Leaving the real world and heading back to university.Posted: September 15, 2015
It was my birthday yesterday, and like a twelve year old child I’ve been hyped about it for weeks, raving about how I’m 21 and I could hypothetically teach someone to drive or go to those all too existing 21+ bars we all know about (uhh…).
So the day came around, and was, to say the least, quite disappointing. However, despite the depressing conversations I had to endure with people in the real world, there were a few family members that called up and required me to say the usual “yes, I had a great day” and “yes, everything is fine, no I didn’t go out, tragic, I know”.
But it was a Monday night and who’s to say getting wasted and felt up by some loser at a bar until 3am is better than snuggling up in bed talking about life and relationships and what kind of Ben and Jerry’s is the best flavour. Screw you for making me feel guilty at 7 in the morning, when I’m actually awake, a little cranky, but working and not paraletically hungover and regretting the entirity of the night before.
Bad decisions can be fun and God knows I make too many of them, but I shouldn’t be expected to make them by the old korean guy who stops to chat every morning because he hasn’t made a drunken bad decision in the last 100 years.
(Because the last bad mistake I made wasn’t that bad and now I’m reading his writing online and not the lines on his face or the freckles on his back. Because things are freakin’ complicated but my birthday was not an excuse to fall back into bad habits, and the regulars will have to wait.)
I’m going off topic. It was my birthday, and now I’m officially in my twenties and ready to take on the world.
Except I can’t. Because another important part of those phone calls was the all important and all too frequent question, “are you looking forward to uni?” And I don’t know how to answer. I can’t say no, I’m not looking forward to being treated like a child by people who don’t understand and aren’t committed to anything but their growing realisation that however hard they try, they can’t relive their past through others, or dealing with crazily intense social situations with hundreds of people all trying desperately to fit in with eachother like a badly fitting drunken sex puzzle.
Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to getting into branding and marketting, and drawing letter forms on sugar paper and walking around campus looking like a dork in a typography t-shirt. I’m looking forward to the clubs, and the vodka and lemonades and the coach trips and the adventures and guest speakers from fancy design studios, and living in a new place, with new people, and making new friends and even more fun drunken decisions (as well as the more important life decisions that we all love so much).
Yes, I get to chose which cheerios I buy and how many meals I want to eat in a day, I get to chose whether to cycle to work or walk in the rain, whether to go to the gym or run a couple of miles, do a few sit ups in my room, have that last kitkat and go to bed instead. I’ll chose what typeface to use in my branding work (Helvetica is so hard to stay away from when it looks so right in just about everything) and what colour scheme best suits myself (is orange too childlike? Grey and pastel colours too overused?).
But I won’t get to chose which parties I’m not invited to or how long it’ll be until I get to experience summer just a little more permanently. I won’t chose how many times I screw up and stress out about the silly things, or how I’m being so ‘independant’ but still get spoken to like a child (I suppose that will end when I grow into these baby cheeks and out of wearing socks with strawberries and cartoon animals on).
I guess I’m becoming acustomed to the fact that uni is coming whether I like it or not, and there are good points and bad. The real world I’ve had over the last few months will just have to wait until next year and after the next 3, and I’ll just have to experience the heck out of everything until then (even the bad parts), and that is how I would answer that question.
Although I doubt my Nan would even listen past the first sentence, never mind understand where I’m coming from. To be honest I’m not sure even I do sometimes.