Boring isn't Beautiful

It's every girl's dream to become acquainted with an undeniably handsome boy at the beginning of a night out.  He was definitely poster perfect.  No airbrushing necessary.  It was that effortless kind of attractiveness that leaves even the most headstrong girl a little weak at the knees.  I am almost embarrassed to say I became that pathetic fifteen year old girl who had developed a huge crush.  Cringe.  But it was true.  It was the type of reaction a die hard twilight fan would have when meeting Robert Pattinson.  Excitable, slightly short of breath and a little lost for words.  I do not exaggerate.

The voice, the smile and the hair all continued to impress.  Good dress sense.  Sociable.  Nice.  We just hit a slight bump in the road when it came to conversation.  When I say 'bump', perhaps I mean ditch.  A huge ditch.  The type of ditch in which your car becomes stuck and cannot be recovered.

Conversation was dry.  'As dry as crackers' as one of the girls so accurately described.  Once the obligatory introductory small talk was covered, he had absolutely nothing to say.  Nothing.  And honestly, you could never accuse any of us of not trying.  From asking him about his t-shirt to teaching him new dance moves, we tried SO hard.  Because it was difficult to accept that someone with the looks of a movie star possessed the personality of a snail.

But the more I tried, the less attractive he became.  Until I reached the point when I would've gladly replaced him with Harry Hill.  At least I would've laughed.  This was just exhausting.  And perhaps I wasn't his type.  But apparently none of the other girls were either.

So I would like to declare that it is simply not acceptable to be beautiful and boring.  Looks are not supposed to replace personality but complement it.  So those of us that are obvious winners with regards to appearance should not simply check out of conversation.  It is still important to be interesting.  Because frankly I would rather talk antiques with David Dickinson than have awkward silences with Ronaldo.  And I believe (and hope) I speak for the majority of the population when I state the point that looks alone are not enough.  And they never will be.

Me, Myself and I

For as long as I can remember, I have always had a best friend.  We would reveal our most intimate thoughts to each other and do everything together.  It's always been the same.  It's an all-consuming relationship.  And from the minute we met, their life became mine.  Their hopes and dreams, their worries and their day-to-day activities became mine.  It's not that I morphed into them.  I just took on their life in addition to my own.  I saw this as a commitment to our friendship; being available for them at any time.  Listening to their problems and finding solutions.  Making sure they were happy.  And I loved it.  I really loved giving.  I gained a secret satisfaction from listening to their woes, solving their problems and always being available to talk.  It felt good.

But in most of my 'best-friendships' we've eventually hit a wall.  I drowned in their problems.  It's become too much and I can't breathe.  I've had to pull out.  Because their problems never decrease, they become more frequent.  They lean on me so much that I can't hold myself up.  And I crack.  I take full responsibility for this process.  They are not at fault.  I give too much.  I believe I can make them happier and save them from their problems.  And sometimes I can...but only temporarily.

This has only been a recent revelation.  Due to unforeseen circumstances, I have found myself living alone for my final year at Uni (well in a six bed flat with unknown flatmates!).  And for the first time in forever I have discovered what it feels like to just think about myself.  I'm not trying to keep anyone else happy.  I am the only person to please.

It's an odd feeling but I can get used to it.  I already have much more time.  And I've realised that we should all be that little bit selfish.  Because as human beings, we are the only ones who can make ourselves happy.  We are not meant to be beanpoles for others to lean on.  A few words of support for a trivial problem will suffice.  We shouldn't be jumping in with both feet to try and save someone.  Because you can't save them, you never could.

So right now, I'm taking care of number one.  I'm discovering what she wants from life and what she's going to do to get there.  Watch this space.

Mum's the word

It has been said that the role of a mother is equivalent to two full time jobs. The sceptical ones among us would probably say this was stated by an ardent feminist in the 1960s who was sick of being shoved in the kitchen. Perhaps it was. I guess we'll never know. As society stands today, mothers are the homemakers, the glue holding the family together (no disrespect to the Dads!)

I believe I won't fully understand the difficulties of motherhood until I hopefully reproduce one day.  But from what I have witnessed, it's the hardest job you could imagine.  Having the courage of your own convictions to be able to set rules, guidelines and boundaries that your offspring will carry with them for the rest of their life is no easy feat.  Working professionally, raising the next generation and managing a marriage is an equation you're constantly having to balance.  And there is no textbook.  Yes, you're sailing completely on your own intuition and holding on for dear life.  Motherhood terrifies me.  And that's not even to mention the mothers who for whatever reason, have been left literally holding the baby.  Being a Mum and a Dad.  The breadwinner and the domestic goddess.  A master in multi-tasking.  Single mothers, my hat comes off to you.

With one born every minute, perhaps it's easy to forget the hardship of motherhood.  But it hasn't been labelled the hardest job in the world for no reason.  My Mum is my emotional rock, my confidante and my best friend.  I could never thank her enough for taking the time to raise me.  She cemented my belief that unconditional love does exist and is indeed possible.  If I'm a fraction of the mother she has been, I will be contented.  So today I would like to acknowledge all the mothers in the world and commend their work in raising the next generation.  Because it's never plain sailing.  But they never give up.

Forever does exist

I've never been the wildly religious type.  Despite attending church for 18 years, I can't say I have a particularly strong faith.  Growing up in a Muslim and Christian household, it's not like I lacked the choice.  But I prefer not to practice a religion.  Certainly I believe in the 'other', the presence of a something.  It's an undefinable something, an instinctive feeling.  And I was quite content with this ambiguity.  We didn't need to have all the answers.  But that was before I lost someone I loved.  It changed everything and now I wanted to know why.

Anu Saggar passed away on August 4th 2010 after a long battle with cancer.  She left behind a loving husband, two daughters aged 19 and 7 and a 16 year old son.  I wanted to know what possible reason could excuse the death of a woman aged only 41.  I held this 'something' responsible.  And it's been an anger bubbling under the surface ever since.  Then a few months ago, my emotions were brought to the forefront again.  We did the Manchester Midnight Walk in her memory.  As we lit candles for her, I knew she was there.  And instead of anger, I began to feel a sense of peace.  That was the moment I realised that she's always with us.  Because you never really lose the ones you love.

I can't see her, but that's just 'her' on a very superficial level.  I can feel her presence.  Anu is not the past.  She's very much the present.  She's on my shoulder.  She's the occasional voice in my head.  She knows every thought before I think it, every word before I say it, every action before I do it.  We are more connected than ever.  And this isn't just a pretty little thought to ease my own pain.  It's real.  Believe it.  So open your heart to someone you've lost.  Breathe them in and let them permeate the corners of your mind.  And you'll realise it's the most natural thing.  It's an eternal bond.  Because when you love someone, forever does exist.

So rest in peace Anu because you're always in our hearts x

A rose is still a rose

It’s hard to believe I share the same DNA as my brother.  If this were an American high school, he would most definitely be that effortlessly handsome jock, popular with the boys and girls alike.  I bear more resemblance to the girl in the back with the dark-rimmed glasses.  Not a complete geek but not exactly cool either.  It’s a fact I’ve learned to embrace about us, and he does definitely contribute something different to my life.  Certainly if we weren’t related, I would probably never even speak to someone like him, and vice versa. 

Michael always knows what to say, and when to say it.  He has this impressive sixth sense of being able to read people, and spot the snakes very early on.  He’s slow to trust, but once you’ve gained his loyalty you’ve joined a life-long club.  I am quick to trust, and quick to judge.  I tend to see the best in people, as oppose to their true colours and consequently get burnt more frequently and more easily.  I speak far too often without prior consideration, and subsequently result in having many blonde moments.  It means I don’t take myself too seriously, but other people don’t either.

Michael was born with reams of confidence.  Even from aged two, he had no qualms about pushing his six year old sister out of the way to get what he wanted.  He cares more about clothes, perfume and moisturiser than I ever could, in a heterosexual manner of course.  He has that arrogant sense of humour that girls just seem to flock around.  He’s good looking, but boy does he know it.  I’m relatively confident with my appearance but it’s taken me two decades to get truly comfortable with myself.  My sense of humour is ‘niche’ as I would like to call it.  Similar to marmite, it’s an acquired taste that either leaves you crying with laughter or completely confused. 

I would be lying if I said I’ve never felt pangs of jealousy towards him.  Perhaps a tiny part of me wanted to be him.  It’s slightly unusual for the older sister to be looking up to her little brother but at times it did seem that way.  I feel sure the concept of chalk and cheese was invented for us.  But it took me a long time to learn that you can’t compare chalk and cheese.  You can’t possibly rate them on the same scale because they are so different, and thus neither is better than the other.

Michael used to be a constant reminder of everything I wasn’t.  But through thinking this, I would forget all the good things about myself.  One of the first things we learn in life is that nobody is perfect, but here I was putting Michael up on this unrealistic pedestal, and damaging my own self confidence in the process.  It was self destructive, and didn’t do much for our relationship let me tell you.  But the key I believe was finding contentment within yourself and learning to accept yourself for who you are.  And it didn’t matter what Michael was or wasn’t, I was me.

I hate to pretentiously quote Shakespeare but the man knew a few things when he stated ‘a rose is still a rose.’  In other words, the personalities of others should have no bearing on the way you feel about yourself because you are still a rose, regardless of whether you are surrounded by daisies, daffodils, or larger roses.

And I believe the story of Michael and I will have a happy ending.  Though we live on different planets, we send warm greetings to each other.  And now I’ve taken him off that pedestal I could never condone the amount of time he spends on his appearance.  Just as he believes I don’t spend enough time at the gym.  But hurt him and I’ll kill you without hesitation.  And I can honestly say he’d do the same for me.

Survival of the Fittest

So I'm usually still half asleep on the way to work. Despite countless attempts, I have come to accept that I will never be that chirpy morning person.  But two incidents today jolted me out of sleep mode, a feat I previously believed impossible.  The first, is admittedly quite amusing.

If you saw me on the bus this morning, I'm ashamed to say I was that person with my head pressed up against the window, 'resting' my eyes and praying my dozy persona didn't make me miss my turn to get off.  Therefore you can imagine my reaction to a passing cyclist slamming his elbow into the side of the bus.  I almost jumped out of my skin.  It was a very much needed but unwelcome wake up call.  After that, I sat upright like a frightened rabbit, avidly alert for the duration of the journey.  Next time I will certainly think twice before giving in to fatigue in a public environment.

The second incident was spotting a sign that I realised I had passed everyday but never actually noticed before.  It stated 'freedom to the pike is death to the minnow.'  I took a minute to stare at it, ignoring the rush of people darting around me, looking too busy to take a breath.  And then I connected the two. 

Working in the professional world for three weeks now doing various bits of work experience in the city, I have come to learn that the world isn't waiting for me.  I am going to have to fight for it.  Because there are plenty of pikes out there willing to eat you for breakfast just to grab your opportunity.  There are winners and there are losers.  It's a survival of the fittest and many may drown in the process. 

Take central London for example.  The core of the corporate world.  You have to elbow your way through the crowd, fight for your seat on the tube and maintain your position in the coffee queue.  And if you don't?  Move out of the way rapidly before the person behind steps on you with their higher heels and feistier personality.  There isn't even space for losers.

So buy bigger heels.  Become a survivor.  Because amazing opportunities are not handed out.  You earn what you get.  Which makes winning that much sweeter in the end.

Rainy Days

'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.'

Sometimes you just have to raise your game.  For that period in life when it never seems to stop raining, metaphorically speaking.  For that period when bad things happen in threes.  For that period when the entire world seems to be on the opposition, laughing at your mistakes.  You can cry, sure.  You can weep all of the clouds out of the sky.  Sob yourself to sleep.  Let it rain.  But give yourself a set amount of time.  A period of mourning misfortune.  And then pick yourself up, dust yourself down and buy an umbrella.

Easier said than done I know.  Especially if it's a broken heart, job loss or even a death in the family.  But why lay down and die?  It's a tough time but the best consequence is that you emerge a stronger person.  Emotionally, mentally and psychologically stronger.  You'll install double glazing.  You'll grow a thicker skin.  So next time, you'll be ready for battle.  And best of luck to the next person who tries to mess with you.

If the shoe fits

There's only a few things in life I dread more than shoe shopping.  As a relatively girly girl, I find it surprising that I just don't fit the cliche with this one.  I will never be that girl with too many shoes.  This has probably got something to do with the fact that I have extra wide feet, and one foot bigger than the other.  Not ridiculously bigger, but awkward enough to make it an issue.  Needless to say, this sucks the joy out of buying shoes tremendously as I often feel like the ugly sister squashing my dumpy foot into the glass slipper.  I live for winters when I can shove them into a pair of UGGs for the entire season.  None of this strappy, complicated, slicing into the back of your ankles business.  Yes, with regards to shoes I really am no Cinderella.

But that time has come around again.  I must venture out in the search for that perfect pair hopefully waiting for me in the first shop I enter as oppose to the twenty-first.  Having read this, you can imagine my delight today when the second pair I tried on fitted perfectly, and I was able to return home without feeling exasperated, frustrated or unsuccessful.  It was a significant day in my world, and sparked a few thoughts...

At the risk of sounding like an airhead, I must state that I believe life is like the search for the perfect shoes.  It's the journey of self-discovery, the journey of finding our feet in the world.  We discover what fits, what doesn't, what hurts and what is comfortable.  We make choices between the good-looking KILLER heels and those old comfy flats.  And with those shoes that cut your feet to shreds or give you those ugly looking blisters, you harden up and know better next time.  But throughout it all, you carry on walking.  And I guess this is the key...just always keep on walking.  Never give up until you find the perfect fit.

What doesn't kill you...

No one can escape rejection.  Whether it's a dismissal of a job application or your affections for someone, we've all been there.  And it burns.  Especially when you truly believe that this path or person was totally and utterly right for you.  But I've developed a theory that in love and life, it is an unwritten rule that we must get badly, sometimes brutally burnt at least once in order to appreciate the happy ending.
Handling rejection is one of life's greatest challenges.  Whether we throw a fit like that spoilt child in Sainsburys or accept it gracefully determines the height of our fall on the next occasion.  Because there will always be a next time.  
I'm not afraid to admit that I'm still learning with regards to rejection.  Perhaps because none of my experiences have been that painful...yet.  But for those of you who have been hit hard or left with permanent scars, I hope you find the strength to fight back and never ever lose faith in your happy ending.


After all, as they say... what doesn't kill you can only make you stronger.

Musical Marmite

He's the human equivalent of marmite.  You're either screaming your head off or tearing your hair out.  The hair flick.  The mobs of hysterical teenage girls.  That 'baby' song.  If you haven't guessed who I'm referring to by now, you must have re-located to Mars for the past two years.

Whether you love or hate him, there's something fascinating about Justin Bieber.  Perhaps it's his story.  A few Youtube videos in his living room with cute hair and BOOM.  He's chilling with Usher.  It's every wannabe singer's dream.  Regardless of whether he sings like a girl, you can't help but feel a little jealous that he's earned 60 million dollars by the tender age of 17.

I happen to think he has a great voice.  Yes, I'm twenty and may be a little older than the majority of his audience but I'll happily admit to buying his music.  Because the truth is, no one makes music like this any more.  Simple teenage cheese on toast.  No, it's all about showing off your diamonds or getting angry (if you listen to that alternative emo stuff).  So sue me if I like a few light-hearted tunes that I can learn the words to in five minutes.  


Bieber brings back the nineties.  Five. S Club 7.  Steps.  My pre-teenage years were reborn to the sound of his 'girly' voice.  I've missed old school music.  And he is undeniably cute.

So lighten up.  Not every song we listen to has to declare the meaning of life.  It's ok to have a little throwaway feel-good pop music from time to time.  Embrace the cringe and you may just get Bieber fever...

Never say never.

Old Habits Die Hard

We've all had a transitory lapse of judgement.  That moment of weakness.  An instance where we've done something we're not proud of.  My moment arrived last night.

It was late and I was bored.  I found myself logging on to a certain social network...Facebook.  For any avid readers of my blog, you will know that I deactivated my account back in December and blogged about it.  How it was pointless and pathetic.  How I couldn't care less about what people were doing.  How I no longer wanted to be a part of it.  But here I am, defining hypocrisy itself and signing back in.  I felt pretty bad, but curiosity got the better of me.

I guess I wanted to know if it had changed.  If it still had that 'pull' that got us all hooked in the first place.  If I still cared even a little bit, or if it just seemed immature and pointless.  It was odd after four months without it to again have so much information at your fingertips.  Unnecessary information, but information all the same.  Looking at old pictures and remembering 'friends' that I had forgotten all about, I was fast coming to the conclusion that I really wasn't missing much.  I had made the right decision, and would stand by my December blog.  But it was disappointing that I had to re-discover Facebook in order to let it go again.

And then something worse happened.  My phone buzzed and the text read 'Miss I don't have Facebook.'  Oh dear.  I attempted denial.  And then I told the truth.  It was painful.  Not only did I know that I was a hypocrite, someone else now knew too.  And this someone else had no qualms in mentally battering me for it.  Probably quite rightly.  

So I felt the need to write this blog, perhaps more for my own satisfaction than yours.  Because we all have to hold our hands up sometimes.  Yes,  I had a relapse into old habits.  And as crushing as it was to be 'found out' by someone else, I did deserve it.  Because it wasn't really about Facebook.  It was a reminder to resist temptation in order to practice what you preach.  And it's a lesson well and truly learnt, even if I did have to get my hand caught in the cookie jar.

Who you are

'It takes courage to grow up and be who you really are.'

E.E.Cummings was a very wise man.

Being yourself should be the easiest, most natural concept known to man.  But in practice, most of us spend the majority of our school life trying to fit in.  And some even beyond that.  I remember thinking university was going to be a mature version of school.  No more cliques.  No more divisions.  But I was wrong.  Because that's not school or uni.  That's just people.  And some people spend their entire lives trying to abide by this unwritten social code of conduct.  Saying the right things.  Knowing all the right people.  And for what?  More Facebook 'friends'?

It's one of the hardest things to walk into a room and acknowledge the fact that you may not be the smartest/prettiest/skinniest/most outgoing girl there.  But to know that this is OK.  And despite this, to not want to be anyone else.  Because you are YOU.  And no one else in the entire world has had the experiences you have, had the family you've got or can feel what you feel.  And that is the most precious thing.

Then you can start to create your own wavelength.  You can re-define this high-school concept of being 'cool'.  And you don't have to be the loudest voice in the room, the prettiest face or the most intelligent one because you've gained something more.   It's your own vibe, your individual scent, your va va voom.  And when you've got this, you'll realise that THIS is what makes you special.  Individuality.  Originality.  Uniqueness.  

This journey is what takes the courage that Cummings refers to.  This is called growing up.

Don't dismiss Dave

So, I'll admit it.  I'm a Cameron fan.  Not that I agree with everything that Dave has done, but I figured he was the lesser of three evils.  Particularly better than Nick 'promise-you-the-world' Clegg.  Yes, it seemed Clegg had no problems guaranteeing us the ocean but when it came to the delivery he found himself drowning in a sea of broken promises.  And in true political fashion he took the next predictable step of looking elsewhere to place the blame.  He spoke of the 'unholy mess left by Labour' and the 'difficult decisions' he had to make.  Apparently no one told Nick that ruling the country wasn't going to be a piece of cake.  I'd quite like world peace too, but that doesn't result in me declaring it will end if you vote me in.  And don't even get me started on Gordon.

So I chose Dave.  Whether you're eco-friendly or not, he may have looked a little like a pleb riding that bicycle to work but he seemed genuine.  Well, for a politician.  And for the first time in my lifetime, he felt like a breath of fresh air, unpolluted by the bickering, backstabbing and personal motives of the other squabbling males in the midst of their own mid-life crises.  And so what if he is a posh boy?  Does every PM have to come from the gutter in order to understand the life of the ordinary people?  And I really feel he's trying.  Take this week for example... flying with Ryan Air and staying in a 3 star hotel in Spain can hardly compare to the hotels his salary can afford.  A publicity stunt maybe.  But don't deny his efforts.

Having said this, I completely disagree with the recent rise in university fees.  Common sense can tell you that a £27,000 debt may just defer anyone from choosing further education.  And this is going to sufficiently reduce the range of mixed classes and backgrounds that universities are only just gaining now.  So this only paves the way for more 'posh public school boys' to have a shot at becoming PM.  Dave, I just can't defend you on this one.

Politics is a difficult subject.  I'm currently refraining from the 'they're all the same' attitude which would be the greatest shame of all.  Because once you stop caring, who knows what will happen? So Dave may not be the perfect Prime Minister but he's the man WE voted in, and as long as he is trying his best, what more can we ask for? Yes, not everyone is going to agree with his decisions but that's politics.  And let's remember, it's still early days.  So let's just give him a chance, shall we?

We will never forget you

It's an acknowledged fact that in life people come and go.  Some leave an imprint, make you think twice, even  alter your entire perspective.  And some breeze in and out without so much as affecting a single hair on your head.  But it's the ones that change us in some way that we should be truly grateful for.

Yesterday, my favourite teacher passed away.  The term 'teacher' doesn't quite do her justice.  She was so much more than a teacher.  I was lucky enough to be able to say goodbye in person a few weeks ago, and get the opportunity to express what I felt she needed to hear from me: THANK YOU.

Thank you for leading by example.  Thank you for your patience and understanding.  Thank you for putting the love back into teaching.  Thank you for never getting angry.  Thank you for showing me how and why to be a good person.  And most importantly... thank you for believing in me when I didn't even believe in myself.

I was the child who couldn't put her hand up in class, who hated presentations, who never wanted to express an opinion for fear of it being knocked down. I had next to no confidence, and severely questioned my academic abilities when it came to the 11 plus.  In response to this, she categorically stated 'if one girl is to pass that exam, it will be you.'  She knew I could do it.  She never doubted me or my abilities.  She had an unconditional faith in me.  And for this quiet unsure ten year old it made all the difference.

That was ten years ago.  Since then I've jumped out of a plane, spent seven weeks in an African village and gained more opinions than Margaret Thatcher.  And for all that I have already achieved and am yet to achieve, I hold Miss Coulter partly responsible.  Because she believed in me when I was self-doubting.  She saw my potential when I couldn't even fathom it.  Oh and taught the occasional geography lesson when my form tutor was absent.  

This is just my account.  There are hundreds more lives she touched, characters she shaped and students that will never forget her.  I will certainly never forget her lessons both in life and the classroom.  She taught me to believe in myself and my own potential.  You don't meet people this special very often and I'm fortunate just to have known her.  She set the foundations on which I am building my life today. 

May she eternally rest in peace.

Sheila Coulter will never be forgotten x

Ice Ice Baby...

There's something magical about ice skating.  Especially at Christmas.  I like nothing better than gliding across a glistening white sheet of ice with a bit of Wham and Mariah Carey to get me into the festive spirit.  This is the dream.  The reality consists of me wobbling with hands outstretched looking like I've got an iron rod for a spine.  It's anything but smooth, and every time I struggle clinging to the side the same thought enters my mind: 'why did I do this?'

The fear of falling on your ass is the biggest worry for most people.  And I am no exception.  The sheer embarrassment of being on your bum in front of a neatly formed audience.  And then not being able to get back up again.  Painful in every sense of the word.

Now I'm no stranger to falling on my bum, literally or metaphorically.  Sometimes I feel like Wagner from the X Factor: purely in existence for the entertainment of others.  Yes, anyone who knows me will tell you I've had my fair share of blonde moments.  From eating raw noodles at a restaurant buffet to rolling pastry with an ice cream scoop,  it seems I'm constantly acting (and speaking) without engaging my brain.  And yes I do have a brain.  On paper, I'm quite the academic.  It's just reality I seem to have lost my grip on.

However as much embarrassment as these moments have caused me, I've learnt to laugh at myself.  Perhaps it's so others appear to be laughing with me as oppose to at me.  Some would say it's an alternative to crying.  But I just think it's so I don't take myself seriously.  Not too seriously anyway.  The fact is everyone messes up from time to time.  Everyone will have a turn being on their bum in the middle of an ice rink whether you're two or twenty two.  But we've all got to find a way of getting back up on our feet.

Once I realised this my 'embarrassing' moments simply became funny stories to tell the flatmates.  There really is no shame in getting it wrong.  And trying to be right all the time would be ridiculously exhausting anyway.  So I will happily continue with life Bridget-Jones style.  Someone once said that the definition of intelligence was realising how little you know about the world.  I feel I have come to this conclusion, which reassures me that I'm not stupid, just inexperienced.  And there really is nothing wrong with that at the moment.  As a wise person once said, living is learning.

Be my...Friend?

With one in three marriages now ending in divorce, it's no surprise that Valentines day is dreaded by most of the population.  Even those in relationships feel the pressure to grab that last bunch of flowers from Tesco Express and a semi-decent card to ensure their loved one that they 'haven't forgotten'.  The singleton. The divorcee.  The unhappily married.  All wait impatiently for the fluffy teddies, heart shaped balloons and general over-commercialisation to disappear until next year.  So who actually enjoys it?  The teenage population?  Walking into school with a bunch of red roses and chocolates can't feel too bad.  Those recently committed perhaps?  But even then there's always the worry of a life-sized teddy making their new partner run in the opposition direction.  

But one person who definitely does love it is Mr Clinton.  Yes, whilst we hurriedly rush out and buy that card filled with words to melt the heart of our loved one, Mr C is cashing in the cheques and buying himself another Ferrari.  I am tempted to begin the 'over-commercialisation' of Valentines Day rant but I'm refraining because this year, I feel differently.

And no, it's not because I've found that significant other or soul mate.  I'm not head over heels in the conventional sense.  But right now my life is filled with so much love.  And that is something to celebrate in itself.  After all, the friends and family are the ones that help you survive the heartache, blunders and disaster dates in the dating world.  All the mistakes, stupid things you said and wrong decisions are somehow worth suffering if you can go home, share and laugh about it afterwards.  So if we're talking purely about love this Valentines Day, I have it in abundance.

Apologies if this blog doesn't give you that warm and fuzzy feeling a romantic comedy would.  Certainly, it doesn't include a bunch of roses or a cute card but it does have a happy ending.  I'm loved and there are many people in my life at the moment that I love to pieces.  That's got to count for something.  Love interests will come and go, make us smile and cry our eyes out but with good friends and family you really can't go far wrong.  So instead of wanting to crawl under a rock this Valentines Day, lets be happy with the love in our lives at the moment.  And who knows what the future will hold?

  

Tolerance is a virtue

There is at least one moment in your life when you can remember feeling ridiculously out of place.  The black sheep amongst a field of white lambs.  The one dressed in red at a black and white ball.  It's a moment that you know, as much as you may want to, you're just not going to be able to blend in.  For me, this moment occurred yesterday, whilst enjoying some retail therapy.

I managed to find myself inside Blue Banana.  For those of you who haven't heard of it, it's what I would call an 'alternative' clothes shop.  From just walking in, your voice immediately starts to compete with what I can only describe as the thrashing together of a thousand tin cans, but otherwise referred to as 'music'.  Everything is black. Or psychedelic colours for the purpose of attracting attention. And if the colours don't draw you in, there's always the half-witted slogans such as 'life sucks' scrawled across the t-shirts.  Most of the trousers are ripped or weighed down by metal chains, another attractive feature.  It is truly one of the most miserable sights I've ever seen.

Of course, I never enter these shops by choice.  And yesterday was no exception; my friend needed some black skinny jeans and Topshop just weren't cutting it.  So reluctantly, we headed into what can only be described as the underworld.  I'm unfortunate to have a face that reflects every one of my thoughts despite my best efforts, and today was no exception.  I was stood rather awkwardly whilst my friend rooted through the racks when someone said 'Long Black Tunnel?'.  I turned to face the shop assistant, who had enough metal in his face to set off airport security, and realised he was talking to me.  'Sorry?' I was bemused.  A tunnel? What tunnel?  'Long Black Tunnel?' he repeated.  I looked at my friend, clearly as puzzled as I was, and then looked back at him blankly.  He stood there with a smirk on his face like an arrogant fifteen year old, and it suddenly occurred to me that he was enjoying this when he replied  'Long Black Tunnel is the name of this song. Gawwwwwd! Thought you would have known that!'  It took about a minute after he walked off for me to realise that he was making fun of me.

Perhaps I was an easy target holding a Topshop bag and wearing Uggs and an awkward expression on my face.  But soon after, my confusion turned to anger.  How dare he make fun of me! Yes, I clearly don't have multiple body piercings and dyed black hair, but you don't even know me.  I could be a huge Slipknot fan but just prefer to wear beige.  Who is he to judge me? And anyway, it's not exactly good customer service now, is it?

Even a day later, I'm still irritated by that obnoxious assistant.  I realise we may have 'cultural' differences but it doesn't make him any better than me.  Or me any better than him.  We're just different, and though our paths in life will probably rarely cross, it would be nice if we could have a little tolerance when they do.  But for now, I won't be returning to Blue Banana any time soon. 

Don't deny the drama.

The older I get the more I realise that with regards to relationships, we never become any wiser.  Perhaps at age 20, I'm a little bit young to be making this condemnation.  But I really am convinced, as John Legend so greatly put it, 'everybody knows, but nobody really knows.'  In short, no one has a clue.  As much as we think we can spot the woods through the sleaze, no one is ever completely predictable.  Consequently, life just seems to become a series of patterns, moving from one confusing situation to the next, asking the same questions and mostly becoming even more bemused than before.  Does he really like me, or is he just playing games? What did he mean when he said that? Why hasn't he called? I'm sure, like me, you've heard these questions a million times before.

But it wasn't until a recent encounter at the library, I realised something quite significant.  So by encounter, I actually meant listening to the rather loud conversation on the next desk away from me.  This was after six hours with Chaucer, so please don't blame me for searching for a little light-hearted conversation.  Anyway, I proceeded to listen to a rather flustered girl pouring her heart out to a sympathetic friend.  'He says one thing, does another, I don't know where I stand.  I didn't even go out on New Years Eve.'  That part confused me.  As if somehow staying in for new year would magically make him explain himself.  Well I must admit, having been in similar situations I partially understood where she was coming from.  Sometimes, it seems I would have more luck understanding my dog than a member of the male species.  But as she continued to tell her friend that she hadn't been out in ten days and the situation was driving her crazy, it began to occur to me that we may just enjoy the supposed 'havok' that boy/girl dynamics seem to create.  Yes, I say 'we' as I am including myself in these excitable frenzied situations.  The not-knowing. The drama. The chase (even if it just results in a wild goose chase).  We love it (secretly).  Without it, it would almost be like opening a novel on the last page.  Somehow you just don't get the same satisfaction as you would reading every word, and assessing every minute detail. 

For any males that are reading this, I am not suggesting that you make a concerted effort to further confuse us, because believe me, we have more than enough to talk about already.  I am just saying that perhaps we should accept the facts.  No, I have no idea what he means. Yes, it is completely confusing.  And finally, rather than getting wound up like a spring, bask in the unknown.  Realise that you might just love it (a little bit).  And, as for the males, they will probably meet you on the last page, or not.  But whatever happens, at least you will have saved yourself the brainache.