Boarding School

I live at a Boarding School. An all-girls Catholic Boarding School in Australia, to be a little more precise. By no means am I Catholic, or belonging to any other religion- in fact, I’m not even one hundred percent sure I believe in all this “higher power”, “Godly” stuff. But alas, there are few, if any, non-religious boarding schools that I know of- so it was a choice of Catholic, or… Catholic.

Although it’s my first year here, and I’ve only physically been at Boarding for a little over three months, it has occurred to me just how uncommon my situation is, and just how much insight I can give from an insiders point of view.

Back to basics- those of you who’re familiar with my blog will know most of the story, so I’ll sum it up for ya’ll quickly.

My Mum and my Step Dad are public servants, working in a little town no-one’s heard of and, if they have, it’s not for the “friendly community” aspect of it all. Put simply, my town is, well, there is no simple way to put it- it’s not a nice place to live. We knew that when we moved there over a year ago, and I know it even more today.

I spent three terms (a semester and a half) at the public high school in that town. I’d never go as far as to say it was a “bad experience”. I made a lot of friends, learned a lot about country town culture and, amid it all, fell in love.

Don’t stress too much, this isn’t about to turn into a soppy love story of any kind.

So, we come to the move to boarding. The problem wasn’t me- I wasn’t some sort of drunken juvenile delinquent sent away to school because her parents couldn’t handle her.

The town school itself was a joke. In desperate need of government funding, 23 teachers short, and no kind of order or discipline at all- surprisingly enough, Mum didn’t think I’d be all too safe any longer amongst the drug addicts, rapists, stabbings and teacher bashings.

So she shipped me across the state to live with my Nan. I spent the remaining term of year 10 with her, trying, not in vain, to catch up on the three terms of work I did not do. It really opened my eyes as to how far behind I was- how much I’d missed, and, in terms of worldly experience, how much I’d gained.

It was decided between us all that I couldn’t live with Nan for another two years. It wasn’t fair on me- living with my grandparents is a hell all of its own, and it wasn’t fair on them- the olds did not need to raise another teen.

That’s how I ended up here.

Boarding’s nothing like the movies, to start off with- I’ve never been in a pillow fight, no-one sneaks out to do drugs or have quickies with their boyfriends (well, not as far as I know, and I’d like to keep it that way), and, well- I’m not exactly sure how many other stereotypes the media is flogging off these days. Shoot them at me and I’ll let you know the degree of stupidity in them all.

What surprised me the most was the freedom we get- I don’t know if I was expecting some kind of jail- a juvenile correctional facility for farmers daughters and those with half and education- but basically, as far as I’m concerned, the carers, or “House Mums” are about as lenient as they get.

There are a few misconceptions I had about the whole “boarding” experience. The first one was that we pray. Which we do. But not so much as I had expected. We have mass every Saturday afternoon for an hour, prayers every Monday evening for thirty minutes, and every evening we have house prayers, in our respective houses, for about fifteen minutes.

Let me explain the “Houses”. There are 4 Boarding houses, each named after a female saint, for each year group. Eg, my house, Catherine, is for the Year 11’s.

So, as much as I’m sure you’re all exceptionally interested in my boarding experiences, I think I’ll leave you to it for tonight. xxhc

P.S. Mum rang me from Phuket tonight- she and Step Dad are getting another tattoo each on Wednesday… And a quick shout-out to her as it’s her 40^th today. J

Thinking about beauty once again

I’ve been thinking. Frightening, isn’t it? It must have been said a thousand times before, by a thousand different people… so much so it’s probably lost it’s meaning. But just to satisfy my own urge, I’ll say it once again-

It’s what’s on the inside that counts.

From my experience with people- who, to be fair, are almost all teenagers- we spend so much-too much- of our time wishing we were someone else. Someone skinnier, natural flawless, Angelina Jolie’s twin…

I’m guilty of it. More than I care to admit. While I know it’s not the truth, I still think about how much better off I’d be if I looked like M, or if I was as smart as Jen. If I could befriend people in an instant like Tayla, or have boys drooling after me like E.

But would I be better off? At a glance, M looks like a self-obsessed French princess. Jen is rubbished behind her back, through jealousy, intolerance, and because she really is a know-all snob. The girls outside her “clique” despise Tayla for the way she excludes people just as easily as she befriends them. E? Well, she’s a slut and will probably have gonorrhea by the time she’s twenty.

And I think to myself, deep down (deep, deep down)- I don’t want to be them after all.

But all this makes the mountain of homework I have no smaller, the fatigue blurring my vision no less, the pimples plaguing my face no less obvious and the stress I’m under no more lifted.

But alas! Things could be so, so much worse, and like my Religion teacher says, “Be grateful for what you’ve got”… Love Happychick.

A Fringe- of all things!

We were all a little bored yesterday, as one tends to get when stuck in the Boarding House with nowhere to go and little or nothing to do other than homework, when P approaches me and begins to fiddle with my hair. It’s not enough just to touch though, she has to launch into a “Oh Happychick, your hair is always the same, why don’t you try something new?” speech. I have begun to expect this from P, and so I laugh it off and continue trying to read my English book, Pride and Prejudice. But no, she persisted to tell me that I should cut myself a fringe, or- even better! That she should cut my fringe.

Now, I told you that we were bored, right? Well, here I was, feeling risky, and someone had just sent me an email saying, “Never regret anything that made you smile”.

She cut me a fringe. A fringe fringe.

It’s not hideous- in fact, when it’s wet, and if you squint really hard, you can almost see the “style” P was talking about.

I have a bit of a cowlick which also doesn’t help matters, and so, I have pinned it back.

The moral of this story is, well, I’m not exactly sure- but I must’ve leaned something, right?

It’s ironic really, my previous post, all about how I’ll “never let anyone tell me what to do”, or something similar- and here I am, sporting a fringe, of all things. I guess it’ll grow back though- and I’ll never let P touch my hair again.

To make matters so much worse, I’m drowning in homework, yet again, and have come down with a violent cold. Oh how I hate being sick. It’s quite ridiculous really, we get shots for basically everything, they’ve developed vaccines for every disease know to man, but I still have to suffer the pain of a flu two days before a test. Pathetic.

And so I will leave you for my sick clothes and my bed, seriously contemplating not going to school tomorrow.

Compliment

I had the beauty of getting a compliment today- a real compliment- not a pathetic little comment on how great my hair looks, not an emotional bribe to give someone what they wanted, but a real, honest, heartfelt compliment (at least, I hope that’s what it was).

“Happychick, you’re so unique- you never follow anyone else’s trends, you always make your own- that’s really admirable”- okay, she didn’t ‘say admirable‘, but it was something along those lines and the rest is pretty much spot on.

You see, the thing is, I don’t know if I agree. I mean, no doubt I’d love to be “unique”, “original”, and ironically these days, everyone tries so hard to be different that we all end up the same. But really, I’m not so different to anyone else. Not in my eyes, at least.

But alas, as tends to happen, the more I think about it, the more I’m inclined to agree.

Not for a long time have I accepted that what’s there is all there is.

Not for over a year have a made a conscious effort to change for another person’s preferences.

And never again will I believe that I’m a lesser person than someone else- that I can’t be as good as anybody else.

And that is pretty admirable, isn’t it?

My Repent

For all those times I lied to my friends, to stop myself copping the blame- I’m sorry.

For all the hurt I’ve ever caused my family, physical, and especially emotional- I’m sorry.

To those girls who’ve been unlucky enough to face my wrath- I’m sorry.

To the boy I spent my early teens despising, only to realize how bitter and twisted I’d become- I’m sorry.

For all those times I’ve been intentionally cruel or spiteful just to prove a point- or worse, just to prove I was “cool”- I am so sorry.

To my friends and all the times I’ve let them down- you know I’m sorry.

My apologies to my teachers, who were always there, more often than not during my dummy spits and tantrums.

My thanks to my Grandparents and extended family- I groan and moan, and will continue to do so- but will always know you’re there.

And to myself, for now and forever, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the times I’ve never believed I could. For all those things I’ve known I should’ve done and never did, and for all the negative thoughts and emotions I inflicted upon my own subconscious.

I believe in you. I believe what you say and do. I will respect you and your rights. I will love you, when no-one else will. I will be there.

I’ve noticed myself becoming very bitter and cynical lately. I’ve been nasty and cruel, sadistic and controlling, to the point where I think I’m making enemies faster than I’m getting breakouts (which, let me assure you, is quite often). I’ve found myself cutting other girls off in the middle of their sentences. Telling people they’re annoying or pathetic- even worse, immature. If anyone dare call me immature I would chuck a spasm- much like an epileptic fish. And yet I say it increasingly frequently.

It’s not my only act of hypocrisy over the past two weeks or so.

I’ve been putting men, as a gender, down at every turn- becoming cynical and depressed when the subject comes around. It sounds impractical, but I don’t want to become a girl who sees a boy and starts to act like a prat- flirty and hair-flicky and the like. I don’t want this because it’s pathetic, right? Or perhaps I’m scared- jealous of the other girls and therefore distancing myself from anything to do with boys- if that makes sense. What I’m saying is, I’m being horrible. I’m putting down everyone I see, particularly boys, and the other girls hate me for it.

I’m not asking for your pity- I’m not asking for anything at all. I‘m just becoming a little more self-aware than before, and it’s a tiny bit terrifying, if I’m to admit it.

Mother

It’s not about the pathetic arguments we had during my “rebellious stage”. It’ll never be how many times she’s hit me, or how many names I’ve called her. The fact that I’m only now coming to realize how lost I’d be without her is a regret I’ll have forever.

In moving to boarding school it’s really hit home how close we’ve become over the past year or so. How much I’ve come to depend upon her, how, little by little I’ve become an “adult” in her eyes.

It’s about the bond we share, and how that bond grows stronger every day. It’s about me being able to talk to her about anything- my sex life, her sex life, gossiping and bitching about family and friends…

I can now look at her and say “I trust you. I believe you.” I value her opinion higher than anyone else’s. Her word is law, though I’m just becoming aware that she too is human- she too needs a shoulder to cry on.

I talk to my peers now, and I say with confidence “My Mum is my best friend”.

Slowly but surely we’ve come to a mutual awareness of our need for each other.

I know now that I can be secure in any decision I make. I can say what I feel and not regret it. I can get through anything, because, in the end- she’ll be there for me.

To hug me. To comfort me. To tell me that I’m right, or at least that she respects my decision. In the end, it’s about the love. And that’s all that either one of us will ever need.

“And will you tell all your friends you’ve got your gun to my head” Taking Back Sunday

(Note: Nothing in this post is remotely to do with Taking Back Sunday)

I’ve just found the SWEETest invention- SQUEEZABLE VEGEMITE!
We’ve had this conversation before- scarcely anyone outside Australia even knows what vegemite is.
Just to recap- as unsatisfying as it may sound, it’s a yeast extract that you spread on sandwiches/toast- much like peanut butter.
But seriously, squeezable. In a tube, like black toothpaste- genius! BUYING SOME!!!
That’s all for now, going shopping with Mum as soon as she’s recovered from last night’s hangover.
Though, I have to make an important decision- Pants or Shorts today??
It looks pretty cool outside, although the only pants I bought are my fave (yet surprisingly scungy) jeans…
Ah, the trials of teenage life. xx

And Happychick was never happier… (and in love with vegemite toast)

I pretty much knew it would happen eventually- the Nazi IT people at the school have blocked wordpress. BLOCKED IT! And in doing so, have pretty much cut off my lifeline into the outside world.
It’s currently the long weekend, and as such, all boarders have to leave the Boarding House. It really bummed me out (to the point of tears, though I would never admit it) that basically everyone was going home- bar me. I simply live too far away to make the trip- and we aren’t exactly rolling in that kind of money.
So I organized with Lisa, my aunt, to pick me up from Boarding at 4. When I got back from school, bursting into my room to get changed, who was sitting there, but my Mum and my brother?
I’d already been “tipped off”, so to speak, by Lisa (she either a) can’t keep a secret, or b) doesn’t know when to shut her mouth), but either way, it was an awesome half-surprise, and I’m secretly overjoyed to see my Mum again- but don’t tell her this or she’ll get a big head :p.
I’ve just had a convo with my RACK mate Rach- she and Pete are tight and contemplating seeing each other. And you know what? I wished her luck. I told her to go for it. And I was happy for them, goddamit!
It was my ultimate closure. I am so over him, OMG I AM SO OVER HIM!
I have a huge religion assignment due on Tuesday- trying so hard not to think of how ridiculous it is to be doing Religious Education for an hour each day.
“I’m a leading man, and the lies I weave are oh-so-intricate”
I’ll try to write whenever the net is accessible- can’t guarantee that’ll be very often. But please don’t stop reading- you guys are my lifeline.