10 Things I Dislike About Airports

1. The stress of having to remove the contents of my pockets, my cardigan and jacket, my choker and my boots and bundle them into multiple trays on a conveyor belt, while people wait impatiently behind me.

2. Walking through the security scanner and knowing it might beep. (No, I’m not a criminal. But I do wear hairclips.)

3. Having to put my boots back on afterwards. They have bloody laces. And I always have to find a clear space on the floor where I can put them on without being in everyone’s way.

4. Having to put my choker back on. Without a mirror.

5. The risk of being “searched” i.e.. patted down. God, this is arguably the worst one. The possibility that I will be picked for searching after I walk through the scanner looms over me as I remove my personal possessions. Please not me. I do not relish the idea of a total stranger patting my body. Even if they’re authorized airport security. It is probably a fetish for some, but I’ll gladly stay away. At least the member of staff that pats you down is always someone of your own gender. Even so, can you think of anything more awkward?

6. Actually being patted down. Not just the possibility of it. I had my flipping hair searched in Morocco. Furthermore, there was the risk that anything embarrassing could happen, like my clothing could come loose or a button could pop off, and having a stranger’s hands on my body would not increase the ease with which I dealt with that.

7. Having to stand in a full body-body scanner. I take back being patted as the worst item on the list. Having a machine seeing under your clothes beats that hands-down. Literally hands-down. It gets worse. Because there’s actually someone looking at the scan.

8. When the people who work there are rude, impatient or lacking in understanding.

9. When your mother is forced to go and stand in a different queue to you and the rest of your family even though you guys have already reached the end of the line – because her passport isn’t the same as yours.

10. When the security staff take away your expensive lipstick and face powder even though they have no reason to, simply because they like the look of it and they want to keep it for themselves.

I Am Writing A Book

Guess what? I’m finally writing a book. I’ve wanted to do this since I was a child. It was not a thing I properly imagined myself sitting down and doing; it was more of a dream projected into the distant future. But as we both know, there is no such thing as the distant future. There is only now. You cannot leave something up to your future self to complete. If you try to do that, the thing will not get done.

The reason I am telling you is because I want to put pressure on myself to finish the book. I don’t want to finish it in ten year’s time. I want to finish it soon. My thinking is that, by telling you that I am writing a book, I am lessening my ability to back out of it. We all know how easily embarrassed I get. That’s by things like getting a band member’s name wrong or kissing someone on the right cheek when they’re expecting a kiss on the left. So now, imagine if I publicly state that I’m fulfilling my dream of writing a book, full of confidence, and then don’t go through with it? That’s more than embarrassing. That’s kind of humiliating. I would feel like even more of a failure if that happened, especially since writing a book is one of the biggest items on my bucket list.

You know what? I think I’m going to Tweet that I’m writing a book as well. Then it will be even more embarrassing if I don’t complete it. How about I Tweet, “I AM WRITING A BOOK. IT WILL BE FINISHED ONE DAY. SOON.”? Do you think I should do that? Is that going overboard a bit? You know what, I’m just going to Tweet it. And if you, yes you there reading this right now, Retweet it, I will have no choice but to go through with the book. The more people that Retweet, the sooner it’s likely to get done.

I AM WRITING A BOOK. IT WILL BE FINISHED ONE DAY. SOON.

— Jamila Smith (@JamilaJJ) November 18, 2015

There.

What have you always wanted to do, and how are you working towards it? 🙂

This Is What Happens When I’m Bored

I am sitting on a sofa in my living room. I will spare you an unnecessary description of my current emotions, because, that is, unnecessary. You do not need to know how I feel right now in order to read this because it is completely and utterly irrelevant and I do not even know why I brought it up.

I say “my” living room but it is actually my parents’ living room, speaking in terms of what is written down on paper – or rather, probably, what is stored on a computer somewhere. Really, I doubt that anyone can properly have ownership of anything. Ownership is a human concept. But then, I guess, if ownership is a human concept, then humans get to define ownership…

Thinking about it, animals probably believe they own things as well (for example a pigeon owning a nest, a lion owning the meat it is eating or a tiger owning territory) but I doubt they even think the words “own” or “mine”… Yes, I am aware that humans are animals as well, but I don’t think terminology matters too much in this case.

(In case you are wondering, this is not building up to anything. The whole blog post is going to be me rambling along like this…)

I am halfway through a plate of oranges. It is actually a plate of pieces of orange; I was hungry and could not eat the fried rice that had been prepared for dinner because the chilli in it was rather pungent. In fact, it was so toxic that I could not breathe while inside the kitchen without my lungs being peppered by sharp pieces of pain. I seem to be making a big deal out of this but the exaggeration here is nonexistent. I was properly coughing from the uncomfortable sensation. I had a root around the fridge. The fridge was rather like this blog post in that there was nothing of interest in there. I closed it and looked in the fruit bowl. There were two oranges. I paused and considered the fact that they might be too sour to be enjoyable, but there were not many other options so I plucked one of them out, picked up a chopping board and cut it into seven almost equal pieces. I have now eaten four of those pieces since I consumed one during the creation of this paragraph.

It is rather vexing when people try to talk to you while you’re writing.

You want to tell them you’re busy.

But you don’t want to be rude.

So you keep quiet.

There is a guitar next to me. It is waiting to be played but I would much rather write and stare at the plate with the half-eaten orange… though not at the same time because my touch-typing isn’t that good. My guitar teacher has conveniently moved to Australia… I must teach myself off Youtube videos and the internet.

There is now… pasta and pesto… waiting for me on the table…

Hang on while I go eat it.

Okay, I’ve eaten it. That was quick for you.

But it was a good few minutes for me.

The remains of the orange are still next to me, and my cat has now come to join me on the sofa. My cat? She is my sister’s cat… but like I said, ownership is…. an ill-defined concept.

Sleep deprivation is putting pressure on my eyes. The cat, unlike me, does not seem tired. The orange does not either, but it is dead. My guitar lessons are dead. The split ends of my hair are dead. Some random people around the world are probably dead. Kurt Cobain is also dead. My energy level is kind of dead.

But I will spare you an unnecessary description of my emotions.

My First Blog Tour Award

Thank you SO much to Paola from DotedOn for nominating me for this award! I just want to say that her blog is really cool because as the reader you are basically getting an honest daily dose of her life, so you can wake up each morning and read the next installment, like a story that gets updated every day. Except, unlike a novel, it is all true, and if you start reading in the middle you can still understand it. So, I am bestowing the link upon you, my dear reader:
https://dotedon.wordpress.com/

Use it wisely!

Now for this award – The Blog Tour Award, here are the rules for accepting:

1) Compose a one-time post on a specific Monday.
2) Give your nominees the rules and a specific Monday to post.
3) Pass the blog tour to four other bloggers.
4) Answer four questions about your creative process which lets other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.

Let me explain:

What it means by a one-time specific Monday is that you have to do your acceptance post including a story you’ve written, on a specific Monday that the person who nominated you chose. This can either be a specific date, or something clever… or something annoying.

I was asked to: please do it on a sunny Monday. I got off pretty easily with that requirement – I mean, DotedOn could have specified a date that was really difficult for me but instead she said to post it on a sunny Monday, which is quite flexible, and I’m really grateful for that. As it happens, I’m a really awesome person too so I’m also going to give my nominees a “deadline” that hopefully isn’t too difficult to follow!

You can see which Monday I’ve chosen for my nominees, down below at the bottom of this post.

The story you write can be about ANYTHING. It can be whatever length you want – okay, preferably not just one sentence. You can write it especially for the award, or it can be something you wrote ages ago. Whatever. True or false. Be creative!

My story is a piece of really bad creative writing from a few months ago. I’ll give a longer preamble full of excuses above the story.

The nominees always answer the same four questions. Here are the questions and my answers!

-What are you working on at the moment?

Good question! That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I’m not too good at time management. Actually, I think that sentence was a bit of an understatement. Twitter exists which takes out a huge chunk of the time that I would usually spend doing… ahem… things that are ACTUALLY useful. I like to tell myself, though, that Twitter is a necessary networking investment for my future… Anyway, my point is that whatever I’m working on at the moment is usually only what I’m working on for a fraction of that moment, as The Internet distracts me. Right now, I’m focusing on trying to focus on learning languages, and I’ve also been doing a helluva lot of scrapbooking. And googling Varg Vikernes a lot. I’d like to be working on a novel but I’m not. (I’d also like to be working on my next black metal album with symphonic and post-punk influences… but I’m not even in a black metal band.)

-How does your work differ from others in your genre?

I procrastinate more.

-Why do you write or create what you do?

I like to write because it enables me to play god. Also, because it’s the most straightforward way to express my thoughts, opinions and ideas. Apart from just saying them out loud. But talking lacks the meaning of writing 😉

-How does your writing/creative process work?

This depends on whether I’m writing on my blog or just doing creative writing (which you will sample in all its nonexistent glory in a moment). With creative writing I usually use a prompt and a timer and just free-write. Sometimes I edit it to sound better afterwards 🙂 When I write on this blog I normally compose a post over a couple of days, taking breaks so that it’s easier to edit what I’ve written.

My super short story is a really bad piece of creative writing from a few months ago. Reeeeeeeeeally bad. It’s not even in the style in which I normally like to write. I edited it but it still isn’t good; I’m just showing it here for fun and obviously I can write stories that are better. Here it is (Any innuendo is because you have a dirty mind, not me):

Bidding farewell to his ex-boyfriend was, surprisingly, a rather juvenile affair – excuse the pun. Leon had been on precisely two dates with Benjamin. Two short dates. The first had been in a small coffee shop with vanilla brioches and old brown books that smelt of chocolate and icing sugar. There had been pictures of the Eiffel tower and love hearts on the burgundy walls. Benjamin had ordered an espresso. Leon had asked him why he didn’t take sugar and Benjamin had replied that Leon was the only sweetener he needed.Their second date had taken place in a poky French restaurant in Stoke Newington. They’d ordered lobster in white wine sauce. They’d discussed Parisian cuisine. They’d talked about favourite childhood comics. They’d laughed.

They’d arranged to meet again.

And then, their relationship – fleeting as it was – had been cut short by a girl named Jemima. In her innocence, she had fallen for Benjamin. The affair, as Leon called it, (although Benjamin liked to deny the title) lasted one day before it was found out.

Now Leon was pedaling his bicycle on the way to his ex’s moving away party. Jemima would be there. All the while as he pedaled, he tried to put this fact out of his mind, thinking instead of the tree with peculiar yellow flowers at the bottom of his parents’ garden, and how as a little boy he used to think the to an underground spy agency led by ninja griffins in red sunglasses.

He now wished he was pedaling towards that and even managed to convince himself so for five minutes, which required quite a suspension of disbelief, but was possible if he imagined the griffin’s glasses to be green instead of red.

Leon reached Benjamin’s old house boat, where the party was happening. He stepped on board. There was a splash. He peeked over the edge and saw Jemima flailing in the water. Benjamin was approaching. Leon checked that his zip was done up and then greeted the man with a nod of his head. Ben did the same. “Thanks for coming, man, I knew you’d make it” he said. Leon nodded. “Took your bike, did you?” remarked the ex noticing the helmet perched on Leon’s head. Leon nodded slowly and then remembered, to his delight, that Jemima was still floundering overboard. He hesitated and then leaned over, reaching his arm out to help her.

“Oh, right” said Ben… Well it means a lot that you came. He assisted Leon in the recovering of his girlfriend and then went inside to fetch a towel. Jemima, now back on board, coughed. Leon took a breath, paused and then said, “Jemima – you guys have my blessings… but just don’t tell Benjy about the time you and I were together…” He lowered his voice. “Especially not about the kiss I gave you… when I was dating him.”

“When we were dating him” she corrected.

The End

These are my Nominees (Hopefully their stories will be better!)

https://gabriel360live.wordpress.com/
https://justelm.wordpress.com/

I’ll add more tomorrow, and I’ll edit the mistakes out of this entry XD

Nominees, post your acceptance posts/stories on a rainy Monday.

What Would You Say In 10 Seconds To Your Best Friend?

You might have read my previous posts about a bucket list my friend (whom I shall refer to as ‘C’) wrote for me. She sent it along with a letter explaining that I didn’t have to do anything on it that was out of my comfort zone, but she thought that I might enjoy doing the things she’d written down. One of the items on the list happened to be “Call the same friend every day for a week”. I decided the person I would call would be her, partly because no-one else would be able to tolerate talking to me for a week, and partly because she was the person I most enjoy speaking with on the phone.

Before you carry on reading, I suggest you take a look at my previous posts about the bucket list C wrote for me:
I Am Going To Have A Shower Fully Clothed
Why My Pyjamas Were Soaking On Friday

Of course, you don’t have to read them to understand this post, I just thought that you might enjoy checking them out. (I know, I need to do something about my ego…)

LOL sorry about the ad break 🙂

Now, I feel incredibly bad making calls from my mobile when the person I’m talking to doesn’t use Giffgaff. I use Giffgaff. C doesn’t have Giffgaff. That means that whenever I call her from there, a relatively large amount of money gets extracted from my credit. Then I feel bad having to ask my father to top up my phone. So when C and I speak to each other, either she has to call me (her contract is different, meaning it’s free to call my mobile) or we have to use our home phones. Which isn’t always as practical. It’s not as straightforward to use, and there’s always the issue of someone else picking up the phone. In fact, quite recently I phoned and her sister picked up. “Hello?” she said. I thought it was C speaking. “You always answer the phone when I’m coughing,” I replied with a laugh. An awkward pause ensued.
“Do you want me to pass you over to C?” said the voice on the other end of the line. That was when I realised it wasn’t C. Oh SHOOT.

“Yes please,” I replied meekly. *Cringe*… You always answer the phone when I’m coughing. Seriously?

I initially had to clarify the definition of “Call the same friend every day for a week” with C, because I wasn’t sure whether it counted if she called me. But it turned out it did count, which helped a whole lot.

The hardest part about phoning each other every day for a week was finding the time. Sometimes we wouldn’t be home at the same time, and sometimes we’d have to call each other more than once in the day to continue the conversation. The funniest thing was when we both only had 10 seconds to phone each other before we needed to go to sleep. This only happened about twice and it was hilarious rushing to recount the details of the day in the little time that we had. I remember once at around 11:30 at night, C had got home late after the electric car had stranded her and her family miles from home. She told me the story in about forty seconds (which exceeded the ten we had agreed on).

The once-a-day-for-a-week calls were an epic way to catch up with each other. And they eliminated my fear of phones. Well, almost. I didn’t have a huge fear of calling people – it was very far from an official phobia -, but speaking to folks I know still made me nervous. Anyway, now that’s almost gone! I also got to hear a lot of gossip (bitchy girls in college… always intriguing to hear about, unless you happen to be the one that they’re being bitchy to) so that was interesting…

Something quick that I want to add is that the first time I ever spoke to C on the phone, I was terrified. Irrationally nervous because it had been months since we’d seen each other. But now, it’s the opposite.

Hug? Kiss? Handshake? – How Do YOU Greet People?

As a young child it was easy. All I had to do was say “hello,” wave and give a friendly smile. Saying my name wasn’t always necessary because there was usually an adult giving the introductions. Over the years it’s got harder, though, increasingly awkward with each meeting or acquaintance I’ve made. I’m talking about greetings. Not the greetings themselves, but the customary procedures that go with them.

What is the correct way of introducing yourself to someone else? Some people believe it’s a kiss on each cheek, while I’ve noticed others prefer handshakes, or in some cases, just a hug. There are endless possibilities and combinations. In Malaysia people use a “Salaam,” and in France, depending on the region, up to four kisses are given. The whole thing is an unnecessary landmine of errors and awkward tripwires.

Most of the time I end up giving a hug instead of the expected two kisses, or I only give one kiss instead of two. There are endless ways one can go “wrong,” which usually results in a lot of cringing on my part. Simply put: I hate greeting people. I’ve recently got to the age where the cheek-kissing is expected of me. The most confusing part about this is not knowing which cheek to start on, and how many times to kiss. Here in Britain the number tends to be one or two, but you never know which. It’s all extremely hazardous.

Whether or not to kiss also depends on the gender of the two people greeting. If you’re female, it’s normal to kiss other women on the cheek, but when greeting a male, sometimes a handshake is more appropriate – it all depends on the individuals. I’ve met other females who (much to my relief) only expected a hug or, even better, a handshake. But then, I’ve also seen Italian men kiss other men on the cheek as a greeting. There are no set rules.

Another layer of awkwardness is added when a British person is greeting  someone French. When this happens, the Brit usually stops at the second kiss but the French person goes for a third. *Winces* Neither of them are wrong; their cultures are just different. Not to say that the misshapen cheek-kissing mix-up can’t be resolved by a large friendly smile, but… wouldn’t the whole ordeal be prevented by everyone stopping the kiss-upon-greeting custom? Is it honestly too much to ask?

Do you have any cringe-worthy greeting-themed anecdotes you want to share? I’d love to hear them, so comment below XD

Oh, and quickly before I go, here are some interesting blogs I’ve picked for you to check out:

http://ateenagepoetslife.wordpress.com/ http://fallenfuries.wordpress.com/  http://weethingsblog.wordpress.com/

Thanks for reading this. Comment if you liked it, but don’t kiss me on the cheek 🙂