(Originally posted on 18/03/18)

I had actually already written a “Minimalism – Twelve Months Later” essay, but for the life of me, I can not remember what I did with it. Unless I dreamt it… Who knows. About eighteen months ago I first heard of the term “Minimalism”. I regrettably deleted the first essay about minimalism that I ever wrote from my blog here, but to some up what it was about, I spoke of my cluttered childhood with the many bedrooms, filled with all the toys in the world, and how my adolescent self stumbled upon minimalism from a desire to travel. And I also spoke of how my parents were (and still are, mind you) reluctant to see minimalism as anything other than a bunch of hermits living in a cave, or a small hut in a forest… I don’t know about you, but that actually seems rather appealing.

In these past eighteen months things, well, could have been better. But as one says, you have to fall before you can fly. And I think I have now learnt how to spread my wings and I’m ready to sour in the skies. Although, about a year ago, I lost my way, and minimalism was something I stopped focusing on for awhile. More so by accident then on purpose. I acquired a lot of stuff. Very worthless and pointless stuff might I add. My family also weren’t the best at helping me get back on track.

“Well I’m glad that whole minimalism phase of yours has ended” were my mother’s exact words to me, one day, late 2017. I went from wearing somewhat of a ‘uniform’ each day, with three pairs of the same blue jeans, and four black t-shirts, wearing only black socks and underwear, to, well, owning a rainbow of colours again.

You could be earning thousands a week, and still be one of the poorest people to walk the planet. Because what’s money? What’s wealth? Wealth isn’t your six-bedroom four-bathroom home, wealth is who you choose to be as a human being. If you’re living mindlessly each day, doing the same thing day in, day out, all to earn money for a house you may never own. I realised a long time ago that I don’t want to be a slave to myself. I refuse to subject myself to a life of grinding everyday for minimum wage, I don’t want to follow in the footsteps of my parents. I love them dearly, but they’re not happy, I’ve never met any two people more miserable then them. Ever. I grew up my whole life thinking that I hae to listen to everything they say, and that I have to grow up exactly like them. Wasn’t I so so wrong. I want the opposite of what they have. I want happiness.

In the past eighteen months I realised I don’t want to own a house, or a fancy car, I want to be free. I don’t want to work somewhere I hate just for the money, I want to be free. The hours in our lives our precious. We never get them back, and I will not allow myself to work at something meaningless for a terrible wage for many hours a day. People that hardly know me call me lazy, whether it be because I always drop out of college, or whether it be because I’m almost nineteen and still have no desire to drive a car, unlike all my old classmates, or whether it be from my bad grades back in high school.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. Grades don’t matter. Nearly all of the most successful people in the world spent the first half of their lives being told they were an outcast, and most didn’t have good grades either. But if you judge a fish to climb a tree, it’ll spend its entire life believe it’s stupid. You can do anything you want if you believe in yourself. I want to fill my life with the things and people that bring joy to my life, to create purpose and meaning. I want to be a writer, and I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was about five years old. But do you want to know something? I couldn’t read or write until I was nine years old. Less than four years later, at age thirteen, I got my first piece of writing published in a book. Anything is possible if you set your mind to it. Don’t listen to anyone other then yourself, your mind, and your body.

About a year ago, my eight (now nine) year old spoilt-brat of a niece lost her new, cheap, plastic ‘fidget spinner’ back when they were the latest craze. Me and mother were babysitting her and her younger brother (then six years old) at the time, where her mum and step-dad were shopping. Firstly, my niece blamed her friend Mia, and accused her of stealing it. Within minutes it was like World War III had started. She was screaming and hitting us all. She literally thought she would of died or something if she didn’t find her lost fidget spinner. At the time, she shared a room with her now seven year old brother, who was simply playing in the kitchen, being his usual quiet self when all of this drama was taking place.

To cut a long story short, we ended up finding it under her mattress. No, not under her bed, or under her pillow or blankets, like directly under her mattress. There is no possible way it could of got there by itself. And still to this day, I strongly believe that my niece hid it there on purpose, just so she could go to the corner shop to buy another one. Why would you need two cheap plastic fidget spinners? Isn’t one already one too many? However, it wasn’t that particular event that had annoyed me, even though it did make me question my niece’s actions and words a lot more after that day.

While I was in my niece’s bedroom, I managed to look around a bit. One side had all my nephews clothes, there was quite a lot, but everything there I recognised, as he wore all the time, each piece he loved and took great care of. Then next to that, there was a cheap-looking, medium sized wardrobe. It looked worn out and abused to say the least. Some parts were faded, other parts were covered in stickers you’d find in children’s overpriced comics. Multi coloured doodles covered the doors from the stolen sharpies from the kitchen downstairs. The doors did an unhealthy squeak as my niece swung them open in rage. None of the clothes were hung up. None.

She had at least double the amount of clothes her brother had, if not triple. She swung on the knobs of the broken wardrobe doors and kicked the mountain-high pile of clothes out, presumably looking for something else to wear. I didn’t recognise any of the clothes that were now heartlessly sprawled out beneath my feet. Only a few dresses and her school uniform, that she wears five out of the seven days of the typical working week. Not leaving many more days to wear any of the other poorly cared for clothes.

“You have a lot of clothes there” I said to her, as I rescued my feet from the avalanche of Primark jeans. “I have more then anyone else in the whole family” she boasted in reply, as she held a dress with the price tag still on. “SALE! £3!” The tag read. £3? Is that all it was worth? Someone took the time to make that. Probably someone hungry, getting paid far less than they deserve. “Do I look sexy?” The eight year old asked. Eight.

“Don’t talk like that, and clean up your clothes please!” I ordered, walking away from the cluttered room. That’s probably a conversation I’ll never forget. And of course, I’m in no way putting all the blame onto her. Monkey see, monkey do. Why my sister feels the need to buy that many clothes (most from sales for a sickening cheap price) for a growing child who probably won’t even get chance to wear them all is beyond me. Most are impulse buys, purchased “just because”. No one needs that many clothes. No matter their age.

For about 45 weeks a year, kids in England are in their school uniform two thirds of the week. They literally don’t have any time or need to wear that many clothes. Even if your kids get changed out of their uniform as soon as they get home from school, they’ll only be wearing them clothes for a few hours, so they can easily wear them multiple days that week. All those clothes will raise spoilt brats who don’t learn to appreciate to the true value of money. Which will cause a never ending cycle of greed.

The most irritating part of the story was that my sister came home with bags… full of new clothes for mainly my niece, who excitingly tried each outfit on in the middle of the living room. Discarding each outfit to a crinkled pile onto the floor as she tried each one on. Why?! I was fuming by this point. Coming back to my rather sparse bedroom after that day was much appreciated. I haven’t actually seen my niece much since then. I tend to avoid them like the plague, the give off such negative energy. That’s something I don’t want to be around.

Today I was in the shop with my mum, and usually, I don’t have considerably strong opinions towards anything really, but the amount of plastic that everything is wrapped in these days is sick. Everything is wrapped in plastic. That may be half an isle dedicated to ‘ethically wrapped goods’ where you’d probably pay triple the amount anyway. It’s a joke. I was walking alongside the shopping cart and I was looking at all the cartons and plastic wrap and remembered that it doesn’t biodegrade. Like what’s the actual point? Why can’t they just make everything out of cardboard and glass? It would save so much money and time on the landfill side of things.

Why can’t people just be more mindful, do they even take a few minutes to even think about what they’re doing? Everyone always seems so busy and stressed and distracted to even see life for the beautiful gift it really is. Most people don’t live, they just survive and that makes me really sad. Thousands of people I must of passed in the shop today, I could count on one hand the amount I saw actually smile, and most of them was just a small one. Why do people live lives that they hate, why do they make the conscious decision each day to wake up and live that same boring life, doing the usual grind? Do you think they ever long for something more? Why don’t they ever do anything about it?

My nineteenth birthday is on the last day of March. And when I mention to my family that I, again, don’t want gifts, or a cake, it becomes a taboo subject just like it has been for the many Marches past. I don’t even like cake, so why would I want something that I don’t like on my birthday? Oh yeah, because it’s “traditional”. Well if you haven’t noticed already, I don’t like a very traditional life. And I don’t want to do something or have something just because it’s normal to do so. If my family want cake on their birthdays, cool, they can have all the cake that they want. But it’s my day, and I don’t want it.

My parents said they instead were going to by themselves a cake to celebrate the day I was born from their perspective, which if you ask me is very childish of them to do. Why can’t they just understand that there can still be a so-called birthday without the freaking cake… I honestly don’t see the point in blowing out sticks of fire so then eat edible sponge. It seems ludicrous to me.

I have spent the past month trying to get my life back in order, it hasn’t been going too well on the most part, but I’ve managed to declutter my life again in the material aspect of it. I’ve been using Facebook Marketplace to my advantage, and also selling a lot on eBay. I sold my pencil case, so for the time being, my pens are in a shoe. Who said you shouldn’t make the most of what you already have. The reason I sold it was because it matched my old backpack which I sold alongside my pencil case. So until I find something else to use, I now have a new abstract way to store my fineliners, hey who knows, maybe it could be a new trend.

I am looking to move out of my parents home, yes again, but they’re not too happy about it. But every time I told to them, they think I’m just being “difficult” or “awkward”, but I’m not trying to be any of those things. Though, I can’t do anything until I finish college, which is pretty soon, in June I think. But that’s okay, because that gives me a little bit more time to declutter down only to the stuff I really need. And I’m getting there, slowly but surely.

If I want to work on one thing for the rest of this year is my diet and lack of exercise. I’m in really bad shape. I do have an extremely fast metabolism so you honestly wouldn’t think it. But after I got diagnosed with agoraphobia about two years ago, resulting into me becoming housebound with chronic anxiety, I stopped any little exercise that I was doing. I would only be going on walks anyway, I have never been to the gym, that’s not my kinda thing, I’m more of a natural person, not one for big weird machines.

To summarise, these past eighteen months has seen its ups and downs but I know, and I feel like things are going to get better from now on… I have eliminated the stuff and the people from my life that always made me feel really bad and crap about myself, which had allowed me to truly hold on to the good people, I have an amazing person in my life and one day I can’t wait to create knew experiences in life with her.