To whom it may concern,
It’s been 9 weeks since I moved to Christchurch and it turns out I procrastinate here too. It’s a cool 6 degrees on this night in April and to be perfectly honest the thought that it is not yet winter freaks the bujeepers out of me. Small, brown women are not well equipped for these temperatures.
The ten-minute walk to Broadcasting school has become less about gauging the progress of the buildings going up and more about training for the Olympic speed walking team. My dad informs me the brisk walk is great for glutes, which is just an added bonus.
The New Zealand Broadcasting School is a new adventure that is making this cold bearable. For the first time since finishing high school, I’m genuinely enjoying learning like those nerds you see on TV. The fact that it’s taken me 5 years to figure out what I’d want to be nerdy about however has left me in a somewhat awkward position.
I’m a mature student. Well, almost. At 23 years of age, I am 5 years older than the youngest person in the class. While my classmates discuss the difficulties of getting into a club on a fakey, I’m wondering if I look like Regina George’s mum from ‘Mean Girls’. While girls in my year check out boys their age, I remind myself that just because it’s legal, doesn’t make it right and that I’m saving the cougar phase for my 40’s.
Luckily for me, the 21 legends in my class appear not to care that I’m basically a fossil and I am now the self-appointed wing-woman for everyone. Though I may not face the same obstacles of getting into age-restricted spaces or the fear of driving illegally with multiple passengers anymore, it turns out I’m actually not as mature as I thought. So if you need me just dial 0800-cupid and you’ll find me, scrumpy once more (frozen) in my hand, in Christchurch.