You’re reading this because I’m probably just going through my phase of teenage rage, but only a bit late. I’m literally retarded, I know.
It’s better never than ever to go through this stage, but I am afraid it is unavoidable.
Four days ago breaking news in Poland was the government reshuffle. I was told about it by my friend with whom I made my first travel to school in England. After asking around friends for more information, I was convinced that the reshuffle is nothing more than an affair performed by the government to draw attention from some serious nasty stuff going on behind our backs.
Second thought that sprang to my mind (after: “oh crap, not again”) was: I need to write about this. Straight away, I messaged Jackie and told her what was going on.
Obviously, she asked me whether I’d write something for the website. I answered: “yeah, I’ll work on it this afternoon”.
A thought after a few hours, when I got home after running errands: “but will I?”
What is the point?
Didn’t I get away from Poland to avoid all this drama?
The answer: YES, I DID.
Two days later, I get the bus to my old English school. I walk around, talk to the teachers, say “hello” to a few students (because most of those who I was on ok-terms with had already left) and eventually make my way to the Journalism Club room. The walls are covered with laminated old issues.
A question from English teacher: “since you are here, do you want to do some volunteering for the Journalism Club? We’ve got some filing to do and need some writing prompts”.
I don’t blame her. At first, I was really enthusiastic about it and I wanted to do it. But once I sat down, put all the documents in correct files and turned on Word to brainstorm ideas, I thought that I really really really really hate it. But why?
It is so time-consuming. It is so absorbing. It really does take advantage of my perfectionist character.
I thought that maybe journalism is not a thing for me. Maybe I am good at it, if anything more than mediocre, but it seems to harm me too much.
Or maybe I am too vulnerable and have to get my shite together.
Who gets to decide?
Anyway, just like Tim said:
Does it matter?
I’ll be in Wales tomorrow. I’m leaving Scarborough tomorrow. So what?
Scarborough will not feel the lack of my presence a t a l l .