Sunday, 29 December 2013

Christmas doesn't count for Atheists. Apparently.

In response to's article 'A Christmas gift for Atheists -- five reasons why God exists'

**Disclaimer: If you can't detect the sarcasm, this is purely a response to the article, and not a dig at a generalised Christian culture. 

Around this time of year, the small yet feisty race of the Fox News Christian Preachers, come out with all the best new information on the lesser known threat that is Atheism. The Christmas spirit seems to inspire the age old 'we are right and you are wrong' argument which often claims the ways in which atheists are always going so off the handle in their desperate need to believe in something that isn't actually there. The poor souls suffer in this festive season for their spirituality and happiness is concealed by an empty void known only to the Godless.

This is of course due to the fact they are unable to understand the origin of this celebration of the birth of a man 2000 years ago who may or may not be the son of a God. Every single atheist also does not participate in the originally pagan mid-winter festival because of this misunderstanding. Supposedly. This potentially contagious  way of thinking apparently doesn't even have a substantial back up. "There's no good evidence for God's existence!" is not a legitimate argument for not believing in the Holy Deity. Although, researchers have not found the appropriate argument for atheists world wide, and therefore they must stick with that insufficient reasoning.

Here is the insufficient reasoning:

1. There is no current evidence to provide the origin of the universe, only that it expanded due to the Big Bang Theory. The argument that this must mean God is the creator of all things is absurd, for if something cannot begin from nothing how is a transcendent, unembodied mind to be excluded from this rule? There is no evidence for how the universe began, which does not therefore mean one can instantaneously jump to the conclusion that it must be a higher being behind it because that surely seems even more illogical. For now let's just leave it and move on with our lives whilst scientists continue to research to fill our curious, human hunger for complete knowledge and understanding. Once they find the answer, we can potentially carry this argument on, or let it be resolved.

2. Scientific research provides the best explanation for the fine tuning of the universe. If you happen to mix a bunch of atoms together an great amount of things can happen at the right time, in the right place. The design argument is surely for those who struggle to accept the reasoning of physical necessity and chance. The latter actually lack the need for further explanation as to how and why this designer came to be in the first place.

3. Humanity and social evolution provide the best explanation of objective moral values and duties. Because EVEN atheists can realise that the Holocaust was wrong. And also because many Christians have interpreted some parts of the bible to be preaching a way of life that no longer corresponds with the current times, and have deemed it to be wrong. Therefore humans are not entirely reliant on a book to tell them the difference between bad and good. They can make decisions for themselves, due to a multitude of years developing as culture and society as an intelligent species.

4. Simple physical evidence provides the best explanation of the interpreted historical facts of Jesus' resurrection that probably didn't happen it was most likely a metaphor anyway. This one's quite simple, given we've recently realised a lot of the mistakes we've made with the meaning and translation of the bible what're the chances we've somehow mistaken an impossible occurrence for a ridiculous miracle? Particularly given there is absolutely no other evidence other than the sometimes unreliable bible for this death to life incidence.

5. Madness, desperation, delirium, and wonderfully passionate human belief can too provide personal experience with God. I once saw a water fairy in a lake when I was 9. I rest my case.

Alas, do not worry the good thing is that atheists tend to be very passionate people and want to believe in something.
(Please tell me what that is even supposed to mean)

Friday, 20 December 2013

Dear women,

To all the silly women this may concern,

I cannot remember a time when you didn't say you looked old despite you convincing me that only recently have you been making this observation. It has always been with a woeful sigh or moan that you pull back the delicate skin on your face and claim that this is how you used to look, when you had skin like mine. May I remind you however that I know for certain your skin was not uncomfortably tight across your cheekbones, tugging the corner of your eyes upwards at the age of 16.
"I look so much better like this," you say, staring pitifully at your reflection. "If I got a facelift this is what it would look like."
"And how ridiculous that would look." I have replied many a time, slightly fearful that a small section of your brain has been washed with the media's nightmarish beauty regime full of scalpels and implants.

It saddens me to know that when you look at yourself in the mirror it is not the bright, wide eyed face that I see but an old, ugly one only visible to you and you alone. I struggle now to tell you how beautiful you are, meaning it truthfully and adamantly, when I know you will not listen. For you, now that the smile lines have started to stay, the end is almost certainly nigh. The smile lines of course that you detest and the world around you enjoys, looks forward to even.

What topsy turviness we have entered into that you believe your wide eyes and pretty smile are not stunning but frightening. That they have been spoilt and hidden by a sea of wrinkles. Wrinkles, might I add for the thousandth time, that are invisible to everyone who is blinded by that kind grin you possess. Your eyes hold such warmth, such intensity and you have lost your ability to know that. Something makes you continue to complain to me how old you look, how ruined. How can you not see? Why would I be lying?

Alas, I know exactly what compels this despair you have for the apparent 'death' of your delicate features. Somebody, somewhere decided the age a woman must reach at the moment they turn invisible. Once a woman reaches this age no matter how pretty, how intelligent, how witty, how funny, how creative she may be the man who deems her undesirable no longer sees her. I know now that you are scared of becoming 'old', a term that should be taken gracefully and with honour, because you are frightened your voice is entirely dependant on itself. And who would hear a woman's voice anyway? Soon with any luck society will forget the female they can't fantasise about, they will become grandmothers and be put away in a cupboard of out of date women.

Why would a woman want anything to do anyway? Her life is over by 50. Even earlier than that, if you like.

I know how ambitious you are. I know that you still have dreams to do big things to go big places. You of all people have taught me that aspirations never fade, people will always dream. You still work hard for things, your life is not over and will not be for many years to come. You are not old. You are not yet tired. Those wrinkles you show me are not there. They don't exist.

So please, let me tell you that you are beautiful. Let me think it. I do know. I can see it.

Let me, for the sake of a new generation of women, not be afraid of becoming old. I want to do it as gracefully and brilliantly as is possible.

You are silly.



Wednesday, 27 November 2013

In Afghanistan, there are women.

Before I start I want you to know that I cried before writing this, because it scares me. Ready?

In Afghanistan a woman's son was kidnapped and killed because she's a headmistress of a girls' school. His three month old corpse was found with 12 gun shot wounds to his body. She continues to educate young women in a world where women are dirt on men's shoes. She continues to be threatened by her son's murderers. Her husband was told this by them, "Your wife is working, she was a [parliamentary] candidate, and was awarded the Malalai gold medal by Afghan-Americans. And you still say you have done nothing and ask why we are cruel to you?" 

In Afghanistan a woman and her family was targeted by the Taliban for working as a gynaecologist providing healthcare for women suffering from abuse, including rape and domestic violence. She worked for an abortion clinic working for girls who had been raped by their relatives. If these girls did not have an abortion, they would be killed by their families in an 'honour' killing. Two years after receiving warnings from the Taliban, her 11 year old son was almost killed by a grenade in her back garden. Six months later her 22 year old brother actually died in a grenade attack in the front of her house. 

In Afghanistan, in recent months, the last two most senior female police officers in Helmand province have been murdered. 

In Afghanistan women continue to work in full burkas, receiving threats from the Taliban, spat on, murdered, judged, deceived, exploited, attacked. 

This is because they are women. I am so disgusted by this discrimination I could be sick. My respect for every single female in that country could not be greater. They persist in a slow and terrible fight every single day. 

Amnesty International is asking for local MPs to be contacted and pushed for support by the UK for women in Afghanistan after many countries pull out in 2014. Here's the link.

In Afghanistan there is an entire country of strong but frightened women. I give them words and thoughts with hope and love because unfortunately it's all I can afford. 

Saturday, 23 November 2013

Friends with different body parts.

I know this might seem really alien, but I actually I have a few guy friends who aren't complete jerks. I know. Shocking. They're all genuinely nice, intelligent human beings with good intentions and without any misogynist superiority complexes. I get on well with all of them, we all laugh together, none of them put me down with some messed up sexist comments, and we all accept the fact that I'm a girl and they're boys and we can all be friends with different body parts. It's cool. 

Despite this, however, I continue to be told by some members of society that my friendship with these lovely boys is not real. They only talk to me because they want something more. They're the same as every other sexist male pig; all they want is to GET IN MY PANTS. This is because of course scientifically it's impossible for any male to be polite and kind and friendly with a girl without some sort of dirty intention. And we forgive them all for this natural desire, their brains can only run on two thoughts: BOOBS and SEX. This even dates back to the middle ages where women could be possessions. In fact, why don't we forget the whole friends and equality thing and bring back this mentality? Because men won't change, right? 

Of course that would be completely and utterly ridiculous because most decent human beings are feminists without even knowing. Due to the fact that a nice person usually tends to like the idea of complete equality between the human race as it would be rather jolly if we could all just get on. 

I think it ridiculously unfair that we allow ourselves to assume every man has the same intentions with women and can't possibly be friends with one. If we are to continue a feminist revolution we've got to remind society that we are fighting for equality, not for female superiority. This means we need to stop presuming every kind male to have malicious intent behind his female friends and accept the fact that there are nice gentlemen, and there are nice ladies and they don't all have to want to have sex with each other. 

In When Harry Met Sally, Harry says that a man and a woman can't be friends without there being something more for one or the other. I think in some senses this is true, it's often natural for someone to start developing feelings for the opposite sex (if they're straight) when they spend a lot of time with them. 

But I'd like us to accept the fact that we can all be friends with different body parts and that it's totally cool. Thanks. 

Thursday, 14 November 2013

Kids grow up so fast, girls even faster.

I would like for somebody to approach me and tell me why when children reach the age of about 12 there is a divide into how girls and boys are considered. A boy may reach the age of 12 and still want to play Pokemon and think girls give you germs, whereas, a girl may reach the age of 12 and start to think that makeup makes a child's face look older.

The boy will be asked no questions. He is a boy, after all.

The girl, however, will be pat on the head and told how cute and 'underdeveloped' she is should she choose to steal her innocence for a while longer. She has to steal it, for after a certain age a girl's innocence may no longer be her own.

As soon as a young girl starts to develop, grow boobs, wear a bra, have wider hips, she is subject to the unfair interpretation of the world around her. Inside her head she may still be wanting to play outside when she gets home but to everyone else she should want to stick posters of boys on her wall and act twice the age she is.

It is not impossible for a boy to go through judgement if he does not grow up fast enough, but from my experience of still technically being a child it's a very real thing for little girls in their tween years. There are boys in my school who can still hold onto their childlike qualities without judgement, some of them are even accepted by the 'cool' groups.

But let a girl go innocently into year 8 with pigtails and a fresh face and CBBC straight on when she gets home, and you witness a reject. The darling little girl who thinks that makeup is silly and boys smell, bless. Compared to the girls already frightened of their own appearance she must be happier. She hasn't grown up. She probably doesn't have men second guessing her age and staring her innocence away as she walks down the street with the new body she didn't ask for. Because she held onto her childhood, she's allowed to be free from oppressive sexism just a little while longer.

Don't make girls grow up when they don't want to. Once you say goodbye to your blissful naivety, it never comes back.

Tuesday, 5 November 2013

The inner most thoughts of an exam student.

The entire hall is filled with shuffling silence. A sort of desperation pushes the tips of each student's pen as it rapidly scribbles across the page. Just under a hundred different answers being written at the exact same time for the exact same question. Some will be wrong, most will be 'right'. The fear of expected failure can be smelt. We all expect it because believing otherwise can bring disappointment and knowing you are good at a subject would just be vain, right?

Our teachers have told us that we'll be fine, you've done the work, you'll do well. I don't think anyone ever believes them. Writing for 2 and a quarter hours under exam conditions you say? Surely this will only end badly.

The clock will not speed up nor slow down during this experience but despite this I still manage to look up as if I have a twitch every five minutes. It's okay, I tell myself, I'm on schedule. Thinking isn't really necessary during the exam, only reading and writing. There is no time in between to ponder what will be for tea or what's on telly tonight. All my brain can focus on is whether the headline in this article uses a metaphor or not.

Metaphor. Simile. Pun. Alliteration. Emotive. Persuasive. Informative.

It's as if I've been programmed to think only these things until I have finished writing and only then. Literally nothing else can enter my mind unless it goes along the lines of a one person conversation such as,  "Oh my god this is taking forever I'm never going to finish and then I'll fail this exam and then all my exams and then all my GCSEs and then I'll just have to never get a job." "Mollie?" "Yes?" "Shut up."
And then the writing commences immediately after.

What I never anticipate, however, is the waiting that comes from finishing an exam 35 minutes before its actual end. When you're not tired enough to fall asleep during those empty minutes, time suddenly starts to go very, very slowly. The thoughts you held back during the writing come back randomly in a strange order as your mind is strangled by boredom.

These thoughts are not the miraculous realisation of why man kind exists, or why we fall in love, or how to travel through time. No, these are the most trivial thoughts one might experience in their life time. I guess it's the sudden contrast from hard concentration to a short void of nothingness that creates a less than inspiring string of daydream.

The shuffling silence is no longer full of nervous energy, despite probably still being quite true. The desperation that once belonged to you has faded. Now you have done the work. The exam is done. You've done what you've been asked and now you can wait for months for the dreaded result.

I wouldn't say an exam was an emotional roller coaster, rather a simple plane journey with a bit of turbulence at the start.

Wednesday, 16 October 2013

The 'other' option.

I spent the entire day at school going through different workshops informing me about the choices I should be making. These included A Levels, sixth forms/colleges, university courses, and work experience. Overall, I became bored very quickly and struggled to pay attention to the uninspiring information being given to me about my life in further education. A life suggested throughout the day to be important if you want to have a job, or money, or stability, or happiness.

There was this vague mention somewhere along the way about the 'other' options that were available to me in a mystical land that was dangerous and not governed by a 'system'. It was always a quick "you're not obliged to go to uni BUT it is probably for the best..." and then swiftly moving on into the benefits higher education can and will provide. "It's not for everyone." would be thrown in occasionally, with absolutely no explanation as to what the everyone it's not for would do.

I understand I'm lucky to be provided with support and information about certain life choices and decisions I'm going to have to make. I am somebody interested in going to university, but this interest is only based on the fact I want the 'experience'. The degree at the end is something I'm currently not bothered by. This leads me to question the sense in me actually going through further education, if I don't believe it will crucially affect my career and the massive debt I will have at the end of it.

However, if I was to decide against going to university, where is the information day about what to do then? I'd obviously need support and advice with this resolution but currently I'd have no idea where to find it. I think the most likely response to this would be an attempt at changing my mind, by the school anyway. Predominantly because I think they wouldn't have a clue about what to do with me.

Why is there only this ambiguous mention of the 'other' option? Surely it would be more logical to provide detail about not going into further education as its the lesser known path? It may seem a little too 'alternative' to your standard, uniform school but to let the students leaning towards this option down would be an unfair mistake.

I was only given one option today, when I know there are others out there. It was either study your A Levels and go to uni or... Do something that isn't that, it isn't clear and we won't tell you much about it because you probably won't succeed anyway.

I probably will end up choosing to study further education, and enjoy it too, but I'd be reassured to know those who choose to enter the real world faster than most have a source of support and advice similar to that of the university path.

Friday, 4 October 2013

The Pinterest Pretense.

I wake up at 7 am to the sound of my retro alarm clock just as the sun rises and shines into my Bohemian bedroom. My handmade multicoloured quilt is scrunched at the bottom of the mattress on the floor, bed frames are so last season. I get up and look through my shabby flat window out onto the city's skyline, made golden by the sunrise. Today will be fabulous.

I look over at my boyfriend still asleep on the bed, his hipster beard looking scraggy and his ungelled hair even more so. His tattoo covered arm hangs over the side of the mattress, its intricate design shows little flesh but sincere meaning and self expression is demonstrated in the ink. Much like the stretcher he exhibits in one ear. Oh, and the cartilage piercing too. He won't wake up for a while, so I leave our Moroccan inspired room and go to the bathroom.

Bathing in lavender oil, bicarbonate of soda and rose petal leaves makes me feel refreshed for the day ahead. I then change into my darling, mustard yellow, Peter Pan collared dress and knee high, woollen socks before returning to the mirror to fix my hair into something marvellous. This of course only takes a moment in the 'Five Easy Steps' I take to pull and plait ten different parts of my hair into a large pastry type thing on my head. Applying makeup is a doddle as I slide a line of liquid eyeliner over my lids, brush a little mascara on, and dab my lips with rose water balm.

Breakfast is delightful as usual, and extremely healthy too. I eat sliced banana with homemade peanut butter, natural yogurt and fresh blueberries, and fat free butter spread over my homemade wheat free, gluten free, meat free, dairy free, vegan friendly walnut and pecan bread before sipping on my freshly pressed French coffee. This all occurs of course at the breakfast bar, with its oak surface and green, painted cupboards.

It's not even 8 o'clock yet.

And then-

Oh my, I say after repinning another pumpkin latte recipe, I'm exhausted. I may have to rethink my Pinterest lifestyle for another day.

Tuesday, 24 September 2013


Today I was linked to a website for an upcoming documentary called "InRealLife". It follows some young people in their day to day lives and their use of that terrifying platform "Social Media". The film's short summary says "InRealLife takes us on a journey from the bedrooms of British teenagers to the world of Silicon Valley, to find out what exactly the internet is doing to our children." which, to me, is a fairly odd statement to make. It instantly implies the terror and danger of the internet, suggesting it is deliberately 'doing' something to our children like junk food would. As if it carries some sort of terrible disease. As if ultimately a young person with any reasonable intelligence has absolutely no control over how he uses the Internet. 

The trailer for the film conveys young people using their preferred aspects of the Internet, ie. Youtube, Facebook, Twitter and even porn. The only point made that seemed agreeable, or even interesting, was that the exploitation of Internet porn is causing some young boys to mix up their reality with a photoshopped, well lit, well angled fantasy. The rest, it seemed to me, was rather pointless. 

The trailer appeared really over-dramatised, with a build up of tension towards the end like you would expect to see in a horror movie trailer. A quick, punchy montage of "frightening" images of examples of the scary Internet world did seem a little over the top. The fact that one of those images was a clip of a girl claiming a Youtube sensation commenting on her video had made her life, followed by the guy at a Youtube meet up surrounded by screaming fan girls made me believe the documentary is going to completely miss the point. The Youtube sensations and fandom is, in my opinion, currently one of the greatest aspects of 'Social Media' for young people. It's a community of passionate and nerdy fans, artists, vloggers, musicians, comedians, film makers, and video gamers. Will "InRealLife" mention the impact this community has on young people? The group of friends they found through it who understand them in a world that sometimes doesn't? 

And what about blogging and vlogging itself? Is that what the Internet is 'doing' to me? Alas, there's that age-old risk of bumping into a pedophile in this virtual place, right? Better not use this wonderful platform to express myself through my writing, or I might spontaneously give out my address to a complete stranger. 

I haven't seen the film yet of course, and I don't yet know if I will, so its content could contrast to how the trailer initially depicted it. However, if it is anything like how it advertises itself I'm going to be irritated to say the least. Another group of adults telling my generation they're too stupid to think for themselves and discover the Internet's risks and wonders. How boring. Our society has altered slightly due to Social Media, but it isn't the first sign of a coming apocalypse and it isn't the beginning of the break down of physical interaction. I still manage to see daylight and have face to face conversations, it's okay.

Thursday, 12 September 2013

The death of Hannah Montana.

Miley Cyrus' performance at the VMAs caused a world wide, online reaction that seemingly defined the moment as yet another childhood star's public breakdown. A type of breakdown which has become increasingly common during the 21st century that applies to the kid stars who realise they've labelled themselves for life. It can begin when their career comes to an abrupt end, or when it becomes too repetitive or in Miley's case when the cute tweenage idol decides her good girl image just isn't who she wants to be. Watching this sort of breakdown is like watching a caterpillar turn into one disturbed butterfly. It's uncomfortable, and almost saddening.

It would appear that Miley has decided to shake off her Hannah Montana image by creating content and performances that utterly sexualise herself and her music. She's claimed her new song Wrecking Ball's music video which involves her completely naked body straddling a pole is 'symbolic' but all I can think is that it's a cry for help. The sort of cry for help that says "I can't define myself as a little girl's idol anymore so I'm making myself a sex object to disown that image." which frankly does nothing for her, probably former, young fans.

She doesn't have an empowering way of owning the current objectification of women because she doesn't look in control. Her recent work looks desperate and helpless and frightening. It seems as if she's frantically trying to discover and demonstrate her sensuality but only resulting in a rather uncomfortable act of public humiliation. She could be hot, and sexy and own her body in a way that was liberating but she's throwing herself around to make her money and fame.

All the little girls who thought she was their idol are only going to witness a woman laying herself down to the patriarchy. Giving everyone a reason to objectify and sexualise her, taking no control over her body, image or influence.

Robin Thicke received little to no criticism on his performance with Miley at the VMAs but maybe that's because we were all shocked a woman in this day an age would allow herself to be so stripped of her own dignity towards her sexuality. Robin Thicke crudely objectified her on that stage but Miley bent over and told all the little girls to let it happen.

It is not hot. It is not sexy. It is not empowering. Miley did not own her body, and show the girls that she was in control of it and could use it to show sexual beauty and liberty. She disempowered herself, and her image, and it's simply becoming uncomfortable to watch.

The patriarchy doesn't have to possess her sexuality, but it looks to be as if she has let it willingly damage her image and power.

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

Defined Lines.

I find this both amusing and completely brilliant. And it's far better than the original. Worth the watch.

Wednesday, 28 August 2013

My thoughts for the Syrian Refugees.

I cannot comprehend the feeling one must have when forced to leave everything you know behind and flee from your country. To abandon your belongings, your home, your friends, your family in a moment's notice because you fear for your life must be one great feat. All I can do is imagine that running away from your world is a little like temporarily, or sometimes permanently, dying on the inside. Suddenly your only function is to run and run from a place of danger and find sanctuary elsewhere. Thinking of much else must be fatal. Feeling the loss you just impacted on yourself must be sickening. And yet, you must only run.

As I write this it still seems like fiction, and it is quite possibly a misconstruing of a situation I can only hypothetically create. I want to be able to emphasise with the Syrian refugees, but I am only able to feel distant compassion for millions of people whose heartbreak I will never compare to my own. I cannot know the feeling of having very little water in 90 degrees heat, because my tap is just down the stairs and the heat outside is pleasant. I cannot understand the meaning of hunger, because food is always available to me. I cannot relate to the sensation of filthiness, because I shower in hot water everyday. I cannot imagine deserting my home, because I lie comfortably in my bed each night. I cannot emphasise with pain, because my family is near me and they are all well and alive. I cannot know what these refugees feel, know, see, remember, suffer and understand. I can only wish for their safety to arrive soon.

Children are suffering from post-traumatic stress after witnessing their parents dying in some awful way at the hands of war. The idea of that happening is like fiction to me. The comprehending of such a situation is almost alien. I can only imagine, and then it makes me feel sick. I hope there is someone to hold the hands of those children. I hope someone can make them feel safe.

Of course my thoughts for the Syrian refugees will make little impact, but raising awareness of their suffering is all I can really do. I'd like to see more of my generation tweeting about the refugees' situation, maybe charities to help them, thoughts and wishes towards their safety and end to their tribulation. Alas, they tweet only of Miley Cyrus's VMA performance and another grown up child star melt down is of course more relevant. Yet, quite considerably less urgent, important, or interesting.

My thoughts for the Syrian refugees are abundant, and I wish them health and safety as soon as possible. I am useless for them, but I would at least like for them to be heard and seen by the rest of the world.

Tuesday, 6 August 2013

Endeavour to be whacky.

I have always had this desire to stand out and be different from the uniform culture around me. I know this is not unusual, that it is almost natural for one to strive for uniqueness against a world that appears the same. Yet, I feel there's always been something in me that has had quite a powerful need to define myself as a unique human being out of the 7 billion that are out there. Whether that be by my image, by my tastes, by my voice, by my opinion or by my persona. I have always been attracted to the idea of being confident in your own self enough to significantly stand out against a certain culture or stereotype.

I find it entertaining to surprise people about myself. To allow them to infer one thing about me only to discover something totally different, something that defies what they initially expected of me. It pleases me to learn that a particular part of myself is separate from the norm. Not separate from the cultural body or community as a being, but separate from its rules and regulations. From its expectations and understanding. I do not always specifically attempt to get people to notice my differences, but when they obviously express that what they discover about me is unlike what they had supposed I do feel an element of confidence. Confidence in that who I am is strong enough to independently, without trial,  go against the direction I am essentially required to follow.

Although, often I am unsure of how to deliberately stand out against the crowd when I consciously desire to do so. I also sometimes believe there is an element of vanity in wanting to surprise people with myself. Not of my image, but of the impact I may have on people. I must first have a belief that there will be any. And when there is, or when I suspect there may be, I find myself pleased by it. Pleased that I have had the ability and/or a uniqueness to successfully impress or effect someone and their opinion of me.

I am not even fully certain that the belief I may have in my differences to others is not a pure illusion. I am sure that in some aspects of myself I am as average as the next person. But that is also no bad thing. All I can say is that I would much prefer to be referred to as whacky and unusual than to be known as an average young girl and that it has always been so.

Monday, 5 August 2013

Enthusiasm level: -1

I wrote a blog post about a summer project just over a week ago. It's not turning out how I thought it would. I think, rather than making excuses for myself, I will still try. But only when I feel like it. I've decided, I'm going to just holiday. A new term I'm going to coin used for teenagers when they use the time they're given to relax and stop working to do exactly that.

I don't think I'm disappointed in myself. I haven't given up. I'm just not exactly impressed with my laziness. But I can accept it. I can choose to be lazy, otherwise I'd go crazy.

Still, I'll keep you posted.

How are you feeling today?

How are you feeling today? Are you happy? Sad? Lonely? Excited? Are you doing anything interesting? Do you care about it? Enjoy it?
Are you seeing anyone today? Do you like them? Are you friends? Do you have a crush on them? Are you in love? Will you ever be in love? Do you want to be in love? Do you want to be loved? Do you know who loves them? Are they a good person? Will you marry them? Do you even want to marry?
Will you ever have kids? A boy? A girl? How many? Will you care for them? Adore them? Does the prospect scare you?
Do you have a job? Do you want a job? Do you like it? Do you like your boss? Do they frighten you? Does your job make you unhappy? Do you want to change? Change yourself? Your career? Your relationship? Your image?
Are you content with what you do? Could you improve? Have you ever completely mastered a skill? Are you lying? Have you ever lied? How honest are you?
Do I trust you?
Do you trust me?

Are we okay?
Will we be okay?

I think we'll all be okay.

Thursday, 25 July 2013

Summer Project.

I have officially given myself a summer project. I will not reveal what it is for if I do I fear it will never be accomplished. And I am certain that keeping it a secret endeavour will inspire me to achieve it and then to surprise people with the finished product.

I'm hoping this summer project will allow me to do something I've always wanted to, if it is completed I will be most pleased. It will prove to myself that I can work hard to make things happen, and I think that's an important skill to learn that I haven't quite mastered yet.

I will keep you updated when the said project is, hopefully, done.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

What does being a feminist entail then?

My male friend asked me the other day when I claimed to be passionate about feminism, "What does being a feminist entail then?" For the moment I replied, "Believing in the equality of every man and woman regarding every race, sexuality and religion." He nodded and then said "Oh, okay then."

I like to be under the impression that my response made him think. Or at least understand a little more of what I so ardently believe in. I am also sure that he agreed with me, even though he didn't then suddenly propose to also be a feminist and attempt to fight for equality. I think it was because my friend  found the F word a little daunting, certainly as a teenage boy. Maybe he believed some great commitment was attached to declaring one's self as a feminist, as if you have to go through an initiation process and give sacrifice as you swear never to be sexist or discriminating. I was worried he thought I'd suddenly pull off a mask and reveal my true feminist identity as a butch girl wearing no bra and having a shaved head and hairy armpits. That my girly skater skirt would slowly fade away into shapeless shorts.

Perhaps it was the uncertain concept of the 'ism' usually involving some sort of war and a band of opposing 'isms' to follow. What I don't think has ever been explained to him or most people in general is that feminism isn't a political ideology, or a particular way of life, it is simply an active or passive agreement to fight as peacefully as possible against the discrimination of any human being.

I don't think anyone has officially told my generation about the new age of feminism, about its revised meaning. That whilst the original hard bearing feminists of the 60s/70s, or the suffragettes, were forced to be fairly aggressive in method in order to reach some form of equality between genders, they have now given us the chance to push this equality to be absolute. They have given us the chance to be able to express this new feminism so openly, and so widely.

We should be informing the ignorant not to forget or criticise our bra burning warriors of equality, but to learn and understand from them that we need to continue the fight until it is done.

I think feminism needs to start being promoted as a thing to be proud of. Not as a way of life, or a definite commitment, or a daunting, aggressive opinion, but as a united crusade for every man and woman to have equal rights. And that it does not need to change your image or person because feminism is as much about choice than anything.

Thursday, 4 July 2013

All kids need Netflix.

I try not to take for granted the fact that my teenage life is privileged and wonderful and has the power to give me a secure future. I complain about my school work, and the pressure I am under for certain examinations and qualifications needed for the further education I will most likely proceed to attend. I go home exhausted and feel the early morning wake up the next day daunting.

I concern myself with what I should wear at the weekend, and how I should do my hair tomorrow. I wonder if I have enough allowance left to go to the cinema with my friends, or whether I should start saving up for the car I so obviously am not going to be able to afford in two years time. I plan my future home out on Pinterest, and procrastinate for hours on Twitter pretending I have nothing to do.

I'm devastated when it doesn't work out between Joey and Dawson on Dawson's Creek. Or when Jess and Nick don't get together on New Girl. Or debate whether to rewatch Green Wing again on that ever growing black hole of procrastination known as Netflix.

I have excited, fangirl discussions about books amongst my friends, and squeal at our favourite parts and laugh and tease each other because very little concerns us in the world.

What I endeavour to teach myself is to never forget the other teenagers around the world who will live in parallel universes to me and grow up without my privelages. Who won't have buckets of time to spend lounging around procrastinating, or worry about what dress to wear to a party, or even get stressed out with school work.

I want to enjoy my school career as much as possible to get the most out of the advantage I've been given with an education. I want to for the kids who long to be taught to write and to count, I want to to use the right I have as a person to learn and gain knowledge.

I want to savour all the trivial moments I will have, to remember that I am so incredibly lucky I don't have to look after a family, or earn money to live, or scavenge across a rubbish tip to survive. I want to to understand that my life is good, and that all the bad things in it are minuscule compared to the issues others have to face.

I don't want to take my teenage years for granted because one day I want to be able to give a new generation the chance to live free and wild like young people should in parts of the world where right now that's impossible. I may not do it alone, but I want to be a part of something that liberates teenagers all over the world to take advantage of the rights they have, but may not have access to.

Friday, 28 June 2013

Out in all weathers.

I can walk just a minute out of my house and be in these beautiful fields and woods, that are essentially my back garden. Today I decided to go on a walk through them, despite the sky spitting down and the plants being damp and the earth very soggy. And although the clouds were grey and endless, it was a very lovely stroll. The air was incredibly humid, the smell almost like wine. The dampness of it all made the green even greener, and the leaves gleam like precious jewels. I did not mind the squelching of mud beneath my feet, it was satisfying. The pattering of drops on the grasses around me did not make me sad or annoyed, instead they were comforting.

It was a fantastic walk, the kind you can daydream on and comeback totally refreshed. The heaviness of the weather did not get me down or make me say "Oh what a miserable day." instead I took my time to notice how the world looks when the sun is not shining.

What I mean to say is that you mustn't complain about the weather, because there is absolutely nothing on earth you can do to change it. The world does not become ugly or miserable if the clouds dominate the sky, it stays beautiful but in a different light. The next time the heavens open and the rain pours from the sky, do not complain, notice how wonderfully strange rain is. It makes life a little more interesting, and one a little happier too.

Tuesday, 18 June 2013

Hours will be lost.

The other day I was sitting in bed when I suddenly had this brilliant memory flash in my mind and remind  me of something I had completely forgotten. It was a fantastic moment that once remembered I felt instantly happy, but when I thought about the fact it was so distant now it made me sad.

I thought how easy it is to forget our blissful memories losing them to the past that was at once our present and only conscious image now buried frantically under every new hour. That a time once so prominent and significant to us is thrown away to today's present, where tomorrow does not even exist.

How many other moments have I unknowingly lost in that mysterious brain of mine? I have lived thousands of hours and intend to live thousands more but they will all be squashed and forgotten so mercilessly under the ever growing present and future.

Why must some moments stick out forever and never be taken away by time and others, although equally as important, be locked in a box deep in my subconscious? If I could only choose when they slip out occasionally and perform me a show of my own past.

For I do not suggest dwelling on our personal histories, but to let them disappear forever seems an awful shame. Must my subconscious and time only choose to remember? Can I not decide when to make the present and future pause for a moment whilst I happily, or solemnly, dip into my memory?

I am glad that I got to remember that one brilliant memory, but I can only hope that the hundreds I have hiding somewhere miraculously spring out and surprise me in a similar manner. It would certainly be a tragedy to know I could never bring my past to life and only to let it die in the back of my unthinking mind.

Thursday, 6 June 2013

To swing on a swing.

The best feeling is the sensation of being on a swing. The swoosh through the air as you push upside down and greet the view behind you with that excited tickle you get in such movements is just so wonderful. Or lying horizontal for only seconds as you reach the height and look at the sky in all its massiveness. Or watching your feet as you swing up and down, pointed as the sun catches them for a few moments each time.

How refreshing, to swing on a swing. The cheapest method of flying.

Friday, 31 May 2013

Street Harassment.

I'm not entirely sure what makes certain men believe it is okay to address me from their cars as I walk past because they like the way I look without any regard for how I may feel afterwards. The excuse is often that I should feel flattered I had someone embarrass me in public by shouting "Alright, love!" out of the car window and that it should boost my body confidence. It didn't.

What I felt was self-conscious at first, because I'd been rudely alerted to the fact someone was objectifying my body in a purely sexual way. And then I felt angry, a little upset even, that I didn't have any control over that. I was wearing shorts because it was hot and that's what I felt comfortable in but after that incident I wanted to hide my legs away unless some other man was to call at me from inside his car in front of my own mother and make me feel very embarrassed.

He wouldn't have said anything to me if he'd walked past, he may have looked but he wouldn't have made me feel uncomfortable about it. That's because in the safety of his own vehicle he feels he can shout across at a stranger if he fancies them without them turning round and telling him exactly where to stick his implications.

It wasn't out of politeness that he addressed me, or common courtesy, it was because he believed he had this right by fancying me to call at me. And what upset me was that I couldn't do anything about it, although it was a short moment of my life I couldn't tell him that he didn't have a chance in hell if he shouted out to random women like that.

I am now wishing I could go back and tell him exactly what I thought of him and why next time don't shout out to people you don't know in the vain hope that they'll want anything to do with you.

Just don't be involved with any kind of street harassment because it's really quite disrespectful. It's as simple as that.

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Dear dad,

I so strongly believe that behind every powerful, confident and independent woman there is a great father who is one of the most significant figures to have made her that way. I have one of those fathers, and this is for him.

When I was a baby, a tiny baby, and you used to lie on the sofa with me curled up so small on your chest I think we secretly agreed the start of a very long and very brilliant friendship. I don't remember this, of course, but I think I know that's when it began.

You are the safest place in the entire world for me. You are so giant and steady that when I hug you it's like being embraced by a very friendly mountain, or something equally as tall. Cuddling you or 'cuggling' as I formerly knew it is so peaceful and so safe that I could be anywhere in the world and feel at home when you're there.

I also know that wherever I am, and wherever you are, if anything should happen to me you'd be there in a moment with your blue flashing lights to save me. I completely have faith in that, I know you will never ever let me down with it. It means that wherever I go I have an escape route, you'll always be there to rescue me. Thank you for that. It's such a wonderful thing to have.

Some of my most cherished memories have been when you and I have gone in the car to go nowhere and anywhere pumping our music out loud and driving a lot faster than you really should. I also remember you sitting Hannah and I in the playroom with the lights off and playing Pink Floyd in the dark and we all just sat there not speaking just listening to the music and feeling very calm. We were quite young but your passion for the music was so obvious we understood the importance of the moment. I love that passion, I love that because of you I also have it. Again, thank you.

You are so wise and so intelligent and I am just in absolute awe of you. I can tell you anything and everything that I know, that scares me, that I love, that angers me, that upsets me because you are always, always there to listen. Our conversations are one of the things I enjoy the most, they're so full and interesting and passionate and long and sometimes I believe we could talk forever and ever. I feel privileged I can talk to you like that, that you give me your time so generously because that's the thing so many other people genuinely look up to you and I get to know what you think on whatever and whenever I want.

You're so cool, and I really believe that. Not many children can say that their fathers are cool. I think of you as a best friend, as a mate. I know you don't even try to be but just naturally we are good companions.

But the most important thing about you and the one that has absolutely made me as confident as I am is that you completely and utterly believe in me. You have seen me as your equal ever since I could form my own thoughts about the world. You have seen me as a female and as your daughter and you have taught me that we are not superior or inferior to each other. I can be as intelligent as you or as creative or as passionate or as thoughtful in whatever I choose because as a human being I have just the same potential as you or any other. You have never laughed in my face or judged something I do and that has given me so, so much. You have supported me through everything I have ever done. I know now that whatever I do in the future it will not affect your love for me or your belief in me or your trust in me. I can be whomever I want and I can do whatever I choose and you have given me that power. I would not have that if you had not been there as my dad. I am so grateful for the confidence in myself and in what I do that has developed from you as my parent. As my father.

Oh, I am so glad I am my daddy's little girl because without that I would not be being who I am. I am me because of him, I know that completely.

So, happy birthday my brilliant dad.

I love you so extraordinarily, please always know that.

Thursday, 23 May 2013

Let it end.

The incident in London this week is something that will be discussed widely and passionately for weeks to come, and with more knowledge and understanding than I so far possess so I will keep this short.

A soldier was killed in Woolwich by two other men who appear to be Islamic extremists/terrorists. It was a brutal, violent and bloody attack that I think most of us are quite disgusted by. I can't, and don't want to, imagine how it must have looked to witnesses, how terrifying and unusual. How sickening. I believe that the argument these two men are using for their vile act of hatred is it was some sort of "eye for an eye" payback for the British troops in Muslim countries.

This violence is unfathomable, its purpose unjustifiable, and I will never understand it. I will live in a perpetual state of confusion at acts like this, because I do not comprehend why. It is upsetting and frightening and we can do nothing except sell newspapers that mostly propose racist theories for the outcome and reason for this event.

Oh, please let it end. Let this awful violence and hatred end.

Friday, 10 May 2013

When I'm gone.

I have come to my own conclusion that once you have died, that is it. There is no heaven nor hell, no paradise, no waiting in purgatory, no becoming a ghost, no nothing. You lose all consciousness, your mind has finally stopped thinking. You are gone. And I wish I could say there was a place for your soul, that the person inside of you can never die, but I don't see any other way they can exist. Where would they go? The amount of dead people to live ones is much higher, and will continue to rise. Where does every single soul of every living person ever to walk on Earth disappear to?

Truthfully, this view of death I have recently formed absolutely terrifies me. As I'm sure it does the majority of the human population. I cannot, and will not, ever be able to imagine what it is like to not be anything anymore. I will always be me, thinking in my head, being conscious. I don't want myself to cease existence, I want to always be aware of the world. But something in me believes, knows, that one day I will not be.

I think it is why I have this desire for people to know who I am, what I think, what I mean because the only way I can ever picture an afterlife is through memory. And even that  too will run out eventually. My name will not exist forever, which is why I feel I have to have people know me. I want to be remembered because that is afterlife. The imprint your soul leaves on the Earth for a while after you have gone.

I often wish I could believe, like I did when I was young, that there is a place in the clouds where you go when you are dead to be with all the loved ones that left before you. The place where everything you ever wanted and ever loved is, and you are completely content. That is what I used to imagine. I used to imagine meeting my great grandmother, whom my mother speaks of so fondly, because she seemed ever so magnificent and my heaven would be to live peacefully forever with my family.

I suppose, however, I have created the afterlife for my great-grandma with my name. I was named after her, and somehow I feel that means I have been given her soul to look after. Even though she may not ever be aware of me I can keep her memory for longer, we will have our afterlife in tandem. When I die I will not only bear the last impression of my soul but of hers as well. I hope.

I am not entirely sure that spirits of people do really go away. That sometimes wisps of souls turn up from nowhere and pass through you. When I was younger I was certain that I'd felt Mollie's presence in the room, and it was beautifully powerful. I will live with the hope that someday after I've gone someone feels my presence with them, just for a moment. As a breath of my past mixes with the present in this long line of time.

Someday that will comfort me completely, and I will be okay with losing myself for eternity and having my conscious end. For the moment, however, I believe I am still uncertain. Sometimes I feel okay with dying, and others I feel frightened even if it's most likely in the very, very far future.

Enough of death for now, for living is the only thing we can do and soon it will run out.

Friday, 3 May 2013

A memory.

I went to my first ever concert last night. It was bloody well fantastic. I saw The Vaccines. They were pretty damn cool. And I couldn't help but stop to think amidst the brilliant, buzzing atmosphere and say to myself "You are an incredibly lucky person, Mollie, you are alive and unbelievably happy. What more can you ask for?"

And I couldn't think of anything more I could want at that moment. All I really knew was that my life is going pretty swell. I've had my fair share of undesirable times, but it's these moments that I will remember and cherish most ardently.

I was standing close to the stage, but not in the mosh pit. I was wearing a poofy dress and a dog-tooth blazer and had stolen my mum's 90s heels, I had at least four layers of red lipstick on and I looked deadly cool. The noise of the band was so loud I could feel the drum beat pounding in my chest, as if it were replacing my heart with a different rhythm. The guitar - excellent. The singer - inexplicably attractive.  I only knew three songs of theirs, but did that matter? No. I still waved my hands in the air and shook my head about like I just didn't care. When I did know a song I screamed, made an excited gesture to my friend and half-danced to the beat. And shouted/badly sang the chorus.

I was absolutely in a place where nothing on Earth could bring me down from. One of my best friends was beside me, brilliant music was being brilliantly performed and I felt very, very alive. The crowd were singing along, I could see the standing area transformed into a sea of waving arms and bobbing heads. The people around me were dancing crazily and so I too, without any shame, danced crazily until blisters formed on my feet in some of the most uncomfortable shoes. I was blissfully content to continue bouncing up and down and shaking my head like a madwoman despite my aching feet, sweating and lack of breath or fitness. That was all part of the fun.

And when the band left the stage, and I waved goodbye to the guitarist who couldn't see me, and I couldn't hear myself speak anymore, and I was out of breath, and I had the widest smile and all I could say was "OH MY GOD".... I thought, that was a pretty damn good night. I had a good time.

Thursday, 25 April 2013

Train journey appreciation post.

I love train journeys. I love the buzz of the people, their conversations, their anticipation for their destination, their variety. I love the views, people's back gardens, back ends of industrial estates, mountains, the sea, fields, school playgrounds, offices, valleys, rivers. I love it when you go into a tunnel and the frequency changes and it's as if you've entered a black hole to arrive on the other side in another universe. I love the gentle lull of the train on its tracks, as it drums you into a daze. I love the warmth of the train and, when you're lucky, the sun finding your face as you move with it, chasing it. I think that the train is the most gentle of transports, its slow and calm journey is soothing as you find comfort knowing that this beastly machine will get you safely to your destination. A train journey is often a very satisfying one to make.

This is why above all the destruction of areas of natural beauty, I am against HS2. I don't believe that the majority of people want to get to Birmingham a whopping time of 20 minutes earlier, because the train journey is an important experience. People can easily get work done on a train, especially with plug points and WiFi. Most people take their train journeys as a chance to relax, finish bits and pieces, read a book, listen to some music, just watch the world go by. I don't see how spending billions of pounds on a train that won't even be able to reach it's full speed will benefit any man or woman. Whether business or not. I am not against change or development within our country and economy, but I don't believe that getting people to cities 20 minutes faster will make much difference. I don't understand this concern with time. We have plenty of time if we only stop for a moment to notice. Efficiency is only usually effective when people are calm and relaxed about doing things and getting to places. If we offer a journey that is supposedly faster, people will be expecting that and when it's not delivered it will only cause angst.

I say no to HS2 because train journeys can be a wonderful experience, and a high-speed train takes away that magic. Trains are the majestic old grandfathers of modern transportation, don't let's ruin that.

Thursday, 18 April 2013

Freya Mallard - Wonderland.

One of my close friends, Freya, has started a fashion blog to express her love of the latest vogue. She writes in such a way that you're not bored to death by a detailed description of Vivienne Westwood shoes or whatnot. I'm really impressed with the quality of her blog and I believe it should have a good readership, because it's interesting and well presented. She's also a good photographer and showcases a lot of her work through her blog as well. So, I'm using my blog to promote her blog like all good blogging friends should. I hope you enjoy it.

People watching.

There is something deeply calming, and satisfying, in watching people from a quiet cafe as they unknowingly act out a play for you whilst you sit and drink coffee. As they walk past in their hundreds thinking a thousand different things, going to a thousand different places and coming from a thousand different pasts. Each one of them has lived a separate life and secretly you witness a tiny fragment of it without their knowledge. How delicious.

You notice differences in people, and similarities. Their gaits, sometimes their voices, their stance, their behaviour in the outside world. You see families walking along and watch an entire different world stroll past as they take a separate history to yours with them. You watch arguments, and laughter, and anxiety as you sit indifferently with a cappuccino.

The magic is that they don't know you're dipping quickly in and out of every one of their lives, for one moment of their existence. It's like one hundred different secrets absorbed by you in one sitting, and you'll never tell. Sometimes you don't even notice you're taking these secrets, they just enter your subconscious as your brain feeds on detail.

And once you finish your coffee, pay the bill, stand up from your table, put your wallet away and walk off, you take those stories with you. Those tiny shared moments in time are stored away somewhere in your memory, they may never come out again but they will be marked as the moment you stood still and the Earth kept moving. The moment you observed from the outside, let your life pause whilst everyone else carried on and stole secrets with your coffee.

I urge you to people watch, it's truly wonderful for the soul.

Tuesday, 9 April 2013

I'm a wimp.

There are so many opportunities that I can take and so many paths I can follow that quite often I shy away in fear of reaching the unknown. Sometimes I want to grab myself and shout right up close to my face "YOU CAN DO IT MOLLIE THERE IS NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF" because too many times I have said no.

A few of my school friends took the opportunity, an opportunity I also had, to go to Ghana on a trip of a life time. I decided not to go because I'd probably get scared there, I'd be out of my territory, I'd get ill. I wasn't bothered about not going even when they left for the airport, but as soon as they returned yesterday evening I knew I'd made a very big mistake. From the photos that have been posted and the tweets that I've seen in my feed it looks like my friends have just had the absolute time of their lives. An experience I feel almost upset to have let pass me by.

I have the chance in a few years to possibly take this opportunity again, and boy will I try my best to get it. This has taught me to never again let chances gently slip pass me whilst every one else around has the most incredible experiences. It was a challenge that would have been good for me, it will be a challenge that will help me in the future.

I hope that this has taught me to stop saying no, to not think about being ill or being scared and to just focus completely on the positives. I want to go somewhere and have my perspectives changed for the better, because to me that's the most amazing experience a person can have.

Thursday, 4 April 2013

I am scared of Global Warming.

I am scared of Global Warming. I am scared of living in an England that is below 10 degrees everyday with constant overcast. I am scared of the ice caps melting and floods occurring all over the world. I am scared of the world that I know changing so rapidly that we hardly have time to think. I don't care if the idea is supposedly some big plot to scam us all for our money. I can see it happening, and I am scared.

But what, exactly, am I supposed to do about it? How can I prevent myself and my family from ever living in a dark age? I think that actually instead of us all complaining about the money going into ecological attributes and changes, we should encourage it. I want to know more about what I can do, I want to see people making a difference. I do not care if the actual warming of our atmosphere is a myth,  something is happening and I want to stop it. I think we all need to be told how, and pretty damn soon. 

Tuesday, 2 April 2013

I have a yellow trench coat. For crying out loud.

I am a very middle class, straight laced, well educated, well mannered, well spoken, well behaved, ordinary looking girl and sometimes, just sometimes, I think how excruciatingly boring that is. I am grateful for being well educated and well spoken, I can go anywhere with that. But will I have missed something by the time I reach my 40s when I live in a nice house with a nice husband with our nice children? What will I have experienced? The time of my life at a good university? Some occasional drunk nights but never to the point of vomiting because two glasses of red wine and half a pint is enough to make the room spin?

Will my biggest thrill come from buying a pair of expensive duck egg blue brogues? Will my cottage in a home county be full of Cath Kidston and 'nice' little quotes about "Living, Loving and Laughing"?

I don't think I want that. Not quite. There has to be something more to it, I have to have a secret memory of another life I touched the edge of. I have to at least try.

I want to get a nose piercing, but I'm told that will look trashy. That's not 'me'. You won't be able to get a job easily. Who said I was pining for a career where people are judged purely on their looks? Who said I wanted to experiment with my image for anybody? Why am I even asking them?

I could just cut my hair off, wear it short, put some eye liner on, walk out the door, find a pub and do whatever. I could be an entirely different person.

What's stopping me?

I wear flowery patterns, pastel colours, Peter Pan collars, dresses, pixie boots, messenger bag, I have a yellow trench coat for crying out loud. Could I fit any more cosily into this middle class, home county little bubble I live in?

I like who I am, I like what I am, sometimes I mostly like how people see me. But what else is there? And do I want to find out? Will it ruin me? Will it make me? Will it make a new me?

I just don't want to belong to a cliché anymore. Can I do that? Can I break away from the ordinary? Do I want to?

I don't know. I don't know who I am, what I want but I sure as hell want to work it out. I think you'll all know when I do.

Thursday, 21 March 2013

My Super Sweet 16

For some reason, probably after the induced madness from being stuck in bed all day with a virus, I decided to watch a few old episodes of 'My Super Sweet 16'. A TV show made to document spoilt brats on their 'special day' and the ludicrous amount of money spent on throwing parties for kids with no limits. After having watched about two I was no longer angered by their outrageous behaviour but laughing at the absurdity of it all. How strange to grow up in a world where diamonds and popularity are the most important things. Where Daddy and Mummy will buy anything because they're too weak to deal with your tantrums. I'm in no way inclined to be a disciplinarian but there is a line where the child hasn't learnt any morals or limits as to where their behaviour becomes unbelievably rude because the parent just want their little darlings to be happy.

The kids on this programme quite clearly are not very happy at all. They've not been taught the value of things because money really is no object to them. They've been shown that feeling upset or angry because they weren't bought the right coloured car is acceptable and that there can't possibly be more to life than the £3000 dress they were bought on a whim because they simply adored it. They don't understand that that isn't real life, that there are so much more important and wonderful things to care about.

I know that 'My Super Sweet 16' and other shows like it are edited to make the programme more entertaining and the kids more bratty, but if they're prepared to be depicted like that I think it shows true colours as to who they really are. Being shown talking to their parents with the least amount of respect I've ever seen in front of a large audience demonstrates the truth as to how these kids really are. I dread to think of the kind of adults they grew up to be and I hope for the sake of the next generation they don't raise their children in the same way. Unfortunately, however, they most likely will and there will still be a bubble of society with enormous wealth to whom the world's issues do not concern because Prada and Gucci are the main priority. How tragic.

Thursday, 14 March 2013

“Books are like imprisoned souls till someone takes them down from a shelf and frees them.” ― Samuel Butler

Everybody needs their own story. I don't mean their own life story, but a story from a book that will stay with them throughout their lives. Everyone, truthfully, needs a favourite book.

You need to suddenly and irrationally only want to read that book to stay in that world for as long as possible. You need to have that feeling in your heart where inside is the secret of the story you have found, and thinking of it makes you feel excited about discovering more. You need to lose track of all time as the words on the pages become your world, and your surroundings disappear.

You need to fall absolutely and utterly in love with at least one character and swear that until the day you die you will never love another more. Because real people are never quite as perfect as fictional ones. You need to feel angry when your character feels angry, you need to feel happy when they do. You need to feel almost sick with butterflies in your stomach when they are nervous or in love or frightened. You need to feel completely attached to your character, even though it may not be the one you're in love with, and feel real emotions as they do. As if everything in those pieces of paper are powerfully real.

You need to assure all your family and friends, and bore them to death, that this is the best book you've experienced and it gets you. Because there must be an author out there for everyone that has perfectly and magically captured the very essence of yourself without even meeting you, articulated that one thing about you that you just couldn't put your finger on.

You need to sit tightly in your bed utterly immersed in the book unaware of the page turning, as if it turns itself. And unaware that there are only words in front of you but instead an entire world separate from the one you are in. You need to stay up until God knows what in the morning forgetting entirely that sleep is important for you to function because for this moment you live and breathe that book.

You need to sob and cry onto the pages and mourn for the fictional, because right now your characters are completely real and you know them like close friends. Hopefully you are lucky enough to be held by someone who understands you need to weep for your fictitious world.

You need to become so attached to this book you seriously consider, or even do, call your children by the characters' names. You need to tell your children this story some day, and even though it may not be their book you will teach them to find their own.

Everybody needs their own story. Everyone, truthfully, needs a favourite book.

Sunday, 10 March 2013

For mother's day.

A beautiful poem that makes me think of my own mother, and what she means to me.

Praise Song For My Mother, by Grace Nichols.

You were
water to me
deep and bold and fathoming

You were
moon's eye to me
pull and grained and mantling

You were
sunrise to me
rise and warm and streaming

You were
the fishes red gill to me
the flame tree's spread to me
the crab's leg/the fried plantain smell
                                      replenishing replenishing

Go to your wide futures, you said

Thursday, 7 March 2013

Take the next left and you'll have reached your 'zen'.

There is something both intriguing and admirable about the ability to find one's 'zen' and to go to it in any situation. I am jealous of those who have perfected the skill of using one's body and breathing to just become in a place of simple being with a single focus for a moment or two. Things like Yoga or Pilates where focusing on one's core or flexibility or balance through the absolute concentration on your own respiration and the trust in your body's natural limits helps one's surroundings and crowded thoughts to disappear. I think it's beautiful to just let yourself become completely immersed in the steady rise and fall of breath and the gentle and graceful movement of the body.

Being able to completely relax through a sort of slow dance is impressive. But having the skill that enables one to sit down in a comfortable position and focus on only one simple thing without distraction is incredible. Some think that sounds easy but try sitting for more than a minute without thinking about what's for dinner, what's on TV tonight, or that embarrassing moment from the day before. It seems almost impossible. I aim to someday find my 'zen', my true place of absolute calm simply to boast that I can. I think it shows immense strength and trust in one's mind and body.

Thursday, 28 February 2013

Am I doing something wrong?

Sometimes life scares me a bit. Not the growing up, finding a partner, getting a good job, earning enough money to stay alive and having kids bit, but the prospect of how understatedly huge life is. I don't know if I'm alone in this, but I'm quite confused about what I'm actually supposed to be doing in my life. I'm worried that I almost throw my days away by doing nothing, or the same thing over and over. I always just listen to music after always doing my homework and I always just sit around on my laptop doing nothing. I always just do the same thing, and it intimidates me that I will most likely do a lot of my current routine for the rest of my life.

I don't know if I'm supposed to be feeling excited and young and awake all the time because I'm a teenager or whether feeling like falling a sleep 70% of the time is how I should be spending my days of youth. Sometimes I even feel outside of myself at things I've been really excited to be doing, as if I'm evaluating how I am feeling to how I get the impression I should be feeling instead. And then, when I come home I wonder if I can't remember everything properly because I was too busy daydreaming about what I was and wasn't supposed to be doing. I can't just get in there and really let go because I'll start to think about how I should remember this moment because it will be symbolic of your youth. But then I can't actually fully remember the moment because again I was too locked inside my own thoughts to really notice my surroundings.

I'm not saying that every exciting thing in my life is lost because I'm so vacant a lot of the time, but I'm often worried about how I feel and remember certain situations. I feel almost pressured by stories of being young to embrace this time of my life with all I've got. But I think I need to stop worrying about how I will remember this in my adult years and try to focus on now. Stop worrying about sitting around and being unproductive and just enjoy it whilst I still can. I think that, even when I think I'm meant to be thinking about my future, what I really need to think about is my present. I just need to be in my present.

Thursday, 21 February 2013

Talkin' about my generation.

There are things that my generation of teenagers should be allowed to do, and should embrace, for the sake of celebrating our own era. There are things that we will look back on and cringe, just as our parents did, and there are things that we will have great nostalgia for and wish for the time to come again.

Things like staying up all night talking to each other through a variety of different messaging devices or websites. And enjoying the conversation so much that you can justify two in the morning as a very acceptable time to feel wide awake. Not remembering the zombie like boy or girl that will emerge from their bedroom at noon the next day only able to communicate by grunting.

Things like spending the rest of that day talking to the exact same person and keeping the conversation alive by listing everything you're doing, so as not to lose that person's virtual companionship and be left with a constant refresh of one's newsfeed to fill vast vacuums of time when nothing else in the world could possibly be done. Mum's suggestion of tidying your room was not as interesting as reading the same tweet over and over again.

Things like joining huge fan clubs with and abundance of fan-fiction and Tumblr gifs with one single character from a nerdy show and making it even more nerdy by doing so. Just becoming one massive nerd who only lives for Saturday's with Doctor Who on the telly and the rest just living on Tumblr or Youtube will be a common factor of our late childhood.

We don't have goths or punks, we have nerds squealing over Benedict Cumberbatch and wearing Pokemon hats.

Things like setting a reputation for ourselves as the Internet generation, the babes born into a world where touch screen devices is part of everyday life. A generation where not a lot concerning technology developments can surprise them and who often take it for granted. A generation who mark the first load of teenagers to have grown up in a world that to them has always had Internet, has always had the Web, who have always had a computer.

It is no bad thing, we're just the first to have ever done this before. Like any generation preceding us, we're just trying to figure out what's going on. But making a wonderful, historical stamp on the world too. I will remember staying up all night talking to certain someones like my parents remember making a very long, very expensive phone bill. They will be cherished memories, and symbols of the ways we made our own generations.

Thursday, 14 February 2013

I am the only girl in the world.

As a fifteen year old girl I often feel as if my life is the single most important and interesting thing the world has ever seen. As if my little bubble of school friends is as big as the world gets and that the things I do in my life are groundbreaking and one of a kind. None of this is true. Obviously. I don't know if it is to do with my age, that as I discover things for the first time it feels as if I really am the first person to ever do such a thing. I know that my life is enormously insignificant but I feel that everyone really cares what I do. Some times I feel as if wanting to become a writer is unique and unusual, but just about every other person wants to be or is a writer and isn't any different from the next.

I want to be groundbreaking, I want to be admired, I want my life to mean something to people, I want to make an impact. And as a teenager I feel as if this has already happened, when really nobody cares. It's not as sad as I'm making it out to be but I just hope I learn someday that my existence isn't on the large important scale that I think it is. I'll have to do a lot more work to make that happen.

Thursday, 7 February 2013

Let them eat cake.

There is just about every single magazine out there telling me what I should and shouldn't be eating right now. And to be perfectly frank I couldn't care less. I honestly don't give a rat's arse as to whether I should cut back on the cake or the chocolate or what new fad diet I should be on because it doesn't matter. I'm not fat, I'm not underweight, I'm just right and so are most other girls and boys my age too. However, they're being told that they're not healthy enough. They don't go outside anymore, they sit around too much, they eat too much crap, they're not sociable, they're too fat, they're too skinny, they all have eating disorders etc, etc. Well maybe, just possibly, this is all because it's thrown in our faces that we're basically a disgrace to the older generations. That we just don't know how easy we have it, how lucky we are.

What if we hadn't had such an obsession in the media about what we eat and how our bodies look? Would we be more like the other generations before us? Would less girls be sticking fingers down their throats to get a slimmer figure? Would more teenagers just eat cake because their metabolisms are wonderfully fast?

Why aren't kids told that? That would make a happier world, right? "Hey, kids, eat everything you want at this time in your lives because later on that stomach won't hold. You can eat six Milky Ways and probably not put any weight on right now so spend this time wisely. Go wild." I'm pretty sure if that message was sent out to teenagers, apart from possibly now fearing reaching 40 even more, there would probably be less cases of eating disorders.

So if the media would kindly like to leave us alone and create our own generation instead of being encouraged to starve ourselves instead of going down to the chippy whilst we still can, that would be wonderful.

Thursday, 31 January 2013

Zooey Deschanel, she's not just a pretty face.

Many women as bloggers, journalists, or critics have recently been labelling actress and musician Zooey Deschanel as "too girly", behaving and dressing as if she is still a little girl and complying to the idea of a perfect woman by being flirty and pretty and a human connotation of cupcakes and rainbows. However, I am in complete disagreement with this rather unfair judgement of a talented and intelligent young woman who is no way deserving of the type of criticism she's beginning to receive from fellow females. Women writing for feminist publications have argued that she simply isn't helping with the fight for equality, that she just plays the same sweet and innocent characters in every movie and continues to like sparkles and unicorns even in her early 30s. Zooey is often criticised for being 'type cast' into roles that closely resemble the archetypical 1950s woman. They must have been watching different films to me because I certainly haven't ever noticed this.

I admit Deschanel often plays a quirky part, especially in new sitcom New Girl, but I don't believe this is any reflection of her acting ability and in fact I view it in quite the opposite way. I believe she has acted incredibly well in a lot of her work and, whilst many of her characters tend to be quirky and adorable, I find it hard to find comparisons between each one. I don't watch '500 Days of Summer' and recognise Summer as being irritatingly similar to Jess Day in New Girl because they're not, and I think this is almost solely down to Zooey's acting talent.

I find it odd that so many women dislike her for being cooky and cute and judge her quite unjustly for being apparently different to them. Why do they care if she's seen wearing floaty skirts and girly dresses  quite often? I could wear floaty skirts all day and just float around all over the place, I often do, it doesn't make me "less feminist" it just makes me me. Because feminism is all about choice, and if women who slag off Zooey claim they believe this then why are they condemning her choices? They don't know her. I don't know her but at least I don't judge her for being, well, for being who she decides to portray herself as.

I don't think she's even close to this "girly and flirty and pathetic" persona she's been labelled with. I believe from interviews and from her own work that she's as talented and as intelligent and as aware of feminism as these women are and still chooses to look "adorable" too. She's never struck me as being arrogant with the fame she has risen to from her work, or that she promotes herself purely on her looks. Are we now attacking women who are beautiful because being that way is antifeminist? Who is anyone to judge a woman who is clearly very smart and talented for her image? In fact, Zooey recently told Glamour magazine something that has become a quote doing the rounds of the Internet as an inspirational message. She said, "I want to be a fucking feminist and wear a fucking Peter Pan collar. So fucking what?" which I think beautifully sums up my point. She proves that she's not the woman everyone thought they could mess with, that she doesn't care how she dresses and that she knows it doesn't somehow effect her beliefs of feminism and equality. Why should it?

Zooey co-founded an entertainment website/blog for women to share creative, funny and independent pieces where they weren't going to be pushed behind blokey men who laugh when the word 'boobies' is said like on LadBible. The website is, would you judge a woman's mental capacity and involvement in feminism for that?

I don't understand why feminism has actually started to take on a new stereotype, a group of elitists who create this image for themselves that makes them look kind of obnoxious. They appear to have this snobbery about how other women who call themselves feminists behave when it's not the same as their middle class fashion adorned group. Going back to a previous blog post of mine about playing with Barbies and baby dolls didn't effect who I am today, why should women who cut of Barbie's head and flushed it down the toilet be considered more feminist than me? Just like wearing a Peter Pan collar doesn't make Zooey Deschanel any less of a feminist than the women who are criticising her.

If feminism is defined by being about choice, then we should try to refrain from condemning any man or woman's choices for how their image is portrayed by the public. I think arguing against Zooey Deschanel is a very poor and weak argument to make, and it isn't going to get us anywhere. There are far more important and real issues to be dealing with than to be slagging off another woman's dress sense. I don't see Zooey Deschanel as stupid and ignorant and just a silly little woman who doesn't know any better, I see her as a very talented, very clever, unbelievably beautiful woman who I wouldn't be exaggerating when I said she was one of my idols. Because I do believe that she is. She's badass and ridiculously adorable, why shouldn't I look up to her for being completely who she wants to be? Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing?

Thursday, 24 January 2013

Poem: To cease to write.

Should I ever cease to put my pen on paper
and write
then I will have come down with the flu
or have lost my sight.

For when words cannot flow like water
in streams
then I must have amnesia and have forgotten
my dreams.

Because, I only dream of words
and of writing
and it would be an awful shame to stop
like a bird unable to sing.

If I ever cease to put my pen on paper
and write
then I must have fallen to eternal sleep
and lost life's fight.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Guns. And why I hate them.

When I think of guns I don't think of safety or of reassurance, I think of the violence and the misery they bring to so many of us. I've only ever held a gun once, at an adventure holiday aiming at paper targets, and even then I felt a little uneasy about holding the potential weapon. I felt so uncomfortable knowing that in my hands I held the potential power to kill or seriously injure another being. Granted I knew nothing about aiming and shooting but the power it possessed was an uneasy and nasty one. I didn't understand why people would use these for fun, why having such a head start with the weapon and aiming it at helpless animals was considered a sport. I knew for certain that if I kept a gun in my house I wouldn't feel safe, I would feel restless that such a violent object lay somewhere near me, that I owned such a thing. What a horrible thought, that with this thing you could easily, heartlessly and quickly end someone's life. That by owning a gun, you have the potential to play God. How utterly terrifying.

Which is why, and I say this with  unfaltering confidence, I am in full support of Obama's attempt at changing the laws of owning guns in the USA. The Connecticut school shooting was just tip of the iceberg in convincing almost the rest of the world that such casual ownership and sale of weaponry was a terrible and fatal mistake. The fact that in America it is easier to buy a gun than to have health insurance is surely a twisted statistic and an ironic view of priorities in the USA. Conservative Americans claim it to be the land of the free, but how free would you feel if anyone had the right to possess a dangerous weapon and you couldn't afford to be treated if you got shot? To me, that sounds extremely condemning.

I would feel safer in the knowledge that those who decided to own a gun had been checked and licensed and were more unlikely to go on a killing spree of innocent people than to know that I could buy the weapon if I so wished. I think that the 'right' to own a gun is quite frankly a very foolish right, you are essentially giving people the go ahead to play around with life, choose who may die. I simply find it a frightening thought, that people even feel they need this access to killing machines to feel secure. I personally feel that if I was in a situation when someone had broken into the house or put me in some kind of danger I wouldn't hesitate about killing them or not, because I just wouldn't do it. I would find another way around it because ending someone's life, no matter who they were, would be an unbearable thing to do. It is in no way my right to cause somebody's death, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did.

What kind of a person doesn't question killing a human being? Independent of whether you are in a life or death situation yourself I think you'd be more likely to do damage to your mental wellbeing if you made the decision to take another's life than you would be physically hurt in not doing so. So why would one fight for the right to have this horrible decision and to carry on the higher potential for more ghastly events like the school shooting? I do not normally condemn another person's right to make their own opinion known and to have that opinion but in this situation I believe that those clinging onto the Second Amendment are quite simply wrong. The people such as those trying to get Piers Morgan deported are to me exactly the type of person you wouldn't trust in anyway shape or form with a gun in any situation. To be frank, they appear in interviews to often have a screw loose, to be one sandwich short of a picnic, which is not giving me total reassurance that they are making the right decision in fighting for this right.

I am supporting President Obama in his decision to reevaluate the laws about the possession of guns because I believe them to be a great threat in the wrong hands, or quite often in any hands at all. I am not American, and I do not live in the USA but I believe that for the welfare of the citizens there this conservative view of such weaponry must be reviewed. So you can stick your Second Amendment, dear traditionalist, right up where the sun don't shine. Because it would be a safer world for everyone if we had a gun free nation to follow by.

Thursday, 10 January 2013

A letter to my future self.

Dear Mollie,

I am writing to remind you of your teenage years and to hope, oh so desperately hope, that life has become a little bit easier. Because although your life is happy and fun at this time there are many, many things to be worrying about. And worry you do well.

I don't know if you remember, but at this time in your life the future seems a very long and very unlikely place to imagine. There is still a multitude of public examinations to get through before even thinking of university or anything remotely interesting and cool. Seeing past these exams and into a life where everyday is not plagued with homework or revision or the tense feeling of knowing that hard work is ahead is extremely difficult. Therefore, at this moment any life that involves any of my wildest hopes and dreams is a far, far away idea that I can only wish very hard for. I feel as if, at this point, the best job I could ever have is working in Waitrose. Not even a super indie and cool job as a waitress in Harris & Hoole down the road is an option right now, because not only are you not old enough but you are certain that with your luck they will not deem you hipster enough to work there.  Not hipster enough. Imagine that. I don't know what is scarier, that you actually day dream about wearing indie clothing and serving fabulous coffees to customers with leather messenger bags and MacBooks and brown, expensive brogues, or the knowledge that no one will even employ you to babysit.
I sincerely hope, therefore, that you are not still waiting for mothers to call and ask you to look after their children but are working with some brilliantly cool people writing excellently quirky and intelligent things. Any things.

On a more trivial note, I also want to remind you that as a fifteen year old girl most boys seem to be irritatingly uninterested. Fortunately, however, you have no interest in these male peers either because the overwhelming majority of them are lanky, spotty, awkward, immature, and hopelessly tragic. Please, future self, do tell me that by the time these boys grow up they improve at least slightly. And please say that you eventually get past the stage of only being able to be the token girl holding hands with a boy who still watches Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and relates every part of his life to COD. It would be disastrous if in the future you still settled under the category of singletons because of your uneventful teen years.

Oh, future Mollie, I just desperately wish that your life is a little simpler now you've become a fully grown, fully functioning adult. That you do not cry at everything remotely happy or sad because of your fragile hormonal state. That you have your own income and finally understand what a mortgage is. That you have seen a lot of the world, all of the cities you've always longed to go to. That you adore whatever career you have, and you achieved what you wished for now. That you speak fluent French, and maybe even live in Paris. That you wear devastatingly cool clothes and navigate around London with such ease like all those beautiful women you saw as a girl. That you have friends who make your stomach ache with laughter.
That you are happy, that you are safe, that you are peaceful. And most importantly, that you have found love. First love, hopeless love, and love everywhere you go.

So, Mollie, I can only hope that how ever bad you feel now or lost or helpless or scared your life in the future is 100 times better. I can only hope that you've worked, at least some things, out and life has begun to make a bit more sense. I can just only hope, for now.

Yours lovingly,

Mollie, aged 15, 1 month and 16 days.