By Lauren Harrington Lauren studies Media and Communications and probably wears pajamas more than is socially acceptable. Her interests include marathoning TV shows and telling people how much she loves Batman.
At the start of every year, before coming back to Armidale to commence my studies, I always say that I’m going to have a big clean out of my room. You know, get rid of all of those things that I’ve been holding on to just because one day I might need them for something important (when am I ever going to use a protractor again? When?), or that I’ve forgotten were there (hello cute pencil case full of awesome coloured gel pens), or that I didn’t even know I had (a floor length denim skirt? Mum, why would you think I would want to wear that some day?!). But I always put it off because I’d been packing for living at college, so I only took the things I needed and left everything else behind, knowing that I could come back to it later. Because I still had my room, at my house. This year is different. I’m not going back to college. I’m moving into a house. I have to take everything with me. And so, while packing to move out of my childhood home, for good, I came to this conclusion:
I own a lot of wank.
It’s not at hardcore hoarder levels, but it’s getting there. It’s softcore hoarding.
There is everything from electronic labellers, to primary school art projects, to that beanie an aunty made and I didn’t want to wear because it was green and orange. I spent several hours going through old school books alone. That was fun. And I think my handwriting has actually gotten worse.
I also seemed to find a lot of notes and scribbles to and from friends. It’s cringeworthy and embarrassing and wonderful, finding stuff like that. A lot of it is quotes from TV shows (clearly we were learning about Hamlet when I went through my British comedy discovery phase), and terrible puns (which out of context don’t seem very funny). Mostly I’m a little alarmed at the amount of times I actually use ‘lol’ unironically. Obviously 2009 was not my greatest moment.
But it also was. I didn’t have so much to worry about then. Well, I did, but it all seems insignificant compared to my worries now. Worrying about the guy who slapped my butt on the way to class and then asked out two of my friends all on the same day doesn’t really compare to ‘How am I going to pay my rent this month?’.
It seems fitting, then, that I discover all of this crap as I am about to embark on a new chapter of my life. It’s kind of comforting to look back and see how far I’ve come. It gives me hope that even though things seem difficult now, they might get better.
So here’s to a new year with new beginnings. May it be filled with more puns, more money, more gel pens, and less questionable 90s fashion choices.