Friday, February 20

why I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook

We walked around the streets like we had a purpose, our clothes, as far from last year's compulsory uniform as we could get, made us feel above everything. We weren't students but we felt young. We did not have money, that was no problem. We pushed and tumbled.
We went from sushi bars to little alleys, walking around with a grin. We drank out of cold glass lemonade bottles like we thought cool people drank out of beer bottles. We looked in comfortable silence, now and then understanding that we meant something to each other. It was hot, our singlets stuck to us, our teeth shone. We found a park, sat down. We didn't speak about anything really, but we spoke about everything. And the sky was covered with an ugly green cover, covering the playground. Covering the kids for whom the playground was built for from the Australian rays. But it was just us.

We took pictures trying to crystallise the moment. A red slide as back-drop. One would become our profile picture. One would get 35 likes. At home, sitting on my un-made bed - I should probably be writing my oral. That day was worth more than 35 likes. That day shouldn't have ended with me sitting down on my bed, on my phone, waiting.

It was two months ago now, no boy "took" me. But I took myself. I arrived with a group of girls (that's all they were to me) at the formal. Girls were shaking, some were gorgeous others caked. Hugging, and pointing and complementing. The night, which happened to be my sixteenth birthday too, was a blur. The dancing was crazy, the food was expensive but the chicken stringy, the view magnificent.
I felt magnificent. I wore heels for the first time, and streamed in and out in and out of crowds. It felt like after all these years, everyone was at peace. Cliques somewhat melted away, and all we could hear was screaming, and feet (manicure $30). There were strands of hair flying (hair-do $40) and girls ripping out their clips (MYER $23), and hiking up their dress (Tigerlily, $300) and coming together. Walking out, I felt euphoric, I felt alive. I had walked in uncertain and nervous and had been spat out a woman.

There were many pictures of that night. Girls who had spent hundreds but who had looked gloomy on the night, looked ravishing in the pictures. Their makeup was flawless and they shined positivity, I didn't appear in many pictures from that night. After weeks of this I couldn't help but wonder: had I been there at all?

4 thoughts:

  1. You are such a good writer!!
    If you wrote a book, I'd buy it!!
    xx erin

    1. Gah, writing a book = organisation, must I say more…? ;)
      Thank you so much for this comment, you are so lovely Erin. xx

  2. You write so beautifully, it makes my bones ache a little bit.

    1. This made me really happy c:


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