Your Royal Sighness.

I've never counted years from the 1st of January, because the start of academic years have always been the greater deal - and when I think about how far (both literally and metaphorically) I've come in one year, I surprise myself.
2009 started off with my mother asking me to not crash and burn at the ISCs, and I tried, I really did, to not crash and burn, because believe it or not, I do have standards for myself. But ISC studies was one of the toughest phases to get through, even though I did enjoy Science - I adored Biology but that was about it. I thought I understood Physics but didn't, Chemistry was a disaster and Math was an even bigger disaster. Hindi was a waste of time, and English was the only other thing I enjoyed. So studying for the ISC was a terrible, terrible chore. Lord knows how I got through it. The exams themselves were strange, and Math and Physics reduced me to craziness. While I was glad the exams were over, I knew I had crashed and burned. Biology was a paper unlike what we'd predicted for ourselves, but it was my THING.
Once the ordeal of the Boards were over, it was time for the Eeeeeeeeeee-ntrances to begin, and the days I got to study for those I spent reading Kinsella and Cabot chick flicks on my laptop. No, I don't know what I was thinking. The medical entrance was a waste of time, my excuse being that, hey, people study two years for it, what chance do I have? The AIEEE was a waste, because, hey, people study two years for it, what chance do I have? Escapist, you're thinking. Escapist, I was.
By some freak stroke of luck, I got a shot at the VIT counselling, I'm guessing that's because they don't mark you negative on your wrong answers. Er. Yeah.
While everyone was gearing up for moving away from home for college, I was gearing up to move away from the city I'd grown up in. After a whirlwind of goodbyes and Glubclubbing, I was out of Calcutta and into Chennai, with probably the worst case of withdrawal symptoms anyone's ever had.
Shifting from Chennai to college was something that my parents kind of forgot about in the flurry of moving from Calcutta to Chennai, and I went to college with one suitcase of clothes and absolutely no clue.
College was weird, because the first month went by and I was still pretending to be on a camping trip. It didn't hit me that I was out of the house. I would never live there full time. I was out of school.
I didn't have to tie my hair for class anymore. I didn't even have to GO for class if I didn't want to. I wasn't under mother-surveillance anymore, except for phone calls that I could avoid and vaguely say - "Classes, um, warden er.. yeah, okay dinner, bye." It meant I had to eat my own fruits. It meant I had to use an alarm clock for the first time in my life. I could stay up and stay in for as long as I wanted. Freedom was strange. And college was strange.
Making friends was harder than I thought, and making friends with girls was just harder than anticipated. Once you ran out of stories from your past, you tend to discover that you really share nothing in common, that they've never heard the bands you've heard, that you're essentially done with the interaction and dinner's going to be just you. Again. And the food isn't that great either.
But somewhere down the line, we all learn to make compromises (and stop wishing for ways to move into the boys hostel because let's face it. Boys are kind of really disgusting anyway.). You make friends, sort of. You learn to stop being so angry. You learn to stop singing out loud except in the shower, and you are pleasantly surprised when your room mate likes a song, and it feels nice. You let yourself loose without meaning to and it doesn't feel too bad. You learn to stop being disgusted by and embrace the innuendo.
And you kind of start enjoying it too.
It's been one hell of a year, and I won't be sanctimonious enough to say that I wouldn't change a thing. I'd have appreciated it if I'd at least TRIED to study in Class 12. I could've convinced the parents to take my SATs a little more seriously.
Things could have been different, but this is my version of different, the one I've chosen.
I could complain but I've complained enough and now I'm just going to work on this version of different, so when I write about myself next year, I can try and say that this is the best different I could have been.

If you're wondering about the oddly hopeful tone at the end, it's called self-improvement.
I'm tired of being bitter.