This past month has been an interesting one.
It’s been one of those months that make you sit back and scrunch your face into an unsightly expression, collapse your head into a bedroom pillow and wonder to yourself “Just how did I ever get here?”
l feel like a little bird caught in a wind current far too big for its delicate wings to handle all at once.
Don’t get me wrong, if there’s one thing I love, it’s a challenge! I try to look at life as an adventure, with a Peter-Pan like innocence; but sometimes culture shock, stress, heartbreak, peer pressure, grades,and family drama amidst the craving to somehow figure out who you are can sorta get in the way.
January 3rd, I stepped foot onto the campus of my new high school. The ring of the morning bell echoed through the halls announcing the second semester of 2015, and so did the constant squeak of my converse as I helplessly searched for my home room.
As it goes for anyone that switches schools in the middle of the year, I spent the first few days as an outsider looking in; doing more people watching and daydreaming than participating in social groups and class discussions. On my fourth day there was the dreaded high school pep rally, (Does anybody actually enjoy those things?) which I satisfyingly skipped in the band room with a percussionist I met. We’re now good friends.
I don’t even bother with the dining hall. That thing is a death trap- I prefer the powdery smell of heavily used books, the dark-corners behind the biography section where cell phone reception is best and secluded computer stalls of the library for company.
Actually, I quite like the people a library will attract during lunch.
There are people like me; they go there everyday and have their special spot figured out, minding their own business and eating a sandwich despite the “no food or drink” sign.
Then there are people who come- these people are the easiest to pick out- panicked out of their mind because of a project or assignment they’ve abandoned and have experienced the enlightening realization that it’s due the very next block. They are very entertaining.
Occasionally there will be a big group of friends that gather around one of the thick wooden tables between the aisles. In a hushed but energetic whisper only youth can produce, they hold passionate discussions and debates, mindless chatter about classes and who-slept-with-who talk that I can’t help but secretly eavesdrop on. I’m not much of a gossip, but I hate to miss out on the people watching
Then there are some heartbroken girls, and she goes to the back where the books act as therapists and the shelves a shield from the judgmental eyes of her peers. She stands with her chin up, but with a wet cheek, and as I sit slumped in the leather chair by the wall and glance over at these people, part of me wants to get up and put an arm around them and tell them everything will be okay.
But I don’t. I just sit there and think about it; but maybe one day I will.
The few moments I get to spend outside are the moments during my day I look forward to most. I love being outside, and after being cooped up inside for 8 hours, the walk from Band to AP World History will lift me out of any bad mood.
The sunlight penetrating my skin and the freedom to throw my hands out and spin in a circle if my heart so desires reminds me of the world that waits outside of high school, and it lifts my heart just enough to get me until the final bell rings.
The bell will echo through the halls, drowning the sounds of my squeaky converse until the next morning, when I will do it all over again; day after day and month after month until the year comes to a close. But until then, I’ll keep blogging and reading, people watching and thinking too much.