Contemplation of Realisation.
So I'm sat here at my desk, bare feet and hair pulled back from my face with a grey cotton band, and fucking Leona Lewis comes on the radio. Don't get me wrong she's an okay singer with some average lyrics but for some reason I'm wanting more. I've arrived back from a weekend in North Wales. Not your average visit to valleys, though only ever actually been there once before. It was to attend the university in Bangor, I had an interview there yesterday. It's a nice place you see, a mixture of the more than adequately wealthy and the working-class that manage to scrape enough to hide money problems from their beloved offspring. There are nice vews; shared between the towering mountains and the angry, rough waves that roll onto the coast, it's cold here and it makes you shiver just to imagine touching that murky water. The picturesque town of Bangor that happens to have a "brilliant" university with "one of the best courses in the UK", I know because I've read the leaflets, prospectus and sat the interview. They tell me it's cheap living around here and so I'll only come out with little over thirty thousand pounds debt. I'm all too aware of the seven hour train journey that can take me home once a term. The railway tracks run along the coast and I can see green and grey fly past the windows and relfect in my unsure eyes. My parents can chatter about accomadation, part-time jobs and career potential the course I have chosen may provide me with.
To be second best would be to settle for 1980's cheap concrete blocks and shared bathrooms. To mix with the un-achieving and not the middle-class lawyers-to-be. To not get the grades I need for "brilliant Bangor" would mean to attend another institution on the coast, one with untidy streets and large, dirty buses. The train ride from "not as good Newport" is shortened to about ninety minutes from my hometown. I may end up here with the friends that are studying English or God forbid...drama. I may go out drinking, leave my old, tired room in a mess, and perhaps even arrive late at a lecture.
See one of my problems, and I'm starting to think that I may have many, is a person. He's all hypnotic smiles, thick blonde hair and eyes that I would follow to the end of the world. He hums, whistles and skips in the street. He plays the guitar and can actually hold a conversation. He lets me hold his hand and doesn't laugh when I fall over. He likes me drunk and sober. He tells me I'm beautiful and touches me like I actually am. He keeps books by his bed and promises me that he reads. He tells me not to worry when I'm stressed and puts up with me when I do. The other problem I've only known him for a couple of weeks. So I can't expect too much from him, and certainly shouldn't add him to the reasons to stay close to home. It's crazy. More than. I mean I met him at the local, and only club, wasted and he wanted my number. We've been out a few times and I think about him too much. Everytime I think about something he has said or done I end up sat there grinning like a fool. And I then feel stupid.
Because trust me there are many other reasons to stay close. I have friends here. Best friends. People I can't imagine not seeing everyday. I hate it when I'm ill because it means I'm not at school and thus not hanging out with them. I need to see their smiling or sad faces to know that they're here. But they won't be close to home either. We'll all be gone. Spread around the country or not this country in my case. My best friend, Fiona, is often the reason I drag my arse out of bed in the morning and get on the bus. She is usually the only one that actually understands a lot of the bullshit that is produced from between these lips, or fingers. See, I'm not sure I can cope each day waking up and knowing that it'll be weeks, or months until I see my best friends again. Why should it mean more than laughing with my friends or being there for them to cry on? I don't know. Now I feel crap because I can't even begin to explain why or just how significant these people are to me. They're kind of the air that I breathe. Cheesy I know.
My family are of course another important reason why I worry about leaving. My mum came with me to my interview in Bangor, just. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it or not. Because she hasn't been out the house in a while and her legs still aren't working properly. Mum is getting worse. We all have to face up to that. She has the progressive type of M.S. and it's showing more than ever. You see I could say this to my family and they'd understand. No. Not going to happen. Mum is pretty much the reason I'm going to uni. Don't get me wrong I want to go, yes, very much so. But Mum is the force behind all this. She's not one of those pushy mothers who don't let their child have a say in anything - no that's not it. But Mum has believed in me all along - to the point where I am kind of terrified about letting her down. Mum wants this for me because she knows how much I want it. My mum is also very stubborn and independent and amazing. She would never, ever let herself be the reason I don't go to Bangor. I mean she would totally blow her top if she knew I was even thinking about this. That's one of the many reasons I love her so much. My father also wants me to suceed and I strive to make him happy and proud. I love my dad very much and although we argue daily, he knows how much I need his approval. My sisters are also very dear to me and I will miss them lots when I go. They're both intelligent, beautiful young women who have characteristics that I would love to have myself, despite my regular teasing and banter that occurs between us. My younger brother turns fifteen this summer and is small for his age. He's fine though because he has his dreams and listens to good music - an adequate combination if you ask me.
I can continue to rant but I'm tired, so I'll probably continue another day.
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