My five years at Villa Maria have not always been pleasant. There were the happier times when I let my guard down and truly smiled a genuine smile. Those moments are what always, under any circumstances, got me through a particularly bad week or day. The people that were the reasons for the laughing and the smiling will always hold a place in my heart. I hope that I will never forget them, even thought it’s inevitable that I will fail to remember a few along the way.

As I look back, I find that for every laugh, there was a tear or two that was shed. Life can never be all smiles and giggles, and the belief that “to live is to suffer” fits perfectly on how to summarize the sadder times. There were days when I didn’t even want to get out of bed, for fear of breaking down crying. I learnt that during those times, that if I were to smile and pretend everything was all right, I could fool anyone. For that reason, I’ve never trusted smiles. 98.9% of the time, the person smiling that plastic little smile would rather jump off a cliff than spend her time trying to convince the world she really isn’t as miserable as she really is. I digress; if there were no sadness in the world, nobody would know what it feels like to be happy. I just find it a pity that most people tend to become bitter because they dwell on the unpleasant memories, rather than focusing on the joyful ones.

I know for myself, the moments that made me feel the happiest are a tad blurry and hazy, yet I can always remember the absolute contentment that raced through my veins. Yet, as for the moments that made me depressed, they stand out almost picturesquely and tick by in slow motion. I wonder why that is really. You would think that happiness would outweigh and crush the sadness. It’s probably psychosomatic, though I find it almost masochistic.

For the sake of this autobiography, I’ll focus on my happier memories at Villa. Despite how I’ve made this sound thus far, I’ve had a blast here and I wouldn’t trade one tear or chuckle for all the money in the world. High school, as the cliché goes, is the best time of your life. I find this saying to be absolutely true.

Secondary I wasn’t as eventful or interesting for me, so I won’t spend much time on it. In a nutshell, vini, vidi, vici; I came, I saw, I conquered. I’ve never been particularly shy, thought I had an exceptionally hard time making friends. I had always been different from the other girls in elementary school. I was the girl that not only played sports, but also played on the boys’ team, while all the other girls were filing their nails. I listened to Soundgarden and Nirvana when everyone else was obsessing over the Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears. Needless to say, I wasn’t considered ‘normal’. I never minded this, due to the fact one of my greatest fears in life is being normal. To me, there is no such thing as normal and a normal person just doesn’t exist. In my messed up logic, to be normal was to not exist and that leads to my other greatest fear, the fear of being forgotten.

Once I stepped into Villa on the first day of high school, I found girls that were just like me. We shared the same dreams, likes, dislikes and fears. As far as I was concerned, I found a place with people that I enjoyed spending time with. I was finally in a place I considered a home away from home. Sure, the schoolwork was a killer at times, but the teachers made it all worthwhile.

Secondary II was when everything changed. I found that in secondary I, nobody showed their true selves, whether it was due to timidity or trepidation. In secondary II, we became familiar with everything and we were more natural. It was that year that I had the best class I can remember to date. Every single person I consider to be my true friends, save for three, were in 2A. 1999 was the year I met Vanessa Dewar, the funniest girl in all of Villa Maria, Astrid Morin, the girl with the smallest handwriting I’ve ever seen, Gabrielle Willis, one of my closest and most cherished friends, Faye Alexander, the girl that had the biggest impact on my life and Tina Haggarty, the person that laughed at everything I said.

Teamed with Rose Aqui, Van McCance, and Maria Agustin, I was in for the best year I’ve ever had at Villa. Between ‘cooking’ (and I use the term loosely since Mrs. Cipriani refused to allow me near an oven) in Home Ec, chatting happily in art and goofing around in every other subject, I made the best friends a girl could ask for. Secondary II stands out the clearest in my mind, due to the chaos we created. Astrid and I would forever change math and French homework, doing the other’s work, Dewar had us in permanent stitches all throughout art and that year, the soccer and basketball teams that I was the captain of, won gold.

These days were always so carefree and momentous, that every time I think back to Mrs. Cipriani scolding me for sewing my cloth to my skirt or Mme. Hamet’s flamboyant and energetic smiles, I can’t help but grin. Nothing was wrong that year. Everything was almost fairytale like, with the youthful innocence and laughter that reverberated off the school walls. I felt as if I belonged to a team and there was never a dull or bland day. In hindsight, those were the days I yearn to go back to. To be able to look at the world through rose, violet and aqua tinted glasses is something I would cut off my left arm for. The capability to look at something and not automatically see the downside is an ability I lost as I entered secondary III. As far as I’m concerned, that was when my real personality began to develop.

As I mentioned, secondary III was the turning point. My future, the thing that seemed so far out of my reach, was now at arm’s length. The fear of not succeeding became apparent as I struggled through math. French, the course I had so much fun in, became complex, as verbs, conjugations and structure were introduced. Above all else, geography with Ms. Zannis became a nightmare coated blessing that I would only realize after I completed the course. I was violently forced into removing those Technicolor glasses and was now faced with a dull world in its fourteen shades of grey.

Certain events, such as the death of my grandfather, failing health of my grandmother and problems with my parents caused me to abandon from my faith for a short period of time, leaving me completely alone. Secondary III became a blessing and a curse since it pushed me in ways I never thought imaginable. I met certain people in secondary III whom I consider to be amongst the greatest people I’ve ever met. Erica Martin, a future singing diva that has a wild streak in her, Hayley Smirnow, the girl whom I will always consider one of my greatest friends and will one day take home an Oscar and Victoria Santillo, the quiet little soccer player that is in no way shy. These new faces, along with my ever-faithful friends were always there to pick me up when I fell rather ungracefully and I learnt the true value of friendship.

Even though some of the memories were unpleasant, one always shines out like a beacon of light in the fog. Rugby. Secondary III was the year I was introduced to Matt, Glenn and Jessie, three people who cultivated my undying love for the sometimes brutal but always adrenaline-filled game. Winning the Rookie of the year award also had something to do with it.

Now onto secondary IV. I have very mixed emotions about secondary IV, for two reasons. The first being it was undoubtedly the worst year of my, school, private, social and emotional life. The teachers made my life a living hell, as they never once stopped to check on us when they proverbially ran us over and backed up repeated. The “Welcome to the Real World” bumper sticker always glowed so viciously it blinded us. The teachers tried to push us head first into the shark pool that was the real world, not even bothering to throw us a life line when they saw we were sinking fast. This hindered, rather than helped me evolve into the young lady they were pushing me to be as I retreated back into the protective shell that was my family. I began to rely on them far more than I know was necessary, but it couldn’t be helped. Secondary IV set me back a few steps on the road of life and even now, after I’ve made such drastic improvements, I’m still fours steps behind everyone else.

The one thing that seemed to get me through the day was Yearbook where I met Zoë and Julie. Along with Sara Mansoor Ali, we laughed up a storm in the cramped, over heated and stressful Yearbook room. Those seemingly endless hours made secondary IV worthwhile, since Zoë and Julie kept reminding us we were almost done and not to give up. Giving up, as it seemed, had been something I thought of repeatedly, since nothing seemed to work in my favor.

The friends I had spent three years with were suddenly split due to separate math and physical science courses. The workload tripled due to the fact our futures were being decided at fifteen. The prospect of growing up and giving up all my immature habits was very unappealing. I hate monotony, so the thought of spending the next fifty years in a white-collar, 9-5, cramped cubicle made me sick to my stomach.

I will admit that softball and basketball mixed with Mr. Lukaitis’ horrible (yet always entertaining) jokes made secondary IV seem less monolithic. I realized a tad late in the year that I had suffered through and survived through worse; that all my blood sweat and numerous tears would all be worth it once I walked down the avenue for the last time my graduating year. As well, that year I decided I wanted to lead a Weetzie Bat life. I plan on following through with that dream at all costs. There is still some innocence left in the world and I will be the one to reach out and steal some back for myself.

Right now I’m in secondary V. As overdone as the statement is, I honestly can’t believe five years have passed already. I don’t want to talk too much about the school aspects of secondary V, due to the fact it’s not over just yet.

With my future finally planned out, I take a relieving breath, smiling, not because it’s over, but because I made it out alive. The dark circles that have become permanent fixtures on my face are my badges of pride. Sure, I’m a little more scratched, tattered, strung up and hurt. I can’t help but ask myself, was it all really worth it? Was putting my happiness on hold for months, suffering through grueling practices and never quite hitting my mark all worth the mountains of stress, sorrow and humiliation? Rereading my autobiography, I can only smirk and say, “Oh hell ya.”

For all of you reading, I leave you with this. As sung by The Ataris “Being grown up isn’t half as fun as growing up. These are the best years of our lives. The only thing that matters is just following your heart and eventually you’ll finally get it right” and I’m sure all of you will.

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