disclaimer: doesn't relate to books. feel free to skip.
Honestly, it feels like it’s been a few weeks since I’ve sat down and put some serious effort into making a decent blog post (reviews excluded, I actually do try really hard on my reviews, whether or not it’s apparent). It feels as if as university looms closer and closer and I’m hanging on to my friends while saying goodbye at the same time—and it’s hard. The blog has fell to the side and I’ve been concentrating on what’s out there instead of what’s inside my head, on the internet and on the page.
And sometimes it’s major events like this that remind me what’s important can be found in so many other places that’s not related to my laptop or the books or my blog or the reviews. I’m quite fond (a huge understatement) of the internet, but hanging out last minute with the people who taught me everything about friendship pulls me into reality. It’s giving me an in-your-face lesson on how tough it is to think that we won’t see each other, even with the promises of endless skype chats and texting. Maybe it’s just now that reality is hitting me. So why am I doing this? It’s not really because of schools or cities (I could be living in the gorgeous Vancouver if I wanted.)
Moving away is something that I’ve been planning since I started high school, it’s always been my plan to attend a university in the eastern side of Canada (I live in the west!) and I made sure not to back out when sending applications. I wanted to leave, I wanted to explore my independence and learn new things without a parental figure guiding me. I wanted to shed whatever shell I was put into during my high school years and discover what type of person I was and who I wanted to be, and I still believe that university is where I’m supposed to be.
And it’s tumultuous emotions like that that remind me why I read YA. I recently read Wanderlove by Kirsten Hubbard and I’m reminded why so many people say they relate to YA and YA helps them through tough times. Because I don’t know if it’s just Ms Hubbard’s talent or the genre itself, but sometimes all it takes is that book that reminds you that you’re not alone. That you’re just writing your own story.
A story that I can control and I can pour my emotions into and maybe look back after I have a fancy degree and a new outlook and think, “yeah, it’s worth it”. Self-discovery. You can just shrug it off as another predictable, clichéd theme that's present in my favourite young adult novels. Self-discovery.
But as I’m sitting here in front of my computer that in 2 days I won’t see my own bed for 4 months, it’s freaky and scary and stressful. I’m thinking about how relaxing my summer has been and if I’m prepared, both mentally and emotionally, for something that is going to take self-discipline, brains, and a whole lot of effort. It scares the shit out of me that I’ll be by myself, fending for myself … but as I sit here looking at the half-empty suitcase and the 6 pairs of shoes I plan on bringing, I can’t help but think that it’s going to be worth it.
This isn’t the most coherent post (very much like my state of mind) and quite frankly, it is lacking any type of flow whatsoever, along with some editing. But I just feel like it’s time to sit my ass down in a chair and reflect and write it down and sure, maybe I’ll delete this post next week but for now, I present to you the holes in my brain.