It is quite often in the generalized, hyped, allegedly tumultuous and eponymously known teenageship of mine that I find myself having bouts of both the latter and former- fangirling and pointlessism. In fact, I highly doubt many of us can be curtailed to the rather insipid terms of 'happy', 'sad', 'excited', 'dull' etc.- a condition I will attest our highly micro-evolved hormonal glands to. (Because, well, obviously, the pituitary gland not only triggers the release of adrenaline, oestrogen, testosterone and all those pent up hormones that turn us into pimply, sporadic Grawps or maybe just grotesque Goblins,  but also specialized counterparts like the Fan Girl/Boy Hormone, which is released erratically and sometimes in such surging efflux that it induces passionate changes of face muscles, speech and emotions.) Now, you may or may not wonder why or how the yin and yang of my title are synonymous, and so now, I will cross the vandalized pillars of this apparent façade of superficiality, and into its darker penetralia, because it is assumed that to make a point is to first be serious. So I shall comply.

   Thing is, like every other teenager and human, I'm a fan of some thing. Well, rather, of infinite things, just like you must be. And too many sometimes, you turn a passion-stained page till there are only 'again's; you unflaggingly follow a fan-based community; you relentlessly and shamelessly peruse that celebrity's profile more than his/her mirror ever would have; you nag the infinite YouTube 'watch again' icon until the movie finally descends and nullifies the trailer. And penultimately, you melt. Then erupt.  It's this feeling a rather perspicacious Pompeiian must have had after plunging into the fiery bowels of Mt.Vesuvius a few seconds prior to its eruption. Except rather less macabre and incinerating than warm and ticklish. Needless to say, I don't really know whether every soul has the pleasure to experience this level of fan fervour, but, as Gustave Flaubert wrote, "An infinite of passion can be contained in one minute, like a crowd in a small place". Well, that's exactly how I feel, however ephemerally, in that moment. But the constituents of that crowd- they're more like rambunctious atoms than people, and after they pass, the warmth they leave just ripples through me, like the smile that flutters across a Potterhead after a shadowed "Always". And after that? Then comes pointlessism, my very own neologism, I'd like to say.

  Being conveniently self-explanatory, you can understand that pointlessism must have something to do with the haphazardly sprawled teenager over a ruffled bed, staring out into the sky and wishing that they'd be of some use, of some point too, like the ever-charitable YouTuber they canonize. To not just be 1 more towards 1 million subscribers, or 1 more fan towards a potential TIME Person of the Year 2014 award. I feel this miserably languid feeling so often, that everything I do, not only my 'fangirling', feels pointless.
   If no publisher is ever going to come across this post and morph it into some best-selling novel, why am I writing it? Like Augustus Waters similarly felt about hooping in spherical structures through toroidal nets, why am I bouncing a yolk-fuzzed ball across a dichotomized court? Though I am probably performing the latter for my own exercise, the point is, that if you've ever felt pointless about your fan-presence contribution to the world like I have, you don't need to. Think about it- half the people in the world wouldn't be having the lives they're having without people like you existing.
If there weren't any 'Swifties', how would Taylor Swift, a chart-pummelling pop singer, ever be considered for such a leviathan award like the 'TIME Person of the Year' award? How would those celebrities whose faces and lives you so dearly scrutinize even amass such popularity without you? I'm not trying to cheaply tell you that your adolescent life actually hides meaning and you may now flee to the Bodhi tree and find transcendence, but what I am hopefully successfully entailing is that if you're a fangirl or a fanboy or a just an ardent fan, keep being so.

  Our generation's teendom has become a quest for searching for your passion, and why not? If we're spending all our daylight and starlight on 'stalking' wayward bands or people or pop sensations or literary geniuses, let's just do our best of it. Some day, you become your own magnanimous version of a billion subscribers-garnering personality, but today, let's do that teenaged job our biochemically demoniac hormones are unsurpassed at- WAIT I SPOT A NEW #1 BESTSELLER! IMMA GO (GET READY TO) FANGIRL (LIKE THE POINTLESS PUBESCENT I AM)!!!
No, but seriously, what a halcyon title- 'All the Light We Cannot See'.....wow,the beauty. Of books. Gush. Sigh. Hyperventilate.