That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
I say that, a lot of my friends are third-years and some of the freshers will be older than me, but still. I feel old. Well, that’s not strictly true. What I feel is that dreaded word: mature.
On the way to a friend’s house (we have houses now!) this morning, I had to walk past a primary school. It was break time, and all the little children were out playing (and doing an awful lot of screaming and giggling). As I watched girls play hopscotch and boys chase each other round the playground, I realised that they looked so peaceful – so happy and so relaxed.
This is a complete contrast to how I’m feeling right now. I’m stressed. The beginning of term is upon us and I still have a ridiculous amount of things to do. I have things to write, things to read, people to see and places to go. The last couple of weeks have been an absolute holiday of TV watching, house visiting and chilling out in the sun with my favourite people.
Reality isn’t so much creeping up on me as sprinting along beside me waving a waterpistol and a massive flag saying “surprise” in red block capitals. It's not fun. I look back to my time at primary school and I think of how happy I was. My biggest worry was – in fact, I didn't have to worry about anything. I didn't really have any money, so I didn't have to worry about spending it. I didn't have to worry about offending people, because everybody knows children are tactless anyway. And I didn't have to worry about doing work because, let's face it, SATs were pointless and homework is a bit of a joke.
In those few moments of watching the children play, it seemed to me as if my childhood had been an idyllic past of lazy summer afternoons and awesome games.
Then I realised I was being stupid.
Of course we all look back on our childhoods as a romantic past where we had no worries whatsoever and everything was bright and perfect. But this is far from the case. If anything, my seven year-old self was more neurotic than me today. I remember worrying about everything – and it was more pathetic than today – stressing over what to wear to a silly school disco, or who to have over to play – that's nothing compared to worrying about where the money for your next bill is going to come from or whether you'll get your essay in on time.
If the child is the blueprint for the adult, surely nobody's childhood is that idyllic time we imagine. Okay, so we think things are getting harder, more complicated, or just downright soul-destroying, but surely we should realise that we felt like this before – several times in fact.
I remember feeling like this when I discovered one of my friends secretly preferred to play with someone else in infant school. And then again, in primary school, when I struggled to get the best marks in the class. Preparing for my Cambridge interview was possible the strongest “aah! Everything is so hard” moment I'd thought I'd had – but such things are always replaced by something else, months later.
And so I approach the beginning of my second-year here at York with trepidation. But I'm not overly worried, as I know there's going to be something else coming along to stress me out more in a few months.
However, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that things can always get worse. What I'm saying – and what I realised – is that things are never that bad to start with.
I just always seemed to quite like worrying about things. Doesn't mean there's anything actually wrong.
You must log in to submit a comment.
