Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 4

This is the final instalment of my skiing (or not so much skiing) adventure in Bulgaria this Christmas. The following days since my last blog post were less dramatic, disastrous and eventful. However, elements of the last few days have been pretty bizarre.

Worth noting is the Garra Rufa Fish.  The spa in the hotel offered a 'treatment' where you stick your feet in Garra Rufa infested water. As soon as your feet touch the surface, the fish swarm and start to nibble at the dead skin. They supposedly exfoliate your skin and, rumour has it, the treatment also has similar effects to acupuncture. Apparently, this has been banned in some US states for health and safety reasons. Despite this, we decided to try it out. I hated the feeling at first. It was far too ticklish and I squirmed at the idea of these fish all over my feet. Eventually I got used to the feeling and I could watch the fish without wriggling. However, about five minutes before the end, a fish drew blood on my Mum's leg. I realised, I may have paid money to be devoured by baby piranhas. This may not have meant death but probably an amputated limb. Thankfully, the treatment finished before they could swallow me whole.

The rest of the holiday had a 'let's make fun of Alice' theme. It seemed everyone in the hotel knew about the night after the bar crawl and thought it was so hilarious that they had to make a joke at every opportunity. The moment I put a glass to my lips I expected someone to come round the corner and shout 'I hope that's not vodka!'.
"This is my daughter, Alice" my Mum would say to every hotel guest, to which a giggle would follow. My dignity seemed to sink lower everyday.
Even on the flight leaving Bulgaria, I passed a hotel guest Mum had befriended on the plane.
"Not feeling too hungover, Alice?"
Actually, no I am not. That was several days ago, pipe down.

Spending Christmas in Bulgaria was surreal. It didn't feel like Christmas. Yet, at the same time it did feel very festive. It was certainly a white Christmas. There were Christmas jumpers so festive they could be seen from a mile away. Decorations were everywhere and I couldn't walk anywhere without seeing a Santa Hat.

Our Christmas Dinner was in the evening. We were served five courses. The first course was a kind of Greek salad, the second was a chicken and mushroom thing, the third was roast pork, a sweet potato sauce type thing, more potatoes, bacon and onion. It was lovely but it wasn't quite Turkey. Afterwards we were given platters of cheese and salami then ice cream with a chocolate muffin. Instead of Christmas crackers we were given little rolled up pieces of paper displaying what could only be described as a strange kind of fortune.
One read: "Opportunities emerge, don't get too urge"
Another read "Don't expect too much of Christmas Day. You can't crowd into it any arrears of unselfishness and kindliness that may have accrued during".  Yes, it was spelled 'Arrears'
The bad translation from Bulgarian to English did not fill the space in my heart that lacked Christmas Crackers, nor did the Bulgarian dancing that was loudly forced upon the room by course three. Forced joy is not my forté.

Nevertheless, the reps exercised their persuasiveness once again and I was out with them that evening; until midnight this time but, far less intoxicated. A deep chat in a Mexican bar, to the sound of a Mexican guitar trio covering Eric Clapton, ended the final night of my holiday.

To my amazement, the longer I spent in Bulgaria, the less chaotic it became. Despite my bad first experience at attempting to ski, I would want to try again. Perhaps next time I'll have more confidence in myself.

Наздраве!

Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 3

The morning after my alcohol nightmare I woke up still drunk with swollen eyelids. With virtually no dignity, I rolled out of bed at half past ten and missed another day of skiing. Nevertheless, I dragged myself outside and into the cold air to face the day.

We got in a cable car and ascended up the mountain through winter wonderland forestation and above snowy rocks. The half an hour ride was incredibly picturesque and the landscape seemed to go on forever. At the top I bumped into the beginners ski group I was with yesterday. I put my sunglasses on and held my head down in shame as my mother relayed the events of the previous evening. On the way back to the cable car we bumped into two of the reps who were at the bar crawl and again, mum relayed the events of the night. 

"I'm very cross with you two" She japed and proceeded to blame them for my excessive alcohol consumption. How embarrassing. But, they hugged me and we parted ways. 

A chilled out afternoon was in store since I could not handle skiing. Chaos naturally ensued. We went down to the spa and sat in the steam room for a while.  Curious, I turned on the tap on the wall. I turned it only a fraction more and cold water came rapidly streaming out. I couldn't turn it off. Mum tried too but then the tap head came off and water violently sprayed outwards and upwards. We ran out giggling while an employee tried to fix our mess. He gave us the tap head on our way out - a symbol of the madness of the holiday so far.

The evening consisted of a candle-lit walk through a dark and icy forest. Holding flaming torches, we slipped and slid the whole way to a little restaurant on the side of a road. But, before we got to the restaurant we had to walk through a mini estate that looked like a scene from a James Bond movie, set in a third world country. We were met by a barking, growling dog. Eager to get away from a rabid dog we moved on but several more growling dogs approached. It was dark, deserted and creepy and I genuinely thought I'd meet my death on this cold December evening in a Bulgarian forest.  However, as we reached the end of the estate, the dogs let us be and we approached the restaurant. It was surrounded by cats.

The meal was lovely but, my tiredness got the better of me. As mum spread around the story of my drunken mishaps, I sat in silence and waited for the meal to end. I began to realise why I wasn't a fan of package holidays. I was obliged to make polite conversation with strangers when all I wanted to do was relax. To my horror, the Bulgarian owners' daughter began to elect 'volunteers' to try belly dancing. Luckily I wasn't picked but for the next half an hour, I watched tipsy British people clad in colourful jangly costumes shake their bums on top of chairs and tables. I was glad to get the mini bus back to the hotel.

I am eager to see what madness these next few days will bring. 

Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 2

Second full day started early again. At breakfast I was not only on the look out for the creepy scouser from last night but for Ellie's boyfriend who just so happens to be at the same hotel. It all feels so surreal.

Having been fitted for boots and skis, I discovered that I could not walk easily in ski boots and thus walked with a slightly odd kind of swagger. That is the only way I can describe it.
My first two hour lesson was not as comical as one would have thought. I didn't fall over once and I could successfully do a snow plough and side step up the hill. Side stepping up the hill with heavy skis and boots on was the most tiring bit.
The next two hours were to become my breaking point. I was put in a group with an old man called Harry and a thirteen year old boy called Mac. My first conversation with Mac went as follows.

'How old are you?'
'Thirteen, how old are you?'
'Oh I thought you were much older, 15 or something. I'm 19.'
'Are you actually? I thought you were around my age'

I laughed but inside I was crying.

Several times Mac was told that he could join the bigger beginners group but time and again he asked to stay with us. He proceeded to throw snow and me. Next thing I knew, his nine year old brother skiied past and shouted 'Is that your girlfriend?'. I giggled but my soul wept.

The first small disaster was when I lost my ski instructor's goggles. I put them down for five minutes but when he went to get them they had disappeared leaving only the outline in the snow.

The second disaster happened not long afterwards. I continually failed to do left and right turns. On occasion I managed and I thought I was just getting the hang of it. Then we plodded in ski boots all the way up the hill and were told to hold our poles out to make a semi circle in the snow when we turned. I immediately lost control and started hurtling down the nursery slope full speed. I tried to make a snow plough to stop like we were told. It didn't work. I dropped one pole, nearly collided with several people and only ground to a halt when I realised my only choice was to land flat on my bum. It was spectacular and when I got up my whole body was trembling. I wanted to cry.

Then came the grand finale to my day. After feeling a bit down I persuaded myself to go on the bar crawl. I took Matt along with me and I went a little too hard. With a free shot at each bar and cheeks burning from the heat of each place, we gradually got through too much vodka and stumbled onward. There were several games. If you drank with your right hand you had to down your drink, if someone put a coin in your drink you had to down it. At the final bar two volunteers had to kiss as many people in the bar as possible to get a another free shot.
At this point I didn't think I was drunk enough so I picked up my things and left. Call me boring, but, it was a good thing I left because as soon as I got back to our room I vomited. What's worse was my mum went to get Matt and his brother to help me out. I was incredibly ill and incredibly embarrassed.

Skiing For The Unbalanced and Unruly: Part 1

I have decided I'd record my skiing adventure via multiple blog-posts. This will hopefully provide some fairly comical content for my readership considering that I am a generally unbalanced human being. I have never been skiing before in my life.
I've been transported to the Borovets in snowy Bulgaria with my mother and my brother only to discover we are all sharing one room in our hotel. There is, of course, immense fun to be had. We are staying in a resort which boasts many strip clubs, bars, and of course ski slopes (can you tell I don't ski yet?). It is a package holiday haven. Not a local in sight. In fact, the holiday reps are the closest to locals you'll find.

When we first got to our room, Mum struggled with the door key. Holding the key at least five feet from the electronic lock, she complained that it wasn't working. I came to the rescue, with the prowess of a tech-savvy youth ready to prove to the middle aged and upward, that we're fully capable. We walked into a dark room and yet again, we simply slid the key into a little slot by the door and pronounced 'let there be light'. And there was. I hoped this was not going to be the Christmas miracle of the trip.

Our first full day in the ski resort was, well, entertaining. A little tired from travelling, and rather nervous, I opted out of skiing for the first day and utilised the fully stocked spa and an 'action packed' holiday by taking a dip in the pool and grabbing a cheap massage. I can't remember the last time I went on a holiday where I wasn't intensely exploring a city or tourist hotspot. Nor where holidaying meant actually relaxing, or in this case, doing anything to stop my nerves about the snow from causing a full body break down.

The afternoon welcome meeting was an awkward affair. Four of us gathered round a table with complimentary alcoholic drinks and three of us tried very hard not to slap the man beside me.
'Where can Alice meet some people her own age?' my mother asked.
'Hey, Eassy Tiger, Eaaassyyy Tiger!' Said the scouser man.

I took a sip of my complimentary red wine.
'Is that nice?'
'Yes' I quipped; a blunt answer would do nicely.
'Can I have a sip?'
I paused for effect. 'Naa' I muttered, hiding my very British disgust at such a request.

Later in the evening, we wandered over to a bar called Black Tiger where I met a group of heavy drinkers from Cardiff and a family. I joined the drinkers from Cardiff for a round of Ring of Fire and got coerced into Karaoke by a rep. We sang Man, I Feel Like A Woman by Shania Twain. I accidentally promised to take part in a bar crawl the next night.

Already this is not quite the adventure I expected.

I Went Ice Skating and It Was Terrifying

Picture the scene. The aromas of mulled wine fill the December evening air as families, friends and lovers gather by Winchester Cathedral to pore over local arts and crafts on sale for Christmas, to feast on seasonal food, to bask under the glow of the twinkling lights and decorations, to glide elegantly on an ice rink.
Elegant? Oh please, I could not say the same for myself and it was raining.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the Christmas spirit of the night and appreciated the atmosphere. I just don't think I added to the ambience, because as soon as I stepped onto the ice, I was terrified and internally screaming.

"Yes I'll go Ice Skating" I said.
"I haven't been ice skating in years and the first time I tried it, I broke my wrist"... I also yelped before I tumbled towards my fate.

After my first step onto wet ice, I gripped the side until my hands turned blue. I giggled manically and considered that I may be on the verge of a near-death experience. I pictured my fingers being sliced off by a more skilled skater than I, unaware that I had just sent myself sprawling across the slippery surface due to sheer lack of skill or perhaps just clumsiness.

Still, my behind never touched the freezing surface, though my heart never ceased to beat as though I was on the set of Jaws. *DA-DUM DA-DUM*

Each time I felt myself begin to lose balance, my gut tightened and my arms were flailing as though I was doing a drunken version of the Macarena. I was lifted to safety by the hands of an Angel in a high-vis jacket. The Jaws theme began again in my head as I gaped at other skaters, amazed they couldn't hear it too - all the while manically giggling.

I'd like to say I eventually found my feet, but I used the pouring rain as an excuse to make a swift exit, or rather a clumsy and tentative exit. Due to the cold, I'd have made a better Rudolph than a Snow Queen. How do some people make it look so effortless? I secretly hoped that no-one really knew what they were doing. Some people are just better at making it look like they know than others.

If my plummeting confidence had, instead, sky-rocketed, perhaps my skating technique would not be so comical as it would be impressive. Is this a metaphor for life or a simple anecdote displaying my attitude to extreme sport? Take from this what you will.

Expect The Unexpected

Dressed in a Pikachu onesie, at a service station, asking for money and a lift, for the second time this year, I erase all expectations. This time I am making my way out of Southampton rather than into the city for charity and once again I try to leave myself open to all kinds of possibilities. If I expect anything at all, it should be the unexpected.

This is why my team, Jailbreak Journos, got into a car with an IT consultant who blasted out Christian Rock from an internet radio station. This is why we got into a car with three girls from Leeds who liked to play 'the market game'. We were impressed. 

"I went to market and I bought a yoga mat, a tub of white paint, a lawnmower, a foxtrot, David Beckham's autobiography, Adele's new album, a cabbage, a rabbit hutch...."

Sleeping overnight in a travel lodge and meeting some fascinating personalities on the way, we found ourselves in Edinburgh with a few measly layers and our enthusiasm to keep us warm. The icy breeze numbed our legs enough for us to make it to the top of Calton Hill and, despite missing the fireworks we had a beautiful view of the city skyline in the 7pm darkness. The view from Edinburgh castle was magnificent. Having only ever been to Edinburgh during the Fringe festival, the city's atmosphere contrasted to my previous experience. It still filled my very veins with a surge of excitement. After 30 hours of travelling, the city rewarded me. I didn't care about the cold. I cared about the adventure.

Realistically we would not have made it to the Scottish capital without the help of those who drove us and especially the last couple: A Dutch man and a German-Mexican woman who were driving from Leeds to Edinburgh. We had no luck with lorry drivers, so I had no idea where we were going or when. Little did I know three days beforehand that I'd take a tour around London at 5am on Monday morning and find myself back in Southampton by midday. I've never needed the toilet so much in my life, speed walking down Pall Mall with near frostbite and a full bladder.

I think part of what made the trip was how spontaneous each new event was. It was as though I was in a novel and each time we got into a new car or made a decision, it was another plot twist. You don't know who's car you're getting into. Using my gut instinct to guide me in the right direction, I was able to feel the thrill without putting myself in any danger. Free coffees and chocolate helped too - basic human kindness.

Last May I took part in Lost 99. Our challenge was to hitchhike back from Rugby to Southampton (99 Miles) within in a day whilst completing challenges along the way. A mere few hours landed us proposing to a middle aged woman at a service station, and at the top of a ferris wheel by 3pm. Expecting the unexpected we managed to win the competition, reducing our time to under an hour by completing the challenges.

I learned to appreciate change of scenery and plot twists. I let the current of adventure carry me out into the blue. I knew everything would be okay.

How To Lose Control

Finger tapping on the desktop. Tap, tap, tap. It feels as though each tap wastes a little more time, a little more life, a little more buzz. I picture myself as one of the sisters from The Virgin Suicides - a kind of entrapment. I have only been in my house, on my own, for a few hours. I haven't got plans for the rest of the day. The clock ticks and I picture blank space, blank time. One of the most exciting things in the world is a blank page. Or it should be.

A gust of wind picks up a few autumn leaves and I try to grab every one. I grab opportunities, plant seeds, find roots. Deep breath.

I realised I am energised by opportunities and interactions, motivated more by doing things, seeing people. In a way, perhaps I should feel less guilty for doing nothing. People don't do nothing enough. I find it hard enough to sit down with a book for too long without feeling the need to check my phone for notifications. The world can wait.

I find it hard enough to watch a film all the way through without being tempted by the flashing light of a notification from my handset. Sitting my way through a lecture, a conversation with a friend, reading a magazine, doing one thing at a time; why is that so hard? It becomes the pinnacle of multitasking. Always doing.

I repeat, the world can wait.

I admit, I use social media too much. I wait at the keyboard, scroll down the feed/timeline/dashboard in wait of the next notification, the next distraction, the next thing I can add to my to do list. Scrolling time could be used for reading, working, relaxing. Yet, as I do one thing, my thoughts turn to another.
I want to relax but I should work. I stress so I should relax - nothing gets done. If I never relax, if I multi task constantly, if I remain on the ball all the time then everything will get done, surely.
So I wait for that notification, the next thing on my to do list that will take priority before my essay. Filling up my to do list to avoid the last thing I prioritised.

Blank spaces should not limit me. I should not be discouraged by them but enthralled, fascinated. Let's just get lost and see where life takes me. Let the current guide me, because where I end up could be better than where I had planned to go. And because it's okay to do nothing.

Naked and Foreign in Istanbul

'My body is a temple'... I whisper to myself as I undress and slip on a pair of elasticated, barely there knickers I was given upon entry to the Hamam.

I mutter it under my breath lying in a pool of soapy bubbles as a semi naked Turkish woman presses her hands into knots in my back. I am being observed by another naked customer. 

I stare at the dome ceiling and count the coloured lights as my limbs are scrubbed raw and I am subjected to luxury. This is the life?

The whole experience was absurd. The main reason why it was so absurd, to me at least, was the nakedness of everyone in the room and the sheer lack of decency. Yet, no one batted an eyelid at the infinite nudity, or the tastefully lacy underwear my masseur paraded around. 

In Istanbul, it is relatively westernised and the average tourist can expect to comfortably wear semi revealing clothing. Of course, there are inevitably women who wear full coverings. In fact, there is a whole spectrum of lengths to which women cover up their bodies in Istanbul. Reasons may be religious. Reasons may be because the woman feels self-conscious or perhaps she is wary of the male gaze. On my first day here I opted to wear long trousers and a long sleeved top. Other women around me were comfortably wearing shorts and vest tops. I know I would feel slightly uncomfortable in shorts and a vest top. That is nothing in comparison to how I felt in the Hamam.
But, I think about how unperturbed I was by the other semi-naked women in the Hamam apart from my astonishment by how at ease they were. I think about how women should not be self conscious of their bodies in public because other women do not judge as much as they think. Nor is the male gaze the fault of the woman being stared at. So, we shouldn't be so afraid to wear what we like.

I have come to realise how ridiculous self-consciousness can be sometimes. Why should I be uncomfortable in the situation I was in?  The naked body is natural, and, especially in the presence of other woman with similar bodies and concerns, I should feel completely at ease. But, it's different in public and in the Hamam, even though I felt as though I was counting the minutes until I didn't have to be almost naked in a public sauna.

I suppose I am writing this in order to try and work out why it seemed to be such a surreal experience. I suppose it was a culture shock. This is part of travelling.
I felt the need to share this experience with others. I'm very glad that I simply decided to just go and do it. I was very far from my comfort zone but that's where life begins: the moment you step out of your comfort zone. Despite my discomfort, I would do it again.

When you visit another country where the culture is significantly different, you have to be mentally naked. You have to be open minded, like a sponge, ready to adapt and soak in the culture and customs and atmosphere. That may include getting naked and being washed or wearing a chador so I can enter a mosque. It's pointless getting a McDonald's when you can authentically try one of the best cuisines in the world. I urge everyone to embrace the culture wherever they go. If you don't like it, you never have to do it again.

Why I Don't Mind Looking Like a Tourist

One thing that resonated in my journal over my inter-railing trip was the way in which the people make a city; not only the locals but the tourists, not only the permanent residents but the visitors make the city. I am predominantly interested in the culture, in the way that I am almost invading someone else's home. I am fascinated by the way that I could be standing or sitting in the spot that someone had their first kiss, got engaged or found out they were a grandparent. I arrived in each city knowing only about the iconic views and the famous sights. Sightseeing is by no means the be all and end all of travelling.

On the way back to London from Paris, my fellow travellers and I read each other's recordings of the trip. I noticed that I was the only one who noted down our encounters with people.

Of course, my fascination with people watching is evident from previous blog posts and perhaps this is an extension of that thought process.

Our only unfortunate encounters were a little too frequent. As a group of three girls we had more than our fair share of catcalls or unwanted male attention. However, we were also approached by friendly male travellers. We met two Canadian boys on the way from Vienna to Prague and two slightly more than friendly Australian boys in Amsterdam (see below). I enjoyed the unity that formed when we, fellow traveller, Callum from Manchester and a German student were forced to fit into a six seater compartment where eight resided.

I was astounded at the friendliness of one traveller to another. In Vienna, we were caught in a group photo when a party of Turkish tourists lined up next to us. After meekly edging away we were invited to join the group photo and even take selfies with them. One man kissed our hands before departing. 

In Prague, a man offered to give us a free segway trial run: kindness in a different form.

Sometimes, overhearing English tourists relieved home sickness for a little time. Whilst bizarre, they made me laugh. In Budapest, walking past a violinist, a tourist behind me chirped 'do you think he knows any Dizzee Rascal?'.
A man in Berlin took a look at the Brandenburg gate and asked 'Is this where Hitler what done his speech?'.

I admired how much music brought people together. At the station in Amsterdam there was a piano open to the public to be played. Every time I walked past, someone was playing their heart out, singing at the top of their voice. A piano also rested on the top floor of Shakespeare and Company in Paris. No one was playing but the sentiment was there. I was still charmed by the knowledge of the piano's musical past.
Dancing was prominent in Paris. At the Sacre Coeur, a man with headphones was dancing on his own in the middle of the steps facing the magnificent view of the city skyline. Whilst he was gyrating his hips with added occasional thrusting, I was just glad he was enjoying himself.
On the evening of our second night in Paris, a group of dancers were tangoing at sunset opposite the Eiffel Tower. Two men in matching anoraks joined in, or at least attempted to copy the dancers. Their intoxicated bodies tripping over themselves created a new dance in itself.

Of course there are the places where the presence of others makes little difference. There are places, that I believe, have innate charm. Whilst affected by the people, they are beautiful in solitude or bustling with tourists. Shakespeare and Company held innate charm for me. I especially adored Prague Beer Garden. We sat at sunset by the river drinking Czech beer whilst music played behind us. I feel as though I would have enjoyed this in solitude or in company.

Short Letter to My Past Self

Dear Alice, specifically year 10 Alice. Age 14/15 Alice.

You do not yet know the effects of perspective. Despite your anxieties about the space you are living in, you will pull through. You are intimidated by the girls who surround you, enclosed in a ten bed dorm in boarding school. The bubble is indeed hard to pop. 

So, look at the stars more often. Try and put your life in perspective. Embrace your difference to them. But, don't rebel against the norms just for the sake of rebelling. Try as hard as you can not to romanticise sadness. 

You have just started your GCSE year. They will be the hardest exams you will take. Not because of their difficulty but because you will have to fill your mind with information you do not want to learn the way they teach it in schools. You do not like maths. You do not like science. I would tell you to appreciate your education but I still don't know how algebra will help you in later life.

I know you have your heart set on Cambridge or Oxford and you are so capable of getting there. Unfortunately you won't get there.

But, honestly, that doesn't matter one bit. In fact I believe that where I am now is better and more comfortable and much more suited to you than Cambridge or Oxford would ever be. You are going to have the time of your life at university. Trust me. 19 year old you says so. So, try not to pinch yourself every time you get something wrong. Allow yourself to make mistakes. Make glorious amazing mistakes. Even if it means dyeing your hair purple or black or keeping that awful side fringe. This is because you'll learn how god damn horrific it looks and you'll sort it out soon enough.

Please stop ironically wearing 3D glasses with the lenses popped out.

Don't fret about your body. You will not be a tall, skinny model by 19 but you will be so much more confident.

So then, your future. A lot will happen in four years so prepare yourself. You are yet to meet a couple of friends whom I'm sure you will have for life. It's worth it to keep breathing just for that. You are yet to discover how much you love reading and writing and you are yet to discover what you will go on to do as a degree (it's history by the way). You're not passionate about History yet. Well... who is? I guess you'll realise that it's your best subject and whilst that does not seem likely now, A Level will make it seem much more exciting.

Don't you worry about the hierarchy of popularity that seems to be present at all secondary schools. That tends to disappear once you get to A Levels and will be non-existent once you get to University.

Do not, and I repeat, Do not fret so much about boys. Do not ask them out by text.

Appreciate life a little more. Maybe boarding school is not the best place to discover new and amazing things but there is beauty in the most mundane spaces. Watch American Beauty and discover that even a plastic bag blowing in the breeze can be beautiful. Watch out for Katy Perrys.

Breathe because you will travel to Ghana within a year. Breathe because you will know how it feels to fall in love. Breathe because you will realise how much you value your family. Breathe because you will have incredible opportunities. I am writing this the night before I set off to travel Europe. You have that and so much more to look forward to.

Alice (2015)

Moments

Sometimes, I pause to consider a moment. 

I am lying in bed on a Sunday with no responsibilities to my name for the day; the rain makes music on my window pane. The window is open so my temperature is comfortable. I haven't moved from the position I was in since I woke. I am comfortably numb. The daylight seeps through the curtain basking my bedroom in an orange glow. My favourite song for the week repeats in my head. I couldn't say that in this moment I was completely happy but it was beautiful. I had nothing to complain about, nothing to do but lie and think of music.

A moment.

Sometimes they're more significant. I hitchhiked from Rugby to Southampton with two of my best friends for charity and the most beautiful thing I gained from my adventure was a warm heart, purely because I was astounded at the kindness of humans. The second was the phenomenal beauty of strangers. Every person I got into a car with was endlessly fascinating. I hungered for their little life anecdotes. I craved sustenance in the form of friendship through kindness.

Perhaps people were more willing to open up because of our silly fancy dress; maybe our charitable task helped others to see virtue. Maybe it was the sheer excitement that radiated from our wide eyes and smiling mouths, eager for adventure and with enthusiasm for the road. I aspired to be the modern day Jack Kerouac. “I just go along, I dig life” is what I whispered to myself each time a passer-by ignored our efforts to hitch a ride - ambitious and viciously hopeful. Each challenge satisfied our beating hearts.

The Ferris wheel caught me unguarded. At the top, I breathed in, idealistic and dizzy and truly satisfied with where the road had taken me. It was as though I had woken up from a broken heart - un-blinded and unbearably ecstatic. We had discovered a fairground in the middle of nowhere, a promise, a glass half-full. I’d collected a little glass half full of stories to tell. Moments

A baby is crying on the train. For a brief second I lock eyes with the stranger opposite me. The green eyes agree with me. We unite in mutual irritability. We reflect each other's body language. I feel like friendship is forming. It's a shame they got off the train before me.

I am sitting in my kitchen at uni with two of my flatmates giggling uncontrollably after one of them tried to eat his dinner off his plate without using his hands. Tomato sauce adorns his beard and I am laughing. We laugh together and we continue laughing at stupid things for most of the night. This was something that I didn't realise would be a memory until it was.

I like to notice moments, they make me feel as though life is worth living. 

The Tinder Test

Don't judge me. I downloaded Tinder.

I'd say it was for a laugh but I was genuinely interested. I thought I'd give it a go and see what happens. I've since deleted it but in hindsight, it was a fascinating insight into first impressions and how we judge people.

I went on two Tinder dates. Both just in town for a coffee and they were perfectly nice people but we didn't really click. I wasn't looking for anything serious however, I considered that perhaps a first date isn't enough to really assess a person. I didn't really talk to these two again and one of the reasons was because I wasn't getting the right vibes from them. Then someone recently made me reconsider that first impressions can differ a huge amount to how you might perceive them later on.

It doesn't just go for dates.  My flatmates, who I moved in with back in September last year, are not the same people I thought they were in the first week. I thought a couple of them probably wouldn't be the kind of people that I usually get on with but, now they're the closest people to me at university - physically and figuratively. I didn't even consider that we might have the same sense of humour or that we had such similar interests. Similarly, looking back on previous relationships, my first impression of those people was different to how I perceive them now and how I perceived them whilst we were together.
But, if we really took this to heart when scrolling through Tinder, we would pick out and look at in detail each potential date, studying each photo and why they decided to display this one and not another. Perhaps you'd talk to every single one of your matches, probe them with questions, even assess their use of emojis.

But, online personas are rarely totally reliable. You may get on better online than you do in real life. Maybe you think you like one person but you discover that they're different to who you thought they were. At the same time you may have swiped past someone who you would have gotten on really well with, a potential soul mate, someone you knew when you were a child but didn't recognise initially.

Strange how a simple swipe can dictate one's future relationships.

Additionally people will change in your eyes too, even if you've known them for a really long time. With the benefit of hindsight, we can so easily analyse past relationships and friendships which change our view of the person. Sometimes someone isn't who you think they are and their actions may surprise you one day.
The way you saw your parents as a child is different to how you see them now. When you realise they had a rebellious teenage lifestyle you no longer perceive them as all knowing, all good deity-like individuals.

Nevertheless, I feel like I base my friendships and relationships around people who I click with upon first meeting or people who I feel are similar to me. Yet, in contrast I have friends who are so different to me that we get on like a house on fire; opposites attract. I often people watch on public transport or look at people who are merely just acquaintances and wonder whether some time in the future we could become great friends or even lovers. I admire someone on the bus and think, if I start talking to them today, will I be planning a holiday with them in a years time?
I often look at people in my life and think, if I'd known when we'd first met what we've been through now...how weird that I had no idea at that point in my life.

The Art of Letting Go

Letting go is one of the most difficult parts of human existence. It envelops us emotionally so it can't be cured by painkillers or physical operations. Letting go is something that we all have to face when it comes to death, break ups, lost friends, lost memories or simply just leaving somewhere to move on to pastures new.
And, sometimes, letting go or having to leave something can make you feel so much emotionally that it almost affects you physically.
Some people say that the way to hack this feeling is to never become attached to anything in the first place, whether its an attachment to a person, a place or even just an idea. But, you can't control the way you feel when something affects you so fiercely. It brings out the primal aspects of our being. We follow our hearts and souls and ignore logic. Yet, looking back, feeling attached, is so human. We shouldn't shun ourselves for allowing ourselves to feel this way because it just makes us human.
Some say that letting go can be compared to taking a hand out of water. The hand slips so easily out of water, some may say because the two are not attached and yet the reason we pull our hand out of the water in the first place is because of the will power to do just that. In the process, some water droplets still remain on the hand just like a piece of the person or place you have left, still remains with you for a time. The water droplets on your hand will eventually dry, just like the way that the feeling numbs over time.

My English teacher at college told me that he believes that one should not look back, but remembering the past in small doses can be wonderful. I agree with this because looking back may mean looking back on past mistakes, analysing events, worrying and simply worrying so much that it affects the way you live now when really, worrying about the past is of no use at all. When you lose something, it is tempting to revel in the way that it made you feel and to remember the familiarity of that person, place or idea. However, it is best to think of these changes as part of a path in life. Life changes, people come and go, you move on, you change and people change. You are moving onto another phase of your life where, because of the changes that have occurred, you may have different and more exciting opportunities for experiences that you never had before. Soon, the way things suddenly are, will become part of your comfort zone and new changes will come in time. Wallowing in the past will only stop you from embracing the present.

I suppose, when you hurt so much from losing something, you can be safe in the knowledge that you have the power to love. As cheesy as this sounds, it's undeniably true. Someone who can care, may be in danger of getting emotionally hurt, but, someone who cares is a million, billion times better than someone who doesn't care at all and lives their life numbed from emotion.

Here is a quote from The Little Prince which I think really sums up what I'm trying to say:

"Of course I'll hurt you. Of course you'll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence."

If This isn't Nice, What is?

When Kurt Vonnegut spoke to Graduates in Georgia 1999, he told them many important truths. In reading this speech, it was what Vonnegut's Uncle Alex said which I was interested in the most.

"But about my Uncle Alex, who is up in Heaven now. One of the things he found objectionable about human beings was that they so rarely noticed it when they were happy"

This has struck a chord in me. I have thought about all the times I'd complained about anything at all. I thought about all the times when the news was bad and all the times when the topic of conversation was cynical - how very British: "Isn't the weather terrible?".

Perhaps the reason we notice when we're sad is because it's unusual to us. Most of the time we are content. When your nose isn't running and your throat isn't sore, you don't think about the fact that your nostrils are clear or your throat doesn't hurt because normally its okay. We notice the bad more than the good and we forget that life is better than we think it is.

Often, so much is to do with jealousy and considering what others have that we don't. Think about it. You've survived with what you have now for a long time. Do you really need more? I suppose now would be the perfect time to haul out the cliché that money doesn't buy you happiness. In a way, money adds to your general comfort and decreases stress when you know that you have enough. But, we too often think about what we don't have. We too often think about what could go wrong instead of what could go right. There is a little cynic in all of us.

I think the fact that we rarely notice it, says a lot about human happiness . I've tried to notice when I'm happy and to say or think, in the words of Vonnegut 'If this isn't nice? what is?'. As a humanity, we are rarely satisfied, constantly seeking happiness when the trick is to just accept the here and now instead of seeking it relentlessly. I don't know if there will ever be a means to an end in terms of seeking true happiness.

I think it's fascinating that happiness is something that so many great thinkers have considered and discussed be it Kurt Vonnegut, Blaise Pascal, Friedrich Nietzsche etc. It just proves even more just how much it matters to us and how much we seek it. I'm not going to put myself on par with these great thinkers but I'd at least like to contribute to the bigger questions.

Scared of the Dark

I wake in the middle of the night and stare into the blackness of my room. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and as they adjust, the outlines of the shapes of my room become more defined. At the same time, objects blend with objects to create images in my mind that spark superstitious thoughts - these are the offspring of my wild imagination. Shapes in the night look like monsters or murderers or animals who's only intention is to cause me harm. The night seems to enhance their power or just simply their likelihood of existing. I still see these shapes, even now, even though I should be past it. I know that since I can't really see them, maybe they can't really see me.
I also used to keep my door open at night. It was to let the light in, so my parents could make sure I was okay, so that I wouldn't shut any monsters in. Now, I shut my door to keep it all out.
I suppose part of growing up is realising that you can be wrong about things.

There are ways in which I feel like I am, unintentionally, growing up. I am no longer scared of the dark. I feel like I can advise those younger than me. I can understand that my parents are human and had lives before I existed. I am independent.
In this way, I don't mind becoming an adult because I know that I have a better understanding of the world, I have experience and I don't have to rely on others so much for my own welfare.

But, I loved being a child. I wish I had the same imagination and curiosity I had at nine years old when a climbing frame became a witches cauldron and the grass became a vast ocean and the garden held nooks and crannies where I could go to 'time travel'. I just loved the power my imagination had. It could unhinge reason in the greatest of ways.  I don't like the way my mind unhinges reason now - I over think reality rather than creating a whole new world. Reality and fantasy merge dangerously.

I didn't care about romance. Real heartbreak doesn't exist at nine years old.

I also miss the way that I always thought about the present and always lived in the present. So much of our lives is spent thinking about the past or the future and not so much about really living in the present.

As a legal adult, I don't feel like one at all. It's strange to think that I used to look up to people my age when I was younger, admiring how good they were at living and being some kind of magical adult type being - it is a myth. These 'adults' know what they're doing, where they going and have everything sussed. It's even stranger to think about how much I looked up to these adults and my parents only now to realise that they are fallible and not the deities I saw them as when I was a child - all knowing, all seeing, all powerful.
I used to think that mid-twenties was so old. I now have friends and cousins of that age and to me they still seem very young. Perhaps its because I'm not so far from being that age and the idea of being an adult frightens me.  Five years from now, I still think I'd feel the same.

I was desperate to grow up five years ago. Have I finally reached the age where I want to be younger?