The Best Friend Tag

Hey guys, you probably don’t know me (and if you do it probably means that you’ve come over here from my blog so if you have then thank you so much!), my name is Inspired Teen and I have come from my blog – lifeofaninspiredteen.wordpress.com. It is such a privilege to be writing this amazing guest post/collaboration on my best friend’s blog. This is my first ever collaboration and I am so excited to be doing it here.

My best friend is partially responsible for my blog so I have a lot to be grateful for. She encouraged me to get my own blog – not verbally even but just by having her own blog she inspired me to start mine and I am so glad that I did! I know mine will never be half as good as hers but I love it just the way it is.

Also, I would just like to shout out to sprinklesandsparklesx.wordpress.com who’s Best Friend Tag inspired me to write this post for your guys today and to have my best friend doing the same over on my blog.

Anyway… let’s get into the post!

When and where did you and your best friend meet?

We met at a week-long camp for home-educated people back in July 2013. I was running a dance workshop there and so had managed to get in for free as the cost was quite high and she came to my workshop every single day for five days. She was the one person who I could always guarantee would turn up and it was very motivating – especially given that the week we were camping was very hot and so I wasn’t sleeping well and was a bit tired and grumpy and it was hard to get the energy up to actually run the workshop but I’m glad that I did. Funnily enough we didn’t start our friendship whilst at the camp all that much; we exchanged e-mail addresses kind of as an after thought and then became best friend’s that way. To be honest, I never would have thought we would have become as close as we now are and if you had told me on the first day of camp three years ago that she would now be my best friend and I would be doing the best friend tag on her blog and her on mine, I never would have believed you.

Why are they your best friend?

Jamila is my best friend because she was always interested in me and what I had to say, she always wanted to write me e-mails twice as long as the e-mails I’d written to her in response to what I had said in mine, she never discarded all of my comments and tried to make her e-mails as short as possible (unlike some annoying people in society where you send them three massive long paragraphs in a text and they reply with ‘k’), she remained on good terms with me even early on in our friendship when I would be so lazy that I wouldn’t reply to her e-mails for weeks and weeks. She’s my best friend because I never have to explain anything to her in further detail than I already have, she just understands me in a way no one else does. She doesn’t judge me for my interests or my tastes in music or TV etc. and she is always willing to listen to me obsess over things without making a fuss or telling me to “shut up” like other people I know. She’s my best friend because we can sit on the sofa not talking, staring at our phones and it doesn’t seem awkward or anti-social it’s a nice comfortable silence where we feel we can do our own thing without worrying about what the other is doing.

Is there anything you would change about your best friend?

Her music taste. Just because I want to be able to go to concerts with her and I’m pretty sure that she wouldn’t really fit in with the boyband crowd of screaming twelve-year-olds and I wouldn’t really fit into the crowd of dread-locked-heavy-eyelinered-metal fans. Whilst I’m sure we will go to a concert together one day it will probably take a lot of negotiation and compromise, so I look forward to it!

What is the one thing you admire most about your best friend?

There are so many things that I admire, but I think the thing I admire most is her ability to make anything sound interesting, and she always thinks about things in such an interesting way. She never has thoughts that she doesn’t really consider, she always knows why she has those thoughts and she can always explain why she thinks things. There are many occasions when we will be talking on the phone and she will talk in a continuous stream for about 10-20 minutes and eventually she’ll stop and apologise for talking for so long and make a comment about how I was probably really bored and if I ever get bored to tell her that I’m bored and to ‘shut up’ but in actual fact, even when the thing she’s talking about isn’t something I’m normally interested in, just the way she says it or how passionate she clearly is makes me interested and that’s a very admirable thing. For example, she did an absolutely amazing and engaging post called A Band That’s Actually A Gang about a band called ‘The World Inferno Friendship Society’ and whilst I know that she likes them and we’ve talked about them, I was particularly impressed with this post because not only did it take her about two weeks to write because she wanted to perfect it, but it was also just so engaging and interesting to read even though I don’t generally have an interest in the band.

What is one thing that only you and your best friend understand?

Printing

How would you describe your best friend’s ideal partner?

Long hair (but not too long), wears eyeliner, wears band t-shirts, likes the same music as Jamila, understands and is interested in her, no facial hair, tall, has good facial structure (and no crinkles under the eyes when they smile).

Does your best friend like loud music or music that is at a reasonable level?

I mean let’s be fair, Jamila is a heavy metal/post punk/gothic rock fan, her music is going to be pretty loud at all times. Sometimes it’s so bad that when I’m talking to her on the phone all I can hear is her music and I kind of have to strain to hear her even though her mouth is directly next to the phone and her music is not. I never know whether to tell her to turn it down… eventually she realises and turns it down and it clearly hasn’t affected our relationship so who really cares?

What does your best friend think about the most?

To be honest, because Jamila is such an interesting person I don’t know what she thinks about the most. I know things she thinks about a lot but not necessarily the most. I think she tends to think about many different things at the same time and it’s all kind of rotating round her head 24/7. She quite often mentions having a fear of talking disjointedly in a way that doesn’t make sense and I think that this just further proves my point that she is never thinking about only one thing. As I said above, she always talks about things in a really interesting way so I guess she’s always kind of thinking about all of these things in a really intelligent way.

Describe your best friend in one word?

Phenomenal

What are three things your best friend doesn’t know about you?

• That I dry my hair with my head upside down
• That I used to take my posters off my wall whilst getting dressed because I felt it was too awkward having them “watch me get dressed” even though they were pieces of paper.
• That the Kurt Cobain ‘montage of heck’ documentary is in my Netflix ‘To-Watch’list.

Oh wow, that went way too quickly, however it really is a lot of words so I hope you’re still here! I really hope you’ve enjoyed this post and have learnt something from the insight into Jamila’s life and her personality (and of course read a post by her amazing best friend! ;)) I’ve really enjoyed writing this post for you guys and I’m sure we will do another collaboration for you as soon as we can!

If you did enjoy this post please give it a like – if you’ve come from my blog please stick around and check out Jamila’s posts and give her a follow (she would love it if you did!). Once you’ve done all of that you can of course go and check out my blog if you haven’t already – https://lifeofaninspiredteen.wordpress.com/ and make sure to give me a follow too – especially so you can read Jamila’s post on me!

I would like to get in contact with me for any reason please feel free to get in touch using my e-mail – aninspiredteen@gmail.com

That’s all for now!

Inspired Teen 🙂

A Day in The Life of an Unschooler

I am sitting on my bed in front of my computer, which is resting on a chest of drawers that doubles as my bedside table. My mother told me yesterday that sitting less than twenty centimeters away from your computer is bad. It can make you especially susceptible to cancer, she said. Something to do with radiation. I will have to look that up. My back is slouched. That is also bad. It is slightly uncomfortable and, apparently, can prevent your spine from setting straight if done excessively in your formative years. I keep telling myself to straighten up, but this takes effort and is also slightly uncomfortable, so I opt for the easier option: slouching. I will sit up straight later on at dinner.

Speaking of which, I am hungry now. I can hear the clashing of pots and pans in the kitchen. I believe that is a signal that dinner is being made. From the sound of it, my father is cooking. I know it’s him because firstly, he slams things and works with a speed and urgency I believe is unnecessary; the dishes sound as if they are being bashed against the counter and the chopping of carrots resounds throughout the house like a series of distant executions. Secondly, my mother’s voice is closer to here than it is to the kitchen, so I know that she cannot be in there cooking. I have a feeling I should be offering to help. I will go to help.

I offered to help and was told to put away my clothes instead.

I put away my clothes. I had some mild and some not-so-mild digs made at me. I had dinner, which was rice noodles fried with vegetables. (I think I forgot to sit up straight!) I re-watched a film with my family called A Long Way Down. It is about four strangers who become acquainted with one another on New Year’s Eve at the top a building they plan to jump off.

This morning I went for a run. It was not a satisfying run because it mostly consisted of short self-conscious stretches of running interspersed with long self-conscious stretches of walking. However, it was a start to an attempt at fitness. It gave me a vague feeling of achievement.

The next thing of relevance that I did was copywork. Now, copywork, for those unacquainted, is a writing exercise where you copy passages from good books to improve your writing. The idea is that the grammar, punctuation and sentence structure get embedded into your brain, and you naturally widen your vocabulary. It is something I actually find quite fun. This is why: I only copy from things that interest me.

After that, I had a phone conversation with my friend. We discussed birthdays, reading and the POSSIBILITY of an upcoming trip to Paris. We both have our birthdays in the next few months. She says, “If you can’t do something exciting on your birthday, then do something vaguely exciting.”

How The Sun Can Be Depressing

I sometimes find very sunny days depressing. I have mentioned this in passing to friends and been met with incredulous whys. These reactions surprise me because I do not see my response to such weather as strange. I have, however been led to question what exactly it is about sunny days that makes me feel so down.

It is not that I have nothing fun to do. It is not that I have nobody to spend sunny days with. It is not that I am indoors rather than outdoors enjoying the sun.

I do not feel like I am missing out.

Neither do I feel some kind of spiteful displeasure at other people’s happiness.

The reason why is because very sunny days usually happen when the sky is incredibly clear. This means that there is not enough vapour or dust floating around in the atmosphere to sufficiently mute the harsh glare of our star. Neither are there cloud formations to offer the eye some variation. All I see when I look up is a lurid sun and a massive expanse of blue. Just blue, stretching around and up for miles and miles. There is no ceiling, no buffer of clouds, and this makes me scared. When I look up I see a nothingness, and although I know that beyond the blue there are other planets and stars, all I can see is an infinity of empty sky. Infinity scares me.

A more physical reason for my dislike of very sunny days is the dehydration that occurs. Dehydration not only makes me thirsty, but it makes me lethargic.

Such is a mixture of fatigue and fear of infinity that lead me back into my house to dodge the glowering sun.

Immediately my vision is obscured by splodges of fluorescent colour that take longer than they should to dissipate. I sip water from a cool glass. The sluggishness has already set in. I find inside the house that even through the windows the sun has the power to draw out my energy.

Maybe it is human energy that powers the sun.

It is funny how I really like the sun at other times. It is beautiful when it shines through gaps between leaves and trees. When it shines through leaves themselves. When it dyes the clouds at dawn or peeks through the dust at sunset. The sun is the ultimate symbol of passion and power emanating. It is only in isolation, surrounded by empty blueness that it appears to be glowering.

Falling Asleep on Public Transport

I like being in cars. It is the fact that I’m going somewhere and there is something ahead waiting to be experienced. It’s the thrill of passing through places I do not know, seeing houses rush past. Sometimes I imagine people in those houses. Are they families, or are they young people living alone? What kind of lives do they lead? Do they listen to the same music that I listen to?

Other times I do not imagine people in those houses. I pass by in the car with a kind of self-centered detachment, fantasizing about my own future or, somewhat smugly, reliving moments that make me proud.

I like the fact that I’m in a limbo of sorts, an in-between space where I don’t have to worry about using my time wisely. I can become fully absorbed in a book – and enjoy the nausea that comes with that – or be lost in self-indulgent thoughts, and conversations that only exist withing the confines of my mind.

I’m safely inside a little moving box, protected from the elements by metal and glass. Spreading guilty carbon footprints that I will make up for one day, I promise. (I PROMISE I will make up for them)

Night is the most exciting time to travel by car. All the ugliness of the city is hidden by darkness. It keeps you guessing. Bright lights from lamp posts lead the way, but without fully illuminating the years of dirty chewing gum flattened into the pavement.

Traveling Through a Charcoal London (By me…)

When I first listened to Siouxsie And The Banshees, I re-played their cover of The Passenger constantly because it was the only song I’d heard that reminded me of the thrill and chill of driving through a London lit by streetlamps. That is what the song meant to me. I’ve heard that the original singer, Iggy Pop, wrote it while riding the S-Bahn in Berlin, though. It’s wonderful that we can give songs our own meaning.

I suppose this is as much about loving the night as it is about being in cars.

I realise now that this love stems from a need for escapism. The absence of daylight hides everything that I associate with mundane, everyday life. Houses, bins, litter, concrete slabs… people. It seems to hold an endless array of possibilities. There is the illusion of time stopping for a while because I can’t see the light changing like I can in the day.

I like to travel in trains as well. There’s the same feeling of being headed somewhere, and not needing to do anything about it. You can sit back and think, free of the feeling that you are wasting time.

Nothing beats falling asleep on public transport. When I’m in a seat by the doors, I lean against the glass panel, and close my eyes. If I’m tired, I fall asleep quickly. It’s pretty cool because it usually takes me a while to fall asleep at home. But on the tube it’s instantaneous. Something about the noisiness and the motion and the lack of light in the tunnel. I think it’s a subconscious reminder of being in the womb?

Planes too. I like it when planes take off. I like speeding along the runway. And that moment the plane lifts into the air. Finally, we’re on our way. It’s much more exciting at night when I can look out of the window and see the lights of houses, and of traffic snaking far below. I think it’s that mixture of feeling connected and watching from a distance at the same time.

Being on any kind of transport is like being in a personal, moving, mental Temporary Autonomous Zone.

I cannot believe it is the last day of January already. I had meant to blog more, but I was ill in bed for a couple of days, and not well enough to write for a while after that. I’ve also been on holiday in Prague! Now, with regards to that, I have a confession to make. Right… So, do you remember I was doing Veganuary? That’s being vegan for the whole of January. Well, you need to know that Prague – well, the whole of the Czech Republic, really, is famous for beef goulash. It also happens to be famous for fried cheese in breadcrumbs. And a lot of other non-vegan foods. So I figured, fuck it. I wasn’t going to be in Prague again any time soon. I’d never tried Czech food before. This was my only chance. You’ll have to forgive me, but I had the most delicious goulash of my entire life. It came with Czech dumplings. Which were splendid dipped in the sauce. I also had fried cheese, a burger with sausage, and some beefy noodles. Oh yeah, and also cheese. And Kit Kat. I’m going to make it up by extending my veganism into February.

In other, more redeeming news, I’ve been doing yoga every day? It wasn’t a resolution. I just had a bad back one day so looked up a yoga video on Youtube, and somehow I’ve carried on doing it, every day, since then.

To adventure, to car rides, and to reluctant carnivorism!

Have a great evening!

“Where Are You From?”

When I was little, I assumed I looked “typically British.” It wasn’t something I ever thought about, as I wasn’t so aware of ethnicity and racial identity at that age. But since my two closest friends and everybody on TV had “typically British,” facial features, and I’d got so used to seeing my own features that I couldn’t really observe them how an outsider would, I naturally assumed I looked similar to my friends. It’s really quite funny how viewing yourself in the mirror doesn’t give you an accurate description of what you look like to others because you are so used to your own face.

As I grew older, I gradually realised that my ethnicity was different from that of my friends. (I know, I sound really thick now.) The main reason was because people started to ask me where I was from. I used to reply, “England,” because I was British, and I assumed that that was the answer they were after. At first I took this as a normal question, and didn’t think too much about it. But I soon began to think it was a strange thing to ask, seeing as we were in Britain and I could obviously speak English.

Something about the question, “where are you from?” started to annoy me. It was partly because the answer was a mouthful, since my parents are from different multi-syllabic countries, and I had to tag onto the end the fact that I’m British. It was also partly because I was never sure whether people were asking a) where I was from, b) where my parents were from, or c) which part of the city I lived in.

But there was something else. Something that slightly offended me, that I couldn’t quite place. For a while I thought it was because the question was rude. But my mother didn’t take offense, and she was asked it frequently. So it couldn’t have been rude.

Sometimes people would be “clearer” and ask me where I was from originally. This added another layer of annoyance, because I’d have to explain that I was born over here, therefore, I was from here originally. I think I went through a short phase of trying to make people feel slightly awkward about it, but I grew out of that pretty quickly, since it made me feel awkward as well.

I have even had the question followed by, “is your father a black or a white South African?” which seems oddly direct, and isn’t something I’d ever ask someone else.

I recently realised that the reason I resisted the question”where are you from?” so much was because it made me feel like an other. I don’t like the idea that I’m viewed differently. I’ve come to understand that people automatically put you into a specific “racial identity” box in their head as soon as they see you, without thinking about it.

(I wonder whether this is a cultural thing, or an in-built, human function. Probably the former. If so, is it because of media portrayal? Is it because the people asking were not exposed to different ethnicities when they were babies?)

I understand that me saying “I don’t like the idea that I’m viewed differently” may seem hypocritical when I colour my hair bright red and consciously try to dress away from the norm. But I feel like the way I dress is a separate type of characteristic from my natural features, because it’s a way of differentiating myself that I CHOOSE rather than something that is determined by genetics. I don’t like people stereotyping me, categorizing me or othering me based on something that occurs naturally and bears little correlation to my personality. Being asked where I’m from brings home the fact that people see me differently because of my ethnicity.

The Ethical Dilemmas Of Cat Sitting

I was recently charged with the task of cat sitting for friends who were on holiday.

It would have been easy if it wasn’t for the constant straining not to look at photographs on the walls. Even when it feels like I shouldn’t be looking at people’s family photos, it can be hard to look away when the photos are right there on the wall. We’re naturally drawn to human faces, which makes it more difficult to resist.

The thing is, I would have felt normal looking at them if the owners of the house were present. It is simply because they were away that it felt wrong. I know that the difference is illogical, and it fascinates me. Perhaps it is because I have never gone to the owners’ house other than to look after their cats or babysit. Whenever I’ve been there, they have been away, so I never got that first “validation” of being in their house at the same time as them on a social occasion. Therefore, it always feels slightly like I am spying or snooping, even though I’m doing nothing wrong.

With this mindset, as soon as I enter their house I avert my eyes and try to look mainly at the carpet, or the lower-half of the room.

Once I’ve seen a photo from the corner of your eye, I wonder, can it really harm to sneak one more glance?… And when I’ve gone and sneaked that glance – and already got the gist of the photo, I think, is it really so bad if I fully look at it?

After I’ve given in and had a good look at one of these photos, I usually try my hardest to forget about it. Which is not so easy, because I really like to analyze things.

And it’s not just photos that I find difficult. Is it right to be looking at other people’s DVDs and books? I actually don’t think it is morally wrong to do this. I wouldn’t mind it if people had a look at my books while I was away. DVDs, I might feel a little more sensitive about, but I wouldn’t really get upset. The main reason I try not to look at their bookshelf is because I don’t want to see anything too interesting and become tempted to find it in my local library. That would make me seem like a total stalker. Imagine if I found multiple books and DVDs that I liked the sound of at my friends’ house, and checked them all out of the library? If they found out, that would be embarrassing.

The thing is, not checking something out just because I’ve seen a copy of it at my friend’s house sounds like a bit much. I mean, what would happen if I just stumbled across that same book at the library? If wasn’t looking for it? Since it’s something that interests me, I probably would have got it out even if I hadn’t seen it at their house.

And if I did find something at their place that I just had to get for myself, the next hypothetical problem would be trying not to discuss it with the owners. Essentially, trying not to let on that I’d seen their copy – so as not to seem intrusive.

In fact, even if I’d read or watched the book or DVD prior to seeing it at their house, I’d still be inclined to avoid discussing it. My conversations would suddenly become unnatural, with me trying to avoid subjects I’d normally have discussed, because I knew too much.

Another reason I wouldn’t want to look at the books or DVDs, is because I like to be sure that I’ve discovered things for myself. It gives me a huge deal of satisfaction to know that I’m not “copying” anyone.

The other thing I have to try to look away from when cat-sitting is medication. But then, if they leave it lying around, can it really be so bad for me to see it? The hard part is then trying not to google it to see what it’s for.

So, that’s media and medication covered. The next question is whether or not it’s okay to tidy up. I think it’s normal to do so if you’re house sitting, but if you’re just popping in there to feed or tend to the cats, it might seem meddlesome. Or offensive. I’d personally be quite chuffed to return from a holiday to the surprise of finding a clean kitchen counter waiting for me. But if I’m the one doing the cat sitting for other people, I worry that they might think I’m judging them if I tidy up.

During the time that the cat-owners were away, we had a friend, Z, over for dinner at our place. At some point during the evening, I had to excuse myself to go and tend to the cats. For a second, I thought of inviting Z to come with me. But straight away, I figured that would be wrong. If the tables were turned, I’m not sure how I’d feel about someone letting a stranger into my house. That’s where the whole concept of chain-trust comes in: Do you trust someone just because an acquaintance trusts them? Can you trust a friend of a friend? How about a friend of a friend of a friend? I figured the cat-owners probably wouldn’t trust Z as much as they trusted me, because they didn’t know him. Come to think of it, how did I know Z wasn’t a thief?

We assume that just because people are our friends, they aren’t criminals. Just because they haven’t stolen from us, they wouldn’t steal from anyone else. I’m pretty sure Z wouldn’t steal from anyone. In fact, when I talked about trust with regards to letting him check on the cats with me, I wasn’t really thinking of stealing. I was thinking more along the lines of information; letting someone into your house is letting them into a part of your life. Just because you’d let a friend in, doesn’t mean you’d let their friend in. What if they had discussions about your house after they’d left? Personally, this idea makes me the most uncomfortable, if it were my house we were talking about.

I didn’t let Z in.

Should You Tell People About Your Blog?

Do you tell people you know in real life about the fact that you have a blog? And if so, do you you share your blog with them? Or do you make an effort to keep your blog hidden from people you know?

I ask because I am unsure of what to do. Up until this point, I have not worried too much about friends and acquaintances finding my blog; I haven’t written anything that could offend them, or that they could know is about them. I’ve even shown my blog to people.

Now I wonder whether that was the right thing to do.

You see, I’d like to have the freedom of being able to write about people I know without running the risk of them reading those posts. I acknowledge that there probably aren’t that many people who I’ve told about my blog that still read it. But there is still a tiny risk.

Another factor to take into account is that people have ways of finding thisizapen without me telling them about it. For example, my Instagram. Many folks I know in real life follow my Instagram. I have a link to this site in the bio. People might get curious and tap the link. That could be my social life finished.

I don’t say this because I want to write solely negative things about people I know in real life. Sometimes I am simply fascinated by their behaviour. But I still run the risk of saying something that offends them. Either that, or they might think that I view them more highly than I actually do just because I’ve written a post about them. God, I sound like a bitch. But I just don’t want people thinking I obsess over them. I also don’t want people to be embarrassed if they find something about them, or feel awkward talking to me after reading it.

Then, of course there are the times when friends and acquaintances tick me off and I want to be able to vent about them and theorize about their thinking and motives. It would be bad if they read what I had to say about them. But then again, it might also be a good way of letting them know that they went too far?

Even if I don’t write about people I know, there are reasons I might not want them to find my blog.

1. They could jump to conclusions about me.
2. They could use it as a way to “spy” on me.
3. They could use something I’ve said on here against me in an argument.
4. They could judge me based on it.
5. They might think I’m stupid just because they don’t share my opinions.
6. They could make me feel awkward by bringing up something I’ve said on my blog and questioning me further about it.
7. They could misunderstand my opinions.

There are a few posts I’m thinking of publishing, that I can only write if I stop telling people I know in real life about this blog.

One of them is something I’m actually writing, in which up until now I’ve tried to avoid using certain people as examples, despite them being the reason I’m writing the post. I’ve been trying to make it as objective as possible. I’m now wondering whether to change it and make it about the people I know.

Of course, I also like to hold the belief that everyone will hear about my blog anyway, someday, because it will become famous and my posts will go viral.

What do you think I should do? Do you want to hear about these boring people? Or is it too risky? What approach do you take with your blog?

There Is Only Now

How do you perceive the future?

Do you see your future self as separate from your present self? Or do you see your future self simply as the continuation of your present self?

A lot of the time I see the future as The Future. Capital “T,” capital “F”. A gleaming abstract concept that holds infinite possibilities and infinite hope. “Anything can happen in the future,” I think, “I will write a book. I will be able to play the guitar well. I will do this task and I will do that task. I will get round to doing it.”

That thinking is wrong. It is wrong because I am putting the future on a pedestal, and seeing it as a time that is completely separate from the present, while lumping my responsibilities into it.

In reality, the future is just a version of the present that has not already happened yet. By the time it comes round, it will be the present.

You cannot leave things up to your future self to complete, because by the time the future comes round, you will be your future self.

You can only control what is happening now. Everything that you wanted to do in the past is up to you now.

“Now,” is a funny thing. I once read a book that observed how you can continue breaking “now” down into smaller and smaller pieces. I think it was quite a popular book but I can’t remember the name of it. One of the characters described how you only exist in the present, but how you can see the present in different ways. You can see it as the current hour, the current minute, the current second or the current millisecond. You can keep breaking it down into infinitesimally small fractions. One second has its own past, present and future within it, as do all other measurements of time. In the end, you are only existing in the tiniest portion of time. Yet you are moving through time constantly. I found that fascinating. Make the most of these milliseconds.

Happy Winter Solstice.

 

Eating Raw Mushrooms And Wintry Gloom

It is dark already. Each day, I am still surprised by the lack of light in the afternoon hours. I look outside and think it is evening, but when I check the clock it is a relief to know that there is more time in the day. This feels like a little mercy. I hate it when the day ends and I feel like I haven’t done anything worth doing, or that I have not achieved anything I wanted to achieve. But now, in the colder months, I hurry with getting things done, deceived by the creeping darkness. “It’s going to be night soon!” I think, “hurry up.” And then I look at the time on my watch and see that it is only afternoon, and I am relieved. There is time. I can fit more into my day!

There was a storm in Scotland yesterday. Flooding near Kendal and Keswick. Desmond, they called it. London caught the tail-end. Wind bowed the trees in our garden, and the neighboring gardens. I went for a walk with my family in a depressing patch of land by a river. It was cold. The sky was white and there were the usual plastic bags and pieces of litter hanging around by the river. My ears began to ache on our walk back to the car. Still, I was glad I left the house, and it was better than the usual round-the-block.

I’ve discovered that I like to eat raw mushrooms. They are juicy, even before they are cooked! And they taste like the earth. I wonder who the first person to eat a mushroom was. Surely they would have thought it was poisonous, even if it wasn’t, because of the deep, unfamiliar taste? And that’s just the safe kind of mushroom. How many illnesses and deaths were endured before people narrowed down a list of edible mushrooms? How was the Shiitake separated from the shit? Was it done in pursuit of the hallucinogenics? Oh well, all I know is that I like raw mushrooms. Some types. Not the white, button ones. I tried one of those the other day and it was dry and crumbly instead of earthy and juicy. I had to force myself to finish it because I didn’t want to put it back into the paper bag after I’d bitten into it.

Yesterday I helped my family to make a small Christmas tree out of driftwood. We are not yet done, but we are getting there.

I got to drill the holes

I quite like this winter gloominess. It reminds me of trick-or-treating, mulled wine and magical spirits. (As opposed to alcoholic spirits.) When I think of winter gloominess I think of cosy fires and candles and crafting. There’s a nice smell to the air.

So Persephone, you can hang down there for a while 🙂

You Are Just Another Passenger

Most of the time, I don’t imagine the other passengers to have lives. I don’t mean that they look boring or anything, I just mean that I don’t tend to imagine them outside of the time frame in which I see them. Does that make sense? I see a man sitting opposite me on the tube. He is in his thirties, probably. He is bald and he is listening to music on his earphones. He is wearing grey camo shorts and white sneakers. I notice that. Sometimes consciously, sometimes unconsciously. I don’t imagine what his life might be like, though. I don’t imagine him to have a partner or kids – or even a family. He is just a chap sitting opposite me, there, in that time frame. I don’t attach too much of a personality to him, because I just see him as another passenger. The situation is the same with the woman next to him. I note what she is wearing. Perhaps I stereotype her – not knowing that that is what I am doing. But I do not imagine what her feelings or thoughts could be. She is just the woman sitting across from me.

Alright, sometimes I DO play the guessing game in my head, the one where you wonder about people’s lives and what is going on in their heads. But most of the time, I don’t. I just see the other passengers as people. And I don’t think too much about them.

Something occurred to me the other day. I was thinking about people like me who travel on public transport, and how they see each other. I was thinking about them seeing me, and me seeing them. And I realised something. I realised that to them, I am just another passenger. I am not an “I”. I don’t have a back-story. I’m a stranger, an other. No-one worth thinking about. The realisation took me by surprise. I am so used to being the centre of my narrative. What I mean by that, is the centre of the story that is constantly going round in my head. Because, from my point of view, I am the main person in the world. That sounds self-centered, but we all think like that. We are all self-centered because we are all seeing the world from our own point of view. Obviously!

But the other day, I managed to shift my point of view. It was weird. I now understand that to other people, I’m simply “that girl with the green bag” or “that kid sitting down”. And that made me think, if other people see me in that way… then in their world I AM that way. Right? I’m only “me” to myself… And if the view – that I’m just a stranger – is the view belonging to the majority, then does that make it the correct view? I mean, I’m the only one who thinks of me as “me”. The rest of the world thinks of me as a stranger. So are they correct because they outnumber me? I wonder.
I think I’m both.But I also think it’s weird that we think we are right because we are ourselves.

Does that make sense?

Realising that strangers see me as simply a stranger, when there is more to my character than that, has made me understand even further that NOBODY is a stranger. Everybody is the main character in their version of the world.

Before I go, here is a really cool blog on tumblr that I think you should look at: http://letslive-beforewedie.tumblr.com/
I can see you hesitating with your mouse over the link, because you need to get back to your homework/housework/whatever. Well, I can’t see you, but I can imagine you. You’re wondering whether it’s worth clicking, and thinking that you should stop procrastinating and get back to your life. I think you should click 🙂 Because you’ll enjoy the blog. The posts are relatable and I think you’ll find it quite inspiring. Letslive-beforewedie = positivity!