Learning to Live

I'm sorry that I haven't posted anything for so long, it feels like forever since I last wrote! I have started my A Level courses (biology, chemistry, maths and Spanish), and am struggling to juggle my time effectively. For those of you who don't know, A Levels are full on from day one! In between homework, revision and not sleeping, I somehow never seem to be able to find the energy to construct a post, but here goes!

Starting at a new school has made me think about how I feel about education. When people say learning, the things that spring to mind are excitement, enrichment and a journey towards understanding more of the world. For me, learning is about gaining skills that allow me to extend the horizons of the world in which I live. It is the future, and something I would happily wrap myself up in. Learning is safe.

Education is a different story. Education is exams and stress and pure terror. It is endless, sleepless nights and constant judgment. We are trapped in a system that does nothing but convert us into numbers, and I always feel as though I fall short of the mark. It doesn't matter what percentage I equate to. Even 100% is never enough.

Louise's death is the main factor behind why, no matter what grades I get, I never feel good enough. It is funny because one of the most comforting things to me is that I carry Louise in my heart: she isn't gone because we have not forgotten. However, it is also one of the most draining. I feel a huge and irrational responsibility as Louise's identical twin to live a life that is good enough for both of us. Anything that I achieve is divided by two, I won't allow anything to count as a stand alone figure. I never do anything just for me. In a sense, I feel as though I have to prove my existence is worthwhile. I must contribute to the world in some way, everything must be productive. I guess it all stems back to the unanswerable question: 'Why not me?'

I am not angry with anyone over Louise's death. The Accident was nobody's fault and nobody meant for it to happen. That is why I call it The Accident, and not The On Purpose. Somebody had to go that day, and for reasons that no one will ever be able to explain, it wasn't me. Survivor's guilt is an endless cycle of answer less questions that all somehow lead you back to the meaning of life. If I had been sitting on the other side of the car, I would be dead. And Louise would be alive. And that would be life. But as it happens, you are reading a blog post written by me, so needless to say I am certainly not dead. The ridiculous thing is, I spend so long trying to live for Louise, to live for both of us, that I forget what it means to actually be alive.

I do not know the meaning of life. I do not know why the sun gets up in the morning, only that it gets up regardless of who will be there to see its light. Somewhere on a motorway ten years ago, a little girl died. She is in the place that the lost things go, and lost things never come back. The sun goes on rising regardless, and the light it brings is no less beautiful. Living is learning to allow myself to see its beauty, to dance in it. Sunshine is the magic of being alive.