of the countless warnings we are given. Unlike the dangers of drinking and partying like your life depends on it, gaining magical powers give somewhat the impression of being safe while retaining its entertaining image. But, as even the revolutionary iPhones have proved, is magic relevant in our society or are we strong enough to live without it? Considering that there doesn't appear to be a possibility of magic coming to life anytime soon, one cannot answer that question because magical powers don't exist.

In my eyes, magic appears as much of a fantasy as my future prospects of forking out thousands of pounds on a pair of diamond earrings which, after it dawned upon me that the economy has an enormous effect on my pocket money, I pushed aside to one corner because it was a faint, if not impossible dream. Despite my weird ideas and even more baffling interests, I know for sure that magic doesn't have a place in this world, though it seems to act as a comfort whenever I'm experiencing a day in which reality was pushing too near towards the edge. A part as small as my occasional fascination with football within myself sometimes holds onto the hope that magic - or indeed some 'witches' who aren't acquainted with white lies - exists because, as I remarked in my previous post, hope keeps sadness or disappointment away. I'm not in denial or unwilling to stop burying my head in the sand, but some fantasies - such as giant-sized scoops of ice cream containing no calories - ought to be kept alive, for the sake of my so-called 'inner child'. And, for the recorder, she can consume as much vanilla ice cream as she wants!

On the whole, I really enjoy going on my pocket-friendly break from reality and being transported to a book, film or television programme which tells the tale of a girl (comme toujours) who, despite being as ordinary as everybody else on the surface, possesses extraordinary magical gifts. What entails afterwards leaves me hanging on the edge of my seat, craving another hit of witchy magic one after the other. Like a penchant for all things vampire-themed, the same can be said about witches, though I'm glad to say that my fascination for supernatural creatures or magical powers doesn't extend any further; I jump in fright if a tiny dog barks, let alone run for my life if I catch a glimpse of a vicious werewolf on screen!

Most fictional witches are born with their powers, carrying magic to another generation of witches, who may or not lean towards the good side as one hopes. Despite being born with a different set of powers altogether - writing for hours on end without shifting a muscle - I didn't just enter the world with no powers to my name, but with an interest in fictional powers and creatures which was my source of inspiration for this entry. Even if I did have powers, I wouldn't think twice about using them for a good purpose and to help others, a message of which was always promoted on Charmed - but why deny myself some fun as well?

Witches come in all shapes and sizes - and, if The Wizard of Oz indicated such a thing, ordinary to green skin colour - but are unique, as exactly as humans like ourselves. Whenever I pick up a witch-themed DVD (a list of my favourites are featured below), I choose it because I seek adventure, excitement and a burst of magic to light up my day, but mainly because I have a weakness for anything supernatural. Forget broomsticks, pointy noses and an evil cackle: they couldn't be more out of fashion. Embrace what modern day witches has to offer, as many have already done with the likes of vampires and werewolves thanks to the recent popularity of Twilight, Teen Wolf and The Vampire Diaries. The journey will be spellbinding!

Favourite Witch Films/TV Shows

The Secret Circle (2011-2012)
Why this fantastic programme didn't live beyond a season continues to baffle me two years since it was cancelled, to my heartfelt disappointment. Perhaps people weren't quite ready to accept witches or move on from then then-popular vampire craze, which had reached its peak when The Twilight Saga was still dominating the film industry and fangs were all that we could think about. But, as thousands upon thousands of loyal viewers signed petitions to bring back the show, it proves that there is still a market for witches and, had The Secret Circle lived a bit longer, it would have perfectly fitted the bill.
The show is based around teenager Cassie Blake who moves to a town called Chances Habor in Washington, after her mother died in tragic, yet mysterious circumstances. There, she befriends several people who are later found out to be part of the Circle, whilst she deals with the discovery of being a witch. Altogether the show gradually developed a darker edge to it throughout the episodes, I along with my father (who watched it with me) thoroughly enjoyed it, so I was devastated when I heard about its cancellation shortly after the final episode was aired. If only I had the power to persuade TV executives to bring back this show, but nevermind...



The Craft (1996)
Now regarded as a cult classic and often listed as one of the most popular witch films of all time, The Craft has all the elements of an entertaining film, made even more so by the feature of teenagers drawn to witchcraft.
Since watching it for the first time at the age of twelve, my fascination by The Craft continues to grow because, upon reflection, it seems to be an ordinary teen film. A pretty girl starts at a new school and makes some new friends but, rather interestingly, they have captivated by something which has progressed into much more than a hobby: witchery.
Eager to avoid spoiling the plot and risk your enjoyment of watching the film, I won't exactly disclose what happens in The Craft, but all that I can say is that it is precisely what a witch-lover like myself would hope. And who wouldn't love to buy the equivalent of the uniform that the girls - or coven - wear throughout the film? I'm still looking for a replica of the pinafore three years on!



Practical Magic (1998)
For those wishing to remain tightly on their seats and not be scared out of the wits unlike The Craft (as mentioned above), Practical Magic is more suited to family fare, yet the witch theme is what makes this film worth mentioning and residing in my oh-so-plentiful DVD collection.
Featuring Sandra Bullock and pre-Oscar winner Nicole Kidman, Practical Magic tells the story of two adult sisters, Sally (Bullock) and Gillian Owens (Kidman), who have lived with their aunts since the death of their parents as children. For hundreds of years, the Owens women have been plagued with the curse of their true loves dying because a descendent casted a spell on herself to never fall in love, which later led to her death.
This curse then comes back to haunt the sisters when Sally's husband falls prey of the curse in an accident, which becomes the main theme throughout the film. Though some may regard it as a guilty pleasure, Practical Magic is the type of film that I fancy viewing when I'm in the mood to sit back and relax; despite my love of all things thrilling, there are moments when I crave the opposite of that.
In a certain way, Practical Magic is part romantic comedy and part fantasy, though the witch agenda is what keeps the film alive and its audience watching until the very end. It proves that witches are as ordinary as humans and crave normality, which says a lot for all of us.

Modern Teen Guide to Maintaining Your Sanity, Loving Life and Being Happy

Prior to commencing my regular task of producing a new blog entry, my chances of kickstarting a steady-eyed attitude towards keeping myself motivation dramatically increase like one's tax bill if I conjure a title for whatever subject I choose to discuss, putting my intentions (and reasons for which I cry in frustration) into focus. Of course, one isn't always in a position to determine the nature of what they will write, allowing their super-speedy fingertips and imaginations as wild as a herd of Mustang horses literally do the talking for them, yet my writing plans somewhat seem more official once I've picked a title, among the many blogging habits which would faze even the most open-minded of all people.

However, today's title - called Modern Teen (for I am of course an angst-riddled adolescent who often dreams of living in decades long before 2014) Guide to Maintaining Your Sanity, Loving Life and Being Happy - truly takes the biscuit as one of the most ridiculous and over-clichéd names that I, a person whom attempts to lead a blush-free existence (obviously excluding my orange juice-spilling incidents as a former Tropicana drinker), have ever created during my seven months or so as a part pretzel muncher, part-time blogger. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with teenage life or, to every acne sufferer's envy, have forgotten what it feels like to be fifteen and at odds against the oh-so-cruel world, it only takes a matter of time until you put two and two together before realizing what is so downright wrong about this entry's title. And, for math whizzes, the answer is not four!

Even a quick glimpse into my previous entries - which, despite being written several months ago, now look as though they were written by a different person with a significantly less insight into society and life itself - suggest that teenage life isn't as rosy as an unassuming adult (translation: unmistakable fool) might be led or chooses to believe, in the vain, yet pointless hope that their darling angels will never grow up to be the foul-mouthed adolescents featured in straight-to-DVD films. From getting down in the dumps over my 'ghastly' appearance - forget a potential apocalypse destroying life as we know it, running out of my life-saving foundation brings the world to a landstill - to being forced to adjust to a major change, it is fair to say that life hasn't necessarily been a piece of cake though, as I now wish to express, I've almost made it out to the other side. By the 'other side', I'm referring to more pleasurable moments dedicated to the peace that The Beatles spent the 60s' singing about, leaping onto my not-so-springy bed without a care in the world and, most importantly to me, feeling as comfortable and happy as a teenager in my slightly blemished, yet glowing skin.

Life throws enough obstacles which threaten to stand in your way of fulfilling an achievement that is vital to maintain a sense of ambiance within ourselves - happiness - but, unlike our precious years as a care-free child, it becomes all the more important to grab onto whatever lifts a smile (or, for those who have perfected the Kristen Stewart-isque grimace after years of holding Twilight marathons, a shadow of a grin is just as fine) on your face when not only your body, but yourself as a person is undergoing its most significant change that you will ever experience.

Cue many sudden outbursts of anger as hot as the piercing sun (or, if you have a penchant for needles and developing a St Tropez-perfect tan, perhaps both count), doors slamming off their hinges and tears that fall down your face for no specific reason. 'Crazy' doesn't even give a proper glimpse into how not only your racing hormones, but yourself at heart must feel, and the idea of catching your personally sized chunk of joy is a distant, unlikely dream. But would I, a self-titled agony aunt (which, in years to come, will be listed on my CV), allow an opportunity to spread the message about settling into the skin of a teenager - and, once the bottles of Clearasil have made their way to the local recycling centre, are no longer meddled by yellow-headed spots - and embracing life in its most exciting form?

Here, I want to let you in a little-known fact about teenagers and happiness which, if the art of philosophy has not yet taken your world by storm, will soon become a few words which you will forever cling onto: there is no big secret surrounding the puzzling mystery of becoming happy, especially if adolescence is calling your name. Happiness, whether big or small, exists somewhere within all of us and, indeed whenever that joy is sacrificed if a tragedy or a moment of deep sadness has occurred, it seems to run away from your clutches. Believe me, I recognize the familiarity of this feeling - an emotion of which deprives you of desires to smile, look at the big picture or imagine yourself beyond a five minute period - as I was first acquainted with it when my previous two cats passed away last year which, when I reached my lowest ebb, was a great discomfort. Hope also gave the impression of disappearing to a place very far away from me which, unsurprisingly, affected my mood and merely added to grief as heavy as the happiness I used to carry whenever surrounded by my former furry friends.

Yet, only a year since the first of my two kitties, Tom, passed away and seven months since his brother, Jerry, joined him in Kitty Heaven, have I been able to distinguish the noticeable differences between happiness and hope. While happiness is sourced from the surroundings or things which bring us pleasure, hope runs on the leftover fuel from happiness, borrowing it as of when it is necessary. Though many may argue that hope can still persist if happiness is not exactly a full-on presence, happiness is what protects us from the bad feelings - sadness - which we try our utmost to steer clear of. And, if hope keeps our spirit - however small it is - alive, does it mean that the positive vibes which happiness brings us still exist? In other words, I'm suggesting that happiness and hope - albeit two major differences - are somehow linked in a small, yet significant way. Otherwise, without a speck of happiness present in one's life, how can we expect to conjure a measure of hope at the moments when we need it most?

Although it took a long time until I worked my way through the stages of grief, there came the day when happiness and hope, united when grief first took hold of my senses, were unlocked and restored from a place which, in hindsight, couldn't have been nearer to me: myself. Baffling as it may sound, the happy emotions that were the source of my easy-going nature had gone into a sort of meltdown at the first sign of raw and painful grief appearing, fading away into the background until the coast - and my then-lack of emotional tears - was clear. As humans, we cannot be expected to get our hands upon everything we want and need which, makes sense unlike half of what I've just declared, also extends to our emotions. As the only way that I would understand my feelings and, within time, move on was to allow grief to settle for a temporary stay, happiness and hope had to take a back seat until I was able to cope with anything stronger than the sadness that was left after my furry friends' deaths.

On the off-chance that, several paragraphs after I began my expert analysis into the human mind and emotions, you still don't comprehend my views, the facts, as always, are simple: happiness, regardless of how hard it seems to obtain it during the craziest time of your life - adolescence - exists within ourselves and, even when other matters are having their time in the spotlight, happiness has not indeed run away nor left you for good. Most importantly of all, happiness is a right for which we deserve and, as these tips show, I want to discover it, too. After all, aren't teenagers renowned for their love of a good time?

• Have a break: Though the expression automatically brings the wafer chocolate bars KitKat - who knows how I resisted saying have a break, have a KitKat at the top of my lungs - to mind, having time out from whatever you're doing from time to time doesn't harm you in the slightest, nor diminish your chances of achieving an A in French (yet another of my life-long ambitions). Not only do plenty of studies promote the benefits of kicking up your feet and getting some study-free air for a while, but your parents would probably recommend it, too - how else will your family survive if you don't get away from revision every once in a blue moon? Breaks won't destroy motivation for whatever tasks you're completing (decorating a house on The Sims included) and, when you return to your work, it will amaze you how much better you feel, more than likely to be an advantage in your favour. Really. 
• Go on a break: A theme for breaks may seem to be forming here, but this type of 'break' isn't necessarily associated with the one above, for more distinguishable reasons. By going on a break, unfortunately I'm not referring to jumping onto a plane and travelling to the other side of the world, but of course I mean the most special place of all: your bedroom. The trends might not change as much as the shops in fashion-crazy Paris or the size doesn't increase like the newly-built Wembley Arena, but it is a safe haven away from the hassles of every day life. Your bedroom ought to represent peace, stability and half an hour free from any harassing siblings; it's where you can be yourself! And, with all of this free time, why not take a few moments to think really deep about your ambitions, thoughts and feelings? Declaring your emotional issues to the rest of the world is pointless if you don't make an effort to work through it yourself - via thinking about it - and, unlike a costly trip to a foreign country or even at a caravan park in the countryside, sorting out your woes yourself will save you plenty of money (and premature wrinkles) in the long run. 
• Don't worry: Several years since this thought popped into my head, I will admit to straying away from my original intentions from time to time, but who wouldn't be able to escape from the clutches of deep-rooted worry when a major life-changing moment is occurring? But, as I've heard several times, worrying is of no benefit to yourself which, when you couldn't imagine certain circumstances getting worse, brings on more problems if such a practice is continued. Not only does worrying increase your chances of developing premature frown lines (ah, the horror!) and worsen your outlook on life, it can also affect your studying, habits and, if it reaches such a state, even your health. Suddenly that occasional sulk doesn't sound so great, does it? Most of the time, we worry about things which, if we put our minds to something more beneficial to our lives or found a decent programme on TV, are absolutely pointless, but we should always remain aware of when we are crossing the line. Getting tingles like Spider-Man's spidey senses before a major exam is normal and, in small doses, could be used as an advantage if transformed into motivation to succeed, but squeezing your eyes shut and wishing that the littered ground would swallow you up? That isn't acceptable at all. Like above, work through various issues - both jumbo- and pint-sized - by thinking about it then coming up with a plan to manage your worrying woes, with the help of family and friends if needs be. Worrying can send us into a spin which even the most agile cannot control - don't lose your grip on reality, OK?

Thinking about Life and Summer Heat

As the country (and the region in which I just moved to) prepares to enjoy what has been heralded as the warmest day of the year so far, I keep to myself in a haven like none other within my bedroom, maintaining my English Rose complexion instead of burning it like an over-cooked roast potato. Indeed, my joy is spilling like the glasses of Pepsi which my younger brother used to knock over as young children play outside in the sunshine, the buzz of laughter and distant baas from a flock of sheep nearby rings in the humid air. 

Why, when a modern day teenager like me typically casts herself as the most temperamental creature to have ever walked on this planet, am I as joyous as an ordinary person who has not been belittled by erratic hormones and heat-related breakouts? The answer, like the animated meerkat Aleksandr Orlov's famed phrase, is simples: I couldn't be in a better place. Since packing up all of my cherished possessions into thousands upon thousands of cardboard boxes (there goes my plans for saving the environment; eco queen I no longer am) and travelling over one hundred miles to my new residence towards the end of March, my life has been as crazy as a gut-wrenching (and, if one has eaten, stomach-turning) roller coaster but, for the first time in ages, I feel comfortable in my new surroundings and am willing to take pride in what I now call my new home. 

Although getting over the initial 'what am I doing here?' reaction which shortly followed after moving into my home has been exhausting to say the least, there is a sense of belonging - a feeling which, regardless of my age and current desires in life, I continue to cherish like a prized childhood memory - lingering in the air, making me realize that, at long last, I do have a right to be one of the 1500 or so residents in my new countryside village. From taking lengthy strolls in the park to gazing at the many chocolate bars sold at the local newsagents (how tempting it is to munch on a Freddo Frog whilst walking in the warm embrace of afternoon sunshine), I already get the impression that I have lived here for much longer than seven weeks and one day, putting my previous existence in another area where it truly belongs: the past. 

If I'd visited my current home this time last year, it wouldn't have taken two seconds before I would've questioned whether I was wandering about in an oh-so-perfect dream, one of which seemed too good to become a reality. From a young age, I've learnt to never take anything for granted which, along with being able to suss out whether one supports a particular football team (courtesy of none other than my little brother), is one of the greatest lessons that I've had the privilege of studying, a precious gift in itself. If I lost my ability to savour and express appreciation for what I classify as the finer things in life - from visiting the cinema to going on shopping sprees, the list is endless - wouldn't a vital part of myself at heart be taken away, too? 

For as long as I can remember, gratitude has held a significant presence in my life and, over time, has influenced my personality, instilling good manners of which are no longer passed down as much as previous generations before myself. Though it seems apparent that many teenagers have little or no acquaintance with manners in this modern era, my brother and I have been brought up to say 'please' and 'thank you' whenever in presence of others or, without fail, our own parents. Often, I laugh at my own habits whenever I utter 'thank you' for the least significant thing - or, from time to time, for nothing at all! But I wouldn't change my attitudes or indeed gracious nature because, when I've had enough time to take in what is either surrounding me or taking place, I'm happy for appreciating the moment, particularly if it isn't a regular occurrence. 

Cue a pair of sea-blue eyes almost bulging of their sockets when the most important change in my life - moving home for the first time in seven years which, as I'm only fifteen, was almost half a lifetime ago - was announced, sending me into a spin which even the most experienced ballerina couldn't handle. But, as many people have done and will for years to come, I got on with the tasks on hand, ignoring the stress which was bubbling furiously beneath the surface. Only in the past few weeks have I been blessed with the opportunity to close my eyes and address these feelings via my preferred method: writing on my blog. Free, easy and adjustable to my needs and plans for the day ahead, typing as fast as a speedy racecar is soothing, despite the irritating noise which the keyboard produces. 

Unlike what life holds itself, I'm not faced with any barriers or prevented from crossing the path which leads to unlocking buried-deep feelings whenever I write, giving me as much of a backstage pass as one could hope to get at an extravagant Lady Gaga concert (that, without a doubt, is an encounter that I would very much savour). And, whether I'm in the mood to unleash my startling array of English idioms or not, reaching the end of a blog entry always guarantees a change in my mood which, unlike a mid-afternoon binge in the biscuit tin, has a long-lasting effect. Take that, sugary Oreos!

In case it had ever occurred to you or a different idea had crossed your mind altogether, I recognized my status as a deep thinker (a.k.a. wannabe philosopher) many moons ago which, exactly like my passion for Sudoku puzzles, I'm extremely proud about. When you think about it, it shouldn't come as a massive surprise that I have somewhat of a penchant for thinking because, after all, I do love writing several times a week - otherwise, why would this blog exist? For many years, I've often complained - um, should I mean thought - about the human mind being incapable of recording past thoughts because, unlike a video camera or pictures, one cannot always recall what they have thought about in their minds, especially if a pen and piece of paper isn't on hand. Who knows whether I've missed out on a once-in-the-lifetime opportunity to sell an award-winning book as I didn't have access to jotting down my ideas - which were still floating in my whirlpool of a mind - when they were at their most vivid stage, but I will never find out because I can't remember any of it! 

In general, teenagers have plenty on their minds and of course an endless array of topics to think about as they step away from the shadow of childhood, then begin to grasp the meaning of becoming an adult. Whenever I've read interviews with famous celebrities and a question about their lives is asked, more often than not their years as an adolescent is brought up, establishing the relevance of one's teenage years (or moments spent in the beauty department at Boots) for many decades to come. Stress is a well-known subject which many of us - both young and old - know off heart like a Grease sing-along, but teenagers are not limited with issues which are bound to crop up at one point or another. 

At this time in my life, I'm preparing to return to school - yes, that may be the most bizarre sentence that one could read, but it's true - after being home-schooled for seven years, bringing along the prospect of making friends and adjusting to the school system in one rolled-up package. Am I nervous? If it wasn't for my stomach growling like Benny the Hissy Kitty or the clock recently turning midday, I would say otherwise, but it needn't take the likes of a genius to realize that I am a little jittery about going back to mainstream education after so many years. In my eyes, enrolling into a secondary school is literally the final hurdle that I need to face before I feel completely settled in my new home and, needless to say, my new life, but dealing with these bigger-than-ever issues are never entirely easy, are they? But, as is the case for the majority of school-age students in my country, going to school is an ordinary part of every day life and, whether my stomach chooses to play up or not, I have to face up to it. In all honesty, I'm thrilled about going back to school and have already fantasized about what it will be like, but even my excitement can only ward off a certain level of nerves. Having plenty to think about - and putting my inner thinker hard at work - is the understatement of the year. Need I say more? 

Teamed with a dollop of gratitude and piles upon piles of subjects to give my mind the ultimate workout, I have been knee-deep in sorting out my feelings since I moved almost two months ago, but it finally seems as though I've discovered the light towards the end of the tunnel. The past seven weeks can easily be dismissed as a short-lived period in limbo, but it has been a time to grasp my surroundings and take life - my fresh start - at my own pace. If I was asked to describe it, the word 'holiday' wouldn't automatically spring to mind, yet it has been refreshing to take life day by day and, like a can of Coca Cola, savour every single moment. Now that I feel ready to end my time in limbo or whatever it deserves to be called, I am more than prepared to embrace what is ahead of me!

As ever, the sun is shining through my bedroom window, tempting me to venture outside. Maybe I will give up my Bella Swan-inspired look and embrace a bit of heat because, as British weather is renowned for, sunny spells are hardly destined to last longer than five minutes. Also, Twilight was one of my favourite films in my old life, so why hold onto an era which has since passed? New habits and attitudes need to be formed - and I'm happier for it. 

Charity Fever: Why Helping Others is a Joy for Everybody

Whether you've poked your head in today's newspapers or have cut off your internet connection, one would find it immensely difficult to avoid hearing about an ever-contagious fever surrounding charity which, as I will explain in a moment, has touched all of our hearts to a certain extent.

From a young age, we become familiar with the concept of donating money to those who are in desperate need of it because, as the legend goes, it is a good thing to do. Indeed, offering help to others is as uplifting as fulfilling your own ambitions as lending a helping hand keeps us in touch with the most important part of ourselves: humanity. Would we truly be remaining true to our instincts - the ones which guide us throughout a lifetime as a human - if we never bothered to dip deeper into ourselves and come across a part which is humbled by a particular article? More often than not, those who fail to search within themselves and make effort to be generous towards others are classified as possessors of a cold, frankly heartless hearts; remaining caught up in all but your own thoughts is most selfish act known to mankind and, as many of ourselves have learnt in recent weeks, it will be looked down upon even more so in the future.

However, the world may sometimes send shivers of utmost fear down our spines when we terrorized by those who threaten to destroy the peaceful existences we have worked so hard to achieve but, on a whole, the majority of this planet's population are good-natured, kind-hearted people who, when an urgent matter is brought to their attention, will do their utmost to contribute to a worthy cause. And, for the past few weeks in my native England, thousands upon thousands of people have donated money to a cause which, in a sense, has affected all of us in one way or another: beating cancer.

The 'C' letter alone scares me stiff because, even in an age where revolutionary drugs and medicines have been created to help save patients' lives against this horrendous disease, there are still many who, despite fighting tooth with admirable strength to see the light at the end of the tunnel, sadly don't receive the all-clear as hoped. As figures suggest, one in three people will be diagnosed with cancer within the lives - as the world's population is roughly around the seven billion mark, at least two billion will fight a form of cancer - it truly is impossible to steer clear of the disease through a family member, friend or even yourself being affected. As I have prayed for as long as I can remember, my fingers are crossed in the hope of a cure being found to finally put an end to cancer endangering and sometimes taking away precious lives; I dream of such a revolution taking place in my lifetime as progress for many other diseases and conditions have saved others in recent decades, but one can never be entirely sure of not if, but when scientists will make a discovery that the world has been waiting to hear.

Tragically, a life-saving cure could not have been found for nineteen year old teenager, Stephen Sutton, who passed away in his sleep yesterday morning after being diagnosed with bowel cancer at the age of fifteen. Charismatic, funny and incredibly intelligent - while undergoing treatment for cancer, Stephen still continued with his studies, gaining many A*s and As in both his GCSEs and A-Levels - Stephen was an inspiration to his country and, as many messages of condolence from places such as France and Australia flooded on Face yesterday, the whole world. Having aimed to raise a £1 million for the charity Teenage Cancer Trust who fund equipment and entertainment for teenage cancer sufferers across the United Kingdom, Stephen successfully achieved his ambition several weeks ago when his very life hung in the balance.

Two years after receiving a diagnosis of cancer, Stephen was unfortunately told that his cancer, which had by now spread to his lungs and liver, was incurable. It was the very worst news that a young person - whose life was on the burst of entering a new, exciting chapter and should have been focusing on becoming a doctor, as was Stephen's wish - could ever hear, but despite his devastating diagnosis, Stephen maintained his cheerful persona and wrote a bucket list of all the things he wanted to do, which he later posted on Facebook and his website, Stephen's Story. His entries were heart-warming and brought a lump to my throat to say the least because, on no occasion, did Stephen complain about his terminal cancer, simply saying that 'it is what it is'.

How a person who, had yet to experience the ups and downs of adulthood as many of us are destined to do so, could express such bravery in what would be our very own worst nightmare is nonetheless inspiring, if not the most moving words I've ever heard in my fifteen years of existence on this planet. Although one would never truly gain a proper glimpse into how a terminal cancer sufferer must feel towards the end, it is all too easy to immerse yourself in a fantasy where anger and sadness consumes you, constantly wishing that cancer had never affected you in the first place. But, instead of falling prey to these thoughts, Stephen decided to do something which, even when he had been admitted to hospital with breathing difficulties, he aspired to carry on doing: raise money for charity.

According to his bucket list, Stephen originally intended to raise £10,000 for Teenage Cancer Trust which, to many of us, is a mighty amount in itself and was a supreme effort from somebody who was making the most of the time he had left. In between writing a book, getting a tattoo and, my personal favourite, hugging an elephant, Stephen was spending his time fundraising for charity, an inspirational feat in itself. Once he raised his original amount and ticked off another wish on his bucket list, Stephen didn't even think twice about lifting his feet up; as ambitious as ever, he soon raised the bar to a million pounds.

But his story - and fundraising efforts - was shown in the limelight and won the hearts of the nation when it was feared that he was about to die which, with the help of the likes of the comedian Jason Manford, actor Benedict Cumberbatch and the support of the public, brought about hitting his target within hours. In fact, Stephen had posted a farewell message on his Facebook page with a picture of himself in hospital which didn't leave a dry eye in the house, needless to say. Yet, to the surprise of his family and everyone who had been humbled by his story, Stephen rallied around and later went home, enjoying the time he had left with those he loved.

Though it was ever so obvious that a miracle was unlikely to occur, it didn't stop me from praying that Stephen would get better and lead a happy and healthy life where he could help others for a living, spreading the happiness he gave us during his short, yet inspirationally fulfilling life. Even when the facts cannot be ignored, we humans are unable to resist holding onto false hope, can we? I - amongst the many who hoped for the best - couldn't bear the thought of what would eventually come and, to my utter sadness, it happened yesterday morning.

After being readmitted to hospital at the weekend due to breathing difficulties, Stephen remained as optimistic as ever about his condition, assuring his readers that his condition was stable and there was 'no immediate panic'. Those words were the last he wrote on Facebook only four days ago. It was his mum who announced the news of his passing at midday yesterday afternoon, breaking the hearts of those who had been inspired by his courage and bravery throughout his journey. I choked back tears of grief as I read his mother's words which expressed the utmost sadness that a parent in such a position could ever experience. And still I wonder: though I never met Stephen personally nor attended one of his talks, I felt like sobbing my heart out when the news broke at the lunchtime, blinking back tears which would have flowed like a river down my face.

In many ways which words cannot fully describe, I saw a part of Stephen that reminded me of my younger brother who, whenever he isn't stuffing my packet of Oreos down his throat or hogging the TV for the entire weekend, is the funniest and kindest person I know. In that sense, I feel as though I did know Stephen as he shared so many traits to my own brother, a familiarity which truly hit me at the news of his passing a day ago. Although it would be selfish to compare my own feelings to those of a devastated family, I was sad for thinking about what a disease like cancer could take away from me: and why it should never exist.

Despite a wave of grief bound to hit us when we least expect it, I think that many of us can derive a sense of happiness that, though he has since passed, Stephen's legacy will continue to inspire and provoke others to give a thought about those affected by illness which, as an aspiring doctor, he would have wanted very much. Watching the figures on his JustGiving page increase second by second is a wonderful spectacle, raising a smile on our lips when the saddening process of grief truly hits home. As the figures currently stand, over £3.6 million pounds have been raised for Teenage Cancer Trust, the highest ever amount fundraised for the charity which has helped many teenagers my age since its establishment in 1990. And, as time goes on, I can only expect the figures to go through the roof - long may it continue!

At times like these, I'm grateful for the existence of social networking websites because, through the many 'Likes' and hashtags worldwide, all of this money has been raised for a special cause, including the long-lasting legacy of an inspirational young man. If it wasn't for Facebook, Stephen's Story might not have come to light as it did several weeks ago - and heralded him as a modern day hero. What I would love more than anything is Stephen being given a posthumous award for his hard work and legacy. How many of us will be able to carry on marking achievements such as fundraising in death? That alone ought to count as a reason for a knighthood, as I and plenty of petitioners already believe.

Also, I would like to thank Stephen for giving me some food for thought yesterday, teaching me yet another lesson of which textbooks and schools cannot inform you. For a while, I had been consumed in thought over which books, games and clothes to buy for myself which, despite the prospect of splashing out being incredibly thrilling, had bored me to the extent that I was frustrated over failing to choose what I wanted. Yet almost immediately after I heard of Stephen's passing yesterday, my previous thoughts of purchasing items for myself were forgotten, instantly replaced with the desire to donate to Stephen's cause. And you know what? My eyes may have brimmed with tears, but my heart was bursting with pride over donating my money to worthier causes - all of which was thanks to Stephen. Only a teenager like Stephen could take my attention away from clothes and, in his memory, he will continue to inspire others for what I hope is many years to come.

All in all, I want to say that giving more than a second thought about charities could hold the key to making ill patients feel a bit better inside, putting a smile back on their faces and, ultimately, finding a cure for cancer. Although Stephen will sadly not witness the joyous day when that moment comes, the money that he raised will contribute to the on-going research which will hopefully make the all-important discovery - who knows, our lives may one day depend upon it.

And, for old time's sake, let's appreciate our time on Earth while we can. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and, most important of all, we are in good health. If anything, do it for Stephen. It's what he - and every cancer sufferer - deserves.