Tuesday, 29 May 2012

All you need is love.

What do I think love is? To be perfectly honest I have no idea, being fourteen and having very little experience in the subject my knowledge is fully based on romantic novels and films. I am, myself, a romantic, not just in the hopeless sappy way but in the elaborate decorations I feel life needs to have. Such as beautiful dresses that float as you walk and the idea of cities like Paris and Rome and vintage cars that are more about the look than the actual function and fairies all over my room and old photographs of time captured and frozen as a masterpiece of life. I love everything that is both meaningless and valid at the same time. I love the idea that life is not just about reproduction and survival and matter but something deeper and unknown. In particular, I love the idea of love.

I love how it's painful, how it makes your chest ache with yearning. I love how it saves life, and kills it simultaneously. I love how it creates almost anything and everything with simple desire. I love how people are joined through it, and how they are separated. I love how it can make you smile so hard your jaw aches. I love how it is always good, and always bad. I love how hard it is, and how hard people work for it. I love how it is the core of everything animal, and it is everything as well as being nothing.

I don't think people do fully understand what love is, and I don't think they ever will. Yes, scientists will say that being in love with someone is just chemical reactions within one's brain, but love is more than just romance between two people. If you look at everything in life you will find love will be there, or that there is a lack of it. People become architects because they love designing buildings, people grow plants because they love gardening, or being able to aid a living thing in fulfilling its life, people go on roller coasters because they love the thrill. It works the other way too, it's so common that people who take drugs feel unloved or were unloved as a child or through adulthood. In extreme cases terrorists who love their God feel it's their duty to terrorise others. Love is everywhere, and it's good and bad.

What do I think love is? I think love is everything. It is so complicated that not even the world's most intelligent minds can comprehend it. It is romantic, caring, kindly, spiteful, hormonal, hateful, passionate, and frightening. Love is so powerful you rarely know it's there and when it is visible it's the most beautiful thing of all.

Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Who are you?

Who are we? No, seriously, do we actually have any control over who we are? Are our dislikes and interests distorted from reality?

If I'm honest, I think they are. Every time I put some clothes on- after much debating as to what my outfit will be - and go outside, I instantly regret the choice that I made. I look around at people wearing garments in such a fashion that they closely resemble the images targeted for that very purpose. I look down at myself and think, I don't look like them, what must they be thinking of me? I want to look as effortlessly cool as the women who walk around with messy hair and vintage shades and doc martens. I want to look different, like they do, I want to look the same.

And there we have it, the distorted view on what we must look like, what we must buy. If you want to be different, you have to be the same. This idea that the idols at the height of fashion whom everyone lusts after and longs to look alike are being so controversial and making such a statement that everyone and their mother is doing it too. But doesn't that defy the point? Aren't you supposed to look unique? Isn't your appearance supposed to look like who you are, not anyone else? There isn't any individuality or creativity in fashion anymore, it's all about what everybody else is doing. There is no choice.

Because I look at clothes and think I'm meant to be wearing that, I should buy it, but I just don't like it. Which is wrong. If I don't like something then it's not me, I should be wearing what makes me happy, what represents me. Nothing unique is ever appreciated anymore. Even the word indie has completely lost its meaning. You think you're being different, you really do, but what you're actually doing is exactly the same as everyone else. Fair enough if you genuinely enjoy what the rest of the world seems to as well, it's not your fault it happens to be popular. Even I am partial to the vintage fad that's taken over the western world. It's fine, because I'm completely obsessed with history and the past, so it only makes sense that I love periodic clothing.

Just make sure that what you want and what you like isn't just because you saw an over edited photo on tumblr that looks suspiciously similar to the rest of the images on the website. Be you, always, and never give a damn about what people might think. I make that mistake often, and it never ends well.

Sunday, 13 May 2012


Exams; a traumatic ritual enforced onto unsuspecting young citizens by means of torture. There to 'test your intelligence' and squeeze barely functioning adolescent brains into weeks of revision and then pressure the poor souls to sit for an hour answering questions with no relevance to actual real life. Also situated, for pure satisfactory effect, at a time when the sun shines brightly and beats perfect sunbathing/going outside heat down onto the labouring individuals locked inside with books full of words they can't comprehend. Thousands of wasted trees scribbled on with symbols of silent torture, millions of wrists aching with the continuos action of writing, each of the foreboding persons suffering, hidden away from the carefree adults without a GCSE in sight.

Unless you are still unaware, after reading my melodramatic opening, that this post is about exams, then please leave now, you clearly can not relate. If you did feel the pang of an ever painful yet distant memory, or ached inside as you recalled that you too were also suffering then read on, I'm here-not to save the day- but to rant about how stupid, pointless, condemning and oppressing these worthless pieces of paper really are.

When these hellish examinations are finally over and you receive the much anticipated results that will supposedly dictate your future, your nerves almost exceed the height at which they had reached during the papers, which is largely ridiculous. Although the results are an enormous answer to how your adult life will begin, the rest of your life is not under their influence and nor are your choices. So this daunting stress and pressure we are presented with is mostly a load of, for lack of a better word, poop. You do not decide what you are taught or forced to have imprinted into your mind, you go to lessons, listen to what will never effect your life, leave and then have a test on what you can vaguely remember. You mostly get good results if you enjoy the lesson, which unfortunately relies on the way in which the subject is taught. This turn of fate is unfortunate because some old gits decided that being passionate about a subject is sinful thus enforced courses to rot your brains. You are incredibly blessed if you have the fortune to be situated with a good teacher because the subject that you are taught is more likely to stick. The lessons are no longer about what they contain, but about whether you can remember worthless facts and write them down.

I do understand, however, that there is a good reason behind this seemingly awful period of a teen's life. The large amount of work does have its advantages. It teaches you perseverance and self control. Making you realise that to get what you want, you have to work hard. This, as much as I'd like to deny it, is an important lesson to learn whilst growing up. It doesn't test your intelligence, it's far from it, instead it puts your work ethic to the test, just giving you a little bit of what life has to offer.

If you had the perfect balance of learning how to work and being passionate about the different subjects the world has to offer. There is so much out there that we could be educated on, learn to love the universe and its many surprises, but they're held back and we are left unknowing whether we enjoy the things we are taught. Life is not all about the work, it's about the things we work for, the things that come from work and that, more than anything else, a passion for education is a most valuable trait.

Saturday, 5 May 2012


As I sit in my kitchen in front of my computer screen tapping away at the keys hoping for something bearably coherent to magically appear, I realise that these words that I write may not be to the liking of every individual. Some of those individuals will even feel the need to express the disliking of my opinions and observations but fortunately, I have yet to await that occurrence. I don't have an issue with others expressing their views about something they disagree with, I do it myself all the time. The thing that really  gets me agitated, however, are those who just criticise for unknown reasons without stopping to think about how the poor receiver may take to the harsh words or maybe to ponder on how they could give constructive advice. Instead of just brutally flinging ruthless hate at them left, right and centre and going under the pitied name of 'trolls' they should take time to stop their raging fingers from burning the keyboard with anger and take into consideration not only what they inflict on others, but the reputation they bring on themselves. Of course, this is totally only ever going to happen in an ideal world where everyone is nice to each other and unicorns roam the land pooping out rainbows. I understand I'm never going to strike gold with ridding the world of hate singlehandedly with a blog that very little read, but I can at least hope to raise awareness to some of these devious, thoughtless trolls and give them something to finally take in and analyse for once in their lifetime. Or maybe I'm just feeding their greed by talking about them, adding to their undeserved fame. Either way, it's something I want to talk about and am going to continue doing so.

They do not only exist in the myst of the internet nor are they a new phenomenon, but have been trolling the world for as long as time itself. They exist in society as bitchy school girls, horrible bosses, nasty old men troubled by time, unsociable critics who have nothing better to do than to tear apart the livelihood and works of innocent citizens. Story short, they're everywhere and they will never cease to prevail unless everyone else stops doing anything, anywhere ever. The name for them when not on the virtual world of the internet is bullies. Simple, nasty, infamous bullies who are so insecure that they feel the need to attack anyone happier or better off than them.

But Mollie, I hear you say, why are you writing about bullies if they're never fully going to go away? Alas, I am beginning to wonder why I'm even bothering as well, it's not like they're going to read this blog anyway. It's not as if with the mysterious power of words I can magic the bullies away, but what I will do is cease to feed them. We continue as a society to back away from those who think they have power, let them get on with it, and when we do fight back we give them exactly what they want, a reaction. Many mistake I have made by replying furiously to snide comments on Youtube, not stopping to think that I am actually spoon feeding them what they wished to receive. The action we really need to take is to sit back and ignore them. Not quiver under their control, or fight back thinking we're doing the world good, just watch them slowly disappear as everyone loses interest and they become invisible. This is hard, and I know it, to not want to defend against yourself as they bombard us with despising criticism but it's the only way to safely dispose of these hideous characters without adding to the blazing fire of abhor.

I now sit safely behind the delicately thin screen of my computer (no longer in the kitchen but on the sofa) that disguises itself as a protection to the truckloads of hate constantly a concerning danger making a promise to myself. Never to feed the troll again.