Thoughts You Have Just Before Receiving Your HSC Results


-Why didn’t they just send the text at midnight? It’s not like I would be sleeping…

-When are they going to send the text?

-I literally planned my outfit this morning around it. I was wearing a perfectly nice dress, when I realised there would be no pockets for my phone.

-My phone is so clunky.

-What if you don’t have a phone? Just assuming every teenager does texting. And charges their phone. What about reception? What about the people who live in obscure parts of the state, like up a mountain? [I literally have a friend who lives too high for reception- should she just go down and sit by the high way? Can’t you Snapchat?]

-Will they personalise it? If I get something bad, is the text going to start with, “we’re sorry but…” or if it’s good, does political bureaucracy allow for a “congratulations”? Do these people use emojis? Will it even be a real person texting me?

-I was hoping Mum wouldn’t remember that was today. I know I’ll walk through the door and she might fit in a “hello” before, “well…?” Eyebrows raised.

-I had some pretty weird dreams last night.

-The HSC isn’t a number that defines you. It only defines what exactly you’ve spent the last thirteen years of schooling actually doing. I’ll have you know I won some academic awards back in Kindergarten, but they won’t be acknowledged in the number that’s going to be sent to my phone. I’m watching the screen like a hawk, going cross eyed over this post and my little black screen.

-What if it malfunctions and turns off?

-I’ve got a morning tea with my teachers tomorrow. I’m not sure who exactly is going to turn up, but what if I get something super bad? You can’t just not turn up, but you can’t just avoid the subject that was literally on the invitation.

-In one moment, my life will be changed. Kind of like getting married, except this might change my life for the worst. Then again, divorce.

-How am I going to not react? I’m at work.


-It’s a scary thought to think there is literally nothing I could have done to change my fate after “pens down”. So many hours of studying comes down to a few tests and struggles like crap pens, tissues, and wondering why other people are still writing when you finished twenty minutes ago. It wasn’t actually as scary at the time as it is now. I remember thinking I did pretty well, but now I don’t remember why. I do remember every mistake I made, though. And then I’m reminded there are ones that I don’t know I made yet.

-By text seems so unofficial. Could you imagine getting a text when you’re pregnant, or a text that someone you love has passed away, or one to say that you’re being sued for tax fraud? Mixed in amongst crap about boys and your debit card and your mum’s “I loved you’s”. The technological age, ladies and gentlemen. I suppose it saves someone the job of having to say it to someone else’s face. Avoid awkward confrontation.

-I wonder how many people will post their results to Facebook? You want to know everyone else’s but it seems odd to want to post your own. If they’re good, it’s rubbing it in everyone’s faces. If it’s bad, it seems self deprecating. And everyone’s “good” and “bad” are different. But still, I wanna know…

-In one of my dreams, I was getting my HSC results and I got a band six in “wizardry and witchcraft”. In another, my Ancient history teacher came right up to me, while I’m nervous and stressing, and looks me dead in the eye, and says “have you seen her jumper?” and points and walks away. One of them regarded an alternate ending to “Scream Queens”.

-It will all be fine, if I just don’t think about it. But then I have to think about not thinking about it, and then I’m just thinking about it. Sigh.


-Good luck, fellow pupils. The ATAR would have me say “I hope I do better than you”, but as I know that is unrealistic, I’ll just say that I hope we all get exactly the same mark so none of us have to feel bad, because that’s much closer to reality.





I have been to three formals in as many months, and I decided not to write a blog post about them until I finished my final one, tonight. 
The first was to commemorate finishing school. I watched thirteen years of education culminate as I held the hand of my best mate and we avoided going in for as long as possible. I think both of us felt like we didn’t know anyone, although I had passed through the same hallways with these people for so many years. He, of course, was just a willing participant seeing how the other half lived. I was wearing a beautiful dress, and he decided to have a go on the grand piano which made me smile, and yet, I felt like I had for so much of my school career. A piece of the puzzle someone had tried to squeeze into a space they assumed it had to go. As I danced, I didn’t fit into any of the circles people seem to form, floating from drama to English to Science, as I had for the last few years. I missed the Congo line, and my date went outside to watch the stars, which I realised was all I wanted to do, so we left early and went for a walk. My school formal truly summed up my school life- looking pretty for a group of pretty girls and paying too much to fit in. It was fun, and sweet, and fast, and slightly shallow and girly, and all I wanted to do was take off my shoes and wipe off my make up. 
The second formal was for a friend, and I suddenly appreciated the friend at my formal more. To be the face that someone will measure someone else’s coolness by is a lot of pressure. I wore a jumpsuit, and I braided my hair, and I was cool, because no one knew me, but I had to actively be cool. I looked at how everyone else was dancing, I was conscious to laugh at everyone’s jokes and I shook a lot of hands. I was still on my toes, (figuratively and literally, due to them heels). But still, the best moment of the night was when we decided to get away and go for a walk around the harbour. My feet hurt, and I was tired, but talking to my date and being away from the watchful eyes was once again a great sigh of relief. To think you can be anxious to impress people you don’t know as much as people you do. And it struck me that I had fun, but I could have had more, as if I’d filled my cup halfway. 
Tonight, though. Tonight was different. Same make up (slightly less), same extraordinarily attractive people, even more uncomfortable shoes, but… 

I danced tonight (got slightly jarred by a handful of people literally telling me they were shocked I was dancing- the irony). I laughed and I sang and I didn’t care that I was surrounded by people I wanted to like me. 

I guess to dance carefree is to bare your soul a little. To laugh is to open your heart a little. And once I decided to do that, I did draw people to me, and I did have fun. Once I stopped worrying about what people cared, they started caring. Once I stopped checking to see if people were looking, I could enjoy myself as if they weren’t. Maybe I just learned my lesson after three goes at it. Maybe it was that tonight I had true friends around me. Maybe I didn’t have a date to impress (although the guys around me a part of me wanted to impress, but I ignored that part). 
Third time lucky. 

Finally formal satisfied.
“If you can dance and be free and not embarrassed, you can rule the world.” 

-Amy Poehler.