'Really? I hated that age, couldn't think of anything worse!'
That conversation just happened. When I was fifteen my life revolved around the following things: sport, boys, friends and avoiding Physics homework. I had football training on Mondays, Netball on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Athletics on Wednesday and Friday. My weekends were spent at athletic tracks and netball courts and homework was simply slotted in when I could find the time. Don't get me wrong, I still went to parties, gossiped about boys, passed notes which i always managed to sweet talk the teacher out of reading. I wasn't socially inept. I just studied hard and played hard. I didn't have a future as of yet, everything was perfect as it was. Time could stand still for all I had cared and I would have been happy. I didn't have a job, or university debts, I didn't have to think about anything of the sort, my biggest worry was what to wear for MUFTI days. Everything and nothing was mapped out already, all at once, symbiotically. I looked forward to school, I saw my friends and boyfriend, talked through Maths and I could eat a cheeseburger for lunch everyday without weighing more than 9stone, and trust me, I did.
I wasn't the perfect teenager. I had the worst temper known to man; I fought daily with my parents, slamming doors, leaving the house, staying at friends. I put flour and salt in my dad's coffee, I went out without telling them where I was or when I'd be back. I got drunk and smoked. I went to the doctors and got put on the pill at fifteen despite my mum freaking out. I was however, insecure, a constant battle to be accepted, liked and popular, and I blamed myself for everything that had ever gone wrong in the history of the world; I mean the holocaust was probably even my fault in my head . I was angry. I was scared. I was a teenager. My life wasn't like an episode of Skins but I don't wish it had been either. Balance.
So, a couple of weeks ago I was in Camden, eating a McDonalds (which I now only have to look at to put on weight. Damn childbearing hips) and there was a group of teenagers in there.They were laughing, they were seemingly happy and they had it all. They didn't give a shit, they had nothing to care about. Girls and boys were flirting, one boy was feeding chips to his girlfriend, another couple were fighting for the last chair and they had burgers, they were living the high life. The girls had bright pink and orange hair and ripped leggings, heavy DMs and their eyes rimmed by kohl to the point that their own mothers wouldn't have even recognised them. Now this isn't out of place for Camden, so that wasn't the thing that shocked me, nor was the fact that they had made the choice to have ginger hair. What did it was this: they were polar opposites to what I had remembered my teenage years to be like. Two of the boys who they were with were off their faces on drugs, and the others found it hilarious.
I wanted to give them a hug and that disgusted me a little bit because quite frankly they were loud and annoying and I wanted to enjoy my Double Cheesburger, fries, vanilla milkshake and chicken nuggets in peace. But since when did your teenage years become about that? Surely at fifteen you should be dreaming about One Direction and like, totally arguing who is cuter, Zayn or Harry (it's Harry obviously). I wanted them to go home, for their mothers to tell them it gets better, to stop being angry at the world because the world isn't angry at them. Their sense of belonging through their Marilyn Manson tshirts and mental haircuts was their way of feeling accepted, and whilst I never had pink hair I completely identified with them. I got that feeling of wanting to be someone, because that was better than being nothing at all. Maybe they did drugs to feel something, or to numb it all out. Or perhaps they were just fucking stupid, I don't know.
Being a teenager is hard. It took a night in Camden surrounded by them to realise that because at the time I wouldn't have changed anything. The feelings of anger, confusion, euphoria, love and self loathing will never change, it's something bound to the ages which end in 'teen'. I finally recognised and understood the looks of pity I had from my parents aged 14-18 because I had that exact look in my eye at that moment in time. It was a look of compassion, of empathy and forgiveness. I had misinterpreted it as disappointment and it was nothing of the sort.
I take it back. My friend was right. I couldn't imagine anything worse.
