I found my diary today. I found my diary from S3 and I laughed and pointed fingers at my younger self.

And as I laughed and pointed fingers, it finally dawned on me why, in most countries, people below 18 are referred to as children and are often not allowed to make major decisions.

Of course, I realise that not every adolescent is high on a drug called ‘raging hormones’. And I respect and even applaud those that keep their act together because they are the exception to the rule. At least they were the exception at my school.

To retell all the overly emotional exaggerated irrational entries of my written thoughts which were, without a doubt, fueled by my adolescent hormones would be much too tasking.

Therefore, I’m just going to share a few excerpts from the written representation of my mindset at 15. And in so doing, I’m sure that you will be as shocked as I am that I actually made it out of adolescence alive, unscathed even.

February 23: argh! School again! I’m not learning anything; I wish my parents knew that. I wish my nagging teachers knew it too. I sit in class and stare blankly in space as they waste their breaths talking. I’m not listening. I liken their voices to the buzzing sound of bees. I hate school. I hate the missionaries for introducing education. I wish there was a way to speed up the Armageddon to put me out of my misery.

February 28: Mr Mujuni, my mathematics teacher, slapped me yesterday. I was angry almost to the point of implosion. Last night, I dreamt that I had died as a result of the slap and that I was in the coffin smiling and he was panicking, begging me to forgive him, begging me to come back to life. It gave me great joy.

April 20: the school matron caught me trying to ‘smuggle’ food out of the dining hall today. She called me a glutton and she said that that’s why I’m fat. She made me pour the food. Well, what is she going to do with the food? I hope she eats all of it. I hope she grows fat and I hope she explodes.

April 30th: Larry wrote to me for the first time. I didn’t know that exchanging secret notes in a physics seminar would lead to so much love. I’m going to remember this moment forever. Isn’t it amazing that both our last names begin with letter B? We are meant to be.

August 20th: Larry means as much to me as would a common frog. He is a lying cheating dimwit and I hope he burns in hell. I’m going to burn all his letters and pictures and I’m going to send the ashes to him.

There are many more entries but the theme remains the same; hormone-driven irrationality. I’m just glad that at this stage in my life, there were rules and high walls and punishments. Short of that, I would be communicating from beyond the grave.