Anyway I'm not really writing for any reason other than to tell you this, and save yourself the heartache: By the age of twenty-six, you are not famous. In fact you probably never will be. You will not be discovered singing to yourself on a tram (oh, yeah. You live in Melbourne now. There are trams there and it rains a lot). You aren't going to go to NIDA, and even if you did it wouldn't guarantee you a one-way ticket to stardom (in fact you have a friend who goes there - a new friend, one you haven't met yet - and she has been unemployed since leaving). But the good news is this: you don't really care. By the time you are eighteen you don't really want to be an actor anymore. You have discovered boys (I know you already know about boys, but forgive me if I say you haven't yet worked out how GREAT they are) and would really rather be a historian. I know, what a turnaround.
I'm not sure why every fifteen-year-old thinks they're going to be famous, except that of course the only role models you guys are exposed to (apart from your mums, of course) are singers and actresses. I'm sorry to tell you that over the next ten years it gets worse and now the women young girls are supposed to look up to are all reality stars and "socialites." So really you should be enjoying it while it lasts because although, admittedly, Britney Spears and Spice Girls aren't exactly setting the most attainable goals, at least they have worked to be where they are and have some (debatable) talent. (You will be interested to learn that most of the people who are currently famous have since faded into obscurity, just like Mum said they would.)
On the subject of Mum, you might want to try being a bit nicer to her. This is the first time she's done this and she's learning too. By the time Siouxsie's turn rocks round she's fantastic. Also, it doesn't need to be such a drama. Give it a few years and you will actually choose to spend time with her, and miss her when you're away from her. I promise.
Now, back to boys. That boy you fancy? Gay. Actually, all of them are gay. You like them because they are articulate, intelligent and respectful towards you, and unfortunately pretty much all fifteen-year-old boys who tick those boxes are gay. The good news is that you'll still be friends, many years later. For your twenty-sixth birthday, that kid with the blonde tips in his hair will give you a photograph of the two of you, taken this year. You will go to pizza every Monday night and finally reside in the same city. Your friendship will last much longer than it would have if you'd actually gone out in Year Ten.
I could tell you to stand by your bestie, the one who's going through a rough time at the moment, that she's 100% worth it. I could tell you to treasure the days with your brother because he is the best friend you will ever have. I could tell you that one day you will meet a wonderful kind man and begin to build a great life with him. I could tell you to follow your heart. But you don't need to hear it. You will do all these things anyway, with or without my input. Luckily, you will grow up and move on and live and love many and at times you will stumble, but you will never know as much as you do now.
So, I will leave you, my poor freckled gangly never-been-kissed fifteen-year-old self, with the following two pieces of advice:
1. You are not ugly. In fact, your skin and hair and waistline are only going to get worse from here. I know it's hard, but try to enjoy them. And at the same time (slightly contradictory I know), try not to fret about them too much. The less time you spend looking in a mirror, the happier you will be.
2. Darren Hayes? Yup, you guessed it. Turns out Mum was right after all.
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