Updates and Promises

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Sorry about that.


The last two weeks have been frantic to say the least.

My first day back at school was last Tuesday. Upper Sixth is killing me already and I haven’t even finished the second week yet. The workload is ridiculous and the pace is slaughtering my brain, one neuron at a time.

And nowadays, all anyone can talk about is UCAS and university and predicted grades and resits and modules and applications and references and personal statements and futures and jobs and preparations and the rest of our lives and life and life and life and more life rolled on top of it.




On a lighter note, I had my first driving lesson! It scared the bejeezus out of me, but it was good. I managed to get up to 60mph on the drive home, which I was pretty proud about.

Aaaaaand, I’ve recently been finding a load of new music since I’ve started to use SoundCloud, so if you have any spare seconds, check out Ben Khan (listen to Youth) or Made In Heights (check out All The Places). They’re both amazing and I’ve been listening to them both on loop for days.



I will post more. No, really.

I will try to stay more positive and not have these stupid falterings in confidence that translate into shitty blog posts about how purportedly fucked up I am as a person.

I will try to make my blog posts less shitty overall, to be honest. I’m uppin ma gaaame mothafuckah.

Oh, and I’ll try to stop swearing as much. I know some people don’t like that. So I’ll try to replace said expletives with nicer words. Like… flowerpot.





I have a new post in the works, so that’ll be on its way out to y’all soon. It’s about a book I read yesterday (yes, I read it in a day) called Wintergirls, and it’s accounts the story of a girl called Lia Overbrook who suffers from anorexia nervosa. This book made me wince in all the wrong ways, and I want to hate it but I can’tI can’t because it’s true. It’s the truest book I’ve read in a long time.


Much like to y’all


Anecdotes., Uncategorized

Best Friend’s New Boyfriend: A Tale In Supernatural Gifs


The bestfriend, P, has obtained a boy.

I learned that they were a thing a while ago.

First reaction?

Via buzzfeed.com

Via buzzfeed.com

And then:

Via buzzfeed.com

Via buzzfeed.com

I know the guy.

He’s nice.

So I talked to him at a party a few days ago about P.

I began with the intimidation card; hurt my best friend and I’ll pee on everything you love, etc.

Kind of like:

Via sabatofamily.blogspot.com

Via sabatofamily.blogspot.com

Buuuuut then a load of drunken people came running through like:

Via pinterest.com

Via pinterest.com

So that didn’t really have any cred from the jump.

Plus he’s like 5’10 and I’m basically a hobbit so it didn’t really have much effect.

So I tried the nonchalant, casual conversation approach to try and weedle some info from him.

My attempt at casual =

Via buzzfeed.com

Via buzzfeed.com

I am an idiot.

Buuuut he was being very cute about P.

I was trying not to explode with happiness.

I most probably looked like I was in excruciating pain.

Or really needed to go to the loo.

He actually asked if I was okay at one point.


Via prettylittlereader.com

Via prettylittlereader.com

But overall, I was like:

Via hakuyowaneforlife.deviantart.com

Via hakuyowaneforlife.deviantart.com

So all is good.

I told P later that I had been talking to le guy.

I gave her the lowdown on what was said.

My face the whole way through:

Via buzzfeed.com

Via buzzfeed.com



So the next time I saw them with each other, I literally ran around like:

Via zephyrante.tumblr.com

Via zephyrante.tumblr.com

I’m such a dork.

The general reaction to this was along the lines of:

Via uncyclopedia.wikia.com

Via uncyclopedia.wikia.com

And this, fair reader, is when the revelation came upon me.

I have officially lost my wingwoman.

I realised I would, from now on, be…

Via buzzfeed.com

Via buzzfeed.com


And seeing as I am going to a party tonight, there is only one solution.

The end of the road.

The last resort.

No other choice.

To drown my sorrows…

Via buzznet.com

Via buzznet.com

I have a feeling many post-worthy events will occur.

Wish me luck…






Decagon #2

×   Song of the moment: Primavera by Ludovico Einaudi

×   Lately, I have had a sense of heightened mortality, not just concerning me, but of the others too. I have come to notice the fragility of it all, and consequently the futility…

×   …and I have come to accept that thinking about Death is, for me, merely a dispositional side effect.

×   Film of the moment all time: V for Vendetta. My favourite film in the known universe.

×   Quote of the moment: “Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch, we are free.” — Valerie in V for Vendetta

×   Sometimes, when I’m concentrating on something really hard, I forget to breathe. Ce n’est pas bon.

×   My favourite number is 8

×   I am an atheist

×   I am lucky enough to have been able to travel abroad a lot, for instance Tokyo, Budapest, Amsterdam, Langkawi, Berlin, Ypres, Singapore…

×   I have a penchant for breaking rules

×   I like hats.


Bucket List.


So, the other day, I decided to compile a bucket list.

I only intended there to be a couple of serious, muchos meaningful ones on there.

Then it kind of took on a life of its own.


I feel strangely self-conscious about divulging this. Some of them are pretty personal.

But hey. VOILÀ! (N.B. they’re not in any kind of order of preference.)

  1. Go sky-diving
  2. Go to university
  3. Write a book
  4. Go on a road-trip
  5. Go wing-walking
  6. Own a piece of clothing worth over £300 (shallow, I know, but whatever)
  7. Ride a camel
  8. Go bungee-jumping
  9. Be happy with my body
  10. Be in a film
  11. Travel on a plane on my own
  12. Visit the USA + Australia
  13. Ride an elephant
  14. Kiss in the rain
  15. Learn to drive
  16. Do voluntary work abroad
  17. Get my own house/apartment
  18. Take part in a flash mob
  19. Own a pet
  20. Attend a wedding
  21. Go on a speedboat
  22. Learn how to throw a knife
  23. Go three days without speaking a word
  24. Learn how to surf
  25. Be called beautiful by a guy
  26. Find the other side of my plane of symmetry (this would be ‘fall in love’, but I don’t think I could handle the cliché, plus I hold serious scepticism towards the whole concept.)


Waddyathink? Any comments? Recommendations?

Off to revise (cough cough) now. Happy days.


(P.S. Sorry for not checking in for yonks, A-Levels are just around the corner and I feel horribly under-prepared. And it’s driving me potty. Even closer to insane than I already was. And I swear if I have to read one more bloody word about bloody British politics I will bloody asdfghjkl yuck.

Calm. Collected.

I vill try my utmost to keep y’all posted (if anyone is actually reading/cares)


He wasn’t even German.

I need to get out more.

Okay. Much like to you all. BYE BYE BYE BYE BYE X


My version of individuality.

My version of individuality was a compound of lesser quantities of perfection.

My less ideal version of individuality didn’t add up to inspiration. No one took my words as gospel. No person did seek me out, professing my brilliance. No critics acclaimed. No songs were sung of my legacy, no eulogies rasped through fake tears in cathedrals. No memory of whatever part of me that may have shone through the canopy of the majority and into the spaces of legends. No story to hold on to.

My less desirable version of individuality didn’t amount to love. No hearts were damaged on my behalf, no emotions altered, no heartstrings tugged. No fantasies constructed, my face as the protagonist. Love is a fleeting notion more transient than a breath of airspace already polluted with an abundance of false declarations of love.

My less intelligent version of individuality didn’t amount to a discovery. No theory was named of me; no institute established in my name. No page in a textbook remembering my actions, no momentous phenomena holding the origin of its moniker to my own.

My less tragic version of individuality didn’t conclude in misery. It had no hardship in its yarn, no struggle plagued the continuation of its tapestry. No shocking retelling to be sold to the sadistic masses as ‘entertainment’, no ‘true story’ placard to be brandished at the flyleaves of its tale. No real sadness tore its world to shreds.

My less attractive version of individuality was never a muse to greatness. It never stood apart from a crowd. None singled me out as the one blessed with a golden ratio. I never caught half an eye in my years — never would I have tried. Never was I given the chance of a second glance. The scenery claimed me, and the walls were my refuge where I bloomed and withered, always watching, waiting.

My version of individuality did not supersede any other, neither did it come below. My version was merely a version, separated by degrees from the next.

Conform!” they said. “Be normal!” they said. What is ‘normal’ if not a method of satiating the human urge to fit in?

I was contented with my version, my edition, my attempt at something exceptional, even if it did appear to fail.

Because, after all:

Imperfection is merely unappreciated individuality.



I will never be able to face the world again.


So, this morning I realised I had left my walking boots in the car. At this point, I was still in my pajamas. I looked out of the window, weighing up the situation with meticulous precision, and devised two plans:

Plan A: Haul myself up the stairs (in the morning, equivalent to Mount Everest) and make my appearance socially acceptable to the point where I would not scare small children.

Plan B: Risk being seen in full PJ gettup (messy hair, pas de makeup, flowery pajamas and all).

Bearing in mind this is at 7am.

I took the plunge and chose Plan B.

So, I did a weird walky-jumpy-running thing to the car (yeah, I had no shoes on either) and opened the boot.

Now, at this point I’ll mention that I have had Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody in my head for the past 48 hours. So on the way to the car, I was humming this under my breath.

In true meerkat style, I did a little pop-my-head-out-and-scout-around thing. Beside the car, there is a small hedgerow separating our drive with next door’s. Because I’m short, I can’t see over these. The only other place I could have be seen from was the house over the road, and the owners are away.

So, naturally, I saw no one. Because of this, without consciously realising, I started to hum a little louder.

I grabbed my walking boots and then spotted my rucksack at the back of the boot.

I was now faced with yet another predicament:

This is a big boot.

I have short arms.

So I (very ungracefully) climbed in the boot, all the while rapidly approaching the chorus of the song.

Then, bestowed with rucksack and walking boots, I wriggled back out of the car.

I did another little peer around, and I was still alone.

Now, the chorus was upon me.

The catchiness was overwhelming.

I had no choice.

I sang.

I cannot sing.

But I sang.

And I did a low-key jig on the spot, funky shoulders and the rest.

In pajamas.


In public.

Then, mid-chorus, I closed the boot, singing: “I wanna feel the HEAT–”

And then, my life ended.

My elderly neighbour was standing on the other side of the hedge.

He had been there the whole time. Gardening. At 7am.

“Hi.” I said.


He just stared at me, looked vaguely confused.

Cue uncomfortable silence.

Then I calmly (!) scuttled back into my house.

And I have officially lost the last morsel of pride I possessed.

Why am I even here

Why do I even care anymore.

Well, sh*t.

This is going to be awkward.




This post was sparked by me reading an old diary of mine from a couple of years ago. I was leafing through it and it seemed alien to me, and yet distantly familiar; like seeing a postcard of a far-off country I’ve never visited but feeling a strange déjà-vu sensation anyway.

The diary accounts a time when I was in a low, low place. The world seemed grey and what colour remained inside me was slowly fading. Self-esteem was nonexistent in my mind, and whenever I looked in the mirror, all I felt was revulsion. I couldn’t fathom how I was worthy of friendship, worthy of love, worthy of life. I felt as if I was in some kind of dream state, experiencing a faint detachment from myself, wandering without purpose or cause.

And within me, somewhere beneath it all, my core felt like pure resentment: for others around me for not understanding; to myself for being so damn unworthy; to whatever ultimate being – if there be one – for making me as I was; to whatever inside me that was making me feel so angry. Every single minute stimuli felt so amplified that at times I wanted to implode; I felt like there was an infinite amount of matter squeezing itself into the finite space in my ribcage, pushing out until I wanted to tear down every single wall that surrounded me. But still, I felt empty. I felt cold. I felt utterly alone.

Whenever I tried to open up to someone, even my closest friends, it felt like there was a gulf between us. If someone said I know how you feel, I’ve been there too, that did not feel like consolation; I would never, never want anyone to feel like I did then. There didn’t seem to be anyone who could fully comprehend whatever was in my head, including myself.

There wasn’t a definitive point at which everything stopped being like this. I still have issues with myself a couple of years on. The truth is, it never gets better, you just learn how to deal with yourself as you are. The emotions that were once red raw dull themselves, like a bloody wound congealing. It never fully heals, the scar tissue will always be there (mentally and physically). And this is the ultimate cliché, but being in that state makes you more grounded as a person. The amount of perspective you gain is huge.

The main message, I guess, of this is that if anyone who is reading this feels even slightly like what I have clumsily and dumbly described, what you are feeling is not your fault. You are not unworthy. You are not inferior. You are not stupid, unattractive, undesirable, weak, childish or pathetic for going through this. This is you. You know yourself better than anyone, and somewhere, somewhere inside you there is a flicker of hope, a spark of something that you can draw on to stumble through this.

You’re doing okay. Just keep doing okay. Okay is good. Okay?