There’s a picture floating around tumblr that says something like “Would your eight your old self be proud of you?” and I’ve been meaning to do a post about it for a while. Except not about my eight year old self, about my twelve year old self.
Would my twelve year old self be proud of me?
The year I was twelve (2006, for those of you who were wondering) was a year I like to refer to as “The Year I Was A Skank” though at the time I thought of it more as “The Year I Was Totally Cool”. Except I would have written it “Tha Yr I Waz Totezz c00l.” I was school prefect, on every sports team my school offered, wore more make-up than I care to remember and just generally thought of myself as amazing. I shunned reading and gosh, if you’d told me a mere year later I’d be madly in love with some boys from the disney channel I would have hit you.
Picturing sixteen back then, I imagined lots of boyfriends, amazing fashion, parties every weekend and just generally being part of the popular crowd.
I’ll use this afternoon as an example of what a weekend-day in the life of sixteen year old me is really like.
I spent the day watching Doctor Who. If that wasn’t bad enough for my twelve year old self, whose nemesis was Quack (who loved it even back then) I had the following reactions as the Season Two Finale finished.
At first I was all like:
And then I was a little bit like this:
And then my mum came in and told me dinner was ready and asked what was up:
Finally she told me it’s just a tv show and not to get so upset over it, so I was all like:
My twelve year old self wanted weekends filled with the hottest parties and instead she got someone who doesn’t get out of their pajamas and becomes obsessed with the nerdiest of tv shows. Or you know, any tv show ever created in Britain.
As far as the hot boyfriend goes, the closest I come to crushes are those of the fictional and famous variety. Most are middle aged, which she would have had a problem with, but honestly, have you seen Hugh Laurie lately?
To put it simply, my twelve year old self wanted miss popularity and she ended up with a
but I still think she would be proud of me. Deep down, under all the embarrassment, she would be proud of the choices I’ve made and the friends I’ve kept. She’d see that popularity wasn’t everything and that I’m still happy and really, that’s all that matters. Sure I wear a fez and shirts with nerdy things on them and I say things like “and then my ovaries exploded” and play “paper, scissors, rock, lizard, spock” but I’m not afraid to be me and to do what I love to do.
Maybe she’d tell me to stop procrastinating and actually study for that Modern History test tomorrow because really, at the end of the day, she’d only be ashamed if I started to do badly at school.
Would your twelve year old self be proud of who you are today?
frangipani princess xoxo