At the tender age of 17, I prided myself in my 'cutting-edge' music taste and how my favourite literature included the beat poets and Lolita. On The Road was my Bible, Alt-J were just so cool. I wrote blogs on thought-provoking topics and worshipped Wes Anderson. I adored American Beauty and the Virgin Suicides and read the classics to expand my cultural knowledge.
Nearly four years later, I no longer have time to read two classics a month, write a blog post a week or take an hour out of my day just to look for great new music. My Netflix consumption consists largely of Disney movies, Gilmore Girls and Stranger Things. I haven't watched a classic movie since god knows when and I've even started listening to old Avril Lavigne again. I'm not afraid to enjoy Little Mix.
I no longer fit in with the kind of crowd who gather at the Philosophy Bar at King's, full of English Literature students in turtle necks, discussing Ulysses over a fag.
But, it's not that I really want to.
I still love Lolita and The Grand Budapest Hotel remains one of my all time favourite movies. I never stopped liking those things. It's just that I never moved on.
There are still so many classic movies I haven't seen, stunning books I haven't read, beautiful music yet to be discovered. I can still be cultured without resorting back to my pretentious idealistic phase.
Whilst I feel that I've sobered up a little, that I'm less afraid to immerse myself in the mainstream, I'm not really embracing all that I can. Have I given up? Have I become too much of a boring adult to enjoy an intellectual book?
If I had the time... that phrase repeated over and over. I, a busy and responsible final year student, do not have time even to read the shortest novel.
This is an ode to all the things I wish I did and hope that in the near future, I will once again embrace.
