Okay. So I just started at the blank screen for straight up 20 minutes thinking of what to write. Now I’m not a writer or anything. I mean, I do write in my journal but that’s about it. Writing in a diary doesn’t really count cause nobody’s going to read it. So it doesn’t have to be as good as the works of Shakespeare.
I’m really surprised you even ended up on this page, to be honest. You must’ve been either real bored, or looking for answers about life by reading about someone else’s. If it’s the latter, don’t bother. My life is not something you should be seeking answers from. Trust me.
So a little about me. I’m an eighteen year old, college freshman. But not for long. My first year here is almost done. Well, that’s all I can think of for now. There isn’t really a lot to me. Oh! I am of the female species. Okay, now I’m done.
You must be wondering why this blog’s called what it’s called. If you’re not, too bad, I’m still going to write about it. I thought of a lot of names, “The secret life of the – teenager”, “hashtaglife”, “fuckthisshit”, “whatsinaname”. None of them seemed appealing though. So I turned to my diary, flipped a few pages and the first three words my eyes fell on were “Second time tripping”. And then there were none.
Before I explain what that diary entry was about, I want to talk about something else.
Have you ever made a mistake? I’m sure you have. If you haven’t, then you must be God. To err is human. It is okay to make a mistake. It is. Usually, when you realise that you’ve made a mistake, you start to feel this thing called “regret” or “guilt”. That happens usually. But sometimes, you don’t. You don’t feel guilty. You don’t regret it. Because you know that those mistakes you made have played a very crucial role in making you the person you are right at this moment.
Back to the diary entry. That particular post was about the time I popped a not-so-legal drug for the second time. Not something to be proud of, I know. But I was excited at the time. I realized it was a mistake. But I did not regret it. I still learnt my lesson though. Man did I have a good time that night. And the previous time too. But those were the first two and last two times it was going to happen.
I’m 18. I’m a college student. I’m far from home, from family. And I’m only human. I’m bound to make mistakes, guys.
You have no idea what a little bit of freedom can do to a person.
Back home, when I was in high school, I wasn’t me. I mean, I was me but not the me I am today. Not the me that’s typing this out. I wasn’t depressed or anything. My family is more than perfect. I had few but wonderful friends. But I guess I just wasn’t inspired. I wasn’t inspired to make memories, have fun and be happy. I never took pictures, I didn’t even write my journal that often. And that, my friend, is the kind of mistake you do regret.
So I made it a point to live my life when I come off to university. I vowed to capture every memory, and do everything I wanted to do. You won’t stay young forever. (I know that’s no excuse for doing drugs or anything. It’s not. Kids, don’t do drugs. I’m talking from experience, It’s not all that great.) But when I’m 90 and dying, I’ll at least know I haven’t left a stone unturned, a flavour not tasted, a painting incomplete, a poem unwritten.
When I grow up, I want to be an astronaut.
When I grow up, I want to have no regrets. I want to have a million memories- whether good or bad. I want to know that I lived life to it’s fullest. That’s all I want man. That and pot.
(Kids, don’t do pot. Trust me, it’s not all that great.)
Not really. Seriosuly though, learn from my mistakes, don’t get inspired from them. Please. Last thing I want is an inbox flooded with blame-mails.
I told you. This blog is not the place to seek answers or inspiration.
Great job on lasting till the end of the post, tough guy. Thank you.
Till next time.