June 28th: Suck on that, haters!

This is me when I was seven or eight.

I just saw a post on Twitter asking this:

If your eight-year-old self met you, would they be proud?

It made me think. I have no idea what my eight-year-old self would think of the person she will one day become; on paper there isn't much to me but a lazy girl with short fingers who messes up most of her exams and can't do much but correct other people's grammar. But there is so much more to me than that; things that my eight-year-old self never saw coming. I recorded a song. I mean, that's crazy! How many people get to do that at the age of seventeen? I got five offers within three weeks of applying to uni. That's just ridiculous. I never ever expected that one. I was so determined to get an A in English that I redid almost everything I could - and no, I wasn't successful, but I tried damn hard and I'm proud of that. I wrote two novel-length stories when I was eleven and thirteen (admittedly they're crap, but the point still stands!) I find plane journeys easier than long train journeys because I've done more of them - and I don't suppose there are many people my age who can say that. And you know what? I want to spend the rest of my life correcting other people's grammar, because I'm good at it and I don't believe there are enough people who truly love language the way I do. (There are quite a few of us, but there can never be too many!)

Maybe I am a nerd, but I like it that way. It feels a bit arrogant to post this, but wondering about my younger self's opinion of me really got me thinking. I have a feeling she would have looked at me and said "I thought you'd be prettier than that and why don't you have a boyfriend?" - but then I would tell her "Because I don't want one right now" and she would be amazed that not having a boyfriend is something you decide, not something that happens because nobody fancies you. (And trust me, I could have a boyfriend. If I wanted a creepy old bald guy with a funny accent, greasy hair and a dodgy eye who works in Starbucks. Let's face it, eight-year-old Molly would be disgusted at the calibre of guys she'll one day attract.)

When I was eight I had all these expectations and dreams; things I thought would happen by default just because they happen to everyone else. I thought that by now I'd have a boyfriend or at least have had a serious relationship (as opposed to the pathetic few moments throughout the last five years or so when the romantic side of my existence has flickered into life). I hoped I'd be popular. Maybe it only sort of came true, but either way, instead of wishing I could change the way I think and feel, now I'm happy with my ever-single status and I'd rather stick pins in my eyes than become one of those 'popular' girls. Somewhere along the way I became happy with who I am, and I see no reason to try to be someone I'm not. Who needs that? I have a great family, I have the best friends I could hope for, and I've learned over the past year and a half especially that it's okay to be vulnerable sometimes, because it lets other people see you for who you truly are. The more real you are, the more real your relationships with other human beings are likely to be.

So now I sit here wondering about my twenty-eight-year-old self. Will I be in a relationship? Engaged? Married? Pregnant? Will I have a family? What about my career? Will I have my degree? My Masters? My PhD even? Will I have discovered any of that linguistics stuff I so long to unearth? Will I still live in England or will I be teaching English abroad somewhere? Who will I know? Who will have disappeared? Who have I yet to meet? Will I still have this blog? Who will I be in ten years?

I only know one thing, and that is that I have absolutely no idea. Maybe I never will. But this quest for answers upon which I am about to embark is going to be one hell of a ride, and I can't wait to get started.

So if there's one thing I would tell the girl I was ten years ago, I would tell her that popularity isn't what she thinks it is. Eight-year-old Molly, those 'popular' people you always wanted to be like are nothing more than fakes, and if there's one thing you're not, it's fake. Maybe the dreams you had then didn't come true, but so many others did. You have so much to come, and yes, you're going to go through some stuff in the next few years, but who doesn't? Don't give up, because you're going to come out on top eventually. Oh, and your name is pretty. It'll grow on you. Stick with it.

Suck on that, haters.

Eighteen-year-old Molly x