fragments

Then

Making friends with strangers while waiting in line and not knowing who they would become.

Arriving late to my first ever lecture.

Questioning existence with a best friend because that’s arts.

Discovering respect from others intensifies your self-worth.

Surviving a week with gastro by only eating German gummy bears.

Listening to Camera Obscura.

Spending a lot of study time on Facebook instead.

Experiencing my first death.

Coming back from Europe to find the train announcement voiceover had changed genders.

Sitting in a class full of girls and thinking it was weird.

Being able to smell the air differently and distinctly even though I was in the same place.

Getting my first proper job.

Exploring what it meant not to be shy.

Realising I was the smallest dot on a piece of paper full of millions of dots.

Feeling alone when my friends went on world adventures.

Being driven by the fear of mediocrity.

Trying different things out of curiosity.

Losing close friends and making new ones.

Finding out that school doesn’t prepare you for real life.

Reading the short stories of Raymond Carver.

Discovering maybe I could make something out of writing.

Struggling to choose a creative career or a career in politics.

Getting my wisdom teeth out and losing my mind to painkillers.

Splitting my insides on holidays in Sydney.

Getting driven home on a shadowed, windy night.

Listening to Sonic Youth and feeling safe the morning after the night before.

Being prepared to wait for the right time.

Realising I was in love.

Spending the summer planning the best year yet.

Lying about where I was and who with to my parents.

Giving everything I had to make it work for someone else.

Bringing it all together perfectly.

Believing I was crushed forever when everything fell apart.

Feeling disjointed from the inside out.

Seeing I was blindsided.

Finally making the link between wanting to be a writer and never being able to afford to move out.

Being frustrated at not having got my licence already.

Mastering the art of academic writing as a distraction.

Dreaming of acceptance in creative spheres.

Worrying I’ve fallen through the cracks.

Remembering I’ve not finished.

Now