It’s around this time of the year that I always sit and think for a moment.
As I sit and think, I look back on the past year. Did I achieve the goals I had set for myself? Am I happy now?
And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I have to admit that I didn’t get where I wanted to be.
By now, I thought I’d be in my second year of college studying to become a history/ English teacher in high school.
I had to let go of my dream to be a teacher once I found out that I just wasn’t able to talk in front of so much people, the history/English part, I would’ve succeeded in, if I would’ve worked harder, but the teaching part… no… that failed.
So I watched my dream of the past eight to ten years just..crumble and burn to ashes. Which was hard.
Instead, I’m now in my first year of Graphical Design.
Studying something I swore I’d never, ever do again.
And I have to admit, I hate this first semester, since I have every possible course, and I hate web design for example.
But the second semester is going to be much, much better, since after our January exams, we get to choose our study. There are four different ones, and we have to pick one.
I feel good about mine, even though I’m leaving my great friends from my class now behind…
So as far as school goes, I consider myself failed.
I lost contact with some friends. Some I don’t mind losing contact with, but the school year before, I had four great friends, and I surely miss them…
I’m so busy with school all the time now (yes, even more than last year!), since we have to constantly work and all my remaining time goes to my family, hobbies and my amazing boyfriend.
That’s a big win for me this year.
A year ago, I had my heart broken by a boy that I loved, but he didn’t love me back. Instead, he used me. Played me. Which hurt, a lot.
So, while writing in my Diary (which I don’t really do anymore) I promised myself, as I was writing a poem, that in a year or so, I’d make a perfect pair with someone, that I’d be happy, in love. That I’d find a great boy and love him to bits.
I said that he would be nice, loving, caring, tender and playful, maybe even a bit romantic.
And I’m so deliriously happy to say that I have found him.
No matter what, he stands by my side. Even though the past four months and three weeks I’ve often been a wreck. He’s seen and heard me crash so often. He’s seen me beautiful, sleazy, tired, annoyed, irritated, happy, crying, …
and he was always there for me. Even without saying something. He’d just take me in his arms and caress my hair. Tell me everything would be ok and that he was there for me.
He makes me feel so safe. So happy.
Although I’m about six years younger than him, he doesn’t treat me like a little child just because I’m ‘only’ 20 years old, no, he treats me as an adult. He helps me be more adult, and he doesn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed when I do behave a little .. immature. When I act silly, laughing for absolutely no reason, smiling, sticking out my tongue (yes, I love to do that, can’t help it).
He likes that I still feel young. That I still believe in fairy tales. He says it makes me cute.
That I’m cute.
Looking back on the past year, he’s the best thing that happened to me.
And tonight, I’ll spend my first Christmas eve with him and a part of his family.
I’m going to meet his godchild, so like I said yesterday, I’m nervous.
I’ll start early enough to prepare myself for tonight. Have a nice long shower to calm down the nerves, take enough time to dress up and do my make up, …
I hope this is the start of a beautiful tradition. The beginning of many Christmas holidays together. Of a life together. A beautiful life.
I’m not the same girl that I was a year ago as well. I know my parents, especially my mom will tell me otherwise, but I did grow up.
I’m thinking about my future, about working and earning money myself. I’m thinking of going on a short vacation with my love, thinking about living together one day, thinking about babies (don’t worry, not the first three years, at least), …
I want to feel more useful, I want to be able to cook, take care of myself, stand on my own two feet.
And really, I’ve been feeling that way since I spent three weeks on my own during Summer break, while the rest of the family was out on vacation.
I managed just fine really.
I cleaned, cooked, prepared meals for myself, did the dishes myself, took care of the pets, …
And I dress differently as well. I still wear a lot of black, since it’s my favourite colour, along with red, and okay, sometimes you can find me wearing a ‘childish’ t-shirt, or gothic things that –as my mom likes to say- makes me look like a slut, but that’s just who I am, and I’m not going to apologize for being myself.
I wear whatever I like, and it’s not like I’m going to dress slutty when I have to go to something formal.
I like black, I love black, I adore black, because of many reasons. First of all: it reminds me of death, which –of course- is not a pleasant or a good thing, but still it does happen. Everyday. People get born, they live and then, at some point, either way too early, mostly way too early, they die. So whenever I wear black, I think back of all the people I’ve lost, I have to say goodbye to. That way, I’ll never forget them. I’ll honour them, by living a good life, but showing them then no matter what, they are always with me, because I’ll always wear something black. How tiny or little it may be, even if you can’t always see it.
Second, I find black a rather elegant, fashionable, mysterious colour. So whenever I wear black, I feel mysterious, a kind of special.
I don’t want to be one of those people that follow the rest. Whenever purple’s the new trendy colour , everyone starts to wear purple. No. Not me. I want to be different, show people that I have my own personality and style.
I am me. And even though I may not be the smartest, most beautiful or talented person on this planet, I am proud of who I am and what it is that I have achieved, how little that may be.
And I hope that I’ll never forget that.