Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Life of a teenager

*Please note: those of you brave enough to take the plunge and read such a misleadingly titled blog, will begin skimming the page to assess if there are any diary-entry moments worth laughing at. I assure you, I have written about no such events that I have been subject to. Tales of having hair removal cream poured into my boxers or crying at the passion exuded by fellow Liverpool fans will remain private. Instead, read on for my confused and naïve take on many inconsequential things.

To say that I have started a blog to boost my employability post university is to state a fact. Yet that does not mean that I cannot enjoy doing so; I mean right now I am enjoying writing in such a fashion that makes me sound conceited and superior, thus making me feel important. However, it has finally hit me that the life of a teenager bears little or no impact on current affairs. To make a rather large leap in my thought process, an inevitable question will be: what is the point in life? But that is far too philosophical to get my head around at nay on 9 O’clock, and I cannot imagine anyone reading this would find it a question worth answering anyway – you all know that dressing up, getting rather drunk and watching football is the way forward right? Anyway, excusing the immature interruption, I am sure you can see where my apathetic ramblings are going, after all, you are intelligent enough to have chosen my blog as one to read. Maybe you are even a fellow blogger, which implies you have a gift with words, a skill that every Harry, Dick and Charlie admire. Now this is the power I want. This, writing a blog, is a more personal reason as to why I have started blogging. Without beating round the bush (for once), I am simply saying I am happy to be doing what I love the most, and can only hope that you respect me for doing what I love – attempting the impossible. Now one thing that I am 100% sure of, is that as a teenager, we have a right to dream. As Adidas put it so succinctly, I shall copy: “Impossible is nothing.” Consequently, due to the nature of my age and nothing else – that means putting aside the fact that I understand this cliché might just be the most ridiculous, ill-advised way of living – today, I begin a quest to re-shape (well really, re-write), history. My novels will replace Tolstoy’s brutal depiction of real life, comparing more favourably to the more joyful realms of Narnia. Dictators will have their names obliterated from history; it is not right for young children to endure such turmoil studying about things they can no longer affect.  Whilst the last major change I would make, is to have the socialist party and any other centre liberal party cease to exist to the people of the future. We have birds for sitting on fences; the public needs philosophies that either oppose or agree to any existent policies.                                                   One might infer that I want the world to be born again. I would have to agree.                                                                                                   

It is impossible not to notice the length of my sentences, and admittedly at times the quality of my syntax is not up to scratch, overall resulting in a rather exhausted and laborious blog post. But carrying on with the incessant questioning: am I expected to write punctually? Is it not all about fluidity, for people to read what you write easily? Of what I write, how much is expected to be interesting: 50%, 70%, even 90%? So many questions, and until the Chinese outdo the Americans again and successfully create a website providing instant answers, and inform me of a more relevant and reasonable reason to life at 17, I think patience will be the key to all knowledge. 

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