Remember That Time When the World Almost Ended?

My Review of 2012 for the competition.Enjoy :D

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1. Review of 2012

From the Television in my Grandparent's living room, Big Ben begins to sing. The last grain of 2012 has slipped away and we have plummeted into 2013. Or something along those lines. The flocks of people lined up by the banks of the river Thames begin to wail something that vaguely resembles "Auld Lang Syne" and behind me my family chink their glasses of champagne together. Luckily, after the incident that was New Year's Eve 1999, I doubt that anyone present will be getting drunk tonight. My little sister guzzles down her diluted Buck's Fizz (with a little too much enthusiasm for a child of 13) and begins "Gangnam-Styling", but I decide to pause for a moment; The evening has been bitter-sweet and I will miss 2012. It has truly been a year to remember: an insanely rich and popular boy band got urinated on by a Koala; an old lady jumped out of a helicopter because James Bond told her to; A cyclist with sideburns won lots of medals and some other people won other sporty things; Bella Swan has (thankfully) vowed never to darken the door of our cinemas again; the BBC got into some deep trouble; Barack Obama triumphed over the insanity that is Mitt Romney. Oh, and do you remember that time when the world almost ended? But, possibly more importantly, I turned 14. And thus begun the madness.

On the 25th of February 2012, I woke up. I blew out the candles. I opened the presents. But more than anything, I craved maturity. The ability to feel young and free, yet responsible and independent at the same time; to fulfil a dream, have an adventure, and still arrive home in time for dinner. But I didn't feel it. Perhaps any possible feeling of dawning womanhood had been numbed by the worrying amounts of chocolate cake I had eaten that day, but as the days and weeks passed, I felt exactly the same as I did pre-birthday. But then, tucked under my pillow one night, I found an idea. It was a pesky, troublesome little thing that would niggle and bite at me in my sleep, leaving me scratching at my head and staring at my bedroom ceiling (rest assured, this idea was not in fact a bed bug). It would yell insistently at me in my dreams, following me constantly (although I am fairly positive that that was my sister, telling me to stop snoring). But it was an idea nonetheless. 

I didn't have a defining epiphany. I didn't have a Eureka moment; if I had, I probably would have been arrested for running around town naked, like Archimedes did when he first said it. Nope. I finished school for the weekend, having read an awful lot of war poetry in English that day. I was upset. Sad. Lonely. Moreover, I was angry. From what I had read that day, in that stuffy little English classroom. I realised that once people become lost and forgotten, they become statistics. So I decided to find a lost person, through the way that I knew best. Writing. 2 hours later, my idea thanked me and kissed me goodbye. It's job was done. I had written my poem. I had found my lost person. 

I suppose that in that one Friday afternoon, I had been moulded. I learnt to translate my anger and sadness at the world into something that I could share with the rest of the world. I think that, even in the smallest way possible, I grew up slightly that day. 

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