Have you ever had one of those days when nothing terrible has actually happened but you just generally feel as though you'd be a lot happier if the earth would just slide gently out of its orbit and hurtle into the sun? Yeah, me neither. Sorry, that was a weird question.
But for reals. Everyone's had these days, right? Days when you just lie in bed in your underwear and feel like existence is pointless and all human endeavour is vain (besides cricket, obviously. How about that Rohit Sharma, am I right, ladies? Hey, batter, batter, swing, know what I'm saying? Yeah, me neither.) I'll tell you what I do on these days. First I put clothes on, because it would be awkward otherwise. Then I look myself in the mirror and I say, firmly,
"Joanna Koshy, you are a good looking young whippersnapper. But you are also a whiny-ass little girl. If you don't cheer up and soon, no one is going to want to hang out with you any more. Hell, I'd rather be somewhere else, and I'm in your own freaking head." Then I wonder what I'm doing in a room alone talking to a reflection. This is.... actually not that encouraging. Don't do this if you're depressed.
But people, I mean, come on. I know we're supposed to allow ourselves to be sad, and crying is therapeutic, and avocado is good for your blood pressure (don't quote me on that, I'm not actually sure. If you have something wrong with your blood pressure, please take your medicine. Or don't. I'm not your daddy.) but how far are we allowed to take this pampering?
Just stop for a moment and think about it. What do you actually have to be sad about? Write down your reasons, impress me.
1) I'm sad because that's what I feel and I can't explain it - weak.
2) I'm sad because Miley and Liam haven't gotten back together yet - okay, that's somewhat reasonable, you're excused.
3) I'm sad because nobody understands me - if I had a doughnut for every time I've heard a teenager say this, I'd have too many doughnuts. ITS IMPOSSIBLE TO HAVE TOO MANY DOUGHNUTS. Well, either that or type two diabetes.
I'll tell you which people legitimately have reasons to be sad. If you have ebola, you can be sad. If you were born as a peasant in the eleventh century, you are allowed to be sad. Go ahead. I give you full permission. If you were a villager in an area Genghis Khan thought would be a nice place for his summer getaway, you would have a reason to be sad. And also dead, possibly.
But YOU, you privileged, empowered, well-fed, twenty-first century kid. What do you have to be so freaking depressed about?
Look, I'm eighteen years old. I get it, okay. I know them feels. It's nice to take black and white selfies of yourself, and put up emo band lyrics as your status and just wallow in self-pity till your fingertips get pruny. But don't you feel like it's kind of a waste of valuable time?
This is a platitude, but things become platitudes because they're true and people need to hear them a lot. This is a magnificent and interesting and beautiful freaking world. Your time in it is like the best Christmas gift ever. Don't waste it feeling sorry for yourself. So what if nobody understands you? There's loads of things people don't understand, and you are not even the most interesting. Just.... think about something outside you for a while.
So, go forth as transformed creatures into the new dawn, my beautiful doves! Spread your wings and turn cartwheels in the freshly minted sunshine! We're all here and together and everything's most probably going to be alright. Forget about global warming and Nicki Minaj and all that other stuff. That stuff is behind us. You and I are the product of many years of evolution, the best versions of humanity that mankind has come up with yet. Okay, actually I'm eighteen updates behindhand which is a thing that genuinely upsets me but it's not that big a deal. Right?
We're survivors, you and me. Whatever life throws at us, we're going to knock it straight over square leg's ugly face for six (LAST CRICKET REFERENCE, I PROMISE). I know it's kind of mainstream but... be happy.
(AUTHOR'S EDIT: If you still haven't cheered up, firstly, gosh, you hard-shelled bloobs. Secondly, what does an insomniac agnostic dyslexic think about at night?.........
.....................................................................................................................
... Is there a dog?)
But for reals. Everyone's had these days, right? Days when you just lie in bed in your underwear and feel like existence is pointless and all human endeavour is vain (besides cricket, obviously. How about that Rohit Sharma, am I right, ladies? Hey, batter, batter, swing, know what I'm saying? Yeah, me neither.) I'll tell you what I do on these days. First I put clothes on, because it would be awkward otherwise. Then I look myself in the mirror and I say, firmly,
"Joanna Koshy, you are a good looking young whippersnapper. But you are also a whiny-ass little girl. If you don't cheer up and soon, no one is going to want to hang out with you any more. Hell, I'd rather be somewhere else, and I'm in your own freaking head." Then I wonder what I'm doing in a room alone talking to a reflection. This is.... actually not that encouraging. Don't do this if you're depressed.
But people, I mean, come on. I know we're supposed to allow ourselves to be sad, and crying is therapeutic, and avocado is good for your blood pressure (don't quote me on that, I'm not actually sure. If you have something wrong with your blood pressure, please take your medicine. Or don't. I'm not your daddy.) but how far are we allowed to take this pampering?
Just stop for a moment and think about it. What do you actually have to be sad about? Write down your reasons, impress me.
1) I'm sad because that's what I feel and I can't explain it - weak.
2) I'm sad because Miley and Liam haven't gotten back together yet - okay, that's somewhat reasonable, you're excused.
3) I'm sad because nobody understands me - if I had a doughnut for every time I've heard a teenager say this, I'd have too many doughnuts. ITS IMPOSSIBLE TO HAVE TOO MANY DOUGHNUTS. Well, either that or type two diabetes.
I'll tell you which people legitimately have reasons to be sad. If you have ebola, you can be sad. If you were born as a peasant in the eleventh century, you are allowed to be sad. Go ahead. I give you full permission. If you were a villager in an area Genghis Khan thought would be a nice place for his summer getaway, you would have a reason to be sad. And also dead, possibly.
But YOU, you privileged, empowered, well-fed, twenty-first century kid. What do you have to be so freaking depressed about?
Look, I'm eighteen years old. I get it, okay. I know them feels. It's nice to take black and white selfies of yourself, and put up emo band lyrics as your status and just wallow in self-pity till your fingertips get pruny. But don't you feel like it's kind of a waste of valuable time?
This is a platitude, but things become platitudes because they're true and people need to hear them a lot. This is a magnificent and interesting and beautiful freaking world. Your time in it is like the best Christmas gift ever. Don't waste it feeling sorry for yourself. So what if nobody understands you? There's loads of things people don't understand, and you are not even the most interesting. Just.... think about something outside you for a while.
So, go forth as transformed creatures into the new dawn, my beautiful doves! Spread your wings and turn cartwheels in the freshly minted sunshine! We're all here and together and everything's most probably going to be alright. Forget about global warming and Nicki Minaj and all that other stuff. That stuff is behind us. You and I are the product of many years of evolution, the best versions of humanity that mankind has come up with yet. Okay, actually I'm eighteen updates behindhand which is a thing that genuinely upsets me but it's not that big a deal. Right?
We're survivors, you and me. Whatever life throws at us, we're going to knock it straight over square leg's ugly face for six (LAST CRICKET REFERENCE, I PROMISE). I know it's kind of mainstream but... be happy.
(AUTHOR'S EDIT: If you still haven't cheered up, firstly, gosh, you hard-shelled bloobs. Secondly, what does an insomniac agnostic dyslexic think about at night?.........
.....................................................................................................................
... Is there a dog?)
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