Dear Myself,744Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyD86CmMvtn
Tonight was the City College open event in the city and boy, am I not only dog tired but also even more confused about what my life plans should be. Right now, as I write this, my Mum is on the phone to some of her friends asking for advice about my situation because she's just as puzzled as I am about things, life in general.744Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpjwXvhwlNN
744Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYx8ZThwqGH
After my last class of the day, Dad drove over to the sixth form building with Mum to pick me up, the afternoon weather had turned somewhat chilly which I hated. The last time I wore a coat to class, some kid thought it would be funny to spill some orange juice down it. Dodging past busy queues of cars, young Mums picking up their kids from school, we arrived in the car park next to the City College in good time. On opening the passenger door, I was hit with a strong gust of wind which blew my hair wild and slapped my cold, pale cheeks. Not a pretty sight.
All three of us walked towards the City Centre main entrance to sign up and pick up a prospectus from the main desk in the foyer. My eyes immediately met a cute boy but with a Justin Bieber style haircut sat down and texting someone on his phone by a vending machine. He seemed preoccupied but somehow, I wanted to know more about him.
When my parents were distracted by an information stand in one corner of the room, I took my chance and sat down next to him. It was then he looked up and took a long time to open up his mouth to speak. Maybe it was the messy hair or the glasses or the acne… or just lots of reasons.
When Dad waved over to let me know that I was needed, I smiled at the boy and whispered my name before jumping up and joining my parents. The College person we all spoke to couldn't have been more helpful, particularly with reassuring me that lots of students have started A-Levels but dropped out because it wasn't their thing. On trying to explain my situation, I started to feel a lot of guilt over the whole affair of not thinking about University anymore. Until the person said I could still consider University if I was to start a level 3 BTEC at the City College. Having been introduced to something that had never crossed my mind before, I jumped for joy that somebody was finally listening.
The door around the classrooms, student chill-out space and library was interesting to see. Having walked past these buildings hundreds of times and never been inside, the surroundings was all new for me and my parents. Thinking about Damien and how he would feel about his older sister going to a City College was a weird thought. But an important one, for me it was independence and for him, freedom away from me.
There was just enough time to find out more about the Childcare courses on offer and the Level 3 one sounded perfect for me. Three days in a nursery, one day in College and one day off meant time for work, rest and play with the children. I had the GCSE grades, I had the passion so why did I not pick up an application form?
Diary, I'm so scared to do it. Something in my mind, this voice out of nowhere is telling me not to go to the City College. Words repeating fast like the speed of light over and over in my brain such as ‘worthless’ and ‘lazy slug’ all because I'm breaking away from the path I once chose as a shy, insecure fifteen year old. I do know my parents have my back in what I choose to do. I could stay on the A-Levels till the end and finish my exams or walk away now, get a job and then go to City College.
On the drive home, Mum suggested that we should get a takeaway of fish and chips which perked up my appetite a great deal. Dad went in to grab the order while I sat with Mum who lay back in the car seat, eyes closed and breathing deeply. As I looked out of my car window, I spotted a girl staring at me from a house opposite, arms wrapped across her chest. I'd seen her around on many occasions, a pure troublemaker. Liked to drink, smoke, expelled from school and cause a riot amongst the local residents. What a nightmare. Even had the nerve to call me a witch once because of my hair.
Damien had been dropped off by a friend’s Mum and was sat on the front wall waiting for us, muddy knee and one of his white football socks a deep brown colour. Dad laughed while Mum simply sighed that she was going to have to do some more clothes washing. I do try to help with that but when you make the mistake of throwing in a pair of Dad’s white boxers into a colour wash where most of the clothes are either bright pink or orange, that doesn't really go down well.
After the fish and chips dinner, I found you again Diary from the darkness of your resting place and started to write and hopefully never stop writing. Looking back, my mind is still in a daze from all of the decisions that I will have to settle within the coming weeks. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine little old me to be in this position. I, Morwenna, do hereby swear that what decision I finally come to in regards to life in general, I made that decision from the heart and not the head.
My mind may try to turn against me but I refuse to let it. If it does, who would I speak to? Not my Dad who is closer to Damien and Mum has a lot on her plate with the baby and all. I don't really spend social time with fellow students at the sixth form, I guess it's just going to be you and me huh? For now, I am going to take an early night and just let everything sink in, weigh up a list of advantages and disadvantages for both staying and leaving the sixth form and plan what gifts to buy for the new baby.
Why can't the baby be here yet? What a perfect distraction that would be for everyone.
Yours,
Morwenna.
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