I know I’m not necessarily a normal teenager. So do my parents. They know I have my little (or not so little depending on how you look at it) obsessions, but I don’t think they know how many I truly have. They don’t know I watch Sherlock, or The Musketeers. They don’t know I watched an entire season of Poldark in two (?) days, all because I read in The Guardian that Aidan Turner had a topless scene. Do I particularly want them to know that? Probably not.
They don’t know that I’m slowly attempting to learn Sindarin if you lasto beth nîn. They would probably be horrified to hear that if I’m honest with myself.
They don’t know who I fancied all through years eight and nine. They don’t know which actors I am currently in love with.
They certainly don’t know that I have a blog.
I’m not actually ashamed of this. I think that I need to have certain things which I don’t tell them, if only to spare myself the agony of the teasing which would follow. And as for the blog. I don’t tell people about it because I don’t want people to feel obliged to look it up. And in some ways maybe I don’t want people to find it at all. I’ve shared things on here which I haven’t told my closest friends (“You watched something because of a topless scene?”) and which I don’t always want them to know. I’m building up a support network for when I don’t have my friends within a half hour’s drive from me, somewhere I can speak my mind without worrying that it will make its way back to my parents. Because would they understand about NCS? Would they appreciate the depths of my Lord of the Rings obsession? They would try, but at the end of the day I’m baring a soul which they don’t see. I’m not sure I want them to see it.