Fetch will never catch on, Gretchen!

It never really occurs to me how much life is like school. People always tell me that the second you leave school everyone changes and wakes up to life and they become these infamous adults you always hear about.

NEWSFLASH: Nothing changes.

At school, I was never a popular person. I liked books so I was a boff, and I liked chocolate so I was fat, and I hung around with people who were into different things which weren't "popular" so we weren't popular, and I had a very unfortunate overbite from being a thumb-sucker so I had a year of brace incarceration, and I am short-sighted so I had multiple pairs of unattractive specs, and I was very overconfident so I was too loud. It was only during the summer of 2006 when I suddenly got hips, boobs and contact lenses (as well as becoming best friends with the Head Girl and hanging out in the local park) that people suddenly noticed that I was "cool". This popularity contest could only be won by who you knew and the way you looked, I thought to myself.

For years this affected my self image. I had to get my boobs out, and keep my hair blonde, and know everybody, and make sure people were always talking about which boys I was seeing, otherwise nobody would think I was cool any more. All I would do was listen to underground music and slather on eyeliner until my eyes were tiny slits of black, telling all my friends about the new band who were "definitely going to make it, they're so talented", drink Frosty Jacks at parties and throw up everywhere, smoke and tell my parents that I didn't, take party drugs and pretend they didn't scare me, and make some serious romantic mistakes.

I'm not really sure when all this changed. I'm pretty sure it was when I met my boyfriend and realised that I could be loved for being somebody that I really was. Then I started at a new university and, aside from being my usual boisterous self to start, I settled into friendships which have lasted. My current friendships with people at home have strengthened in some cases, and weakened in others, but I have absolutely no regrets about the decisions and choices I have made since September 2010.

But I digress. Suddenly it dawns on me that popularity is no longer about who you pretend to be and who you talk to; it really is about who you are. I would love for 16 year old Me to see 22 year old Me. See the people I hang out with, the fun I have, even the pure amount of people who will happily stop and talk to me on campus and actually care about how my day is going. 16 year old Me would giggle coquettishly at the boys I now have serious conversations with, and she'd pick the worst clothes in the nicest shops on pay day, and God forbid that she'd ever run out of eyeliner.

I think my point is this; 16 year old Me, keep on doing what you were doing. Because it turns out that having a brain and being sensible with a little bit of recklessness here and there will help you to muddle through. And 22 year old You is actually incredibly, indescribably happy with her life.

16 year old Pickle, with best friend Nola.

22 year old Pickle with best friends Tess and Nik.

Background Blog: A little tribute to 16 year old Me.

Walking in a Hampshire Wonderland.

I am lucky enough to live in a beautiful part of the world where the hills are green, the air is fresh, and the scenery is absolutely stunning. The mixture of old and new is everywhere and the overall environment is just so wonderfully calm.

In an effort to try and help ourselves do our various proposals for uni, my housemates and I embarked on an epic quest to find motivation. For Tess and I, it was a cup of tea and a cigarette followed by a breakfast of bacon, poached egg, toast, beans and mushrooms. There was a small-scale argument regarding whether or not to go for a jog, which ended in the decision to go for a walk instead. We managed to rope in Yazz, and went off via Sainsburys to walk to a field I had seen nearby when driving to placement.

I like being spontaneous. I like buying two bottles of wine instead of one, and picking up some chocolate and a magazine to treat myself. I deserve it. But more than that, I like seeing a path and saying to myself "What's down there?" Instead of walking around a field, we treated ourselves to a view of the beautiful Hampshire countryside and the icy cold blowing wind which we couldn't have hidden from if we'd tried. We found a path that lead to nowhere, then went back on ourselves and followed the concrete path to its end. Then there was the decision - go left or right? We chose left. We turned up at the top of a place called Whiteshute Ridge, which gave us a panoramic view of the whole city below. It was beautiful.

I now have a new place to be thoughtful, to sit and be alone, to go with friends for a picnic in the summer and drink Pimms. I'm looking forward to it.