Welcome!

If you’re not familiar with Tinder then, firstly, have you been living under a rock? But secondly, I shall introduce you to what could be likened to a deep fried mars bar; you know it’s ridiculously bad for you, but you keep going back anyway.

Tinder is a so-called ‘dating’ app which many people would scoff at because it’s mainly used for hook-ups. It takes your pictures from Facebook and grabs your location to find everyone around you (of the opposite sex, or the same sex, or both) within a 100 mile radius. As well as distance, you can adjust age limit too.  I am only 16 so I cannot ‘match’ with anyone 18 or over – my age limit is set between 15 and 17. When you open the app, you get a stack of profiles which you can swipe right or left to, right being ‘fuck me in the ass I’ve fallen in love’ and left being ‘even though my standards couldn’t really stoop much lower, you are below them’. If you both swipe right, you match, and you can talk to them. Hoorah.

Now the thing I hate about Tinder is that in one whole year, fifty two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days, five hundred and twenty five thousand, nine hundred and forty nine minutes... I haven’t made a single long term friend. I know I may come across as naïve and you’re probably sitting there thinking ‘well, you did say it was used for hook-ups you carrot!’ but I can assure you I have made plenty of friends that I thought could last, but clearly not. They all seem to fade. They fade like the smell of farts; you think they’re never going to leave but slowly, surely, they fade.

I am convinced that it has nothing to do with the internet aspect either – many people think that an internet friend would never last, because the distance just won’t allow it. But rest assured I have human proof that they can work. I have officially known my Tumblr friend Luke for about a year now and we have never even met before. Yet, we talk to each other when we can and it’s a lovely little platonic relationship that we have. So, what is it about Tinder that makes it so difficult to form solid relationships? Is it me or the 2171 guys I’ve matched with? Or is it just the app itself?

I think it’s all three.

I am not on Tinder for sex or nudes, I want something more real. So let’s take out half the guys that want different things to me – 1000 left. Next, I am weird. An odd-ball. A strange sense of humour encapsulates my very being. So let’s take out half of my matches that don’t understand my hilarity. 500 left. Thirdly, all the guys that I didn’t even get as far as to speak to – let’s take out a good few, 100. Now, the one night stands of friendship, the guys I had a quick conversation with then realised we didn’t have anything else to say – 20 left. What about the guys who faded like farts next? 3 left. Finally, the last three. I met up with these cheeses and what happens, you ask? Our last step is to get rid of the ‘why did I ever think that was going to end well?’ bunch. 0 left.

The last three guys are where I think the app itself comes partly to blame. Due to the nature of teenagers and incessant lessons on internet safety, it’s natural to want to talk and get to know a person before you meet them. But this is the downfall. On both sides of the smartphone screen, we built up what the other person was going to be like; convinced they were going to be everything you hoped for. Alas, the meet always seemed to turn out with a soggy bottom. Not in a sexual way. In a pastry way. Bad, basically. I think we were both itching for it to work, the acknowledgement of desperation for a cute relationship – romantic or otherwise – seeped through my mind a number times (no doubt theirs’ too), only to be washed away by a wave of naivety and excitement that it could work out. If it had been only a few sentences before meeting, no emotional attachment would have to be broken after the meet, and we could just move on, hence why I think this app (especially for teenagers) is a recipe for disaster.

A recipe for disaster that I keep going back to, and will keep trying until I’ve spent all my money on ingredients so I can’t try anymore, or maybe, just maybe, the bottom of my pastry will turn out crisp one day.

“Life should be measured not by time, but achievements.” – Stephen Sutton 1994 - 2014

I scrolled though Facebook about two weeks ago to see a photo with hundreds of thousands of ‘likes’. I saw a teenager in a hospital bed and I thought it was going to be yet another sob story. But I was wrong, because this guy is different, this guy is Stephen Sutton and he is determined to be anything BUT a sob story. I could tell that Stephen is a positive person to say the least; Stephen made even a dreary picture in a hospital look positive. He posed with one hand thumbs up, and his other hand pulling the oxygen mask from his face to show a tired smile. The stark contrast of a thumbs up in one hand and the hospital apparatus in the other made me think: maybe he had just been cured from a disease? Or had a miracle operation and can now live the rest of his life like a normal person? But no, I was wrong, and that is the amazing thing about Stephen Sutton.

I read the caption, only to find out that the picture was taken in what he thought were the last few hours of his life. Now, I can’t lie and say this is where I started to tear up because I realised how amazing Stephen is – because that’s not true. At this point I take one more look at the picture, smile with admiration and continue with my life. This may sound like quite a flippant move on my part, but that is what I did.

For the next two weeks, I kept hearing odd snippets here and there about Stephen and his bucket list. I didn’t really think too much about it until today. Today was the day he died. For some reason, I don’t take the time to appreciate something (or someone in this case) until it’s gone. Ready to do some English homework, I opened up Chrome and had a quick browse on the BBC News Website. I saw a story about Stephen and decided to give it a read.

About half way through the article I started to tear up; I would have cried except Mum was talking to builders about the plans for the new kitchen, and I doubt a sobbing, hormonal teenager would’ve given great first impressions. But needless to say, my eyes looked as if I had whole trees in them. The article took me through a variety of pictures that were things Stephen ticked off his bucket list: skydiving, playing the drums in front of a huge crowd. I started to question how one person can be so, well, amazing? Stephen is the kind of person that everyone wants to be friends with, and when I mean everyone, I mean even Mr David Cammy.

It may be a surprise to you that I had to think for a while about what exactly it is about Stephen that makes him so great. That may sound stupid but what I mean is, there is something apart from his infectious positivity and admirable motivation. I finally realised that it is his complete and utter acceptance for what life has given him. And life has not given him lemons. It gave him bowel cancer. Stephen decided from the get-go that he wasn’t going to let cancer rule his life. It tells you how you’re going to die, but that doesn’t mean it should tell you how to live your life, does it?

Now you may have realised that I have been speaking about Stephen in present tense, even though he is no longer alive. I do this because right now, he lives in so many people. He lives in me and will for a very, very long time. From this day on, I am going to crack down on my excessive complaining because I can make the best out of my life if I want to. And I frickin will.