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?

analysing angela & frida

I had been wanting to watch My So-Called Life for a while now, so I was pretty stoked to find it under the tree this year. I started watching it, and the first 10 minutes were okay but I was a bit disappointed. But as I continued watching, the second episode and the third I was blown away. I was completely glued to my computer and fascinated by the quality of the acting and by the resemblance to my life. 

Angela's bickering parents kind of tick me off sometimes (their conversations are always along the lines of: the mum: "omg Angela doesn't love me" the dad: "omg she does, she doesn't love me", together: "i guess she needs to push us away to understand how important we are to her"… or like, the mum: "ah i miss it when i was angela's age, i feel so ugly, honey am i ugly?"). So that can get annoying. BUT THE TEENAGERS. 

They are so raw, and real, and inconsistent, and unpredictable, and funny and I just have so much love for them. Take Angela for example. If you look at most TV shows or movies geared toward teenage girls (even one's that are actually quite cool such as Juno or Easy A or The Hunger Games), they describe a protagonist who KNOWS who she is. She might stuff up a couple of times and make the wrong choices or feel sort of confused but ultimately she makes what the viewer sees as the "right" choice. But throughout all this process she HAS A SET PERSONALITY that is very clear and labelable (is that even a word?). And that can be a bit daunting for someone like me who doesn't have anything figured out. 

Angela could be me or you my dear reader (that is if you are a teen, you like the Smashing Pumpkins and you have trouble fitting in, we have quite the criterion here) because she ISN'T EASILY DEFINED. 

You see her trying to wade through high school, sometimes quite passively following Rayanne other times making her own way. In class you see her fidgety and distracted (to her defence the teachers seem pretty monotone and boring) but out of the blue she will raise her hand and say something super intelligent tying perfectly with the subject but also drawing a parallel with her life and teenagerhood in general.

As well as analysing Angela Chase and literally consuming the episodes (IN WHAT WORLD ARE THERE THIRTEEN SEASONS OF FAMILY GUY BUT ONLY ONE MEAGRE SEASON OF FREAKS & GEEKS AND MY SO CALLED LIFE, WHY IS LIFE SO UNFAIR?) I've been very fascinated by Frida Kahlo.

My friend lent me The Diary of Frida Kahlo (and it's translation because yeah not quite the pro in spanish yet) and it's actually scary. There's more to Frida than a mono-brow and jewels, she is the symbol of obsessive love, of pain (she has 37 surgeries throughout her life) and of nature.

Here are a couple of sentences that she wrote that portray this:

Through the round numbers
and the colored nerves
the stars are made
and the worlds are sounds.

 -

I would not wish to harbour
the slightest hope,
everything moves to the beat
of what's enclosed in the belly

 and my favourite:

You too know that all
my eyes see, all
I touch with myself, from
any distance, is
Diego. The caress of
fabrics, the color of colors, the
wires, the nerves, the pencils,
the leaves, the dust, the cells,
the war and the sun, everything
experienced in the minutes of the
non-clocks and the non-calandars
and the empty non-glances,
is him.

Frida literally self-destructs and the traces of this in her diary is very confronting. She mixes the ugly and the beautiful in all her work. (Also on a superficial note, you'd think, after reading her poems that Diego is a looker or at least charismatic but oh my, see for yourself..)

(I guess Frida really saw something in him…)

anecdotes

(My English teacher told me that I blushed when giving my oral presentation but forgot to tell me my mark.) 

(The boy I used to like stood behind me on the bus back home today. I was happy for every sharp turn until I figured out that he was on the bus to spend time in the city with another girl.)

(Some ninth-grade boys could have been gorillas on the oval today, I would not have known the difference. They pushed and shoved each other raucously laughing, swearing and insulting one another. Whoever lost the ball game they were playing had to face the wall while one of the boys kicked the soccer ball to their back. It was a game of humiliation and testosterone and the girls in tiny skirts filming it made my blood boil.)

(Sometimes I want to invite everyone of my high school into my room, one at a time so they can see the little shrines I have set up, my pictures, my collages, my books. So they can see who I am and praise me for that. Other times, I am so happy to have a space cut-off from judgement and the worst thing I could think of is opening the door.)

(I am learning so much at school these days. But as Plato says: "Tout ce que je sais, c'est que je ne sais rien." All that I know is that I know nothing.)