My Imagination Land

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Wednesday, 28 October 2015

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We spend a lot of our time daydreaming- imagining what could be. We easily drift off into another world. A world where everything is better; our lives are sorted and ideal. 

But maybe that’s the problem.

Perhaps we spend too long in our own little lands of make-believe. Sometimes we can be engrossed in our daydreams for so long that our idealised paradises become our daily norm. And then, by the time we awaken into reality, we crash down with an unwelcome jolt. It’s frankly a shock to the system.

I feel like I have been falling into that trap lately. Wandering away into the land of "what-if"s and "could-be"s, when I should be focusing on the here and now. Looking forwards to the future - to my future. I should be working to ensure my future is filled with happiness, not daydreaming about how good it could be if one thing would happen and magically make everything fall into place.

Sometimes I need to give myself a wake up call - kick myself up the bum and get the cogs of my brain into motion. Get myself out of that daze and into the crystal clear world of reality.

Yes, I may be young and dependent now,  but in a few short years I’ll be out in the world on my own. And I cannot daydream constantly then.

Yes, you could say that daydreaming is part of a writer’s job description, but the amount of time I spend in my imagination can sometimes rival that of the time I spend in actual life.

I find my mind slipping away, off into a new world or the life of a new character, when I have just opened up my computer to finish an essay. If I’m not too careful I will become a permanent resident of my imagination, unable to focus on anything real or tangible. 

Of course, that doesn’t sound all that bad to me. I would much rather live in the land of make-believe and fantasy than the work filled, serious one we inhabit in reality.


Some of the best ideas can sprout from a minute spent in my imagination. Anything seems possible when limits aren’t pressing down on me from every angle. I am limitless and free. The term ‘impossible’, is impossible.




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I am a night owl

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Monday, 26 October 2015

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I am a night owl. 

I find consolidation in lying awake at night - when no one else is around and the only thing that stirs outside are the wise old birds that glide through the darkened, star strewn sky with their wings outstretched in a moony fan of feathers.

 I am comforted by the solace I can only seem to find when the Sun has dimmed. Only then can I fully collect my thoughts and file them into some, meagre, sense of order.

 When I look up into the great abyss of darkness and light that our tiny little rock floats within, I am filled with a sense of awe I cannot find anywhere else. I stare up. Gazing into the infinite expanse of glittering stars and glowing planets. And each time I cannot quite begin to comprehend that we are the only consciousness out there. But then, at the same time, I am confounded that we actually exist; the likelihood of our being is nearly impossible. We are impossible.

That’s such an odd word: impossible. 

Such a phrase should be its very definition. Why did we suddenly decide that something could never be achieved? We should be thinking that we could accomplish anything. It tends to be those who do so that use their talents and lives to the fullest. They are the ones who create the most impact on the world as we know it.


Maybe, once in a while, we ought to become one of them - just long enough so that that defiance of the impossible becomes embedded in our very being - a part of who we are as people.
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My friend Katie and I went shopping today, you can see her post about it here.

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5 things to tell yourself each morning

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Friday, 23 October 2015

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1. I am brilliant, even if not everyone recognises that

2. I can do this

3. I am worth it

4. My life decisions cannot be made by anyone but me

5. I believe in you

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p.s. 60th post!! How did we get to this many? Thank you everyone for reading and supporting me!



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Thoughts on Thoughts

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Wednesday, 21 October 2015

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I’ve been very busy lately. So busy that I’ve hardly had time to breathe. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. My life seems to be flashing by - a blur of homework, exams and schoolwork. My workload seems to be dominating my time; taking over my life so that I have time for little else.


There always seems to be another essay to write, another fact to look up. Everything is fighting for priority - piling up into a mountain of stress and panic; I am just waiting for the day that it all comes cascading down in a whirlwind of lined paper, deadlines and pens that have had all their ink used up.

My head is cluttered with thoughts half-finished. My room with the leftovers of an afternoon of solid work - revision tools and analysed texts. I can almost feel the weight of the uncompleted work pressing down on me from above. Yet be brought into existence and creeping up from behind.

It’s like I am stuck on a roller coaster and can’t get off. The time for me to relax and do something for my pure enjoyment seems to have gone completely. Even though I know it hasn’t.

When I am not doing schoolwork I am writing, watching a film or Tv show, or reading a book. However now, I cannot help but feel a bit guilty while I am doing so. Is that wrong? That I feel bad about taking some time out for myself?

I enjoy school. I really do. I love seeing my friends, taking in new information and learning. But when I can do nothing else because of the increased workload I have been set, I begin to become weary. Weary through both physical and emotional tiredness.

My brain is heavy with thoughts passing by, some partly formed, others ready to spread their wings and fly, fully fledged and raring to go. I feel like I need a pensieve. Something to clear my mind; to declutter it - make it clearer and more ordered. Brush out all unnecessary thoughts with a feather duster.

All my thoughts are so tightly packed together, crammed in one by one, that I can’t get each one down on paper before another has taken centre stage. I can’t tell the half thoughts and the finished thoughts apart anymore. They just squish into one big jumble of ideas and opinions.

I finally know what Professor Dumbledore was on about.
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To Shave or Not To Shave

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Monday, 19 October 2015

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It has been the social norm that women, young and old, should shave their bodily off for a good few decades by now. We are used to seeing women with hairless legs, armpits and sometimes other parts of the anatomy (some of which are more intimate than others).


Such a pressure can make young girls who are new to the world of shaving and hair removal, quite uneasy and self-conscious.

A lot of my friends started shaving in Year 8. We were 12 or 13. Suddenly the conversations had as we changed into our PE kits, had evolved into that of the smoothness of our skin, the distress in not having shaved in 2 days and the effect shaving ha had on the aesthetics of our legs. 

Everyone seemed to have started shaving - or at least, started talking about it.

It was like some elusive club, the way they talked about it. A club that I felt obliged, yet reluctant, to join.

I felt like I had to shave my legs in order to gain the rank that those around me had already achieved. I had to do this to, well, maybe it was to gain their respect? Feel like I had earned their friendship? Maybe, I feared that I would lose that friendship which I held in such high regard, all because I hadn’t started to shave my legs yet.

Looking back at it now, nearly 3 years later, it all seems so silly. But then and there it seemed a pressing matter. My 13-year-old mind overthought everything so that any conversation could be taken and morphed into something that was the complete contrary of what the speaker had meant.

In later years I would realise that a strong friendship could never be abandoned due to something as small as shaving. And if a friendship does break down over something as petty as that? Your “friend” was never truly your friend.



I started removing my body hair properly in Year 9. I say ‘removing my body hair’ because I use a hair removal cream instead of actually shaving because of the sensitivity of my skin. When I first started using this cream I was, well, a little uneasy let’s say, because I was not “shaving” as I believed everyone else was. It was still different; I was still not part of the elusive club. But it did the job with less risk of accidentally cutting myself and getting bright red rashes in my armpits and on my legs.

Currently, as my 16-year-old self, I hardly ever “shave”. Particularly now that the cold claws of winter are beginning to creep up on us from behind. Last summer, I probably “shaved” my legs about 2 or 3 times. I do not see why, when the temperature outside has dropped to freezing, that I have to shave my legs; I would much rather use that layer of hair for its intended purpose: to insulate my body in an attempt at keeping it warm.

And the same applies to the summer months: I will mostly likely remove my hair due to the increase of heat. I don’t want to be sweating more because of one layer of insulation I could easily have removed.

Perhaps, what I’m really trying to say here, is that I couldn’t care less if someone - male or female -shaves or not. I am perfectly content when I have “shaved” and when I have not. I make a choice whether or not I am going to “shave”, and I don’t want anyone, not matter how important they are, telling me I have to.

Shaving you body hair is, and should be, entirely your own, independent decision.

I know people who are disgusted by body hair, so shave it off. I know people who don’t give a damn about body hair so don’t shave. Both opinions are valid and acceptable. It’s their body to do with how the please.

Shaving shouldn’t have to feel like an act as compulsory as brushing your teeth everyday. And we should try to remember that women were not born hairless creatures.



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