So, last Friday was Y11 Prom night. A rite of passage; an occasion that signifies the end of obligation within the education system and a given sense of freedom. We made an appearance because Chris' band was scheduled to play. As we arrived, however, I was greeted with a situation that incensed me.
A group of, maybe, seven girls had decided they had had enough; they were insisting upon leaving before the Headmaster had even made his speech and the music and dancing had begun.
Now, I don't doubt that the Y11 Prom does not fit with any 16-year-old's idea of a wild party; however, I do believe that it is something that they should appreciate, if only for the amount of money that their parents spend on their attire and transport. I am sure that these girls probably were bored and wanted further excitement elsewhere, but could they have not stuck it out for another half hour? No. And, despite the best efforts to get them to stay from a member of staff, they left, claiming to not care that there was (albeit a very slim) chance that they may well regret leaving earliy.
A classic example of thoughtlessness and self-centredness: if I'd acted in such a way at my leavers' dinner (it wasn't really 'prom' back then), my mum would've made her disgust and disappointment known. Very clearly.
Saturday 10 July 2010
Sunday 21 March 2010
Arse
I am changing.
There are things that I am interested in now that I never would've been interested in before. For example: football. Chris is an ardent Arsenal supporter; he was 'born and bred' as one; his father is a Gunner and his father was before him. I, on the other hand, was brought up in an environment where football did not play a dominant role in our lives: my step-dad has always enjoyed watching a game of football, but he is not what you would call an enthusiast; he certainly doesn't support a team. My little brother is, perhaps, a little strange in that he has never expressed an interest in the sport. Despite this, I enjoyed watching a game of football, but only if I had an invested interest in the match: that is, if a team that I actually cared about was playing. This is why I would always be keen to watch England playing in the World or European championships. Other that these instances, though, I had no interest in football either.
But suddenly, I have found that I have started to care about Arsenal. Suddenly, I am interested in watching Arsenal play; I feel euphoric when they score and win; I am eager to see them come top of the league.
Why the interest? Because Arsenal is Chris' team: there are no emotional connections at all for me other than the fact that the team means a lot to the man I love. I'm sure if he supported Chelsea or Spurs, I'd be equally as supportive.
This probably makes me the worst sort of fan. However, both myself and Chris believe that spending time together is the most important element of a relationship; this means taking an interest in things that would not naturally interest you. I will listen to or play Classical music and Chris will ask questions that suggest he is keen to understand this concept that is so important in my life; Chris will play films and educate me on the sensitivity of chosen filters or angles that I wouldn't have noticed before.
Although we will always have separate interests (I don't think I'll ever convince Chris that musical theatre is worthwhile), taking an active interest in the interests of your partner will surely lead to a closer relationship and greater understanding of one another.
This is one of the reasons why I now enjoy watching an Arsenal game.
There are things that I am interested in now that I never would've been interested in before. For example: football. Chris is an ardent Arsenal supporter; he was 'born and bred' as one; his father is a Gunner and his father was before him. I, on the other hand, was brought up in an environment where football did not play a dominant role in our lives: my step-dad has always enjoyed watching a game of football, but he is not what you would call an enthusiast; he certainly doesn't support a team. My little brother is, perhaps, a little strange in that he has never expressed an interest in the sport. Despite this, I enjoyed watching a game of football, but only if I had an invested interest in the match: that is, if a team that I actually cared about was playing. This is why I would always be keen to watch England playing in the World or European championships. Other that these instances, though, I had no interest in football either.
But suddenly, I have found that I have started to care about Arsenal. Suddenly, I am interested in watching Arsenal play; I feel euphoric when they score and win; I am eager to see them come top of the league.
Why the interest? Because Arsenal is Chris' team: there are no emotional connections at all for me other than the fact that the team means a lot to the man I love. I'm sure if he supported Chelsea or Spurs, I'd be equally as supportive.
This probably makes me the worst sort of fan. However, both myself and Chris believe that spending time together is the most important element of a relationship; this means taking an interest in things that would not naturally interest you. I will listen to or play Classical music and Chris will ask questions that suggest he is keen to understand this concept that is so important in my life; Chris will play films and educate me on the sensitivity of chosen filters or angles that I wouldn't have noticed before.
Although we will always have separate interests (I don't think I'll ever convince Chris that musical theatre is worthwhile), taking an active interest in the interests of your partner will surely lead to a closer relationship and greater understanding of one another.
This is one of the reasons why I now enjoy watching an Arsenal game.
Friday 19 March 2010
Secrets
Over the past couple of months, I have been entrusted with a great deal of sensitive information; what is more interesting is that this information has come to me second hand. The result: not only an incredible sense of responsibilty, but also a sense of betrayal.
The problem is this: if you know something about somebody and that somebody doesn't know that you know, you feel like an intruder upon that somebody's life. This creates a sense of awkwardness and guilt; I find myself worrying that I am giving off signals that I know the secret; I am making a conscious effort to avoid giving away anything that might incriminate myself or my source. It is not a very enviable position to be in.
Ultimately, I am somebody who does not like secrets: the last time I kept a big one, it almost destroyed both myself and those closest to me. I am an open book; my feelings and ideas are usually written all over my face and those who know me can read these messages without any trouble. However, I know that it is necessary for some things to remain undisclosed until the time is right for them to be revealed (if, indeed, that time even comes).
But how am I supposed to 'react' to a revelation that I am already aware of?
In many ways, I would prefer to remain utterly ignorant. However, there is still that part of me that is thirsty to 'know': the naturally curious (or nosy) part of me that is always going to be interested in what's going on with other people; I suppose you end up feeling closer to people if you know some of their more intimate details.
On the other hand, though, I have felt somewhat compromised of late; I shouldn't know what I know. So I guess I won't ever let on that I knew...
And so the secret comes full circle.
The problem is this: if you know something about somebody and that somebody doesn't know that you know, you feel like an intruder upon that somebody's life. This creates a sense of awkwardness and guilt; I find myself worrying that I am giving off signals that I know the secret; I am making a conscious effort to avoid giving away anything that might incriminate myself or my source. It is not a very enviable position to be in.
Ultimately, I am somebody who does not like secrets: the last time I kept a big one, it almost destroyed both myself and those closest to me. I am an open book; my feelings and ideas are usually written all over my face and those who know me can read these messages without any trouble. However, I know that it is necessary for some things to remain undisclosed until the time is right for them to be revealed (if, indeed, that time even comes).
But how am I supposed to 'react' to a revelation that I am already aware of?
In many ways, I would prefer to remain utterly ignorant. However, there is still that part of me that is thirsty to 'know': the naturally curious (or nosy) part of me that is always going to be interested in what's going on with other people; I suppose you end up feeling closer to people if you know some of their more intimate details.
On the other hand, though, I have felt somewhat compromised of late; I shouldn't know what I know. So I guess I won't ever let on that I knew...
And so the secret comes full circle.
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