Alors encore

The fact that I have decided to start writing again has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I have begun 'revision' in earnest and need a more meaty form of procrastination than Facebook. That is all that you must know.

It's bizarre to think how much has changed, and yet nothing of any real significance has happened, nothing of note. It has been all the little rewards, mistakes, arguments, creations of the past few months which have shaped me into absolutely nothing new, only where I'm going and what I dream. I guess that makes little to no sense; every day I learn something, a do or a do not, and I've realised what I want and now I am free to dream of what I actually want to dream of rather than of things I ought to want.

In actual fact, I am back to where I began. I used to be on top of everything; running around, diary in hand, late to things I didn't care about, eager and early to everything else. I used to not care what was or was not acceptable for me to be; so what if noone else was proud of me, or if creativity isn't prestigious?

Somehow, a while ago, I guess the superwoman-me broke down and I lost control of everything around me. Looking back now, none of these things were important, but I felt like it wasn't just time and cameras (two of them) I was losing, but really myself. Last academic year I was the one to put studying and being busy and proactive above everything else, and this year I did nothing of the sort. I regret that deeply, especially sitting down tonight to plan out my revision, knowing how utterly miserably I am going to fail if I don't put in absolutely 120%. But it's okay, because it's been a while now that I've known that things have to change.

I've started singing again- I guess that's a loosely based term when it comes to it- and although I still hate the sound of my own voice, I am not ashamed to use it, if only to release at the end of a long day. I've come to accept how important it is to me, even if it's not 'productive' in the sense that it will ever lead to anything. And I'm writing music again; it's still not as good as I want it to be, but I'm always getting better at it, and that's what matters.

And although I still haven't made the time to paint, I've finally got back into film making. I've produced a short film this term and loved (almost...) every minute of it. As motivation for exams I've got myself into being the assistant producer on another short (a French film this time) the day after I finish exams, in a remote, beautiful forest in England. And you know what? I can see myself doing this for a very long time indeed. I am a creative person and I'm not going to pretend to myself anymore that I want to be a big, important person in politics or health or anything; all I want to do is inspire people with what inspires me. Maybe that will have more of an impact in someone's life than a new policy or more/less income tax ever will.

And because I am somewhat proud of it, here's some of our music.

All production and synth-tastic genius, courtesy of Tom Woodgate.

Adios (:

Sea White

On a break from this.

Channeling all my thoughts through a real pen, into a new book.

This wastes words.

T.T.Y.L.

In The Night

Justin Bieber is so amazing (:

I'm not even going to bother with an apology this time around, here goes a run through of the highlights of the past 3 weeks, a photomontage-esque whistle-stop tour of why I'm 300% right now, and in no particular order:

M.I.A and Sleigh Bells were insane. I saw them in Oxford with Emma, and I don't think I've ever been in a room filled with so much energy, nor a show where people scream along to the support too., nor danced so hard and with everybody else in one night. Going to the Zodiac again, for the first time since March, was the first time I've felt like I've properly moved away from Oxford. Since university I've always still thought of Oxford as home, the place I could walk with my eyes shut, but stepping into that venue for what felt like the hundredth time, after what seemed like a hundred years, felt like past tense itself had hit me over the head... I used to go there all the time... how strange.

Next up... a few weeks ago, Olivia, Tim, a few others and myself went out to Camden, and with the intention of just going to the pub, we ended up going to the Cuban, a semi-Latino club in the stables. Enter the salsa skills I've been building up, and a lacking in any feeling of potential humiliation, and a very stacked guy who looks like he can dance. He can.

It was quite a surreal experience, very much like every dance movie I've watched to be spun and, well, danced I suppose, almost effortlessly, by a total stranger, who at the same time kept telling me how rubbish I was, and teaching me real salsa, and wouldn't let me go until I appeared to have passed some kind of test, a rite. I'm definitely going back.

The weekend after that, Jo, Tom, Milly, Milly's friend Rachel, and I went over to Milly's house to have dinner with her parents- this is not that odd an occasion, and always really fun- and having insisted that I had too much work to do to come over in the first place, Tom and I ended up staying until about 2 in the morning, having won a game of scrabble as Ravenclaw, with a lengthy list of tactics and sly moves from Milly's mother, Carlo (Slytherin), graceful play from Gryffindor, Milly's father, and Milly and Rachel aptly beginning their losing streak, reluctantly as Hufflepuff: ' How do you spell Gryffindor?'

'... And that's why you're in Hufflepuff'

We left with the last of the sparklers from the fireworks earlier that evening, and cast spells on walk-of-shamers, late-night wanderers, and various inanimate objects the entire way home. The life and times (:

And for a week now, I've gone back to doing what I love the most, what defines the places I go, the words I right, the dreams I remember. It's all thanks to one person, and for the future I hope, the world's greatest team. Thank you.

All will become clear soon (:

Orchid

Eleven

You were one inch from the edge of this bed

I dragged you back

A sleepyhead.

Sepia

News of the day is that my face is full of cold, and my arms feel like I've had every vaccine on earth in one go, and therefore, I am lying in bed while the night is still young, ready to fall straight back to sleep, having been awake for all of 4 hours, as soon as I'm done with this entry.

Also as a result, I've been on a liquid diet of John Mayer and soft piano covers all day, as anything heavier makes me feel nauseous. I'm not even joking. It's odd, I haven't listened to beautiful, innocent music for such a long time; it's weirdly refreshing, and kind of reminds you of the point of everything.

I've had a pretty cool week. My little sister came to stay last Wednesday, and we filled up the evening with fairground rides at Leicester Square, and dinner, and secrets at bedtime... I love that finally, we're growing to become really good friends rather than a counterpart to tolerate.

I spent the weekend in Oxford at a conference for Model UN... yes, I'm a ridiculous nerd, especially to find myself in a 'WHO' committee, where nobody else had made themselves aware of the finer details of the virology of HIV. But I want to get good at public speaking, and debate is a no-go as I view it in the same way as 'going' running- if you're not trying to get anywhere, what on earth is the point? And debate is argument for argument's sake.

Anyway, the sessions were fun, and the evenings I boycotted were awesome: I went to a Halloween party with Brasenose college with my friend, dressed up as a hipster and greeted by dumbfounded stares when I tried to explain, and hit on by every male within a two-metre radius of me at any given point, as I was 'fresh-blood' / Oxford guys are super sharky. Thank you Lord that I go to UCL. On the other hand, having told my friend that I wasn't really up for going out as I had to be up at 7.30 the next day, I danced until 3 in the morning, and had an amazing night.

I spent the next night curled up on the sofa next to my Mom and a hot chocolate, watching Saturday-night TV. I had a similarly chilled scenario on the Sunday evening, when I got back to London and went straight over to Ted's house to drop off the prints from my disposable photos from Ghana and Togo... I ended up staying for tea and poring over the photos together, laughing at the irreversible, candid beauty that is what I love about disposables. They are such an awesome bunch of images- the kind that you can laugh at and remember every minute of the day it was taken in 30 years time.

Monday was spent -and I am now starting to realise why I'm so behind in work- at said house again, and to be fair, a lot of reading was done whilst Louise, Viki, and I were sat together; descent into hyperactive chaos began once Ted entered, and sugary treats (as always, provided by Louise) were introduced to the equation. I had an awesome evening, including watching Anatomy videos with the funny-accent guy ("meta-tar-sal"), which only got funnier once I got home and Leo arrived.

And tonight I've just got back from Tom's, and have definitely written enough for one post, and so will summarise the evening by saying that I'm so grateful to have so many amazing people in my life (:

Exhale.

Shut eyes.

Sleep.

Orchid.

Dandelion Kiss

I'm listening to Avril Lavigne. This can't be good.

Curses, curses for not writing more often. Shaking a metaphorical fist at myself is firstly physically awkward, and secondly not going to create a mystical history-pen, so let's go from here.

I have now been fully immersed into second year, and I've decided I don't like it. I take my own words with a pinch of salt here, because they are accompanied by a sticking-out lower lip, and therefore may change in poignance with time. An hour may well be enough.

To clarify; everything is amazing. I love every single one of my classes: Palaeoanthropology (I can now tell you, from a mere fragment of bone whether it is fossil, living, ape, human, fibula or femur, and more); Primate behaviour and ecology (lecturer has lived longer with apes than with humans. Specialised in primate homosexuality); International health policy... in which I get to learn in great detail how impossibly corrupt the entire world is; and Medical microbiology- just pure nerdy awesome.

I love my house for being so cosy, my housemates for being so crazy, and my new neighbourhood for being so green and beautiful. Hampstead Heath is only 10 minutes away; I went for the first time on Sunday and it really is as gorgeous as everyone says. It's no Bagley Wood, but I don't want it to be.

I have a job, I have a pot of flowers, I have my sewing machine, I have a bicycle. It would be nice to have some friends to cycle to.

Things are so different this year. I am exaggerating; I do have friends, but they are new ones. Newfound friends who too care about dance- who live and breathe it too; those who can't sit still and watch all the crap that goes on in the world and want to do something about it; and those who simply occur in my day-to-day. I guess what's easy, goes.

And what isn't falls apart.

Distance isn't easy, apathy isn't easy, and changing what's important to everyone- who's important- isn't easy. What makes me sadder than anything is that it doesn't even feel weird, and I seem to have learnt simply not to miss anybody anymore. All that happens is the occasional awkward moment, sitting on a bus by myself, remembering how good things were not too long ago, smiling, and then remembering how excited I was for this year to be exactly the same. It will be golden. I just really, really hope, in a birthday candle way, that it doesn't have to mean losing those people who were my rock.

I almost hope I still can't live without them.

Orchid.

Jack

Dear Blog,

I am about to begin another melancholy drone, and have realised that you have become one of those friends one only speaks to on matters of self deprecation. I do apologise, however, I shall continue on my miserly tone until the next time we speak.

Faithfully,

Orchid

I feel awful.

I tried calling my Mother today, and realised that despite feeling lonely, I don't really want to speak to anybody right now. Every word I hear from somebody I know makes me want to cry out for freedom from the damn conversation, and yet I want to curl up into familiar arms, and stay there for a while. I feel incompetent, inadequate, ignorant, and a failure.

Jack of all trades, and master of none; I don't know how I'm going to be able to do anything with myself. I don't have the time (or currently even the patience) to see my friends; nor am I going to be a marvel within the things taking up my time right now.

Listless, in a word.

Orchid

Church

What a week.

God, I hate that phrase, but really, what a week.

It has been carefully composed of some unforgettable days, with unforgettable people; forgivable days, with certainly forgettable people, and of course, the Sabbath, a day for no work (broken), and quiet reflection on the crap that you don't have to think about on weekdays.

My mind is fairly insane right now- it's a week since I got back from Ghana, with so much that we did, achieved, so much to tell, to write- and all I can think of is who I am.

Who I am.

Who I am??

Who cares? I thought I hardly did, and the thought of soul-searching somewhat disgusts me, but here I am, thinking about what 'everybody else must think of me' and how 'I'm a poor excuse for a human being, especially more so for a woman'; and worrying, eyebrows curved permanently into a distant seagull, of 'what should become of me' in the future.

And this isn't the anxiety of a day, one that can be blown away forever by the good words of a friend, or a song I've been missing. It's one that waxes and wanes- given enough time to ponder- and I don't know how to fix.

In similar news, here are some being-back-again vows:

I shall take up pilates.

I shall take a photo of myself everytime I cry. I cry far too much for my own good, and bizarre as it may be, I think recording every occasion on which I do cry will help me stop... crying is often very self-indulgent, and maybe I can embarrass myself into becoming less melodramatic.

Last thing- I shall begin to use the word 'I' less often.

It's a rather poor excuse for the subject of a sentence.

Orchid.

Jade

I dont' think anything on the internet has ever made me smile so much:

"Today I was driving by the lake and I saw a Jeep full of guys pass me. They were hanging out the windows and the sunroof, paddling with canoe paddles, and singing "Just Around the Riverbend" from Pocahontas. It easily may have been the coolest thing I've seen, ever. MLIA"

Yep, I'd say that's about it for today.

Orchid.

40,000 Knots

On Wednesday afternoon, looking out onto a rain-drenched Deutschland, I suddenly realised that: 2 weeks ago exactly, I was marching swiftly through central London; 1 week ago exactly, I  was drifting through some Oxonian field; 1 week later I would be sleeping in Cairo, and 2 weeks later I would be haggling for a band, studio time, and some materials for film props in a market in Accra. 

Sweet.

The past few days in Cologne have been amazing. I saw absolutely nothing of Germany aside from multiple, slightly-different-from-British H&Ms- God bless H&M, really, truly- and made up for a lot of lost time with a small corner of my family, staying up until the early hours talking, laughing, crying. 

And so begins the rush to get packed, organised- not to mention insured- for Ghana, see a few more of my dearest, and head off... first on my list is getting my copy of Teach yourself Turkish... why not?!

Orchid.

Softly

All the leaves stuck to the soles of my feet, the dirt under my fingernails, the words I can't quite get my tongue around, the grace of a young lady, not quite yet acquired, are the vowels of what makes up me. They don't create the most beautiful syntax, but they are all I have.

So I'm going to hold onto them, tightly, softly.

Orchid.

Red

Listen, you little wiseacre: I'm smart; you're dumb; I'm big, you're little; I'm right, you're wrong, and there's nothing you can do about it.

My ex-stepfather found out about my tattoo today. This was bad. Bad. Not least because I calmly had said a few days before that I had my opinions about tattoos and he had his- incorrect: I do not understand the meaning of the word opinion, I, at 19 years old cannot have opinions, and if what I voice differs from what is said by his Highness himself, it is frankly, false.

My tattoo is a stupid idea, detracting from my main goal in life (which is to become a Professor, for all, including myself, who didn't know), and if it was a good idea and I wasn't ashamed of it I'd have it on my face. It is also no different from if I had got knocked up or hooked on crack.

I'm small, I mean nothing, there is never any reasoning behind decisions I take, everything I choose is out of stupid youthful lust for the unknown, and I am sorely mistaken if I ever believe that I am somewhat more intelligent or knowledgeable than Sir Disdain.

If I am spoken to like a five-year-old, I will respond accordingly. Please await your punishment, in the form of hats, superglue, and swapped hair lotions, Sire.

India Ink

God I love my friends. They're brilliant, fabulous, wonderful, everything, everything I could want and more. Perhaps it's because it is summer.

No.

Over the past one or two years, I have felt more and more complete and perfect with the people I have around me, and through all this time, I never cease to hear the comment "your friends are so nice!", as if this isn't expected, or normal, as if surprised. Maybe it is slightly odd that I am so blessed, maybe others are not.

After work yesterday I went to my friend's birthday gathering at a most certainly overpriced bar (more expensive than London, £1.50 for a soda lime, I kid you not), and saw all my friends from school. Well the majority of them. To put a wider grin on my face, Josh came to visit me in Oxford today. We went to Maxwells to visit Ben, and ended up spending hours there.

Ben, you are the actual best person in the whole world. The world.

Love,

Orchid

Glare

I'm starting to panic slightly about losing the summer, the real summer where you run around in basically a sheet & your little wicker basket on your bike & all that matters is being free.

I don't like my white dresses & my bicycle is broken.

Sinestra

Yasmine killed Benno.

Today, walking back home for lunch, i almost walked straight past Benno, thinking he was a flickering leaf in the middle of the road. Benno, in fact, turned out to be a little ball of feathers, & a feisty one too. He must have fallen out of his nest, & not only too young to fly back up, but unable to hold onto the branches i tried to put him on, falling to the ground & running out into the road again. He didn't seem to be a sparrow, and had wispy eyebrows, reminiscent of an owl or a merry sort of grandfather; he hopped into my left hand & i took him home.

I left him in a box with fallen flowers & twigs; a bowl of water & some bread soaking in it, & left him to close his eyes & sleep, with the faint hum of a heartbeat that young birds always have. I left him with my mother, told her to keep an eye on him & make sure that my little sister wouldn't frighten him when she got home from school.

After work & then an, um, interesting, but lovely cup of tea at Greg's, i went to visit my friend's brand new baby boy, who is so gorgeous & bright. I really do want the very best for them both.

At about 9 'o clock tonight, we came back to find Benno drowned.

My sister had put a wide bowl, filled to the brim with water, in his box despite the number of times my mother had told her not to because he would fall in & choke, & Benno was nothing but a feathered skeleton, limp & wet in my hands. I tried CPR- a little water did come out of his mouth & nostrils- & blew gently into his mouth, but i don't know if what i felt was that familiar tremor, or the pulse in my own fingers which held him.

Eventually i took him outside, wishing that his mother would find him & care for him... he grew heavier in my hands as i walked back outside, & i would love to believe that he was slowly awakening.

Oh no.

Orchid

Blueprint

Is it weird that i'm really excited for the future? I mean, not simply tomorrow when i get to see my friend's brand new baby boy, not really the weeks ahead in which i'll finally have time to see my friends properly, not even going to Ghana in a few weeks... i'm excited for my life.

I'm going to be fine.

It's not that i have every step mapped and i know exactly where i'm going- i don't- but, but i no longer want everything to be okay; i know i can make it okay, no- i can make it amazing. I just have a small feeling that my life is going to be what i have wished for... what i've wished for everytime i've cried until my head hurt, everytime i've had those blessed seconds to watch the grass & its family from barely a breath away, with every brush of smoke from a birthday candle each May.

I once read an autobiography called 'Ten thousand sorrows'. It was based on a Buddhist proverb the author's mother had told her, that "life is made up of ten thousand joys and ten thousand sorrows".

Today i've decided it's almost time to begin to fulfill the best part of the former.

Orchid

Prosopagnosia

I think I'm beginning to forget some of the faces i've grown up with through school, this town, this city. They could be any other stranger now, I can hardly believe I would have only a year ago, been able to tell who they were from the end of a street, just from the way they walked, or something. The weirdest thing is, I couldn't care less.

I'm refining in my mind those who matter to me... it's starting to look like a shortlist of people I've always mattered to, no matter what.

Greg, I miss you, let's catch up (:

Orchid

Quill

It's been far too long; i miss writing.

The past month has been composed of some weeks filled with ancient intellect, roaming museums and once-great buildings, some weeks with an unnamable pensiveness, and others with friends, sun and as much grass as London can muster.

Oh and not to mention finding a house for next year, not forgetting finding my inner 1950s WI-type domestic goddess along with it. My sewing list has doubled already.

I've been both craving and dreading coming home, and 3 days in, my reasons for both have been well and truly played out. I came back on Thursday night to surprise my Mother for her birthday, and have since unpacked, earned a full day's wage, been to a metal gig, basically started a band, essentially trashed the front of the Radcliffe Camera, and longed to leave at any given opportunity.

Song writing starts tomorrow, let's see how long this goes on for before i remember that i won't get anywhere with music again. It's a teetering scale swinging between aiming for a goal, wanting recognition, a name; and an irrational need to make music for my very sanity, and because if i'm not a musician in some form, i don't know what i am. It feels a little ironic though, singing, writing lovesongs when i know nothing about anything... but if music isn't about love, then what the hell is it about?

Orchid.

Cloud

Oh. So this is what abandonment feels like.

76 inches, 88 keys

I started writing this at least 14 times.

Today, this week, this mind, nothing is the right answer. But when i think about it, nothing is the right question either. I feel like this is me curling up into the smallest way of being human possible, to shield myself from all the philosophies and changing winds that i don't quite understand.

I cannot help but fall in love with everything that glitters, and everyone who is beautiful to me, and i cannot help but hurt when they're not around. I wish i hated, i wish i could only give halfheartedly, but i simply cannot. I cannot say goodbye without a tear, nor hello without wincing with the knowledge that the future will have to be farewell.

I don't know what i'm saying, there's too much, and there are no words. I want to fill the world with all the love i feel for it, want for it, wish upon every person walking it, i...

... don't know.

It's not enough, it's not enough, it's not enough.

Orchid.