The Buddleia Tree

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the last blog post before I return to the dreaded sixth form for my last ever year of school; where I apply to universities I know very little about and will be unlikely to accept me; where I spend one last hell with the people I love; where I work my last pair of childhood socks off.

The Buddleia tree in our garden is chopped down. I can’t help feeling like it symbolises something. It will grow again, but because it grows so fast, it’s going back to the beginning. A fresh start. A new chance at life. All summer, it’s been a home for hundreds, nay thousands, of butterflies; and despite the fact I’m a poor character in general, I can’t express how beautiful it was. There are still butterflies on its last branch now as it comes down outside my window. It is sad, but I hope it will grow again.

Last year, I wasn’t at my best, and I think I better clarify what I believe was happening to me. I felt de-motivated, pointless and helpless. When I asked myself what it meant to ‘work hard’ or ‘try hard’, I no longer saw the point. It seemed like school and sixth form and uni and work were all just stages of the same thing; of more hard work; and that all of us had to work hard in each one to get to do more hard work. And if you think of it like that, it is pointless. I just didn’t realise that I was thinking about it wrong.

In fact, I love working hard. Don’t go off and tease me for being a ‘nerd’ now; otherwise, you need to grow up (not that I think any of you lovely people would do that). I love what I do. Yes, work isn’t always bright and sparkly; in general, it’s a lot of effort. But I found, particularly last year, that it’s not worth putting a half-heart into it. You end up feeling wronged that you have to do more work, whilst not reaping any of the benefits of doing work. And that’s the pointless thing. Work hard and you enjoy doing it; it comes hand in hand – it’s rewarding and it burns with your curiosity and learning.

So that’s how I want to live this year and the years after. I want to re-grow like the Buddleia tree (however soppy and cringy that my sound) and have another chance. I was so lucky to still end up with the grades I needed in the subjects I wanted to spend my life on. So lucky. Now I have to work for them; for myself; and enjoy doing it. And that’s what I would wish for you to – to have motivation in whatever you do; wherever you are; to have some big ideas.

— Feel free to stop reading here and simply comment, but if you want an extended version (which is long), I will continue below. I don’t mind either way, so don’t worry! —

I have some more things to explain; and I think I’m ready to do that now, maybe a little anyway. A character in my life has recently dropped out of life. It was at the beginning of summer, in the midst of exam time to give you a rough idea.

I think there’s always some trouble when people die, that the people who knew them always want to make a claim to that death. “I knew them, yes, yes, it’s all very sad.” And I know, in a way, people are only showing that they care, but sometimes it feels like they just want to be part of the drama. And death is no drama. Not really. And for ages, I felt that maybe I only felt sad about a person’s death because I was doing the same. And I didn’t think that was right; they deserve much more than that; much better than me. But I have so many memories with the person, and I feel so wronged that their memories have gone, that I hope this person would forgive me and understand why I am sad.

He was a fellow writer, an attention seeker and a friend. I spent hours with him, sat in English lessons talking about his relationship with his dad and life and all the things you talk about, nicknaming him with funny author and poet names. I remember his was “Taylor Alfred Armitage” (pronounced arm-e-targee) – it’s still saved in my phone contacts as such. We went on a creative writing trip together with some others later that year; and he told me he’d love to be a performance poet. I could see him suiting that well. He pissed everyone off. He was a sucker for attention – and usually the bad kind. As much as I never liked that trait on him, as his friends we excepted his attention-seeking to be a part of him. It was Taylor. He was one of the most annoying guys I’ve met… ever. But that was Taylor.

One memory sticks out above the rest; I don’t really know why, but I think it’s because it is the happiest. We have a hall in the school with a grand piano in it. And every morning I’d think about going and playing it, but never had the courage to go alone of course. Then one morning, Taylor arrives early as usual, and I ask him if he wants to go. Well, of course he does. So we break in to the hall, unveil this large perfect piano and bust out a few chords in a sequence. He teaches me how to play some Adele song, but I forget now. Nobody was there. Just us. “Sing something!” I say to him while playing this song he taught me. Taylor would never have refused an invitation to sing. So 3… 2… 1… he belts out the flattest note in history of music in the loudest voice he can! Naturally, we spend the next 5 minutes in hysterics at how bad it was; laughing harder than I can remember ever laughing.

Finally, there’s one more thing I must mention if I am ever to get Taylor’s approval. He was gay and he was proud! He showed it in every little thing he did. When we went hiking and camping for Duke of Edinburgh, we had to ban him from raising his leg above waist height, as it annoyed all of us, and from singing of any kind. He could jump off a sofa into the splits, for goodness sake! He was as crazy as they come. And although it was annoying as hell, it gave him so much definition and character.

He committed suicide. He had left the school I was in the previous year, and as far as I was told, he was happy with the new friends; the new environment he was in. We were still in text contact; but nothing as close as before. I understand why a lot of people say suicide is a stupid and selfish decision to make – and I can only imagine the pain his parents and siblings are going through – but at the same time, I feel like it was a courageous thing to do. I don’t know why. It just seemed brave, as much as I want it to have not happened; and that he should have changed something if he were unhappy. I’ve met people since who have been very vocal on the issue of suicide, how it was wrong and ungodly, and yeah, it was a mistake, but I say fuck ungodly. You have no ground to say that. And that’s my last defence of Taylor.

And my only message to him would be to say sorry. I’m sorry. I should have been a better friend, especially after he left. Sorry I wasn’t there for him to talk to at the end. And thank you. Thank you for enriching my life.

— I’m nearly done, honestly. —

Now, ok, this hasn’t been the happiest blog post, but the reason I wanted to blog about a topic like this one, is that I’ve blogged since I was very little indeed. It’s a very private matter I’ve discussed that I wouldn’t normally do, but I feel that this time, it’s appropriate. The blogging community have been and always will be one of the nicest, kindest, approachable communities on the internet; I have learnt hundreds of valuable things from them; they have taught me to pick myself up when I’m down; they’ve taught me how to be sociable and the values of being sociable. I respect all of you. So I hope you can respect why I wanted to post about all these things. Thank you for all of your support over these long years, and may you live long and prosper! 😉