I'm 23. I've recently landed my first teaching job. I'm currently obsessed with Gabrielle Aplin and Lewis Watson. I bake some mean raspberry and white chocolate muffins. The word 'beaver' never fails to make me laugh. I like boys I can't have. I've recently come to terms with having ginger hair. I procrastinate like a Queen and then panic when I have 4 hours to finish something I've had 6 weeks to do. Candy Crush and snapchat are my guilty pleasures. I try to read 'The Pact' by Jodie Picoult at least once a year. I have developed a 'work wardrobe' which makes me a little bit sick. I drink about 3 cups of green tea a day. Everytime I walk into urban outfitters I buy something. Every.Bloody.Time.
I'm scared of the future.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Sunday, 5 May 2013
Salvation
Once upon a time there lived a man. He was not a celebrity, he was not well known to others outside of his circle, but he was good. He dedicated his life to helping others, he was a teacher, a role model and at times a substitute father to the boys who filled his classroom. A confidante, a leader and someone who children aspired to. He taught others to become the best versions of themselves possible and watched them grow with a love that burned bright. He had two children of his own, and ensured that they knew that they were loved everyday.
This story is about his relationship with his daughter.
She was a miracle, he was told he couldn't have any more children after beating cancer. She doted on him, she flew on his shoulders and felt like a giant. She ran to him when she first rode her bike, he clapped loudest at her school plays. He taught her to play chess, but never, ever let her win, he taught her to swim and called her his little mermaid. They were symbiotic, always in time with the other, and could communicate with the smallest of raised eyebrows. As she grew up, she drifted; convinced he was over protective, and selfishly she wished things were different, that he was different. She screamed, she hit, she swore, and yet in his unfailing state, he stayed, he remained and he told her she would understand.. She moaned about spending time with him, wanting to be with her friends and boyfriend instead, he let her go. The girl struggled, the pressure to be popular was more important than time spent in the arms of someone who would never let her down. He studied for exams with her, not worrying about the reports, assessments, or commitments he had and took her to sport matches at weekends, and when he was already exhausted he stood in the rain for 90 minutes to watch her run, and see her look the most alive she ever would. She was not appreciative, but she was everything. Her teenage years, were a mix of her wanting to grow up, and him not wanting to be left behind.
She left for university and she understood . He had done everything for her. He had worked everyday of his life, to give her what she had, to make her safe, to keep her. She moved back home, and explained she wanted to teach, she wanted to make children feel that they could achieve anything; something which even in his age, she saw in her father's eyes everyday. She understood, that he had loved her everyday, even when she was the worst version of herself. Qualities that people recognized in her, she had inherited from him. He had watched her grow and she was happy for people to exclaim at how similar they were. They were stubborn, and bad tempered but honest, loyal, trusting and did everything they could for others. Every single situation, every argument, every laugh was his doing, pointing her to a path which she would tread on in the quest to be better. Later, he was once again diagnosed with advanced cancer which had spread to his bones and her world collapsed. A man that had defied the odds before was trapped by a disease which was a dormant devil, waiting to strike when it would hit her hardest, when she realised how much she needed him. She fell from his shoulders ,no longer flying, but keeping him upright. He was tired, and scared, the girl was breaking and the roles reversed. Explaining he was going to fight, she struggled with normality. Everything had changed and so had she. A man that had always been her foundation needed her to lean against. They were not running scared, they were staying right where they were.Did this darkness have a purpose other than allowing them to see the stars, hoping for one that burned so furiously to transcend and defy the fate which seemed set?
So I'm trying.
He is my father.
He is my salvation.
This story is about his relationship with his daughter.
She was a miracle, he was told he couldn't have any more children after beating cancer. She doted on him, she flew on his shoulders and felt like a giant. She ran to him when she first rode her bike, he clapped loudest at her school plays. He taught her to play chess, but never, ever let her win, he taught her to swim and called her his little mermaid. They were symbiotic, always in time with the other, and could communicate with the smallest of raised eyebrows. As she grew up, she drifted; convinced he was over protective, and selfishly she wished things were different, that he was different. She screamed, she hit, she swore, and yet in his unfailing state, he stayed, he remained and he told her she would understand.. She moaned about spending time with him, wanting to be with her friends and boyfriend instead, he let her go. The girl struggled, the pressure to be popular was more important than time spent in the arms of someone who would never let her down. He studied for exams with her, not worrying about the reports, assessments, or commitments he had and took her to sport matches at weekends, and when he was already exhausted he stood in the rain for 90 minutes to watch her run, and see her look the most alive she ever would. She was not appreciative, but she was everything. Her teenage years, were a mix of her wanting to grow up, and him not wanting to be left behind.
She left for university and she understood . He had done everything for her. He had worked everyday of his life, to give her what she had, to make her safe, to keep her. She moved back home, and explained she wanted to teach, she wanted to make children feel that they could achieve anything; something which even in his age, she saw in her father's eyes everyday. She understood, that he had loved her everyday, even when she was the worst version of herself. Qualities that people recognized in her, she had inherited from him. He had watched her grow and she was happy for people to exclaim at how similar they were. They were stubborn, and bad tempered but honest, loyal, trusting and did everything they could for others. Every single situation, every argument, every laugh was his doing, pointing her to a path which she would tread on in the quest to be better. Later, he was once again diagnosed with advanced cancer which had spread to his bones and her world collapsed. A man that had defied the odds before was trapped by a disease which was a dormant devil, waiting to strike when it would hit her hardest, when she realised how much she needed him. She fell from his shoulders ,no longer flying, but keeping him upright. He was tired, and scared, the girl was breaking and the roles reversed. Explaining he was going to fight, she struggled with normality. Everything had changed and so had she. A man that had always been her foundation needed her to lean against. They were not running scared, they were staying right where they were.Did this darkness have a purpose other than allowing them to see the stars, hoping for one that burned so furiously to transcend and defy the fate which seemed set?
So I'm trying.
He is my father.
He is my salvation.
Saturday, 4 May 2013
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Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Future
I cried this afternoon. I was sat, reading about two of the hundreds affected by the Boston Explosions.
Martin Richard was 8 years old and waiting at the finish line to give his father,who was running, a hug. 8 years old. This boy will never finish school, he won't see his senior prom, he will never have a wedding day or children of his own. His life hadn't even started yet and yet it was snatched away in a single second. His mother has suffered brain injuries, and his six year old sister has lost a leg.
The second, Carlos Arredondo, ran into the smoke to help those injured. He vaulted a fence, running right into the centre of what had happened. He helped paramedics move a man with severed legs, into a wheelchair and ran alongside him, talking to him so that he wouldn't lose consciousness. One photograph shows him seemingly pinching the man's femoral artery shut whilst paramedics loaded him into an ambulance. Mr Arredondo recently lost both his sons. Nine years ago, his son, then twenty, died in action in Afghanistan, his second committed suicide shortly after in 2011 as the troops withdrew from the war that had claimed his brother's life. Mr Arredondo became a peace activist and was attending the race to support charities Samaritans and Fallen Maine which is a charity established to honour the lives of Marines lost since September 11th 2001.
One of the runners had dedicated the race to Mr Arredondo's son.
It doesn't make sense to me, that if this was indeed a terror attack, that anyone could claim this for the love of a God. God, whatever, or whoever, you conceive him to be, is about love. Yet, yesterday claimed the lives of innocent people raising money for charities which help others who are less fortunate, in need, or in remembrance. When your act of 'love' has changed a day for the worse, when it has snatched lives which should have another sixty odd years in them, when it instilled terror in what should have been a collective celebration of the human condition for unity, just how, how can that be justified?
The attention is on those responsible, but the fact is, we will remember those who tried to salvage some feeling of safety. And yet, in this truly shambolic world, people like Carlos Arredondo exist. In the face of tragedy and hatred, they exist. They rise, and strive to try and fix the remains of a city street where the consequences of a single act will go down in the history books forever. It will happen, it shouldn't, but it does. But as long as it does, we will rise. Together.
Martin Richard was 8 years old and waiting at the finish line to give his father,who was running, a hug. 8 years old. This boy will never finish school, he won't see his senior prom, he will never have a wedding day or children of his own. His life hadn't even started yet and yet it was snatched away in a single second. His mother has suffered brain injuries, and his six year old sister has lost a leg.
The second, Carlos Arredondo, ran into the smoke to help those injured. He vaulted a fence, running right into the centre of what had happened. He helped paramedics move a man with severed legs, into a wheelchair and ran alongside him, talking to him so that he wouldn't lose consciousness. One photograph shows him seemingly pinching the man's femoral artery shut whilst paramedics loaded him into an ambulance. Mr Arredondo recently lost both his sons. Nine years ago, his son, then twenty, died in action in Afghanistan, his second committed suicide shortly after in 2011 as the troops withdrew from the war that had claimed his brother's life. Mr Arredondo became a peace activist and was attending the race to support charities Samaritans and Fallen Maine which is a charity established to honour the lives of Marines lost since September 11th 2001.
One of the runners had dedicated the race to Mr Arredondo's son.
It doesn't make sense to me, that if this was indeed a terror attack, that anyone could claim this for the love of a God. God, whatever, or whoever, you conceive him to be, is about love. Yet, yesterday claimed the lives of innocent people raising money for charities which help others who are less fortunate, in need, or in remembrance. When your act of 'love' has changed a day for the worse, when it has snatched lives which should have another sixty odd years in them, when it instilled terror in what should have been a collective celebration of the human condition for unity, just how, how can that be justified?
The attention is on those responsible, but the fact is, we will remember those who tried to salvage some feeling of safety. And yet, in this truly shambolic world, people like Carlos Arredondo exist. In the face of tragedy and hatred, they exist. They rise, and strive to try and fix the remains of a city street where the consequences of a single act will go down in the history books forever. It will happen, it shouldn't, but it does. But as long as it does, we will rise. Together.
Friday, 15 March 2013
Does it always feel like nothing's changed at all?
Skirt: Primark SS/2012 shirt: BDG @ Urban Outfitters Belt:Vintage
15th March 2013
I'm a big believer in fashion. I don't proclaim myself to be 'stylish' of 'fashion forward'. My lovely brother says I look like I've been blind folded and dragged backwards through a charity shop, but I don't really mind. My wardrobe is a fairly even split of Topshop, Urban Outfitters, Primark and Vintage. I'm naturally ginger, which I guess is a blessing and a curse. I hate the fact I can't wear certain colours; red makes me look like a postbox, orange makes me look like an autumn leaf, and yellow just looks plain ridiculous. However, I'm well aware that some people dye their hair to achieve a colour similar to the one that I was born with and I like playing around with it. I've dip dyed the ends, and I've made it more ginger in the past, but for now I'm settling for what my mumma gave me.
I love shoes, I'm 5 foot 10/11 but own some of the most stupid heels known to man; in particular a pair of Kurt Gieger studded heels which I have worn twice since purchasing them because I feel like I look like a rugby player called Steve in drag when i wear them, despite them being beautiful. I live in uggs, converse or vans, but I can't resist a good brogue or a heeled chelsea boot. I can usually be found in jeans and jeggings, but will squeal over a lace dress or pearl beaded jumper. I possess some of the most HORRENDOUS cardigans you will ever see, inherited from vintage shops, my mother and my late grandmother. But it's one of those things is fashion. It has the ability to reflect a thousand and one moods, personalities and beliefs. I don't dress for my body shape: I'm tall, broad shouldered and have 'child bearing' hips (I eat too much chocolate and icecream) and an arse that rivals Kim Kardashians. But like I said, I don't proclaim to be stylish, I dress however I want on any given day. I mix it up. Some days I dress like a boy, other days I dress to feel like a princess.
So here are my rules:
1. dress however you want, pay no attention to trends or what people think.
2. wear lipstick whenever possible
3. have fun with it
Because really, where's the fun in looking back at photos in twenty years time and feeling no sense of shame?
Friday, 1 March 2013
We could be heroes
'We accept the love we think we deserve.'- Perks of Being a Wallflower
There comes a time where the deafening silence is louder than you would believe it to be possible,but I have come to the conclusion that maybe the silence is necessary and that sometimes it's better that way because it let's you realise who cares enough to break it.
As humans, we are fallible and yet there is one thing that everyone is bound by, one common factor and that thing is love, romantic or otherwise. We all want to be desired,to be wanted, to feel content in the company of others. Yet the people you surround yourself with are indicative of how you feel about yourself. If you're with people who make you happy, it's because you feel like you deserve to feel content, and you recognize qualities in yourself which allow you to feel so. On the other hand, if you seek out romantic attachments which are destined to fail, where you question yourself, and realise they couldn't actually care any less, it's because you feel like you don't deserve any better. You feel lucky to have attention from that person in the first place, and don't question their motives, when really it's all too transparent. Most of the time you know what you're doing is ridiculous, unhealthy and destructive, however, in that space of time you fail to care, because after all, the feelings of being left behind and forgotten and used, they're what you deserve, right?
um. WRONG. Are you dumb?
There are a million and one positives to come from this. People don't respond to negativity. I for one hate people who moan about someone who has screwed them over. If I'm going to be brutally honest,nobody cares; you won't be the first, and you won't be the last. People suck, it's the way of the world. There are 7 billion people on this planet, and I'm pretty sure at least 3.5 billion aren't total dickheads, go look for them and stop listening to Adele and Ed Sheeran whilst crying into a tub of Ben and Jerry's.Also, that sixth glass of wine? Not one of your finest ideas, so put it down.
Turn the situation around, accept the love you deserve.
You fuck that person back up but worse. You don't let them get the better of you, you do it by being happy . H.A.P.P.Y. You fuck them up by being the better person, and rising up and by seizing life by the hands. You say,'Good, I didn't need you anyway.' Because you didn't, you didn't need it, but then again, nobody does. You made a mistake, and you don't make it again. You LEARN. Simple. You burn those bridges so you don't go back. Nobody ever moved forwards by spending time looking at where they had been. I repeat, be happy and rise.
You deserve it all. So accept it all.
Tuesday, 26 February 2013
Nothing Could Be Worse.
I've come to the conclusion of late that there must be some sort of reasoning behind the popular and somewhat over-used phrase 'Everything happens for a reason.' It's something heard endlessly when shit's hit the fan and when you're drowning in a pool of self pity and loathing. Quite frankly it's false. It reeks of people not knowing what else to say when confronted with an awkwardly horrible situation where you feel embarrassed at your inability to formulate anything else which may possibly make that person feel any better.
Popular times for this phrase include when you've been dumped.(perhaps your boyfriend/girlfriend was just a little shit) when you didn't get a job (someone else was more qualified) or when something hasn't gone to plan (you fucked up). It's used as this phrase to cloud what people are really thinking, to make you think you deserved better.
Maybe you did.
Maybe you didn't.
Guess what. There is no reasoning or lessons to be learnt from the horrendous crimes of Osama Bin Laden. Nothing can be gained from the disappearance of Madeline McCann. Sure, it happened for a reason, but that reason is purely because those are hideous atrocities committed by the most heinous individuals.
My point is this. Not everything happens for a reason. Somethings just happen. No reason. No explanation.No lesson to be learned. Stop trying to make yourself feel better about it, be the change you want to see in the world. Simple as that. The world doesn't care about 'reasons' you didn't, or couldn't or shouldn't, learn from it, move on and be better next time.
Be still for I am.
Be still for I.
Be still for.
Be still.
Be.
Popular times for this phrase include when you've been dumped.(perhaps your boyfriend/girlfriend was just a little shit) when you didn't get a job (someone else was more qualified) or when something hasn't gone to plan (you fucked up). It's used as this phrase to cloud what people are really thinking, to make you think you deserved better.
Maybe you did.
Maybe you didn't.
Guess what. There is no reasoning or lessons to be learnt from the horrendous crimes of Osama Bin Laden. Nothing can be gained from the disappearance of Madeline McCann. Sure, it happened for a reason, but that reason is purely because those are hideous atrocities committed by the most heinous individuals.
My point is this. Not everything happens for a reason. Somethings just happen. No reason. No explanation.No lesson to be learned. Stop trying to make yourself feel better about it, be the change you want to see in the world. Simple as that. The world doesn't care about 'reasons' you didn't, or couldn't or shouldn't, learn from it, move on and be better next time.
Be still for I am.
Be still for I.
Be still for.
Be still.
Be.
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