How to be Eighteen (In 18 Steps)

1. Do tequila shots.

2. Wear snapbacks and say things like “swag” and “dope”.   If you don’t like snapbacks; a Nirvana or Ja Feel shirt will do.  You can also say “lol”, “yolo,” “fuck,” “tbh,” “tbt,” “fml”, “atm,” “dem feels” or all of the above.

3. Judge everybody you see.  Girls, make faces at those girls who you think are hotter than you and whisper rude things to your friends.  Guys, size other guys up and pretend you’re about to get in a huge brawl but then back down at the last minute so that you look cool.    

4. Dance like a fucking idiot.  I’m talking throwing your hair back and forth, moving limbs ridiculously out of time from the beat and teaching people how to dougie.   

5. Go to every music festival that exists, but not before you get shredded and ripped and buy some clothes that really shouldn’t be classified as clothes.

6. Upload at least two Instagram pictures a day; comment on some statuses on Facebook that you know are gonna stir shit and tag at least three of your mates in a dumb meme that has probably appeared in your newsfeed more than five times.

7. Complain to the bouncer or the person checking your ID about how ugly your driver’s licence photo is. 

8. Claim you’re not a lightweight when everybody knows that you are.  Boast about how much alcohol you can drink in one sitting (like, four cups of vodka omg).

9. Leave your uni assignments to the last minute and then complain about how you’re not gonna get it done in time and how stressful it is and how you can’t go out at all or do anything but be locked up in your lonely room with square eyes and seven cups of coffee.  You’re halfway there.  

10. Tell people you’re broke then go out three nights in a row and spend heaps of money on alcohol.

11. Complain about having to vote and not knowing anything about politics.  Post about how awesome you are for voting for parties you know nothing about because they have a funny name,  then proceed to bitch about who is in parliament and what a shit job they’re doing.

12. Get really worked up about things going on in the current media that have nothing to do with you.  Coz, you know, you gotta care about things n shit.   

13. Don’t let old people go before you when getting onto public transport and then sit next to them and listen to music through earphones super dooper loud.  Or better yet, sit at the back of the bus and make a ruckus. 

14. Smoke even though you learned all through school exactly what it does to your body including cancer and all the other horrible side effects.  Who cares about living, right? Just smoke another ciggy and look sick in front of your mates.

15. Maccas run. Every weekend night.

16. Go to the gym and post statuses about your gym days, progress photos, the shakes you drink, how you don’t eat food or how strict your diet is.  People will love you more if you do this.

17. Get with as many people as you can and add them to your list and boast about it but then also keep some a secret and completely deny it.  Get with people you know you’ll regret getting with and then whinge about it.  Get with the really hot ones, too.  Get with them, their best friend and then their best friend and their sister and cousin and aunty twice removed.  

18. Accept the fact that our generation are disrespectful, technologically obsessed, think we are invincible and know everything.    

---

For those of you who don't understand satire - 

Google Dictionary defines it as: 

the use of humour, irony, exaggeration, or ridicule to expose and criticize people's stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues.

Please don't take any of the above seriously.  I am simply trying to write something that is an entertaining, relatable and clearly a ridiculous comment on our generation and society.  Enjoy with a pinch of salt. 

Love, 

Eighteen year old me :) 

Crazy Little Thing We Call Life

I’ve been cheated on.  I’ve been lied to.  I’ve gone to work with my slippers on.  I’ve been kissed by people I loved.  I’ve eaten so much that I could not move.  I’ve read a book in a day.  I’ve written stories and poems and love songs.  I’ve danced until 3am.  I’ve climbed a mountain in the pouring rain.  I’ve taken people for granted.  I’ve unpacked many dishwashers and taken out thousands of rubbish bins.  I’ve cut pizza and answered telephones and told people where their tickets say to sit.  I've blown out many birthday candles.  I’ve loved with my whole heart.  I’ve bought people drinks.  I’ve put contacts in almost every day of my life since 2009.  I’ve done tequila shots.  I’ve bounced on trampolines.  I’ve sprained my ankle.  I’ve lost rings and watches and clothes.  I’ve made my bed, even though I think it’s pointless.  I’ve spent too much money on shoes.  I’ve won tennis matches and netball games and pretty much always lost in water polo.  I’ve spent way too much time looking on Facebook like it’s the morning newspaper.  I’ve lost best friends.  I’ve said goodbye to people I love, and hated it.  I’ve cuddled cats and taken dogs for walks.  I’ve blasted music so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.  I’ve watched Friends so many times I’ve lost count.  I’ve laughed until I couldn’t breathe.  I’ve missed buses and been afraid of doors shutting on trains.  I’ve jumped on a Tarzan swing and flown a flying fox.  I’ve set off my own house alarm.  I’ve tripped over in front of people.  I’ve laughed at other people tripping over.  I’ve learned to play guitar.  I’ve fought with my mother, and my father, and my sister.  I’ve told them I love them.  I've broken nails.  I’ve dyed my hair.  I’ve made scrapbooks.  I’ve swum like a mermaid.  I’ve jumped off jetties.  I’ve touched a dolphin.  I’ve slapped people in the face.  I’ve been in caves and trekked under Australian sun.  I’ve worn too many rings.  I’ve been stung by bees.  I’ve sent people letters in the mail.  I've built a walkway for Malaysian kids.  I've raised money for good causes.  I've cycled in bike events.  I've painted a wall.  I've climbed trees.  I've played hide and seek and duck duck goose.  I’ve done assignments the night before they were due.  I’ve failed at lots of things.  I’ve succeeded at lots of things, too.  I’ve cried.  I’ve smiled.  I've lived.
All in this crazy little thing we call life.        

Siesta Park Holiday Resort, Busselton. 2011. Tarzan swing.

By The Candlelight

Candles flicker at the end of the soap-sudded bathtub.  Some have company; most are alone.  Bubbles prickle and whisper and pop.  A naked body with one silver chain, battling the thoughts within.   A time when thoughts bounce around your head, tasting the temptation of letting themselves free or otherwise remaining forever in secret. 

The bubbles begin to disappear, revealing the bare skinned body to the empty room.  A naked soul.  For none to see.  The pen meets paper but the thoughts won’t come.  There are no words.  

A pen lid.  Submerged in water.  Drowning in words; dispersing splotched ink.  Swimming in a sea of what could be written.  But never to be seen.   These crispy, yet soft damp pages, of thickness and trust.  Will one day turn to dust.  

Birthday Cards

Dear Readers,

Yesterday was my mum's birthday (for her sake, I will keep her age in discretion, but I will say she doesn't look a day over 25 :P).  I was lying on my bed the night before, pen poised over the page of the card that I had made.  What should I write?  I didn't want to do the generic thing and write 'Happy Birthday I hope you had a great day, it's lovely to celebrate with you, thanks for being a great mum, yadda, yadda, yadda," because, whilst true, these words simply are not special.  They are some regurgitated pleasant words that, in contrast to much of my writing, seem hollow.  

So, I decided to embrace my inner creativity.  For my Nanna's 80th birthday this year, I was expected to write a speech; being the oldest grandchild.  Instead of making a corny speech filled with words previously said ("we are so lucky to have you in our lives, we love you, what a great way to celebrate a milestone blah blah blahdy blah"), I chose to write something a little more creative.  *Ding ding ding* went the fork against the glass; and I rose from my seat.

"In our hearts there live the memories.  Those that we cherish and love to death.  

There’s picnic’s down at the rivers, three children running around the wharf's of the yacht clubs.  There’s endless games of hide and seek (or just running away from each other) through the Lisle Lodge gardens, with winding paths and echoing giggles.  There’s perfectly shiny orange nail polish spread delicately onto the ends of dainty fingers; and lipstick to match.  There’s many Christmas Days, wearing those ridiculous hats and smiling amongst seafood and salad.  There’s Easter’s with special white chocolate Lint bunnies given every year.  There’s the old fashioned telephone that sits on the wall, the French magazines and comfy cushions.  There are Nanna’s famous chicken sandwiches and piles upon piles of books collected over the years.  There’s the memories we can’t quite remember; with kiddy pools and puppy Hugo.  There’s the colour white.  There’s fancy hats and not-so-fancy hats.  There are stories about the bus.  There’s the wisdom and the warmth that Poppa Billy brought into our lives.  There’s music and dancing and hugs and kisses and speeches.  And of course, there’s this moment here, spent on your 80^th Birthday, Nanna.  

May we never forget them all." 

This way, these words mean something.  They required thought, they required memory and they required proper punctuation and grammar.  I hope that they stuck in the minds of my family, took root and began to grow, fueling their own flourish of memories from times spent with those they love.  It's interesting for people to see what parts of them get noticed, what things other's remember or cherish about them.  So for my mother's card; I wrote a poem that goes exactly like this:

Fluffy dark hair and a big toothy smile on a petite frame filled with love. 
The smell of nice perfume. 
An eagle, swallow, blue wren or even a dove. 
A ‘huggy woo woo’.
An added ‘achooooweee’ on the end of a sneeze and; 

‘I need to do a poo’.  

Green tea that sits on the counter, growing cold.
A steamy plate of coiled spaghetti topped with meaty tomato bolognaise. 
“God I’m getting old”.
Washing hung on the line and no dishes in the sink.
Beds made, cat tray clean.
Who would do all those things if it weren’t for mum, you think?
And for god’s sake take the bin out - it honks like no tomorrow!
You’re always there to listen,
Or to hug throughout our sorrow.
With hugs and kisses for your daughter teens.
And poems and words and crystals and crosswords. 
And “does my bum look big in these jeans?”
You’re not afraid to curse and swear
But we love you all the same,
For it’s you, our dearest Mum, who never forgets to care.

So, next time you are about to write in a card, even if you're not a particularly creative person, think about the things that remind you of that person, the reasons you are happy to have them, things that make you laugh.  And perhaps, they will cherish that card and hold onto it forever. 

Lots of Love,

Annabel xxx

A Letter To Two Years Ago Me

Hey there chickadee,

First of all I just want to say don’t dye your hair red.  No matter how much you want to, don’t do it.  Actually, stop dying it altogether and see if it will grow.  Secondly, don’t stop writing.  Ever.  I know you feel like you’re not good enough now, but you just have to stick by it and believe. 

In about 4 months you’re going to get a boyfriend and he’s going to cheat on you, but don’t worry, you get to meet your soul mate this year.  Your final year at school is going to be tough but you’ll love every minute of it; even the bad parts.  Don’t work too hard, you’re going to get in the 90s (I know, I didn’t expect it either!).  While I’m at it, try not to eat too many packets of Cheese Doritos, you’ll put on like 5 kilos!  But you will get into Curtin studying writing and you’ll absolutely love it.  First year will be hard, but you’ll get there.  I promise.  

You’ll have some of the greatest friends in the world; some you didn’t even expect.  Your dreams of becoming a mermaid are going to come true as well – sort of.  You’ll know what I mean.  You’ll lose your best friend, and it will hurt like hell.  I’d like to say that you’ll get through it, but I’m still working on that.  I’ll let you know how it goes.  Your cat still loves you to death, so you’ve got that at least.  

Mum is still working hard, your sister now has a boyfriend and you’ve started cycling with Dad again (could be a disaster, who knows).  You’ll enter writing competitions, become a writer for Curtin Uni’s magazine and your blog will reach 4000 views.  Sometimes you will feel like giving up and letting things work themselves out.  Don’t.  Don’t wait for things to happen.  Make them happen.  Hang in there, gorgeous, you’ve got talent.  Use it.  

Run For Your Life

Running is a lot like life.  For starters, it’s a journey.  A long one.  If you look at the distance as a whole, you become overwhelmed.  There is too far to travel, too much to cover; your mind cannot comprehend it and you become more exhausted.  But if you focus only on what’s right in front of you, it becomes manageable.  If you can just make it to that pole, then to that shadow, where the two ducks are sitting, passed the man in the blue sneakers, to that third tree; it doesn’t seem so huge.  Little by little.  Take each piece one at a time. 

Sometimes you will run with some friends by your side, perhaps a lover.  Sometimes you will run alone.  Sometimes you will trip over – and yes, it will be embarrassing, but you will get over it.  Sometimes someone will be there to help pick you up, but sometimes you will have to do it on your own.  You may pass people, those you only see for a brief amount of time.  Others you will see a lot more of, perhaps even jog near them for a while.  And some will be there every day, just like you.    

You might hurt your ankle, or pull a muscle, but if you take good care of it, or take it easy for a little while, it will heal.  Sometimes breathing will be heavy, difficult, like knives in your chest when you heave.  Others it will be steady, controlled, fresh air filling your lungs and making you feel more alive.    Sometimes your legs may burn and it becomes harder, but you have to keep going.  You cannot stop because if you do, you’re not sure you’ll be able to start again. 

Nobody said you couldn’t slow down.  A slow jog is sometimes what you need to regroup your energy, to figure out where to go next.  A sprint may come when you least expect it; or perhaps you’ve been preparing for it for a while.  If you need to, you can walk.  Just keep strolling.  Feel free to wander; it’s not always about how fast you can go.  Sometimes you simply need to enjoy the ride.     

In Another's Shoes

I’m sitting on the picket fence.  Balanced precariously, deep in thought and scanning the street.  I watch the cars go by, twitching ever so slightly when they do.  It would be so easy to walk out in front of one by mistake; to feel the hot granite on the pads of my feet.  A fly buzzes around my face and I swat it away, agitated that it’s ruining this time for me.   I get distracted with it and try to catch it, or at least injure it in a way that makes it squirm around in circles next to me.    

I’m locked out of the house and I’m hungry.  Half an hour ago I was inside in the cool, then I made the mistake of leaving; forced to wait with patience I don’t really possess. 

I could go for a massage, around my shoulders and my temples; soothing into my skin and relaxing the muscles that are now spasming from sitting on the fence.  I would close my eyes and grin; maybe even softly purr my thanks. 

Suddenly I feel sick and I heave, losing my balance and falling; landing square on my feet.  I choke and splutter over the grass and then stagger away onto the pavement.  For a moment I still feel sick, but then I swallow and feel my strength coming back.  I have no idea when I’ll be able to get back into the house so I decide to go for a run around the oval, my feet padding against the grass, the sun warm on my back.

 

I become exhausted and plonk down onto my back, staring up at the sky and the trees and the birds.  My ear twitches.  I stretch out and yawn, flipping onto my stomach with bits of dry grass sticking to my back.  I wonder what it would be like to fly.  I wonder why the kid across the oval is kicking that ball.  I flinch when another car speeds passed.

I’m bored so I pick myself up and stroll back into the gates of home; listening to the dinging of a bell.  I perch on the front deck.  She should be home soon.  She’ll open the door for me and I’ll sprint in, munch on some food and collapse on the bed in the third room, stretch out and fall asleep, dreaming.    

---

If you didn’t pick it up,
this is told from the point of view of a cat.
Now read the story again :)