The Age of Freedom

I’m eighteen. That’s young. And yet, by now I’m old enough to know certain things. Like: I’m quite a pussy. People mostly don’t bite (they claw). If I say I will never do something, I will eventually do it or at least have the intention to do it.

There are some other things I learnt as well. With the years passing by, I started to realize that I’m not a ‘cool’ person. When you’re fourteen, you just want to fit in, you want to be like the cool ones, you will dress and behave the way people you admire do. But now I know I’m not like the popular girls, I’ve never been like them, will never be like them, and actually, I don’t even want to be like them. We are different. That’s fine. That’s even better than fitting in! Observing the cool people of my school has led to the conclusion that being cool means: texting all the time, having nothing to tell really, having no special interest in things like history, being not very open-minded and so on. Okay, maybe that’s quite a ‘black’ image of the cool guys. I mean that coolness has more to do with superficial stuff. I want to be more.

I’m that girl who loves classical music and post punk and metal and rock. I’m that girl who loves ballet and dancing in disco’s, who doesn’t like meat but likes look-a-like leather, the one who enjoys reading Lolita as much as reading Glamour. I’m also that girl who dresses differently from anyone else in my former high school. I wasn’t scared of wearing a T-shirt with a cut-away back or fishnet stockings.

*picture removed*

Now that is what makes me different. I’m open minded towards people. If you’re covered in tattoos, I’ll be interested in what they stand for. If you have blue hair, I’ll like you because you are different. There’s nothing wrong with being average, but it starts being wrong when you are average because you don’t dare to wear what you like. One day, when I wore my fishnet stockings, a classmate said she liked it, but she wouldn’t dare to wear it herself. That is sad. You shouldn’t be scared that easily. I’m quite sure I was judged by many people for wearing those stockings, but why should I care? It’s not my problem if they don’t like it. I like it and that will do for me.

 

*picture also removed*

(Look at my hair!)

This is the age of freedom – whatever you wear, you’ll be forgiven, because you’re still young. Why not take the chance to just wear what you want?

By now, I’ve learned which kind of clothes fits me, which don’t, and so on. Getting to this point, I no longer need to feel uncomfortable about what I wear. I know what I like, I know what likes me, so I do not longer care about other people’s opinion. What the hell, I just wear what I want to wear. It’s my piece of freedom.

 

*and again!*

This earring is my newest love. I know there aren’t too many people who like it, but I definitely do. Earrings in general are tempting for me. This one in particular because it is so different from the others. I should thank my parents too in this story. They are open-minded too. My mother even helped me finding fishnet stockings. How many mothers would do that?

 

*this picture too has passed*

And those pants are equally as great! When taking this kind of pictures, you are likely to have ten fails for every good pic. I had no photographer around. The stones were bloody hot. The sun shone merciless. But I had a great time, and the result is some great pictures.
I tried to capture the freedom of my age. Enjoy these pics while I’ll be celebrating my freedom abroad for a few days!

 

*and finally, the last one, removed like all the others*

(Celebrate freedom: sit down and don’t do a fuck.)

*All these pictures are mine, all rights reserved, copyright, blahblahblah. They’ll be taken offline again. My greatest nightmare is that someone steals my pics or discovers my identity. So watch but don’t touch.*

*As you might see, I’ve removed all the pictures. Sorry.*

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