Different.

(Side note before I start this blog post: I am currently sitting in a Caribou Coffee with my latte to my left, typing out this blog post, and I have never in my life felt so incredibly douchey.)

Anyway.

It is weird how much we change and grow from the time we graduate high school and go through a couple years of college. I feel like, in theory, it isn't weird, because obviously spending so much time in such a different environment is bound to change you as a person. But when you see the results right in front of you... I personally feel like I dissociate a little bit. It is very... weird.

Several examples of this have been brought to my attention in the very recent past few weeks. I began talking again with someone that I was very good friends with in high school, and some of the actions this person took recently disappointed me (to say the least). I discussed it with my friend Sara, and she told me, "they are not the same person from high school. The person you were friends with was someone else." That is so sad, but also so true. I think we hold the people we knew well once upon a time to these unfair standards, where we want them to behave exactly the way they would have when they were seventeen years old, because that's how we knew them, so it's only fair. But it isn't fair. I myself am not the same person I was when I was seventeen, not at all.

Examples of this were brought up recently as well:
1) Me being told that I sound much more mature and older now than I did when I was in high school.
2) My lovely friend Kira telling me that I was much more "aggressive" and demanding when it came to standing up for myself, and that it impressed her.

Those are two small things that were brought to my attention recently. I'm sure there are more. But it just sort of puts it into perspective. People grow and change and hopefully it is for the better, but even if it may not be how you want them to behave, they are growing and maturing in a way that will hopefully better themselves in the end. It's normal and fair for people to look out for themselves first. It's like what they say when they're giving safety instructions on the airplane..."put your own oxygen mask on before assisting others." Does that make sense?

So... yeah. That was a jumble of a lot of cryptic thoughts. I had stuff on my mind and tried to let it out.

Anyway. Life goes on. Short disastrous weeks of summer will hopefully repair themselves to go back to how it used to be. Right...?

Love,
Fatima

☕

Hi. Yes. Hello.

I know what you're thinking. "She doesn't blog for three years, and then posts something two days in a row." Oh well. I feel like I should be utilizing this blog more to deal with my constantly bottled up feelings. Writing is a great outlet, and from what I recall I didn't have as many messy problems my senior year when I was regularly posting to this blog.

But then again... "nostalgia is a dirty liar that insists things were better than they seemed." What a painfully accurate quote.

I don't really have anything special to say. I just felt like typing this out as a way to again procrastinate from my MCAT studying, as well as stop my eyes from flitting to my phone to see if someone texted me back. Yikes.

Anyway. I am currently sitting at a small corner table in Starbucks, one that can barely hold all my things (I definitely dropped my notebook on the floor a little while ago and a cute old lady wearing a pearl necklace and perfectly manicured fingers gave me the sweetest smile in response to my tragically clumsy self). One of the baristas was cleaning the floor so he moved all the tables and chairs to one area on the floor, and it took everything in me to not ask him if he needed any help. I did ask him if he wanted me to move to a different spot, and with a nice smile he replied, no, of course not. So I continued to watch him while thinking about question 181 in my chemistry prep book (When methane gas and oxygen gas are made to undergo combustion in a sealed container, and the temperature brought bak to the original temperature....what?)

Thats all. Fin. Adios. Bye.

Love,
Fatima

2015.

Hi Blog.

I have been talking to old friends from AP Comp recently, and it made me nostalgic for the time in my life when I took one of my favorite classes in high school, which involved an even briefer time when I was writing so much and so often, that I actually looked back at what I wrote and thought to myself, "wow. This is pretty good."

Anyway. Of course as soon as senior year ended and the blog posts were no longer required, I stopped writing them, even though I told myself I wouldn't. That's how it usually goes for me. So I won't be making any promises this time, but you never know...

Reading back on my old posts, it is so funny to see how much has changed. In a blog post I wrote on January 7, 2012, I discussed how I definitely did not want to become a doctor the way everyone expected me to, just because of my dad. I passionately state how I want to do something with writing when I am in college, because writing makes me happy. And yet...

I am about to go into my senior year of college. And guess what? I went the pre-med route. I will be taking the MCAT in exactly 18 days from now (something I should be studying for instead of writing this blog post...). I am constantly stressing about who to get letters of rec from, wondering if I'll get into medical school, and imaging myself in my white coat.

It's funny how things change. It's also kind of sad. Even though I don't regret going the pre-med route; I regret becoming complacent with my writing abilities, and I regret maybe not making every decision with the thought that "this is what will make me happy." I'm blabbing now.

I did go into college thinking that i would major in English, but I wasn't sure where this would take me. I ended up majoring in Child Psychology with a minor in Neuroscience, and on the pre-med track, and I am set to graduate in exactly...10 months. Oh man.

Anyway. This post was nostalgic and I miss blogging, even though I'm sure no one will be reading this. So it is basically like I am standing on a stage in an empty auditorium, whining about growing up. Maybe I will come back to this blog. Maybe.

Love,

Fatima