Fare Thee Well, My Darlin' Boo

At the start of September, I went through a breakup. It was a breakup that I saw coming. But it was also one that I had no idea how to handle, for many reasons. For one, it was my first. No template, no 'last time' - just the abyss of sad emptiness and misunderstanding. For two, it was not for the reason I thought it would be. For three, it just made no sense. We both loved each other, we were both attracted to each other - still, in the midst of this breakup - but somehow, my ex doing something wrong was not something he felt we could, or should, rectify, or work through. It was a sudden, and messy end.

And it got messier. After the breakup, we slept together a few times, months after. Despite him pursuing another girl. Despite having not had sex for the duration of our relationship. It made even less sense, and I was so numb to it. I legitimately remember enjoying myself, being glad to have this physicality between us back, something that we had lost for so long. It felt like a distance between us was bridging. But then it would end, and then it was back. I felt far away, I felt like everything was wrong. All the time, even when we'd been together. And the worst part? He was, and had been for much longer than we'd been together, my best friend. And all I could feel was this ugly disconnect. 

I had always thought that being with your best friend would be perfect - that certain things that had to be revealed and acted upon would be much easier knowing someone had your back. To be honest, I don't know how I would have honestly expressed my discomfort with intimacy with anybody else. In one instance, we were lying in bed together. I had always avoided getting too close but I was so physically at home with him, and that discord confused him, I guess. He asked me if I didn't want to have sex with him, and I tried inadequately to explain to him that it wasn't that. Only half jokingly, he told me he'd be cool with it if this was how I figured out that I was a lesbian. I weirdly appreciated that, and it made me want to fuck him even more. It almost happened that night, but it didn't. Maybe if it had, we wouldn't have ended the way we did... But instead, he got blue balls and we stumbled into a downward spiral. 

It wasn't perfect, we weren't perfect. But I was fucking happy. And losing him made me so fucking unhappy. I didn't just lose him after we broke up. I could feel myself losing him throughout that last few weeks, everything just getting worse and worse. And the sadness I felt from that worsened the way he felt about us, and absolutely everything crumbled. I've now gone through so many different stages of losing him, and every one feels worse than the last. And the most recent loss? Him going back to the ex that he cheated on to be with me. The ex who was so paranoid about our closeness that she warned him against the exact thing he went and did with me. The ex who became so uncomfortable with us as a pair that she told him he couldn't see me any more, while we were dating. He says that he won't let this affect us, but it already has. I know he's kept things from me about the whole situation, and as he well knows, that is my one thing. I literally don't care about much else in a relationship except not being lied to. And anyway, how can I trust a person who looks to love someone who hates our connection so deeply? Again, I feel myself pulling away.

And I'm trying to do the done thing - putting him in my past, trying to move on and invest in other people so that I can maybe one day feel the same way about someone else. I am trying, but I struggle. Sometimes I can't see the point, and on other days, I realise how much the thing I had was the thing that I always wanted and nothing really can replace the feeling of how good that relationship was when it was good. Even with this distance I've created, some part of me still loves him. Some part of me that occasionally rises to the surface still sees this future with him, and knows - not even believes - that it could all still work, could all still come back around. But that requires growth, from both of us and while I believe in myself and that I could eventually get to where I need to be, I don't have that same faith in him anymore.

I don't believe we'll ever be the same again. And that really breaks my heart because I have never met someone where it all just worked in the same way it did with him. I never needed to be a certain way, and I knew I was loved just the way I was. Maybe that was the problem though - we had never needed to 'Talk', so I think in situations where we should have, we just didn't. We just hoped our feelings would be enough to get us through. But how can they when I deeply distrust what people say and he could never feel the love I knew I felt for him or believe me when I told him of it? 

I have a lot of regrets coming out of this relationship, or rather (at this point) situationship. But after all of this time, I don't regret being with him at all. I realised a lot. I have come out the other side knowing that there are certain things I cannot compromise on. I can't handle poor communication, and I can't deal with expectations of longterm commitment at this point in my life. I know that wanting to adopt, knowing that I don't want to carry a child, is a feeling that is here to stay, and that the "you'll change your mind" thing is a warning sign. I know I cannot humour insecurities - I need to be believed when I express my feelings. And the truth remains as important to me as ever. And every part of that is valuable knowledge I will carry into every further relationship I develop. I have faith that soon, someone and something will come along that is right for me. Someone that understands that I am an independent being, but loves me as if I needed them. Someone that sees my complexities, and makes an effort to understand them. Someone that makes me feel more beautiful than I do myself and who is consistent and stable. He was a lot of that, yes, but he couldn't manage to be all of it. At least at that time... but I don't think I'll ever stop loving him. I guess that's just the way things go sometimes, huh?

I titled this post 'I Wish I Didn't Love You...' months ago, when I first began writing. I don't even really remember when that was. I was going through a tough time with it all, then I was doing better, then the last week was bad again. I don't feel the same anymore though. I love the time I spent with him. I love the love I had for him. I'm just sad it couldn't last, that's all. But I'll bounce back - I know it. I'll find another person, one day, who makes me feel less like The Undesirable I've always known myself to be.

#supportbaharmustafa?

If you are not from Britain, you might have managed to escape the controversy surrounding Bahar Mustafa. In fact, if you are from Britain you might well have missed the furore initially ignited when Mustafa, who presides as the Welfare & Diversity Officer for Goldsmiths' Student Union in London, organised an event at which the university's diversity policies were to be discussed, and ensured white males were informed that they were unable to attend. A media circus soon followed, which criticised Mustafa for excluding a group by their race and gender - though the actual post simply asked invited white males, and females, to "respect this is a BME Women and non-binary event only". 

If, having read that statement, you feel personally offended I suggest you escape this blog as soon as humanly possible. Because if you are at all offended by that statement, you clearly do not understand the need for women-of-colour-only events. I can only assume that if that statement troubles you, you believe in the need for equality, but see it simply as personally being on level-pegging as everyone else. Further, you probably have not realistically experienced inequality, and therefore think that personal exclusion from an event equates to inequality. I suggest you escape this blog, because I am a BME woman and my opinions, those posted here, can only reflect that of my personal experience. And my personal experience, as a black/minority ethnic female, is that what you think is inequality is not inequality.

Inequality is, at the age of six, being told that the people you thought were your friends "don't play with brown people". Inequality is, at the age of eleven, watching your less-qualified male best friend receive an award that was recommended to you because you, a female, expressed personal pride in your exemplary success. Inequality is, aged sixteen, still being told to exercise 'modesty' in dressing by your mother, still afraid of the daily occurrences of misogynoir. Inequality is, in the present day, watching white feminists call your friends "oppressed" because of their choice to wear hijab to be closer to Allah. Inequality is not being excluding from an event. Inequality is living your entire life on unequal footing, and knowing it will continue unless black and minority ethnic females take a stand.

So, no, I do not fault Bahar Mustafa for creating a diversity event that excludes all males and white females, because it is important to recognise that the purpose of diversity officers is to protect minority groups and create a university experience that is safe and fair for those groups. That is not to say I completely agree with her actions; personally, I see no reason why black and minority ethnic males would not benefit from discussions of diversity. However, and I mean no offence at all when I put forward this reminder, white males tend to be the best-represented group on university campuses, owing in great part to the fact that for hundreds of years they were the only group permitted education in universities and have since dominated these establishments in both control and attendance. In fact, I find it perplexing that white males would actually feel the need, or desire, to attend an event that addresses the problems of minority ethnic and female communities in the university. What might they hope to gain? Do they hope to be awarded for their ally status? Are they in fear of the conversations that occur behind their backs? Or do they simply wish to criticise the ideas put forward?

I think that the biggest fear of organisers like Mustafa - but perhaps not necessarily Mustafa herself - is that those outside of the black/minority ethnic, female group have little understanding of the problems faced by those within the group. The purpose of events like these is to provide a space for those who are often ignored, discriminated against or misunderstood by higher levels of management in university power structures. Positions like Mustafa's were created to give such people a voice, a more approachable representation of themselves. When only 17 of the UK's 18,500 professors are black females, how can one expect black and minority ethnic women to feel adequately represented in their own universities' power structures? Speaking from my personal experience of the last year at my own London university, in which I have been taught by over thirty lecturers, I can only recall four non-white lecturers - two Middle Eastern natives (one male, one female) teaching Arabic and two South Asian males in the Geography department. But this is not a game of numbers. Equality and representation does not mean equal percentages, though it would be wonderful to see. My point is that white university attendees need not look to benefit from the promotion of diversity, and should not be threatened by the concept.

Looking through the Twitter tag #supportbaharmustafa, it seems quite obvious to me that people understand this issue only from their own personal perspective. I've noticed the word 'laughable' used quite frequently in relation to Mustafa's opinions; well, I find it laughable how predictably unilateral the thinking of these people is. Their cries of reverse racism are falling on deaf ears because, guess what? People of colour have to live with the real thing every day and it means violence and pain and death, not just exclusionary acts. These tweeters wish to discredit Mustafa as the stereotypical privileged millennial - "drink trendy latte, leech off your parents, oh! the oppression." - or they want to frame her opinions as 'racist' and politicise people they don't know or understand - "racists want to #KillAllWhiteMen that pay for them & their families Uni fees, NHS,HB &Benefits" - or make the whole ordeal into an anti-feminist argument - "Feminists be like: "division is the only way to end division"". But it's not about any of that. It's not about them. It's about people who are disadvantaged and need their voices to be heard. It's about women of colour talking about misogynoir, and being understood. It's about women of colour not being kept from what they are qualified to do. It's about women of colour making friends based on shared experiences, regardless of their race. When you are not a woman of colour, how can you know what it is like to go through these experiences? What do you personally have to give to the cause? Why should we listen to you?

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I am still unsure whether or not I #supportbaharmustafa. If she indeed has the desire to "kill all white men", as the media and an opinionated change.org petition has chosen to purport, I cannot say I agree with that. But there is no evidence of this tweet in any media articles. And intense sarcasm is the more likely source of such a statement. More importantly, where was this anger when the #killallmuslims hashtag was trending? This particular hashtag was far more likely to actually initiate real-life incidents, yet there was relative calm as it spread across the world. So why is it that Scotland Yard have decided to investigate Mustafa and not the scores of people who used this anti-Muslim hashtag? The double standards in our society are getting out of hand. And it is allowing people to mobilise aggressively regarding issues they do not fully understand. Bahar Mustafa deserves praise for being instrumental in the BME, female, queer community of Goldsmiths', for working so hard on issues that affect so many people and for standing strong in the face of death threats and other adversities. But until I know the full story, I refuse to take a stance in an argument I don't fully understand.

See how easy it is?

The Problem With Paramore

I have reached that point in my life where everything I do is tinged with a hint of nostalgia. I know this because I spent 90% of my day today listening to the music of my early teen-hood. 

Listening to the music of your past is always a strange experience. Sometimes you realise it wasn't half as good as you thought it was - I'm looking at you, Cobra Starship - and sometimes you wonder what the hell you were doing - why did I like Family Force 5 so much? (Oh wait - this is why!) But oftentimes, you just end up indulging in your past self. You think about the you that existed when you spent all day listening to those bands, or dancing to those music videos. It's an amazing and, even, enlightening experience. It's almost an education in yourself, and how you got to the place you're at now. Well, at least it is for me.

When I was like twelve to fourteen years old, I had like a semi-scene/emo phase. I was deeply into the music - but not so much the look. I read Kerrang! weekly and bought Rock Sound every month. My favourite bands were at least slightly obscure - Hollywood Undead, Breathe Carolina, Anarbor etc - but, like all the emo kids, I listened to those classic favourites: Fall Out Boy and Paramore. Today was my FOB-Paramore nostalgia day. I listened to tons of their old stuff, and watched all of the Youngblood Chronicles (really weird shit...) and, whilst listening to Paramore, I started reading stuff, which I kinda wish I didn't. Let me explain.

So, when I first got into Paramore, I really loved the Farro brothers. I don't know what it was about them, I just found the two of them, with their deep, dark, sorrowful eyes, so damn endearing. So when I found out, after my phase had ended, that the brothers had left the band, I was kinda heartbroken. I still thought Taylor and Jeremy were the more attractive ones (my fourteen-year-old self was a little more shallow than current me...) so it didn't matter to me much after I heard. I thought it would be bizarre to have a three-person version of the band, but they'd had a thousand different line-ups in the past so it didn't bother me much.

Back to the present: So I started reading the Spotify bio of Paramore and I wanted to read Josh's leaving statement. What he said in the statement didn't really surprise me at all. I don't know what it was, but I always got the feeling that Hayley was apart from the rest of them, and, after Riot!, I always saw Josh and Zac as somewhat separate to the rest of the group. It was like there were two different groups then Hayley. Because of this though, it did surprise me that Taylor was technically in the band before Hayley. 

Anyway, I then looked to the Paramore website for information about past-Paramore. But there was none, and that really irked me. I could understand it from one angle. But, at the same time, I think it's incredibly immature to ignore a moment of conflict in your past. What they said on the website's 'About' page wasn't so much an about the band as it was a separation from their former lineup. Let me give a few examples... Jeremy says the album is "a lot happier and brighter album that people might expect... We've wanted to write songs like this for so long, but weren't emotionally ready. Now we are." He's virtually saying: "hey, we wanted to write happy songs before but Josh and Zac were such deadweights that we couldn't do it. We just weren't happy with them here, but now we are!" Harsh, right? And then there's Taylor's little "we really mean it when we say this album feels like the record our band was always supposed to make", as if the Farros were holding them back from making it that whole time. I mean maybe they were, but it just seems like a bit of an attack at them. Lastly, it's the fact that Hayley says "the best way to give it a name was just to call it what it is. This album is us." You see, what she's saying is that, Paramore is Hayley, Taylor and Jeremy. No one else. Not Josh. Not Zac. Just those three. They named their album Paramore to show everyone that they - not Josh and Zac - are Paramore, and that really pissed me off.

The problem with Paramore, as they exist now but also as they always have been, is that they are immature. They have failed to acknowledge the breakdown of their existence as a unit, and they have failed to acknowledge each one's individual impact on the situation. There was no apology to Josh and Zac, there was no appreciation of them being part of their past. It's depressing. They should be able to say that they've changed since the Farros left. And they should acknowledge the influence they had on them. It's like having a leg chopped off and going on as if it was never there. Because people know it was there. People remember it was there and people loved and appreciated it as part of the body as a whole and now it's not there and there are many, many questions. 

Honestly, I didn't want to listen to their new music and enjoy it after realising all this - but I unfortunately did. I just hope the three of them get their act together and talk about that formative period that made and grew them to what they now are. But for now, back to Fall Out Boy.

Every Love I've Never Had

Liam

Liam was my first crush, when we were in primary school. We were in the same PSHE group, the only ones from our class. So were his two brothers, who made fun of me for a while. I was a small, chubby black girl, and he was a skinny, blonde, white boy. We were never meant to be, and even when we became friends and he stood up to his brothers for me it was never meant to happen. But then he moved to Boston (the one in Yorkshire, not America) and I basically never saw him again, I never had a chance. He knew I liked him, but he didn't like me back: the beginning of a long line.

Morgan

When I started secondary school, I started seeing new faces. Morgan's stuck out to me. He was in the year above at our brother school and was covered in freckles, dark-haired and blue-eyed, one of the prettiest guys I'd ever seen. I added him on Facebook, I don't know why but I did and somehow this resulted in me having his number? We texted a fair bit but it never really amounted to much. I think he might have been dating someone else at the time. A couple of years later and he got really bad acne, but I still thought he was beautiful. I think it was the eyes... Sigh.

Tim

Tim was friends with Morgan. Sort of, I think. He got my train and my tram on the way to school and had amazingly blonde hair that really always needed a bit of a trim. But I was into that at the time I guess. I was strangely intrigued by him, but more attracted to his younger brother who travelled with him. Because I showed such interest in them both, my friend/travel buddy thought I had a serious crush on Tim. So she wrote a poem on a card, added some confetti and gave it to him saying it was from me. Possibly was the most embarrassing situation in my life. He was weird about it. We never really spoke of it, or spoke for that matter, again. That was the end of that. Then he started dating one of my friends in the year above, which was greatly awkward, but I loved her so it was fine. Another one bites the dust.

James

The thing I had for James is probably one of the most constant things about me. It kinda happened throughout the time of Morgan and Tim, but it stuck around for like two years. When we were in year eight, he was dating one of my good friends. We befriended each other over our love of certain musicians (although I'm pretty sure I only got into them because of him) and Nike 6.0s. Of all the people in my life, he affected my music taste most severely over the time we talked. But, as with many of my crushes, we only really spoke on Facebook. I wasn't brave enough to go up to him on the train, surrounded by all his friends. It was always me initiating conversations, but he was nice enough. We'd talk for hours after school, and I loved it. I just wanted to be around him. But then, after a year or so, my feelings for him got too serious. I couldn't speak as friends, I think I stopped speaking to him altogether. How he felt about me affected me seriously, in ways I couldn't explain. And as he dated different people, I sat around never telling him how I felt. It enraged my best friend who kept telling me to suck it up and do it, but it was never the right time for me. My mental state got so much worse because of it and I remember just crying for the dumbest reasons, but knowing it was because I wanted to be able to love him. One day, I just decided enough was enough and I made myself stop liking him. I just thought it was damaging me too severely to let it go on so I gave up. And strangely it worked. It was as if I had been forcing myself to like him the whole time. We haven't spoken since, though we continued to see each other every day for three more years. I don't believe he ever felt half of what I felt for him for me, which made it all the more easy to finally get over him.

Ethan

What I felt for Ethan was strange. I was bizarrely attracted to him for some pretty stock reasons - he skateboarded, played drums, played bass, was a good artist: all things I find sexy - but it was problematic because I'd known him since I was a kid, yet we'd never spoken. Besides, we went to church together. My mum already knew him! It was a difficult situation to decipher. My best friend at church was really close to him though and kept grouping us as similar people. At some point she decided we would start helping each other improve on our instruments by giving each other songs to learn. I asked him what he'd like me to pick for him and I remember him sending me a message saying "anything you want" and it made my heart melt. That was the moment I knew I was into him. I wanted to get closer to him so I asked him to help me with an art project, which never really happened. But that summer, we all went camping together for a week and over that week, as often occurs, we got really close. By day three, he was laying on my lap and this kid asked if we were dating, which was a strange moment because I almost wished we were when I knew he didn't care. By the end of the trip, one of our supervisors even thought he was into me. And I wouldn't have disagreed at that point; he was incredibly flirty with me. But as always happens in situations like this, when we got back we barely spoke. And I missed him. I tried to make situations arise, and we were on a friendly level and it was pretty great. About a month after we came back, I was in Oxford on another trip and I got a message from him that basically just said "I love you x". And I automatically assumed it was a prank, I wasn't about to assume it was reality. So I replied "Lol okay Ethan okay". I wanted to ask him about it for ages but I couldn't pluck up the courage till one day I finally Facebooked him with my assumption. It was one of the best conversations we'd ever had. Such high levels of banter and sarcasm like I'd never experienced before with someone I was into. It was like the first time I was truly myself when talking and it felt great. I wanted, at the very least, to be good friends. And a couple of months later with some friends, I realised how much I did. So I texted him again and let him know. But it was too late. He was now dating his best friend, and had been for a few months. She was the one who sent me the weird message (apparently) and I got some more weird messages after that. We're still friends, but he's been a little more vacant lately and totally absorbed in his girlfriend during summer. I'm not into him anymore, but I don't believe this is the end to our story. I still have hope for us, but while I'm at uni and he's in his last year at school, our whole relationship is on the back-burner. I might see him this weekend, and I hope things can be as good as they were before.

Kids

I cannot fathom how any human on this earth manages life with kids. 

For the last week or so, I have been staying with my family in Boston. My uncle, whom I absolutely love, is now a parent to two little girls who are universally believed to be "the cutest". Except by me of course. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I love them. When they want to be, they can be super sweet, and the younger one - now four years old - has the potential to be absolutely adorable when she wants to get her way. I can absolutely deal when I only have to do a few things for them, like make them some food or read them a book. But, see, the problem is at a time like right now, when their parents have abandoned us and left me in charge. 

For the first hour or so, it was great. They were watching the Lego Movie and were so wonderfully absorbed in it (despite the fact that it was at least their third viewing this week) that I was able to silently slip off and make myself breakfast and a cup of tea, even enjoy the movie myself. Great, right? It was. Fabulous. Until about the last half hour when their concentration waned a little bit, and I found myself telling them to stop doing this and stop doing that and I started to get irritated.

Then the movie ended. A game was created. Put the sofa seats in reclining position and slide down on cushions. Uh, no! No. Firstly, that causes terrible structural imbalance. I know from experience. It could topple the whole sofa onto them, and I do not want to be responsible for that shit. Secondly, yellow cushions on a dirty ground is unacceptable. So I made them stop. It took a bit of effort but they stopped sliding. The cushions were still on the floor, though. So I picked them up.

Afterwards, one of them went to get some animal cookies. I decided that a few would be okay. Then she dropped one on the floor. Instead of being normal and picking it up to put it in the bin, or eat it, or whatever, she stepped on it. Obviously, I berated her and told her to put her cookies down and pick up what she had dropped. She told me we needed a broom and I agreed so she went to get one. But, being an inept four year old, her idea of cleaning up was spreading it further. I ended up sweeping it all without a dustpan and had to pick up the pieces by hand. Meanwhile, the older sister had went to get her own cookies. Then came the moaning about how the younger sister had had her cookies stolen and other such things. The rest of the cookies got put on top of the fridge. To be honest, this is my universal solution. All I wanted was for them both to stop and shut up, so I gave them books and told them to sit down. Unfortunately, this solution was only useful for about five minutes. Ugh. 

Next, we had the saga of the lost Play Doh cup. One of them had stolen the Play Doh cup for her tea party game - which is irritatingly taking place on my bed - and convinced the other, who was looking for it so that she could put the Play Doh away, that it was a different cup So we spent forever searching for the initial cup, with various problems and arguments relating to dumb stuff like some Minnie Mouse glasses - which were consequently confiscated and put on top of the microwave - and a ballerina Barbie. They aren't even good toys! Fight over the Lego for God's sake!!! I eventually gave up and made them both put everything down and look for it. We never found another one because, obviously, there was never another one.

Currently, one of them is going through my bag and asking me what things are for. *passes me my lip balm* "Read it!" "Intense Therapy Lip Balm SPF25" "Is it for adults?" "Yep." "Put it on! What colour is it? What does it feel like!? Let me put it back." *passes me my tissues* "What's this for?" Like, are you serious? Are we doing this? The other one has made a strange Lego shape, clearly inspired by the movie and is shouting about it. Really, children? Really?

I don't know. I had thought about having kids but after this debacle of a morning, I'm second guessing my second guess. In case you hadn't realised, I really do not want kids.

I'm certain it's worse right now for me because they know I'm not the absolute authority. I'm not their Mom, and I'm not their Dad so what can I really do about their arguments and misbehaviour? I can threaten "Time Out"s but really am I going to go to through with them? I can shout at them, but I can't really do anything serious. As much as I say, "I am in charge", the level to which I am is really rather debatable.

If I have taken away anything from this traumatic experience, though, it's never to have more than one kid. Or, if I do, to make sure they are different genders because having two kids who want the same thing constantly is exhausting. But until then I will stick to my perfect life mantra, "I hate kids".

The Last Few Days...

So, I have wonderful news.

The other day (July 6) I received my IB results. Let me tell you the story of that day... It was insane.

First off, it has to be said, I didn't let my parents know that it was results day. I was scared shitless and they always seem to up my anxiety levels so therefore I thought it best for my own sanity to leave them in the dark a little bit. I remained vague whenever they asked me how far away the day was. However, I did tell my aunt, mainly because I think I would have died if I was the only one in my house going through this mega-insane level of stress for a day.

So my mum woke me up for church that morning and as soon as she did, the phone started ringing. She picked up the phone whilst in the room and spoke to a friend. The news, which was assumed because it was so early in the morning, was that a friend of my parents had died. This friend lived in Reading and had known them since they first moved to the UK so it was pretty intense to find out. She decided that they would probably spend their evening driving up to Reading, since my dad would be away on business from the day after and they therefore wouldn't have a chance the rest of the week. I still said nothing. I thought it would be better that way because I could tell them once I had recovered.

At church, my mum was in charge of creche so wouldn't be coming to the service with me. I knew with the lack of sleep I had the night before (two to three hours max.) that I would be a hysterical mess so I stayed with my mum. No kids showed up so I spent the hour or so playing basketball, which was good and distracting. That day also happened to be the annual barbecue at church, which required the same hall for seating. After a while, we started setting up just to be of some use to someone. All the while I was texting my friend, just as panicky as I was, about how soon results were. 

Once the service was over I went to meet up with my friends. I felt like I constantly had the most serious case of the shakes, it was awful. Luckily, I ended up speaking to one of my older friends about results and university and other such etceteras which made me feel somewhat better about it, but also worse. She told me about being accepted to an Oxford course that she didn't want and ending up going elsewhere. All I could think of was how badly I wanted to get into my firm. Not that King's is a bad uni, I just could never picture myself there. It was comforting though, I liked speaking to her.

Anyway as the barbecue went on, I was wary of the time. I knew my results would be released at 2.45 so made sure I had left by 2.15. The tram came quickly and by the time I got home I was a ball of anxiety. I picked up my laptop from my room and headed upstairs. There was a bottle of rosé next to my bed and I downed all the remnants, my fear levels making me feel close to vomiting. I loaded up the website and typed in my details (which I had actually lost the day before. That freaked me the fuck out.) then sat there for a while unsure what to do. I distracted myself by checking out lookbook and replying to some texts but it was becoming harder and harder to keep myself from thinking about the results, after all, I was now in the final few minutes of the countdown. So I logged in, a few minutes earlier than I planned just to adapt myself to the site's interface.

Then, the fear hit me. So hard. I had to get away so I hurried back downstairs and started acting like nothing was happening. My aunt spotted the time and looked at me both alarmed and sympathetically. It was 2.45 now and she was questioning why I wasn't checking my results. Silently though, because my parents were still around and she was keeping the secret. I was escorted upstairs and after a good few minutes of psyching myself up and taking deep breaths, I clicked on the link that read 'Results'. I scrolled down the screen straight away, not caring about my individual marks... I just wanted to know my total! I saw a 7 while I was scrolling past though and was mildly relieved. But I finally found it. 40 points. I got 40 points!

I was so fucking excited and all because I did it. I got 40 points out of 45! I had never felt more relieved in my life. It was literally the best news in my life ever. After such a monstrously stressful day, it was such an amazing feeling to know that those two years of my life had not been wasted. And to know that I had got into UCL. It was only confirmed today but I've done it, I'm going to UCL and I'm doing the course I love and I'm going to be able to go to America for a year and hopefully my friends will make it there too and it will be amazing.

Basically, that's my news. I'm going to UCL. I got in and I'm secure. I know what I'm doing for the next four years and I feel so excited about it! I'm looking forward to doing what I thought I couldn't, what I expected I wouldn't manage. Life is fabulous right now and I'm going to be in the clouds for the rest of the summer. EEEEEEEEEEE excited!

An Open Letter to All Feminists in the Wake of the UCSB Shootings

So, today I was doing my semi-annual tumblr scroll - a far cry from the days when I used to be the typical "tumblr all day err' day" kinda teen - and noticed a lot of super feministy posts to which my response was obviously WOO FEMINISM but as I scrolled further and further down my dashboard I realised where these posts had been initiated from. They started, mainly, after the news came of the killing of six students at UC Santa Barbara by a student, who for media want of brevity has predominantly been described as a rich virgin kid who failed to get what he wanted and sought to payback "blonde sluts" for their rejection of him. Since I am a serious fan of psychopaths and their minds, for the last few days I have been reading his "141-page manifesto", a phrase used in almost every media outlet, which according to various sites is quite simply a tirade against all the many females who made this young man, Elliot Rodgers, feel undesirable (oh, hello there).

At this point, I am really sorry to say, I had a moment of 'woah feminism, hold up', because, in some cases, I just was not with these girls at all. One thing that irked me was that a male had said to one of these tumblr people that they were using a serious violent crime to support their argument, which yes was quite obviously was what was happening, but I personally, having read what I had of his life story (45 pages in) could see so many more reasons than male entitlement to his feelings towards women. These girls, advertising themselves as feminists, made clear that a feeling that he was owed ownership over a woman was what drove him to such a violent act. But I disagree. Elliot Rodgers' actions were a simple case of the bullied becoming the bully. We see it all the time in school playgrounds, but as children age and grow into teenagers and then adults, it's saddening to say that those pent up feelings, contained for so long can release themselves as violent bursts of rage. That is exactly what the world has seen in Elliot Rodgers' crime.

That is not to say that there was no misogyny in his words. He was an angry boy, and it seems as if all of that anger was directed towards women, starting from his imposing stepmother Soumaya and continuing on to the girls in his college until his murder of two females there. Interesting that, actually: he killed more males than he did women. So even though we, as a society, have concluded that he was a woman-hater and he was a misogynist who wanted to see women crushed, it clearly is not totally true. Elliot Rodgers also wanted to kill males, males that he perceived as better than him, perhaps. I do not know enough about his roommates and the other males he killed to say that for definite, but from what I have read about Elliot, he had rage towards the males around him who were (in particular) taller than him, and generally who were more physically fit and able-bodied than him. Understandably, Rodgers felt hard-done-by by the universe. It's a feeling that we all feel at some point; how come this other person can get something brilliant that I cannot just by nature? Why do I have this illness whilst other people can stay healthy? Why, even, am I not born the gender I feel? Rodgers question to the universe, quite simply, was - as a child - "Why am I worse at sports than all these other boys even though I try twice as hard?" And then as puberty hit and sexual realisation occurred, the question grew into "Why do these mean boys get the girls that I love when I am nothing but cordial to them?" These are both perfectly acceptable questions, and I am certain that other males around the world ask this exact same question.

So, what we as a society should be asking ourselves is "Why did Elliot Rodgers feel as if he was owed these things?" We, as feminists, cannot simply blame this boy and say that he felt entitlement to the female body. Because as much as we may want to believe that it is a trait of the general male population that we should just blame them for, we cannot; it is our problem too. Both genders have instigated this by the simple expectations of males. The larger problem at hand is the characterisation of the male gender and what happens when a few outliers secede from this by nature. When Rodgers was young, he notes in his "manifesto", he would cry when he felt jealous. From a young age, boys in our culture are taught to not cry or show any emotion except pure rage. Young Elliot would have been told to stop crying and to grow up and perhaps even to "be a man". He was unable to engage in sports like football and basketball and later he found that he was unable to participate in the sexual conquests that perhaps his peers could. From earliest childhood, Rodgers failed to display the traits that he was expected to as a male and the consequent bullying he received due to this created the problems that escalated to the situation at hand.

So as we talk about the case of Elliot Rodgers, I urge you all to see a human, a boy who had gone through incredible pain through his life because he could not live up to his society's vision of a male, not just an example of male entitlement. Perhaps, if he lived in a less masculinised society, if he had had a less American ideal to live up to (that is not to say we should blame solely American culture, but the sort of women that he singled out in his writing show that he was predominantly attracted to the often unachievable and unattainable Hollywood archetypal woman, and also that he wanted to look like the cool, white, blonde kids he saw at a young age) perhaps then, Elliot Rodgers would be fine right now. Maybe if he had grown up in Portland, where his whole city wanted to be kept weird, or if he hadn't had the social pressures of movie industry families and excessive wealth surrounding him from a young age, or if he had learnt to accept himself as an outsider, this crime would have never happened. I truly believe that, had Rodgers waited it out a little longer, he would have found someone perfect for him. As far as I have seen, he was not an unattractive boy but rather a boy who had been taught all his life to live up to a certain ideal and to funnel his emotions into rage instead of creativity, a toxic concoction of life experience that led up to this painful mass murder. I am not saying that what he did was not wrong, but I do feel sorry for him. He is yet another product of a society that remains unwilling to accept deviations from the norm and a long-standing need to fit in. He was not a monster, just a boy who could not see the worth in himself and went from blaming himself for his lack of worth to blaming others. If only he had spent a minute in my life, I think he would see that the world was not that bad. 

Rest in peace, Elliot Rodgers, may your soul find its long-awaited solace.

Disclaimer: I wish for all those he killed to also find their solace, but have not mentioned them because this piece is not about them. They were jerked away from their world with a violent tug and it is awful to think that it is simply because someone could externalise their self-hatred to such an extent that it took the life of others. Yet another anti-gun argument. If Rodgers still lived in England, likely he could only stab a few people who would have live to see today, as in the stabbing at that Pennsylvania high school where twenty people were stabbed and all are expected to survive. America, your right to bear arms is hurting your own children and if you do not see this and want to make a change, I cannot understand how selfish you are being.

The Case for Jess

I have never been more in love with a character in anything EVER more than Jess from Gilmore Girls.

There is virtually no way for me to explain my way out of this at all.

I am not a gushy teenage girl. I don't fall in love with people just because they are mildly attractive and have a "cute smile". Granted, I began watching the show at about the age of eleven so when I was introduced to Jess, I was probably a bit of a gushy teenage (well, pre-teenage) girl but... And I am not the sort to fall in love based on a perceived notion of character. But as I re-watch Gilmore Girls, I have grown to realise how well I, personally, would get along with Jess, and further, how well he and Rory got along. He would be my perfect guy, I think. Rory and I, we aren't quite on the same levels so I even think that Jess would teach me something, which is what I personally look for in relationships. If a Jess existed in my life, I would do all I could to get him.

But that isn't to say I disagree with the arguments against Jess. Yes, I agree with so many people, Jess is a terrible person half of the time. He is ridiculously rude to so many people and messes things up for Rory regularly. Yes he is disrespectful and ungrateful for much of his time in Stars' Hollow. But I still cannot understand those who ship Dean and Rory or Logan and Rory over Jess and Rory. I think that believing that either one of the former were Rory's perfect match shows a real misunderstanding of human nature and character, indeed of Rory's character. However, I by no means believe Jess was Rory's perfect partner. Jess was just the best that the show drew up.

One thing I really have noticed whilst watching is the similarities between Jess and Lorelai. I know she absolutely hated him at first, but I could see real parallels between conversations between Rory and Lorelai and between Rory and Jess. Their banter, their cultural references, their understanding of each other; they were perfectly in tune. For some reason, I don't think that any other Gilmore Girls fans see that. If they like Jess, they like him because he had the most in common with her or because he kept up with her, but in my opinion, it's their conversational sparring that makes me want them together. In my mind, they make sense. What is perfect within Rory and Lorelai's relationship is drawn on and reflected in her relationship with Jess.

Obviously, one thing about Jess that is terrible is his inability to interact with Rory's family and friends. In fact, it isn't much of an inability; it's more of a nonchalance, or an unnecessary aggression towards them. Jess did not really care about Rory's family. Yet, when he returned in the sixth season, it was quite obvious that he had grown out of his deviance. He suddenly - or maybe not so suddenly - respected all that Luke had done for him, to the point of giving him a cheque for all that he owed him. Jess matured, and made a life for himself. He went from nothing, from flunking out of school and severing ties with those he maybe should have loved and respected, to having a published novel and an artistic clan, to being a success. I don't know about anyone else but that reminds me very much of Lorelai. Lorelai messed up her teenage years, but she fixed it. She succeeded and thrived, just like Jess. I think that it is impossible to say that, having seen the similarities between Jess and Lorelai, it makes sense. Rory and Jess make sense.

Another thing, I know this probably means nothing to anyone else, but to my mind, Rory is a guy's name. I would never name a girl Rory, and have never met a girl called Rory. Same with Jess: I have never met a male Jess. Jesse, yes, but not Jess. Pairing two opposing genders together (in this particular context, not in general life) makes sense to me. Whereas Dean and Rory sound like two males to me, as does Logan and Jess. I think there was something in those names that was intentional. I think the writers of Gilmore Girls must have meant Jess and Rory to be the OTP of their show, and they let everyone know through their names - just a thought.

There is nothing perfect about relationships. Of course, the one between Jess and Rory was littered with indiscretions and indecisions, a thousand terrible little things. I think, though, what was special about those two was their apparent incompatibility. The best relationships, in my opinion, are those of which people disagree with. They have the power from the outset to withstand any issues within them because they have spent so long fighting against the people who don't believe they can manage. Jess and Rory are my favourite Gilmore Girls couple because there was nothing really wrong with them, except Jess' lack of expressed emotion of course. Logan was an arrogant shit who treated Rory as if she was disposable and acted carelessly. She never could have handled that relationship longterm because Logan was irresponsible and had too strong a hold on her emotions. And Dean, anyone who likes Dean and Rory is denying reality because a first love is hardly ever the one for either person. A first love is naive and painful, and it's often right for that point in your life but as both people change, it becomes less and less workable. Dean was never made for anything more than small-town life. That he got married before Rory had lost her virginity speaks to that. He had no further plans for his life... It just seemed like he would hold Rory back. 

So, yes, I am a Jess girl. And I don't care whether people think that Jess had a bad influence on Rory, or that he hurt her. Because love hurts, it does. Still, the reward is greater than all the trouble. Jess gave the greatest reward to Rory, both independence and the capability to deal with pain. He helped her to rebel, and she helped him to realise the importance of education and hard work and being a good person. They helped each other along, no matter how strange and awkward. I want a Jess because I want to be able to feel as good as I feel watching these two get to know each other in my own relationships. I want to wake up and know that the person I am with may not be the one, but will give me the most, that I will help them and they will change me for the better. I want someone who reminds me that work and "the path" is not all there is, that to be a success I don't have to pass my exams or go to uni or whatever else. Maybe to achieve my aims, it might be, but that is not the only way to happiness.

I think I have found this person in my life, the one person who makes me feel as though I am normal who both hurts me and gives me intense happiness. He may not be as intelligent as Jess, but he is fascinating, and he is not tied down by the rules. He does not want the normal, but he does not want the bad life. I think, perhaps, he might already have changed me, without either one of us realising. He gives me endless reasons to want to be with him... Now if only I could make him feel for me...

I (Unexpectedly) Enjoyed The Other Woman... Huh?

So, the other day, I went to the cinema with a friend. I was hoping (so hard) that she'd choose to watch X-Men or the new Spiderman movie. But, no. I was dragged, not kicking and screaming because I was trying incredibly hard to be nice, to watch The Other Woman. Yes, that revengey chick flick with Cameron Diaz and Kate Upton and, for some strange reason, Nicki Minaj. I, {Undesirable}, whose favourite movies include the insane, the crude and the hysterical, watched three woman plot against their joint ex-beau. 

Unsurprisingly, I went in doubtful. But I was feeling laughy anyway because a) really amusing conversations and; b) the trailers before the movie were really fucking strange. I mean I nearly curled up into a ball at the shock, horror, intrigue and excitement that I felt at the trailer for Walking On Sunshine (But seriously, it looks amazingly horrifying. I want to see it, but I really don't want to want to see it. It's one of those strange desires you can't make stop...). The first few scenes, I felt like I had just become the most sceptical bitch ever. I kept pointing out those really stupid bits like the fact they were having sex in a hotel room with the door left open. I know, I know, but things like that really annoy me. Except I had to stop because the guy who cheats on them all is Nikolaj Coster-Waldau, who is obviously very attractive and therefore watching him be attractive was good.

Anyway, I thought I would hate the movie because the concept, for one, is so ugh. And also because Kate Upton has no waist. I know it isn't really a real reason but really she has no waist at all. How can you be attractive without a waist!? Look! 

Seriously though, I love Kate Upton, I adore her face so much. I think she is gorgeous. Like, damn girl look at that face! She looks like a modern-day Marilyn Monroe forreal.

I also think it must really hurt to have such large boobs (I have back issues anyway, I cannot imagine what it would be like if I had actual serious boobs) but good on her for making a career out of them. Girl should save that money though because age hits boobs hard. But, yet again, I need to point out that there is no waist there. I just cannot understand how a body that celebrated has so little waist definition. It makes so little sense.

Wow, that was such a sidenote. I got distracted. I love her face so much. It's the cutest...

ANYWAY, the point is, I really was surprised to find that I actually liked the movie quite a bit. It was strangely brilliant to see three women stand together against a man. Rather than females flocking to males, in this movie all of the women abandoned the man who had been messing them around. And the best thing to see was a woman who had been married almost since she left college gain the strength to leave her husband, even after such a long time. I definitely did not enjoy the revenge element. It was fucking harsh to see the guy with his face smashed in, his whole body bloodied and then punched in the nose. But it was so nice to see all three of them free of him. 

Oh, I almost forgot. Even better is the fact that at the end of the movie, the 'wife', Kate, who is played by Leslie Mann is shown simply as being a career girl. There is no 'new love' addition to her storyline, and that I like. I do not like, however, that Kate Upton's character, Amber, ends up with a five or six-time divorced potential grandfather. I just feel as if this makes her character one of those who are used until he is done with that and then moves on. It seems a bit shit. I do like Cameron Diaz's character's storyline, mainly because Taylor Kinney (who she ends up with) is hot, but also because she has been strong and independent for as long as it has worked for her and she realises that it is not an actual way to live her life. For some people that works, but she sees that it does not and she finds someone she loves and settles down. That is how it should be, even though it - unfortunately - hardly ever is.

To sum it up, The Other Woman was a pretty decent movie, with good intelligent humour throughout and surprisingly believable characters. They played to the dumb blonde stereotype with Amber and to the incredibly intelligent and hard-working opposite blonde with Carly. We even had an awesome black girl in the form of Nicki (I loved her. I really did not want to love her but I did.) I think all of the characters were wonderfully likeable, even the cheating Mark. Even though I recognise it to have portrayed females in a vengeful and negative light, it portrays males equally badly. As a feminist, I greatly appreciate that the two genders are presented as equally bad and childish, but for once the people who deserved the win actually won. So no, I did not hate it. It was not the worst movie I have ever seen and I do not regret the money I spent on that cinema ticket. 

Thank you and goodnight.

Stingrage. Or 'Why After Almost Ten Years Of Listening I Still Can't Decide Whether Or Not I Love 'Roxanne''

As a self-proclaimed feminist, it's not unusual for me to be found, unreasonably angered by the sort of situation that would not even register in the minds of the vast majority of the population. Take for example, the latest advert for Birds Eye, referred to as 'The Proposal'. Since the first time I saw the adverts, I have sat fuming as the banter of a supposedly average couple transforms into the everyday sexism that we as females have been socially programmed to stand. But the most incriminating line of this advert: "If you carry on cooking like this I might have to marry you." Witty, right? And of even further frustration, after this atrocity of a statement, the woman in the situation does not react at all. The theme of their adverts are The Food of Life. The most irritating thing about it is that Birds Eye is trying to make these adverts seem like normal, everyday life and in doing that, and showing the advert in between primetime shows, they are teaching young women the wrong thing to expect and tolerate. All this anger, for one line in an advert.

So, obviously, I - some might say - overreact to what I perceive to be sexist. But one might ask how I react to the sexism in the music industry. Listening to rap music from a young age, I might be immune to the crazy real sexism in that genre. But, of late, I've been noticing it in other music. And with my music basis so strongly entrenched in the past, especially the 60s, it's inevitable that it crosses my path. Yet, I am still at a loss on whether or not to stop listening to the music. Would you? Do sexist lyrics warrant that? I think, if it incites enough disgust, sure, why not. But what if it just leaves you with a slightly bad taste in your mouth? What if you just cannot be sure? The Police's 'Roxanne' is the one song that causes me the greatest problem.

Here's a rundown of my thoughts whilst listening to this song. And also the song just below:

"Roxanne. You don't have to put on the red light. Those days are over. You don't have to sell your body to the night."

The singer is telling Roxanne that she no longer needs to sell herself. She can free herself. I mean, Roxanne could probably decide that herself but never mind, Sting. As you were...

Sidenote - I would really like to hear Roxanne's side of this...

"Roxanne. You don't have to wear that dress tonight."

Uh, what if Roxanne likes that dress? What if she thinks it makes her look sexy? I don't know, I don't know...

"Walk the streets for money. You don't care if it's wrong or right."

First of all, I know this is a euphemism, but prostituting is harder than walking the streets. It really is a much tougher job.

Secondly, is it wrong or right? I think his saying this makes me wonder whether the singer - Sting - thinks that it is wrong or not. And whose place is it to say whether it is wrong or right? In my personal opinion, there is nothing at all wrong with prostitution. Being sold into the sex trade, that is a different matter. But I strongly believe that for some women, this is the best way for them to make money. So why should we demean that? Why Sting!?

"... Roxanne - Put on the red light"

RoxANNNNNNEEEEEEEE 

RoxAAAAAAAAANNNNEEEEEEE

RoxAAAAAANNNNNEEEEEEE - PUDOHWN THE RED LAAAAAIGHT

"... I loved you since I knew ya"

Ahem. Incorrect grammar.

But that's cute. How nice.

"I wouldn't talk down to you"

That's great. He respects this girl, despite the fact that he cannot seem to get over her being a prostitute. At least he wouldn't talk down to her!

"I have to tell you just how I feel. I won't share you with another man."

WoahwoahwoahwoahWOAH. Did you not just say you wouldn't talk down to her? And now you're telling her you will not share her with another man? Not that you don't like sharing her with another man (Men, by the way. Prostitutes don't just sleep with one man. If that's the case, she may or may not be cheating on you, sorry!). You are telling her you will not. How rude and condescending of you. Having just said you basically respect her, you sure are not showing it.

"I know my mind is made up, so put away your make up."

ARE YOU FOR REAL, MAN? This guy has made the decision for Roxanne that prostituting is no longer for her. He has decided. That is pretty darn sexist. 

And apparently now that he has made this decision, Roxanne cannot wear any make up. Can you imagine this level of male ownership? A woman is no longer allowed to make herself look pretty because she has already been bought, taken off the market. Disgusting.
Wait, isn't that the point though? He wants her to stop being a prostitute because she doesn't need to sell herself? Or is it that, now, he only belongs to her? That he has bought her and taken her away? Does that not make him her pimp? I'm confused...

"Told you once I won't tell you again"

I'm done, I'm actually done. How can he even say that? As if he is her parent. "Roxanne I have told you once, I will not tell you again. You need to stop prostituting." What a dick. I'm so done...

"... Roxanne..."

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

PUDOHNTHERADLAAAIIIIIGHT

So, what I am trying to say is that, as yet, 'Roxanne' has escaped my feminist boycott because it's catchy as. I love The Police. They are fantastic. Sting's voice is fabulous and their bass lines are some of my favourites in any music. But I still cannot say I love 'Roxanne'. I just cannot get past how awful this character - I am not saying it's Sting by any means - acts towards Roxanne, who appears to be his girlfriend. He is just a terrible person. I could not date such a person. He seems to be trying to save this girl but he cannot do it without being the worst human alive. So after almost a decade of listening to and adoring every musical quality of this song, I will never admit I love it. To anyone. It is just against my feminist sensibilities. Sozguise.

Xena, Warrior Princess?

When I was younger, I was brilliant at waking up early. Every single day I would be up at 5am, no alarms necessary. It was the best because I could just relax for a few hours as school started at nine and was only five minutes away. In this free time, I would grab a bowl of cereal, set up my tiny table in the dark and watch TV really quietly so as not to get caught. Obviously at that time it was slim pickings for shows. I mean, Sexcetera was still on at 5.30am. It was risky! But I always found something to watch. At first, I was a Berenstein Bears fan but when I got a bit older I discovered a new love: Xena.

Xena was amazing.

As a ten-year-old, she became my life hero. Xena was strong and independent. She had a mind of her own. In Xena's world, men were not in charge. She was. She had adventure and excitement and a hella lot of leg on show for a warrior princess. But I was ten. I hardly noticed these issues.

I hadn't watched it for years but found Xena playing on the Horror Channel (bit extreme, I thought) earlier today and began watching. It was the Caligula suicide episode and all I could think of was how much I wish a designer would use the show as inspiration for their collection. I mean, look at this breastplate! I really want this to be a dress that I can purchase... 

Alas, the world is not quite at my level yet. So I will have to make do with nothing.

*sadface*

And also I thought of how Aphrodite was an absolute hot mess. She looked like a nineties' David Lynch character. Or Drew Barrymore in that Never Been Kissed scene. 

But mostly my thoughts were that of misplaced faith. It depressed me to realise how sexualised this girl, who had been my first feminist hero, was. Xena wore battle armour with legs and arms blatantly exposed. And Lucy Lawless was clearly considered quite conventionally attractive. Why do we do this? As a society, why do we demean the strength of women that we pretend to empower?

It's a huge question and not one that can be answered simply. There are examples everywhere, from the impracticality of Wonder Woman's strapless suit for crime-fighting (girl must have some serious fashion tape going on!) to the shock of accomplished journalist Josie Geller's friends when they realise that at 25 *shock horror* she's never been kissed! 

I commend this new wave of writers taking a leaf from Joss Whedon's book. Those writing characters such as New Girl's Jess, Game of Thrones' Arya and American Horror Story's Lana are truly starting a great new movement that has the potential to inspire a generation of young women. One day I hope to contribute to the change beginning in the entertainment industry at present. I want to create characters that pass the Bechdel test without trying, characters who are as complex as I am. I want to show women as they are, as human beings and nothing less. 

A Whole New World

Yesterday was probably the last Christmas I will have with my family for a long time. It was special, but there was a sense of apprehension too. Everyone knew it would soon be over. My mother feared for how much she would miss me. My dad regretted not spending enough time with me as a child. My aunt and I worried for the future: how would my parent's relationship survive without me?

It's tough not to feel daunted when you know you are soon to be moving on. Today, I plan on sending off my Common App. My only hope is that somewhere in America wants me as much as I want them. I got my SAT results this week and it really hit home that I will be gone from here soon. I am scared, I'll admit. I have no real safety net, except home. But home is not a place I want to be after September. I want a new life and a new world. I want Rhode Island, or New Hampshire. I want Boston. I want white Christmases. I don't want to go to Bristol, or UEA, or Exeter, even though I know they are all wonderful places to get your degree. I just... No bone in my body wants to remain here, except for the single vertebrae that reminds me how scary my crazy plans are and creates all these fears in my mind about the future.

I think about how big a change it will be all the time. It is constantly at the back of my mind, but I always have to remember a little something my darling Madeline once said to me: "Any story worth telling starts where your comfort zone ends!" So I am ready. Today, I will stop holding back and putting it off. I want America. And I want this future. And I am ready to make it happen.