New Blog Website

So I've only gone and shifted "Musings of a Scribbler" onto another website! Please click on the link below to go to my brand spanking new blog website :)

Happy Scribbling :)

http://avidscribbler1.wordpress.com/

This isn't goodbye, but see you again.

After much thought and consideration, I have decided to take a brief break from blogging, projects and things in general for a short period of time. This is due to personal reasons which I unfortunately am unable to openly write about. It breaks my heart to have to take a step back and not keep you, my readers, up to date with the weekly Tuesday blog and my surprise I planned for you all. However, sometimes things fall apart so that they fit into place and things in life happen for a reason. Whilst we may never fully understand them, it is imperative to focus on yourself and do what needs to be done.
BUT I will be back with a bang. All my love. This is not me saying goodbye, but a "See you later."

All my love,

Avid Scribbler. 

Occult II

* For Part I click here *

"Your Holiness," Ehra urgently cried grabbing my shoulders. "Are you alright?"

I opened my eyes and found myself trembling. I looked at Ehra as I gripped his hands and slowly straightened my back slightly wheezing as a thousand questions flew through my mind. I slowly nodded as we walked in silence listening to the bells ring and faint cries as people neared the temple. I began to quicken my pace as Ehra tried to keep up with me. I carelessly wiped my damp brow with the back of my hand and half closed my eyes so that the sand would not enter them; a trick I had perfected from my childhood. We removed our shoes before entering the sacred chamber. Its stillness, cool air and tranquility soothed my uneasy mind as I felt the Lord caress my covered head. I walked towards the preparation table and rested my palms on its cool stone surface. I had a duty to our Lord, our people, our way of life and our world. Not to these pale men from the Dark World. My fingers trembled as I prepared the veneration platter: four incense cones, a small pot of clay and yellow flowers. I watched the flames flicker as I began to think back to my childhood. Once I had innocently asked my mother what all this meant. She had smiled and said: “ Incense cones to ward off evil spirits. Some clay for new life and yellow flowers for peace. That is all the Lord wishes; peace.”

 I closed my eyes and began to chant a prayer thanking the Sun Lord for his blessings. Sharp pains stabbed the backs of my eyes and made me feel uneasy. I opened my eyes and finished the prayer. I turned to Ehra who placed his fingers on the platter and raised them to his forehead solemnly as I threw a few petals over him. We walked out of the chamber and into the main temple itself. I could see people gathering in the courtyard below, children triumphantly shouting as they ran after their friends, men and women eagerly talking before the final ceremony began. Ehra and I walked down the steps to the balcony where we were greeted with a deafening roar from the crowds. I smiled and declared: “My brothers and sisters! Today the Sun Lord smiles down at us from the celestial plains that He adorns every day. A bountiful Lord whom we thank every day for giving us life from these barren lands.”

My words were greeted with cheers and the occasional shout of “Thanks be to Him!” which was echoed around the courtyard. I felt a sense of pride and happiness wash over me as I continued: “People of the sand, for a month we have prayed for protection, love and energy from the Sun Lord. The final prayer remains. Let us complete our ritual and satisfy our Lord.”

“Do you think that the Lord will help?” Ehra asked as we left the jubilant scenes of celebration once the prayer had finished. “Have we offered enough?”

“Yes,” I replied waving my hand at him. “Ehra, my brother, He will not let anything happen to us.”

Ehra looked at his hands and said: “Your Holiness with all due respect...”

“No you listen,” I retorted. “The pale men come with disrespect; the Lord will punish them for this.”

“But what of the books your Holiness?” Ehra continued. “They speak off the pale man arriving and....”

“Those are just stories,” I fiercely answered. “Things our mothers said to keep us away from the Dark World.”

“You cannot deny them though,” Ehra quietly said. “It has been foretold your Holiness.”

“I do not fear them!” I angrily hissed. “And neither should you!”

We walked down the sun-lit corridor greeting fellow priests and priestesses as we made our way to the hall. I uneasily looked at Ehra and then at the ground. Of course I had read the books and seen the signs: an abundance of insects and an unusual number of children had died before the age of ten.The pale men were destined to visit our world but only once which they had done centuries ago. After that arrival, there were no more references to the pale men or ice eyes in our books. Perhaps the Scribes had made a mistake? But to date, they had never been wrong...

Occult.

I opened my eyes to be greeted by the sun streaming through the gap in the folds of the tent. I smiled inwardly as I felt its rays lovingly stroke my face. I sat up and looked around my tent with a content smile. The Sun Lord was blessing us before the auspicious hour began; a good omen that the ceremony would go ahead as planned. I took a deep breath in as I raised my hands above my head filling every inch of my lungs. I exhaled through my mouth feeling my belly drop and shoulders relax.

“Your Holiness,” a dark skinned man said bowing his head before he walked into the tent.

“Yes?” I replied, putting on my slippers and walking towards the makeshift door. “I had just finished praying Ehra.”

His smooth face relaxed into a smile as he held the tent folds apart for me to walk through and followed me as we walked into the brightly lit courtyard. We both took a deep breath in as we remarked on the day’s brightness and its energy. I held my hands out before me allowing the Sun Lord to bless me with His warmth, and spirit. I felt the energy surge through my veins to my heart. I beamed; today was the perfect end to a month of fasting, praying and meditating. The Sun Lord had indeed blessed us. How fortunate we were to have such a kind Lord!

“Have the final arrangements been made?” I asked tucking my hair back into a traditional twisted, low set bun and covering my head.

“Yes your Holiness,” Ehra answered. “Everything is ready, but we have an unexpected guest waiting for you.”

I looked at Ehra surprised, “Guest? But how? This month has never been disturbed as our teachings and customs command.”

Ehra sighed, “They did not say how they arrived here or who led them here. I told them that it is greatly disrespectful in this sacred time but they did not seem to care.”

We walked in silence for a few moments until I tentatively asked, “What do they want?”

Ehra’s dark eyes narrowed as he said in a hushed tone: “They are here. To see you.”

My brow furrowed, “They?”

“Yes your Holiness,” Ehra continued as we walked towards the temple stairs. “The pale men with ice eyes have come back.”

My eyes widened in shock and I felt my throat go dry as I fell into deep thought.  Our pace gradually drew to a halt as I put my hand on my collarbone and began to breathe deeply. I closed my eyes as I felt pangs of pain ricochet through my head and down my back as I curved my spine forward. I felt beads of cold sweat on my forehead as I tried to breathe through the pain. Blurred colours, a terrifying chorus of voices and faces swam before my closed eyes. And then I saw them; a pair of lifeless, icy eyes that bore a hole through my soul.

Part II: 13/08/13. 

10 things I Love About...

Today's post is about 10 things I love because the last one was about my pet peeves. If you haven't read it, here's the link: 10 things I hate about... Today is my grandma's birthday and I've decided to dedicate today's post to all the things I love about her. Although there's 10 things written here, I can easily think of a million things I love about my grandma.

1. Food: Let's get this one out of the way. I generally love food - and it shows - especially the food made by my grandma. Hands down: she's easily the best cook in my family and anything she makes turns out delicious. Why? Because she makes it with love.

2. Films: My grandma's quite up to date with things. English or Indian films, she'll watch them. The other day we were watching Harry Potter and she was convinced that Dobby the House Elf was half dog. Her reasoning behind it: "Well, the elves in Lord of the Rings are so tall, what happened to this one? He's tiny! And look at those ears!"

3. Conversations: My grandma and I have the most random conversations ever. There are too many weird moments to put down here. I could honestly do a separate blog on the things that my grandma says. But my favourite one of all time has to be: "Chicken breasts? That means they should be wearing a bra right?"

4. Fierce: Whilst my grandma is an extremely gentle person, she has her moments which are extremely rare. But when they do happen, it's quite something. Let's just say she knows how to chase away Jehovah's Witnesses.

5. Advice: If I find myself in a bit of a situation, my grandma gives me the best advice ever. Which often consists of: "You can't make everyone happy, so why bother trying to? They're not going to live forever, do your own thing."

6. Doctor: My grandma could have potentially been a neuro-surgeon/doctor/psychologist/anthropologist. However, her main piece of medical advice for any ailment whatsoever is: "Take two paracetamol beta (dear)."

7. Best mate: Growing up wasn't easy, I spent much of it alone. My grandma didn't stop fighting for my brothers and I nor did she give up on my dad. I'm truly thankful to her for always being there. And she always gets rid off scary insects for me.

8. Role model: My grandma has been and is the only mother figure in my life. She's taught me how to hold my own and stand my ground. Whenever she saw me crying, she would dry my tears and say: "Today you feel hurt. But tomorrow onwards you are a lioness." She is always there for me and supports me in any project I embark upon.

9. Reality check: If ever I get distracted or go a bit stupid, my grandma is the one who happily puts me back on track in a manner deemed appropriate for that particular situation.

10. Team Chayya: My grandma is the head cheer leader when it comes to all the support I receive. My family will be in the background with their poms poms but in front is my grandma. She dispels any doubts or moments of uncertainties that I have because she sincerely wants me to achieve my potential and leave my mark.

When I was growing up, I always thought that I missed out because I didn't have a mother. What my grandma taught me was that when it comes to family and parenting, it that actions always speak louder than words. What brings a parent and their child together is behaviour and actions.
Happy birthday nan :) 

Red Tape.

Over the weekend, the British PM David Cameron announced a new war. No, not the type which involves guns, missiles or army uniform. A social war that would avoid "the corrosion of childhood." This follows a succession of social wars that previous Prime Ministers have begun and are still yet to prove their 'victory.' We have the war on drugs, war on terror, war on smoking, war on youth gangs in London - so much so that the social narrative of Britain has become a semantic field of socio-economic warfare. Mr Cameron has decided to embark on his war against the cyber world. Starting with online porn.

When this was first announced, I was quite pleased because it was generally reported as Mr Cameron wanting to clamp down on the porn industry. We hear of horrific situations where young men and women are conned into the human trafficking industry only to end up in pornography videos against their will. The argument against pornography is an iffy one. People argue that  porn takes sex, something many consider to be intimate and cheapens it - yet at the same time sex is still a taboo subject. Porn degrades men and women into silicone pumped, plastic, sexual objects - yet millions of people get a kick out of watching it. Porn has begun to distort the way that we view each other, ourselves, relationships and sex. But at the bottom of it all, sex is a natural normal thing right?

Can we ever fully control the Internet?

After a day or two, it turns out that Mr Cameron's war on online porn is specifically child sex abuse. Something that millions wholly welcome as a future policy following the aftermath of Jimmy Savile's abuse, eye-watering scores of paedophile rings and reports of children as young as ten being raped by other children with the root cause being diagnosed as children watching sadomasochistic pornography videos. Protecting children is something many people have high on their agenda. Children are the future of any state, so it's important to nurture and encourage them to be good citizens. Anything related to child abuse is instantly controversial and relevant because it is an issue that needs to be resolved. It's also a topic that everyone has an opinion about.

The BBC proclaimed Mr Cameron's proposal with the following headline and article: Online pornography to be blocked by default. It's not very clear how Mr Cameron is going to go about controlling online porn. For a start, we've always been told how ungovernable the Internet is. Can Cameron conquer the Internet? With any ban that takes place, normally a board is set up with an independent third party who monitors that board. With regards to a proposed ban on online porn who decides what is and what isn't pornography? How will this be policed? Will we have a National Porn Regulation Board? When it comes to things like this Britain, along with thousands of other countries, has issues with transparency. You need only look at the MPs expenses scandal which occurred a few years ago and the banks which were pretty much unregulated.

So Mr Cameron wants to ban online porn and child sex abuse- so far so good. It's a good strategy for people to warm to him because "he'd be the Prime Minister who put a stop to this madness." It would elevate him and give our current coalition government a bit of decent press for once. But he won't ban Page 3.  For those not in the know, page 3 is in a news publication called The Sun and features images of topless women. Yet it calls itself a "family newspaper." Surely this counts as a form of pornography? It's hypocritical for Mr Cameron to want to implement an opt-in policy for online porn yet refuse to ban page 3 which is also a form of pornography. If you are going to propose a policy which claims to avoid "the corrosion of childhood" you might as well do away with images of rape, nudity and sexual abuse in films, games, music videos and imagery. Do these not contribute to the "corrosion of childhood" as well? Ah but of course, what would Mr Murdoch say?
The proposed ban so far is unrealistic. If people want to watch online porn, they will find ways to do it. I believe that we need to improve our sex-education system and not regard sex as a taboo. The flipside of implementing a ban is that things go underground and remain largely ignored because they are no longer in the public eye. 

Bat Wings and Mortar Boards.

I am on the threshold of entering "The Real World." It's an exciting but slightly daunting feeling; a bit like jumping into a dark room and not knowing where I'll end up. University has probably been one of the best decisions I've made in spite of me not wanting to go in the first place. It's been an interesting experience but one thing I can definitely  say about it, is that university is not fun and games. Well, it is if you want to fail.

First year can be daunting.

First year: This was the worst by far. I can only describe it as a goldfish being put in a tank full of sharks. Funny enough, everyone also drank like fishes and it's something I've never got used to. Culturally it was a shock as well. London is very multicultural; I'd gone from a Sixth Form that was around 70-80% black to a pretty much vanilla landscape. People thought I was ghetto because I was a Londoner with a strong south London accent.  I was shy, I didn't really know what to do in general. It was weird as I'm from quite a close family so I'd never been by myself before. For the first time, in my life so far, I missed south London. And I never thought that day would come. My lack of confidence meant that  I struggled academically and at one point I seriously considered dropping out. People judged me because I wasn't "well-spoken", I had to do compulsory modules that I genuinely hated and didn't see the point of it: but credits are credits ya know! I did, however, meet people who have become my closest friends and still are to this day. Regardless of homesickness and  feeling like a shitbag, I persevered and passed 1st year. And was deeply content with the fact that I'd never see 85% of people from first year ever again.

Second year: This was the best year because I realised that university is an experience you need to take advantage of. It was the nice, comfy middle year and definitely compensated for the blue funk that I was in for my first year. I spent the summer with a sense of reluctance: Would I have weird flatmates again? Turns out, my fears were largely unfounded. I was in a flat with foreign students and we all got on like a house on fire. I did modules that I chose and enjoyed studying. I've always enjoyed studying (geek alert!) so for me, everything had sorted themselves out. I was in a very good place. 

That summer I had a job which forced me to come out of my shell and it truly worked. I always believe in facing your issues head on to get it over and done with. It's scary at first, but you quickly realise that you either sink or swim in such situations. And I needed to swim like a fierce shark. I almost shat myself on my first shift but turns out I did way better than I thought. This job taught me to stand my ground, assert myself and get things done no matter what. And I did. Personally, academically, emotionally and it paid off. I threw myself into my studies, extra activities and regained my old fiery spirit. Rwoar! Oh and I passed. 

After exams and library sessions, we look like this.

Third year: In one word: Challenging. My final year was on some next level (do pardon my Colloquial English there!). You realise that this is the year to redeem any previous fuck-ups or blips, it's everything to play for grades-wise. Everyone I know knuckled down and instead of partying, we arranged sessions in the library. 'Cuz we're mad, bad literary bards. Final year also saw the return of my infamous south Londoner ways: I went back to how I was and didn't care if I got judged for it. Allow it, it's who I am. In such trying times, you realise who is and isn't your friend, who you need and those who are there for show. It's a fire of baptism on many levels. I spent most of my days in a routine which consisted of: gym, library, canteen, library cafe, home, dinner, bed. At one point the only people I stayed in contact with were my professors, dad and nan, Dominoes and my best friend. Final year's  hard because you take it so seriously and it's what you've been preparing for: the end. Like a smooth panther ready to sink its jaws into the succulent flesh of its unsuspecting prey, you want a hearty reward for your efforts. Why? Because you know you deserve it. 

The past three years have been a series of highs and lows, tears and moments where my triumphant cackle has made its infamous appearance. University is not easy and for people who say that it is are deluded. In fact, they can come and do my degree for me all over again. For the outsider looking in, university appears to be easy. Three years on your own, a fat student loan and everyone gets a place. All I can say to that is "no mate." It's not about getting wasted every single night. Eventually you have to choose between opening bottles or opening your books. You learn how to live on your own, manage yourself and you learn things about yourself as well. Eg: whenever I get stressed, I blitz and clean everything in sight. It's safe to say that university is not for everyone even though everyone is told that "you must go to university once you finish school." 

Do it only if you are committed and fully prepared to undergo years of studying one topic in depth. It is an experience that acts as the first step that eventually comes together to pave a unique path. And that path is yours. 

Colostrum

"Look at her! Shameless bitch," he said to his colleague as they lowered their heads in embarrassment and carried on walking. She looked at them her eyes filled with a mix of shame and passive defiance. She wasn't sure whether to be angry, upset, humiliated, stunned or bit of each.

* * *

I was 16 years old when a man said that to his work colleague as they walked past me in a department store. It was a relatively hot day and there was a woman sitting on a sofa with a cardigan draped across her chest. If you stared long enough at her, it was pretty obvious. But if you were walking and glanced at her, it wasn't. The woman was breastfeeding her child in public. Over the years in the UK, the subject of women breastfeeding in public is a thought-provoking discussion. There are those who abhor it and demand for it to be shunned. And those who see nothing wrong with it at all.
Breasts. Boobs. Tits. Titties. Juicy, juicy mangoes. Mosquito bites. Whatever you call them, breasts are there and there's not much people can do about them. We seem to have a bit of an obsession for them as well. Whether it's seeing them in various TV adverts, magazines, websites or in our daily lives, an obsession for breasts and what they should/shouldn't do exists in our minds and general society. It is interesting to note the way that we view and refer to breasts in the English language. When we see things like page 3, hear drunken slurs of "Get your tits out for the lads" breasts are sexualised and turned into a meaningless object to be gawped at and groped. Their original purpose is momentarily forgotten. But note the change when adverts for Cancer Research come on the TV; it goes from sexualised imagery to clinical, scientific language. It's called "breast cancer" not "tittie cancer." Breasts are taken more seriously when they are referred to as "breasts" instead of "titties."
I find it bizarre that it's acceptable for images of topless women to be splashed across society in a series of lad mags, adverts, porn videos and billboards but unacceptable for them to be used for their original purpose; to nurse a child. If a topless woman grinning from a magazine cover is deemed "normal" then so should breastfeeding in public. For some reason, people become flustered when they see a woman breastfeeding her child. Is it really that awkward? Does the image of a child sucking at its mother's breast look like cannibalism? Or does it remind people of a horny overly oiled up person sucking upon the nipples of a fellow horny being which is why they feel uncomfortable? Most people would have probably been breast-fed as a baby, unless they went straight to the formula stuff. There are countless works of art depicting blissfully content mothers looking upon a child peacefully suckling their breast. Hell, this YouTube video about breastfeeding went viral because it is so controversial. It was deemed to be the most natural and sacred act that a mother could do for her child because breast feeding was/and is viewed as an emotional bond between a mother and the child. As time went by, scientists discovered that breast was indeed best as it supports a baby's immune system. I genuinely have no problem with a woman breastfeeding in public. Where else are they supposed to go if they are in public? The public loos in Britain aren't that pleasant nor are pub toilets.
So what's your opinion on women breastfeeding in public? If you have Google+ leave a comment, if not tweet me @c_syal with your response.

10 Things I Hate About....

Ok so maybe the word "hate" is a bit too strong but nevertheless, today's post is about something that irks me every single year. Summer. That's right, I've got beef with this season. Summer has plenty of nice things to offer us like: BBQs, excuses to go swimming, days of lolling about doing nothing, eating ice cream, sitting outside in the garden and generally making people happier. Whilst I enjoy doing some of these activities, for me, the pros of Summer are without a doubt outdone by its cons.

1. Hay fever: Anyone who knows me well enough knows that I suffer from this terribly. It doesn't matter how many anti-histamines I take, how much honey I eat or how much Vaseline I dab onto my nostrils; hay fever kills me every single time. My eyes go so red that I resemble some sort of demon and my nose is so red that I could put Rudolph the Reindeer out of a job.

2. Heat: I'm a typical British person in this sense because I complain about the weather all the time. "It's too hot" and "Oh no, it's far too cold!" There's no happy medium of how I want the weather to be for me because either way I'm grumpy and uncomfortable. If I can't cope with a so-called heatwave in Britain, there's no way in hell I'm moving to a hotter country. What's that? Oooh a ticket to the North Pole...

3. Tan: I know the sun is a giver of light and makes everything grow but when it comes to brown people it is avoided like the plague. My friends will be running around delightfully showing off their tan. Then, there's me. Sitting in the shade, with my sunglasses on. Why? Because south Asians don't like to tan; we're born with one.

4. Humidity: I have very curly hair, so when the humidity rises so does my hair. And that's when I find out that products like John Frieda's "Frizz Control" and L'Oreal's "Smoothening Serum" are full of cr*p. It doesn't matter how much hair serum or conditioner I use, the Summer makes my hair come alive. And because of the heat, it's too hot to straighten my hair (2 hours? No thanks).

5. People: When it's hot, you don't really want to be around other human beings. Especially on the Tube, central London area or your local high street. The collective mass of body heat coupled with the soaring temperatures is enough to put me into a coma. Then there's the smell: sweaty, salty, burning, unwashed human skin smell.

6. People: I appreciate that many individuals work hard in the gym and want to show off their results. If you're confident, got it, then flaunt it - don't mind me peeping at ya through my sunglasses. But what I can't stand is the wannabe "rude bwoys" who take off their shirts, wear snap backs, low riding trousers and prance about as though they are extras in a YMCMB music video. Stop it. Stop it right now.

7. Work: I'm a self-confessed workaholic and I genuinely enjoy working, unless it's hot outside. Buildings in Britain are not adapted to such temperatures so it ends up being hotter inside than outside. Result? Tetchy employees who become irritable, sweaty and unhappy. Further result? Work is done with a sense of reluctance. Solution? Air conditioning and ice-cream for all.

8. Feet: Many people forget that their feet is also covered in skin which needs to be moisturised and shown a bit of TLC every now and again. We all too often neglect our feet because we shove them into socks, trainers, flats or boots. But come the Summer, out come the sandals and the shrieks of horror when we see our feet once Winter is over.

9. Motivation: When the temperature goes up, unfortunately motivation tends to go down. Anything that requires physical exertion or slight movement results in you sweating profusely. While we'd love to be one of those effortlessly hot hip hop video girls who effortlessly struts her stuff in the searing heat, the fact of the matter is that we'd rather soak in a cool tub of water.

10. Make up: This is a pet peeve for women when it comes to the Summer. Magazines scream the latest trends and hottest seasonal looks for the Summer which usually requires the good ol' slap. And a lot of it.
It's all well and good that the models in their campaigns look flawless in a desert shoot but have you seen me walking down the High St in the summer? I swear to God, the make up melts off my face (even if it's just concealer) which makes me wonder why I even bothered to do so in the first place.

Are you a Summer lover? Or do you prefer Winter? Let me know with your comments. 

How to train a Demon.

This is something that I've been meaning to write about for a while and it's finally here. Anger. It's a natural emotion that everyone feels at some point - or several - in their life. From being mildly irritated to a full on atomic bomb-like state, it can stem from or be sparked off by anything; even the littlest things.
For many years of my life I was a very angry young person - I felt that this anger justified my behaviour, my actions, the way I viewed myself and others. But what I didn't realise was the devastating impact it had on my well being, myself and those around me until I got to the root of my anger and saw how much it had destroyed me.
It is very easy to be swept away in the white-hot surges of being angry at yourself, others, a situation you can't control and/or the actions of others. Anger has the capacity to blind us: have you ever said things "in the heat of the moment" that you didn't mean? Things that we end up regretting and think: "Oh God, I wish I hadn't said that to so-and-so" or "It's going to be so awkward when I next see so-and-so."
Of course, it's easier said than done, for me to say: "Let go" because 9/10 it's not easy to get rid off anger or negative feelings. Especially if you've been feeling angry for years but have been unable to resolve it. I often imagine my anger to be a little monster or demon sitting in the depths of my stomach and when sh*t hits the fan, it sits up, growls and starts making a scene. It screams, shouts, tears at itself hoping that its ruckus will come out of my mouth and into the real world. I used to suppress it but that only made things worse because I ended up accumulating years of anger which ended up harming me more than anyone else.
What's important  is for you to try and understand the demon/anger. Why do you feel angry? What sets you off on a rampage? It's essential to try and develop a technique or habit where you can explain to yourself, why you're feeling angry. You don't have to sit down in a corner in the Lotus position saying various chants or stuff like that. Expressing yourself can be in any medium you want; painting, reading, writing, speaking aloud, recording your thoughts, exercising or confiding in close friends/family. However you decide to train your demon, one thing that you learn along the way is how to reconnect with yourself and emotions.
Part of dealing with anger is learning to get to know yourself and what sets you off. Anger has a horrible way of isolating people when they need help the most. How many times have you or someone said: "Look, just leave me alone I'm not in a good mood." Fair enough, sometimes we do need time to work through the motions and clear our heads. But all too often the phrase, "two heads are better than one" comes to mind when trying to understand or deal with anger issues. Why? Because anger not only distances you from other people, but from your true self.
One thing I always say to myself and my friends is: "Always stay true to yourself." If you can't be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with? Emotions are a huge part of the human experience called life and they unfortunately dictate our actions.
You are the best. You are the worst. You are average. Your love is a part of you. You try to give it away because you can't bear its radiance. But you can't separate it from yourself.

Ordinary People.

I live under a rock when it comes to this sport because it never interests me. Cricket. This usually makes me a bit of an outcast and a "weird Asian" because I don't enjoy a sport that most south Asians get a boner over.
Within the British Asian community exists a multitude of inter-communal issues such as caste, religious difference etc. One thing that does appear to unite - and disjoint - south Asians regardless of their roots is cricket. Tournaments such as the IPL, the Ashes etc either emphasise  pre-existing rivalries between countries (notoriously India and Pakistan) or unearth the hidden pride and glory from the depths of various fans' hearts.
The English cricketer Ravi Bopara represents a large chunk of most young Brit Asians whose parents are immigrants. Many, myself included, view Bopara as an individual who demonstrates that young British Asians can get into sport and become professionals. I know many young, talented British Asians who want to become successful sportspeople but abandon their dreams. Surely this should propel Bopara into being a role model showing that you can enter professional sports make a decent career from it. From the report that I read, one thing that shocked me was when other British Asian fans turned against a Sikh man who was supporting England. They called him a "sell out" and a "coconut." I immediately thought of the controversial Tebbit test proposed by Tory politician Norman Tebbit, which has in this situation, been reversed. Whilst racism appears to be at a low in the UK, it is only so because of political correctness which has resulted in it being swept under the carpet. An issue that has come to light, is discrimination within the south Asian community to each other. Should Brit Asians be supporting India or England? Is it really a form of betrayal if you don't support India?
I don't have an issue with who supports who - at the end of the day cricket is supposed to be enjoyed as a sport, not a brown people point scoring contest or a public demo of racial pride. This has sparked off the notorious row about "multiculturalism and integration into British society" - something a lot of people thought had been 'sorted out.' In 2011, a survey showed that in England and Wales the percentage of British Asians was 5.87%. With a significant population that is ever growing come many concerns such as integration and unity. One: we need to start supporting each other to nurture the talent that we have. Two: is there ever going to be enough visibility to represent Brit Asians in the public sphere? Whenever a south Asian actor appears on a TV show or a soap (Eastenders) most Brit Asians I know cringe and squirm. Instead of berating them and subconsciously making them a spokesperson for all Asians; think of them as an individual. It takes guts to appear on TV or go into an industry where none have gone before. They are just ordinary people with talent.
The past 50 - 100 years of race relations in Britain has been tempestuous to say the least. Horrific crimes such as the Stephen Lawrence case and the deaths of 13 black teenagers in a house fire in 1981 are examples that scratch the surface to reveal a plethora of cases regarding racial discrimination in Britain. Such cases have been a crucial part of the black British experience and its desire for equality and representation. The fact that more and more black Britons are entering sports such as football, rugby and cricket should be a sign that ethnic minorities are becoming a part of Britain's changing landscape.
What can be done to address racial attitudes to each other and within ethnic minority groups? Is it a good idea to open up the race debate? Or let bygones be bygones?

The Naked Truth

I came across this article last week: prepare yourself. Initially, I wasn't sure whether it was being serious or just a joke. Turns out, it's very serious. There are so many things that are wrong with this product I don't really know where to begin. Firstly, it confirms my belief that we are all, more or less, obsessed with the female naked body and how to make it more desirable to ourselves and others.
This is my beef with the hairy tights - they are telling us that having body hair is "ugly" and that a woman with hairy legs is "unnatural." This is wholly untrue as human beings are covered in body hair making it, in fact, very natural.  The craze for smooth, shaven or waxed limbs and body parts is a recent phenomenon thanks to an infamous advert in Harpers Bazaar in 1915 Fast forward to today: we have J-Lo strutting her stuff for Venus razor blades, an image of a woman's smooth legs going viral as fellow women gasp at their "smoothness" in the latest Veet advert. The anti-body hair surge has exploded in the last decade with the American hair removal industry being valued at around $2.1bn in 2011 with the UK's hair removal industry estimated at a similar value.
It's hard to imagine that a pair of stockings can cause such a reaction. Why should women have to dress a certain way so that they don't have to be made to feel vulnerable whilst they are out in public? It only fuels the idea that: "women have to look a certain way to be considered attractive" and that only "sexy" women get raped or sexually harassed. Wrong: rape and sexual attacks are not about desire and can happen to anyone - male or female. It is about control and power. The product's USP declares itself as a 'practical fashion item'  - rubbish. If you want hairy legs, don't shave them. Hashtag: common sense. And the phrase: 'anti-pervert' is as though it were some form of antibacterial cleaning product. It not only distorts women's own ideas of what is natural, but it patronises male behaviour. Obviously, not all men are leering perverts in the same way that not all women are innocent, but the way that each sex views each other has definitely become distorted.
Not only are we obsessed with how our body looks, we seem to be more interested in what everyone else thinks of our bodies. Another thing I've never really been convinced by is the infamous bikini wax. The third article discusses the health implications that occur as a result of removing hair from your nether regions. The removal of pubic hair has been around for centuries and is not entirely Western; there is evidence for it in ancient India, Greece and Egypt. I've personally never understood why 'shaven' is often considered to be 'natural' - did we miss a step in Darwin's theory of evolution? - and why 'shaven' nether regions have become sexually desirable and a hot topic for discussion. I'm not saying grow an Amazon bush down under, it's your body and your choices, but this is just a point to consider. To have pubic hair is a sign of sexual maturation - it's natural, but thanks to the porn industry and advertisements, to have hair down under is now considered to be 'unnatural.' The sexual desire of a hairless va-jay-jay can also be interpreted as a perversion; who else has no hair down under? Pre-pubescent females which is a serious sign that things need to be addressed.
So why do we feel the need to dehair ourselves? Is it to be appear more attractive to our partner? Be more sexually desirable? Or is it just a vanity issue that has been associated with ideas of 'femininity?' 

"Let's play a game..."

My GBF and I were walking through the town centre when we saw a young girl dressed to the nines with a look of sheer pain on her face as she braved it in a pair of blue killer heels. She'd paired her heels with a sharp military-style navy jacket with gold detailing, jeans, a gash of bright pink lippie, fake tan, outlined her peepers with eye liner and wore her hair down. A bit much for a Sunday stroll in the town centre?
Naturally we raised our eyebrows upon viewing this spectacle and thought: "Oh girrrrrl what are you doing?"
As we sat in a coffee shop we saw her again and the same comments came out. But this time, it made me think. Every time I pass a group of women or men, the conversation more or less is about "the God awful outfit he/she wore" or "the ugly other half" so-and-so is currently dating or shagging.

Positivity impacts us in every way possible.

As a Feminist, we always talk about how women should be standing together, supporting one another and not pulling each other down. The sad truth is that all too often, a woman's worst enemy is either herself or another woman. And that we all (men included) tend to bitch about each other another:
"Oh my God her hair's so greasy"
"She can't walk in those heels!"
"Urgh look at that cheap, tacky handbag!"
How many times have you said or overheard someone say that about a complete stranger (or friend) as they walk past? Having been in an all girls' school for 7 years, it is safe to say that I've heard things like this being said pretty much all the time. The girl with the 'nerdy' backpack, 'ugly shoes', bad haircut, acne scars or funny eyebrows. The odd thing is that, deep down, you hope it'll be different once you leave the bubble of secondary school and that things will change as people grow up, mature and are exposed to the 'real world.' Unfortunately it doesn't seem to die down but get worse as people acquire a vaster vocabulary and an overly critical eye. I've never fully understood why we do this to each other - do we think that we're part of Joan Collins' fashion police team?
Having thought about the way that my GBF and I reacted I said to him: "Let's play a game, where we have to say one nice thing about every woman who walks past us."
It was a bit difficult at first, but after a couple of people it became easier. We looked beyond their make-up, their clothing style and found ourselves saying: "She has such beautiful hair", "Her smile is lovely" and we both generally felt better having said these things. We will never be thin, voluptuous, tall, short, hot or sexy enough for every single person we meet. What matters the most is what you think of yourself. We do not tell ourselves enough that we look lovely today, our skin looks particularly glowy or dewy today or that "I'm having a damn good hair day!" We always find something wrong with ourselves. 9/10 it is something so minute that nobody else notices it.
Say something positive about people you see in the street, campus, school or at work. But also say something positive about yourself to yourself every day. 

The Frog and the Prime Minister

Recently I've been filling application after application in my pursuit for a job. Yes. Jobs - those things that not many of us have at this moment in time. I've filled out so many "About you" sections that the thought: "Oh God what do I say about myself!?" or "Help! I don't have a personality." now flashes before my eyes whenever I see that section. And most alarmingly: my brain has become saturated with company names and application form questions:
1. How would you describe your breakfast this morning?
(A). I would describe it as a challenge that will push my skills set, however I believe that my strong sense of tenacity, hard work and determination will result in me eating this piece of toast successfully thus relieving my hunger pangs.
It's also been quite difficult to decide what I want to actually do as a job - as a 7 year old I wanted to become Prime Minister and before that I wanted to be a frog. Obviously I can't become an amphibian nor PM but it still hasn't solved my dilemma of: "What do I want to do?"
The emphasis in that question is "I" - a lot of us don't listen to what we really want. If money weren't an issue, I would probably become a dreamy individual camping out under the stars or reciting Wordsworth's poetry in fields of barley at the top of my lungs. The sharp jolt of reality unfortunately tampers with the wispy dreams many of us may have so we have to be practical about things. We also underrate ourselves, our talent and what we are good at. There's nothing wrong with talking about your qualities and what makes you stand out from everybody else - I know many of us feel slightly embarrassed when it comes to talking about our achievements, strengths and good points. The phrase of: "I don't mean to sound big-headed, but...." - there should be no reason to add the "but" before stating your attributes. The "but" immediately creates a negative connotation and puts you down before you begin speaking. If I could tell people something about this scramble for jobs lark it is to be confident, believe in and assert yourself.  However, it's worth noting that a fine line exists between talking about your achievements and blowing your own trumpet.
When most people discover that I'm an English Lit student the first thing they say is: "So are you going into teaching?" or "That's a Mickey Mouse degree." (Don't hate. Appreciate.)
It is naive to think that people will stay in a career that is directly linked to their degree. We live in a world where now the idea of: "one job for life" is practically non-existent. You never know where life will take you or what opportunities will pop up. I know many people who are happy in jobs that have no relation to what they studied. The chances of people going through several jobs in a few years are now higher than ever: it is important to adapt to whatever situation you're put in. It is a reality that a lot of us have to accept and come to terms with - there is nothing wrong with going through more than one job. It does not make you any less valuable or worthless to someone who's been in their field for decades. In fact, don't even compare yourself to other people if it makes you feel like sh*t. Focus on your own thing, achieve it and savour the success it entails.
We are all making our own very different journeys that are shaped by our actions, thoughts and different modes of talent in a confusing misty maze we call life.   

The F-Word

This is something that has been on my mind for a very long time. Years in fact. I would describe this "F-Word" as the atomic bomb of social situations because when it is said to someone there is no comeback. It doesn't matter how streetwise and savvy you are - there is never a comeback. This "F-word" appears to be so embedded in our minds that unfortunately it's become an unconscious habit.
Fat. That's right: Fat. That is the "F-Word." It's unnerving how a small, three letter word can destroy someone's self esteem, confidence and self view. Being fat is apparently the worst thing that a woman can be and this is everywhere from everyday life to how women are portrayed in the media. In an argument if someone says: "Well, at least I'm not a fat b*tch" they automatically win the fight. I have seen friends who are a UK dress size 8 - 10 being silenced by this three letter bomb. Perhaps it should be called the "F-bomb" instead of the "F-word" because of its devastating impact. Now for some people, I can imagine them thinking: "If you know you're not fat why take it so personally?"
Whilst that is a valid and rational point it doesn't even cross the minds of women who have been called "fat" (usually) by other women. I believe that everyone should be reasonably healthy, clean and look after themselves - after all there are bigger problems in the world. But for many women, the idea of weight gain or any wobbly bits in the "wrong places" is enough to send them into panic. Many people are extremely sensitive about the way that they look and to be called "fat" is just another nail in the coffin of dwindling self-esteem. Many young women are brainwashed by the airbrushed images that bombard them on a daily basis with captions such as: "slender chic" and "gracefully thin" to vague terms such as "dangerously curvy" which does us no favours. How the hell can someone be "dangerously curvy?" I was not aware that having breasts, hips, a waist and thighs were associated with weapons of mass destruction.
These captions indirectly tell us that if you do not have these traits then you might as well be the fat b*tch whom no one will ever go near. This is wholly untrue! So what if some women are a UK dress size 16 or 18? If you are blessed to have all 4 limbs, good health and able to do everyday menial tasks surely we should be celebrating this. Who cares if you have a little bit of cellulite or a tummy? How many women in the world are left disabled from acid attacks, missing limbs or disease?
There is an overwhelming amount of negative attention placed on women's bodies which is affecting our self-esteem, confidence and most importantly self-respect. Our constant preoccupation with our bodies leads me to my next pet peeve: Diets. The diet industry in the UK in 2010 was estimated at £2bn and I am certain its value has increased. Slogans on television from the dieting world such as "bingo wings" "cankles" and the dreaded "muffin top" have entered our everyday language and way of thinking. These are terms often used by women to describe parts of their bodies that they dislike. Although many are said as "a joke" they conceal a deeper insecurity and preoccupation within women that the dieting industry does not wish to address. They just want your money and feed off millions of people's diet failures. A niggling worm sets into our brains which makes us turn down that gorgeous red dress we see in the shop window because: "I have thunder thighs." Wear that red dress, embrace it, work it and own it because no one else can do it as well as you do.
If you don't respect yourself or your body, who will?

I live for bant.

"Don't be a such a pussy. Man up!" "God you have such rapey eyes" "Cameras weren't built for our colour. We just blend into the background!"

If I had a penny for every time I heard someone say one of these things, I'd pay off my student loan in under a year and have enough to buy a small house. And maybe a little car. This term is often said in jest to make someone - a friend sometimes - do something stupid or down 3 more beers. I've had this said to me quite a few times and I never really looked into it. In fact, I'm certain a lot of people say it and have it said to them because it's something we associate with being young, impulsive, spontaneous fun people who live for bant.
Hold on: "live for bant?" What the hell does that mean? Oh, you've never heard of "banter?" Well, sit down and get comfy so Avid Scribbler can tell you all about it. For those not in the know, banter is the exchange of teasing remarks meant in a friendly manner. This, of course, is highly contested because "banter" is often used as a cover-up for cutting remarks that reflect an element of truth. The problem is when a particular comment is made that makes you think: "Should I laugh or go in with a cheeky left hook?"
I've had many a moment like that especially if someone says to me: "Yes fam, what you saying?" (to which a black eye is needed) or "Get in the kitchen woman." Well, for starters just because we're both brown and from London does not mean that I'm your "fam" so don't use that word around me. Secondly, I'm not a Michelin starred chef so you'd go hungry. But what annoys me the most, is the response: "Oh calm down, was only banter. Cor someone's on their period!" (that's "banter" apparently).

Yes, he does have a point. 

Whilst "banter" can be genuinely funny, witty and clever it is seriously misused. The sinister side of "banter" that I've experienced comes under "ethnic banter" "rape banter" and "girl banter." I wasn't really amused by them and didn't get why they'd been put under the irritating umbrella term "banter." I like to think that it's nice when everyone tries to be a comedian - some pull it off, others shouldn't give up their day job. A certain individual (not dropping names, that'd be mean) piped up with: "Yeah you love curry innit? I think it should be made into perfume, Asians will go mad for it. But only if it's free. Ahaha, ethnic banter."
Everyone roared with laughter except me and my "one is not amused" face. I thought: oh sh*t did I miss the punchline? But really: it just wasn't that funny. Another one is when I talk about Feminism to boys and other girls. The conversation often flows like this:
A: "I swear they hate men? Omg do you hate men?!"
Me: On the contrary, I love men my dear.
A: "It's a waste of time for extreme people who have nothing better to do."
Me: Not really, the day opinions like that and others disappear will be the day I hang up my Feminism cape.

I appreciate wit, a dry sense of humour and even dark humour at times, but what I and many others certainly do not appreciate nor find amusing are crude, lewd comments that are all too often passed off as "banter" and something we shouldn't take too seriously even if there is a back handed comment hidden in its midst. Whilst comedy is used to poke fun or lighten up a subject everyone gingerly tiptoes around, the answer is not banter nor people who think that they are the "King of Banterbury." You're not.
Banter is often used as an excuse to make derogatory remarks about someone but trying to pass it off in a light- hearted manner. I don't care what word is used to dress it up: at its very core it is rude and damn offensive. Another phrase I can't stand is: "No offence but..." - if you're going to offend me, come out with it. And the other: "I'm not racist but..." - clearly you have some form of complex, please be honest with yourself before complaining about people that have put your knickers in a twist.

Wireless

BISH BASH BOSH! Musings of Scribbler has officially returned with its weekly blog! 

I know I said the 1st Tuesday of June but truth be told, I can't stay away from blogging and reading your comments and suggestions! However, I am pleased to announce that I have finished  my finals. I've also been thrust into a foggy maze of "free time" which I'm really not used to. I've spent the past 3 years worrying, procrastinating, crying, working my a*se off and all of a sudden it's gone. Poof! Gone! I just don't know what to do with all this free time - if you have any suggestions (no lewd ones please) do let me know in the comments section.

Today's post is on a Wednesday - sacrebleu ! I received the terrible news that my laptop screen had died. I hate how suddenly these things happen - I went to make a cuppa and came back to my room only to be greeted with a blank screen. I did what anyone would do: texted half the contacts on my phone, coaxed it, whispered sweet nothings into its speakers, shouted at it, used colourful language, begged it, pleaded with it and finally accepted defeat. It's unbelievable how emotional I was - you'd think someone had died or a Shakespearean tragedy had come to life. I nursed my baby (yes...it is my baby) as I legged it to the bus stop. As I sat on the bus cradling my baby I felt hot tears beginning to prick at the backs of my eyes.The sky filled with grey clouds and the air was heavy. It was though the weather understood my pain and cued dramatic scenery just for me. This is insane, I thought. I'm getting teary over a laptop. 

Long story short: I will not have my baby for 2-3 weeks as it's gone off to be repaired. Whilst it was an emotional experience I was shocked by how dependent I am on technology. 

Day #2 into this interesting experiment and so far I actually feel quite liberated: I don't feel the nagging urge to check Twitter or Facebook to see what that 1 notification is all about. I don't feel obliged to reply to people immediately. I've also had more time to relax, be creative and think of new ideas for my blog, future projects and general self. Let's see if this feeling continues for the new few days!

In fact, in general, we're all extremely dependent on technology whether it's our iPhones, tablets, mobiles, BBM, Whatsapp, texting etc. On our way back to campus after yesterday's exam, I noticed two boys walking in the street. They were clearly walking together yet both were on their phones (I'd laugh if they were texting each other!) but it spoke volumes to me. Is this what we've become? I get vexed when I'm having a conversation with someone and they're on their bladdy phone half the time. It's almost like my conversation skills aren't enough for them or their riveting chat. More to the point: it's rude. 

People who text and walk - I will not go out of my way to make extra space for you. Child avert thine eyes away from thy telephone device and pay attention to your surroundings! You don't want to have to walk into me or a tree. I also hate people who text and drive: especially if I'm in the car. Those who know me, know I'm famed for my facial expressions. I do not want to have to pull my "One is not amused" face at you and your mobile. You either pull over and text, or answer the message when we have safely stopped moving in the vehicle. Is it really so hard!? 

I reckon that one day, we'll all have RSI in our thumbs from our longstanding love affair with technology. Maybe we'll evolve to have freakishly long, strong thumbs - who knows I'll laugh if that does happen one day. Darwin eat your heart out. 

The boy in the green jumper

I held his little hand in mine as we walked home. I was aware of the whispers made by nosy old birds at the Post Office and the exchanged looks when they discovered that we were related. Holding hands. It's a complex thing if you think about it. Holding his hand made a statement; a bold one at that. It bound us together and told people: "Yes, I know this child. He is my boy."
I smiled fondly at him as he excitedly chattered about his day at school, his friends and what he had learnt in his little light voice.
"I made a new friend today!" he exclaimed breathlessly.
"Really?" I replied with a big smile. "What was their name?"
"Henry," he continued. "You saw him at the school gate with his mum. The boy in the green jumper."
I cast my mind back to the little boy in the green jumper manically waving at us as we walked up the road. Why couldn't we address people like that anymore? The girl in the red coat, the man with a grey hat or the simple image of a boy in a green jumper?  That's how it was back in the days before the slogans of "Keep Britain White" were sprawled all over the walls. People call them "the good ol' days" but how was it good when all they did was terrorise a bunch of people because they were different?
I was one of those people, until the day this little larry was born and I held him in my arms. A helpless bundle wrapped in blankets protecting him from the cruel looks and cutting whispers from strangers who gobbed at his pram when we walked past. Helpless, meek bundle but didn't the Lord begin his human life in the same way? My boy was more than a bundle of blankets or a name on the register. A new generation. A new chapter in the story. A fresh start to redeem us and bring us forward. A shrub on an ever changing landscape.
Things have certainly changed from my day. He wouldn't be beaten up for having a "funny accent" or be confronted by hooded men with firebombs ready to throw at you because "you weren't from round here." He'd have it easier than we did. It was worth coming over every time I looked at my little boy, heard his laugh, saw him smile and held him. My little boy and millions like him were the change we needed, craved and looked to.
"Grandpa?"
I jerked from my thoughts to see him staring up at me. He smiled, "Were you listening to me?"
"No," I said. "What did you say?"
"It's ok I'll tell you at home," he answered as we continued walking.
I felt a wave of happiness wash over me as he started to sing an old song  from my childhood that I'd taught him. I laughed and joined in with him. My thick, heavy accent forming the words with ease mixed with his light British-Guyanese voice tracing the lyrics curiously complemented each other. My little boy and I singing and pulling faces at each other as I opened the front door and kissed my wife on the cheek.
Regardless of the motherland, wherever you are based becomes home. And home is where the heart is.

The Kid

I stumbled up the stairs gripping the banisters with my chubby hands stuck between sniffling and gasping for air to reach my little lungs. Tears blurred my vision and I bit my lip every time I snubbed my toes on the stairs. So much for wearing socks!
"Where are you? Come back here!" she screeched from downstairs. "I'm coming to get you!"
Heart thumping I scrambled into my room, closed the door and leant against it trying to quieten my sobs. I heard her coming up the stairs. Fee-fi-fo-fum I smell the blood of a young one. A crippling fright took hold of me and refused to let me go. Be it alive or be it dead...the footsteps grew nearer...I'll grind its bones to make my bread...she was on the landing now. I scrunched my eyes shut, grit my teeth and held my breath. I heard her huffing and puffing; an old monster forced to come out of retirement to settle a score with the new rookie. I slowly breathed in and out as I heard her say: "You can't hide from me!"
Her footsteps thundered down the landing as I scanned my room for somewhere to hide. I dropped to my knees and hid under my desk as the door opened. My heart stopped as she said: "I'll give you such a bea-"
Mercifully the phone began to ring; its metallic call luring the beast. The door squeaked as she closed it. I heard her go downstairs and quickly crawled into bed, pulling the covers over my head. I brushed away my tears and cuddled my pillow. My brain throbbed with a dull pain, my eyes burned, my toes stung and my sobs died. I wrapped myself into a soft, floral cocoon: safe, warm, quiet, a haven. Fatigue cradled me in its arms and kissed me as my eyelids drooped.

In my dreams I'm twirling
Swirling, turning and curling
like a Sufi deep in prayer.

In my dreams I'm riding a white horse,
A fierce she-warrior shrieking in old Norse:
"To do battle and win!"

Lions, tigers and bears
In this world I have no cares,
A tangled jungle where imagination runs free.

I dance with wolves under the moon and stars,
I fly in a magic car on my sole mission to Mars,
I'm daddy's little tiger discovering the world.

I'm the princess, the queen
A lean, mean fighting machine
But always kind, gracious and loving.

Come rain or shine
This world is mine,
Even if it's only for a while
This world is mine.

"Eating almonds will make you smarter."

We filed into the hall obediently placing our belongings at the back of the room as we made our way through the sea of tables and chairs. I steadied my breath as I faced the room blankly - like the Chinese terracotta warriors I'd seen in magazines. I walked past faces, swirls of navy tartan skirts and the sound of scraping chairs as people sat down. Different perfumes, hair sprays and the smell of freshly laundered jumpers bombarded me as I walked down the hall. Hot tears pricked at the backs of my eyes but I rapidly blinked them away. Like hell I was going to let these people see me in tears.
"Your seat."
I jerked out of my thoughts to see a plump, middle-aged woman pointing at a table to my left. She had bright brown eyes, fluffy mousy hair and Trevor McDonald window frames for glasses. I gave a wry smile as I sat down regarding her orange cardigan and gathered my thoughts.
I lowered my head mentally uttering a prayer my grandmother had taught me: "It will bring you good luck" she had said as she kissed my head that morning. "We love you and are so proud of you. Eat some more badaam (almonds) they'll make you smart."
I'd smiled and hugged her back as she said: "You are strong, you can do anything. You don't need her."
I smiled to myself at my grandmother's medical advice. "Her" - the word fell like a stone into the bottom of my stomach where it lay. Dead weight. We all knew who "her" was aimed at. It was hard to believe that it'd been six months. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath in. Honeyed brown hair, a beige coat and a damp afternoon. The magnolias had seductive dew drops running down their petals as they suggestively slid down green leaves. The sparrows had madly twittered to each other and the old man toothily smiled at me as he carried his Sainsbury's bag home.
My eyes snapped open: the sun palely shone through the windows casting a dim shadow across my table. I lay my hands upon the smooth, cool table as I studied the backs of them. My eyes traced over the meandering veins as they wound their way to my fingers. I observed them as I remembered peeling off PVA glue from them as a careless, cheeky kid. If only it were so easy to peel away the layers to reveal a softer, kinder version of myself instead of the sullen, tough blank faced teenager. My dark eyes darted forward at the sound of footsteps. The plump woman was walking up and down the aisles with an armful of booklets. I cleared my throat and sat up straighter. I rearranged the three biros - one would always die on me or decide to bleed all over my fingers at the cruelty it was subjected to.  I silently apologised to the biro and my right hand as the plump woman placed a booklet in front of me. She squeezed past the tables and stood at the front of the hall.
"You have 1 hour and 30 minutes," she said. "You may begin."
I picked up my pen and flipped open the booklet: I jumped into the darkness with both feet not knowing where I'd land. 

Dear Rita

She picked up a sports bag in each hand as she walked out of the front door. She placed them outside neatly side by side, came inside and stood silently on the mat. She stared at the floor as though there were an intriguing design that gripped her attention. No tears, no words, no glances, no hugs. She dropped the house keys into the glass bowl with a jangle, turned and left closing the front door behind her.

My eyes filled with tears as I ran towards the front door, yanked it open and hopelessly stared after her. 

A paralysing, tingling sensation gripped my being. It swept through my bones, my blood, my flesh, my teeth and gathered in my skull where it mercilessly shook my thoughts and burst my heart. A watery sun shyly peered out from behind slate gray clouds I clung to the door. The sun lit up the damp emerald leaves, bounced off the magnolias and glittered on the paving stones of the driveway. The sparrows twittered and flitted from bushes to trees frantically singing their songs to each other. 

Shoulder-length, honeyed brown permanently straightened hair, a beige coat, dark trousers and two Head bags casually walked up the road. I strained my eyes, tracking every footstep as she walked up the road. 

I strained my eyes as she slowly disappeared into the blur of suburban streets, well pruned garden bushes, trees, garden gates and hedges. I shrunk back into a silent, trembling mess as I held the door for support. 

Come back, I wanted to scream. I'll make everything better and things will be different I swear. Please don't go. 

I closed my eyes and quietly begged her to turn around with a beaming smile: "It's ok, I made a mistake! Don't worry, everything will be fine."

I repeated it as though it were a mantra and my life depended on it. I slowly opened my eyes to see an old man hobbling down the road clutching a Sainsbury's bag. Disappointment, pain and bitterness engulfed me as I quickly smoothed my hair back from my eyes. I slowly let go off the door and numbly walked back into the house. I sat on the stairs allowing my tears to stain my tartan navy school skirt as I tried to make sense of it all.

Little did I know that this moment would stay with me. I would replay it in my mind as I would cry myself to sleep every night as I tried to accept this. That no matter how many people I told, I would still struggle and fight my way through life by myself. Little did I know, that this memory would form a deep wound that time would eventually plaster over with a thin scab. A reminder of that day where I stood on the threshold looking into the darkness. 

Numbers

Another Tuesday means another blog from yours truly. Thank you for your kind messages of condolences for last week's blog dedicated to my late great-uncle Blue Moon.
This time of year usually signals the start of a doom-and-gloom period that students up and down the country face: exams. I've always found it fascinating (in a bad way) of how a score out of 100 or an A, B, C, D grade etc has a way of deciding your fate in life. A video was circulating on my FB feed and before I continue with this post, it's worth watching first: Spoken Word.

It's hard-hitting, provocative and puts things into perspective. Whilst going to school and doing your best in exams is important, I believe that we've reached a point in our education system where everything we do and who we are has turned into a mesh of numbers and letters. I strongly encourage everyone to have some form of qualifications so that they have something to fall back to because we don't know what life may throw at us. However, we focus so much on results and achieving targets  that we forget to enjoy educating ourselves and learn new things.
As Suli Breaks says: "I love education, but hate school" because it is not people,  their abilities or their potential that is flawed. It is our system: it is not flexible, broad, open to creativity or different types of learning. I remember being in sixth form and the only option our teachers told us "was to go to university" in order to become successful. Those who did not make it to sixth form or university, were often looked down upon as "drop-outs" and regarded with disdain. Education does not necessarily mean sitting at a desk, numbly copying what your teacher/lecturer says and memorising it. Education comes in different forms: I would encourage everyone to read as much as they can about anything and everything or travel if they can. Reading opens your mind to different ways of thinking and seeing things. People who are informed tend to read, listen and apply it in their understanding of the world that surrounds us.
As a student, I understand the crippling fear of receiving a bad mark and how easy it is to think: "oh no, I'm not going to get a decent job." Do your best, it is all we can do and remember that your eventual outcome in life is not tied to a grade. We never know where we will work, live or end up - having a positive, can-do attitude in general to anything often carries people further than they think. Work hard, but enjoy whatever it is that you study, work or do. We are all exceptional, capable people who each have the potential to be something great in our lives: the moment we believe, accept and apply this to ourselves, the more we will be kind to ourselves and not beat ourselves up over little things. Head up, keep smiling and have a positive attitude: this life is yours so take it.

**This is my last blog for April. However I will be back at the end of May. Thank you to my regular readers and to my new readers: I hope you enjoy my work and stay with me. Your support and encouragement is incredible and means so much to me. Thank you. On that note I'll leave you with this: The Happy Thinking song. If you wish to contact me please do so via avidscribbler1@gmail.com - Thanks.**

Blue Moon

There are days when I just don't have words.
No words to speak, explain, paint or write,
Emotions I can't fight.

There are days when I am reminded
Of how quickly things change.


Shadows, murmurs and footsteps,
From lightness to darkness.
But suddenly everything's a mess.

The moment the wolf throws off its sheep skin
To reveal its dagger-like teeth, gleaming claws
And salivating jaws

Yet all we do is whimper.
Because the wolf is stronger
And if we don't run we won't be around for much longer.

I'm told that our lives are not worth much,
They pass in an instant like withering roses.

Blowing away in the breeze.
Skeletal ashen petals fly
We're never quite ready to say goodbye.

Wispy leaves and scarves flutter in the sky,
As the wind runs its fingers through my hair
Reminding me. As if to say: "I was there."

I remember it was late at night,
I still hear the voice, but I do not see the face
Nor do I fully remember the place

Where the blue moon gently shone down,
Smiling as if you had never left us.

"If you are what you say you are...a superstar.."

Recently I watched Beyoncé's film "Life is but a dream" and to be completely honest I found it quite inspiring. With a string of award winning albums, songs, music videos and other enterprises she has embarked upon, it really is not surprising that millions of people around the world look up to Queen Bey with awe and worship her. Having reflected upon the film, I don't think that she is the best role model we can aspire to. Yes: she sings about female empowerment, inspires women to be sexier and more confident, introduced Sugar Mama (an all-female band) which some might say makes Beyoncé the perfect candidate for modern young females to look up to. She has done extraordinarily well for an African-American woman and some say that she is an inspiration for women of colour to be brave in whatever industry they go into.

This led me to think of the types of women we seek inspiration from. It ranges from mothers, grandmothers, aunts, religious leaders to musicians, singers and celebrities.
So why do we end up looking up to people we barely know? We do so because there is something about that individual which we can relate to, which stirs us and speaks to us: this inspires us and we want to emulate them.
I am a firm believer in that actions always speak louder than words. Queen Bey sings about female empowerment but does so whilst prancing about on stage in skimpy outfits, shaking her impressive booty and gyrating - it's a huge contradiction and sends out mixed messages. Yet this is what makes her one of the most exposed celebrities in the world: she is dubbed as being "bootylicious" and having a major influence on popular culture. It is quite sad that someone's ample backside has enough power to enter the Oxford English Dictionary and everyone celebrates it.
The slogan: "sex sells" cannot be more clear when we see the infamous booty shake and it is not just Beyoncé who is milking this cash cow. Think of today's prominent female musicians (Rihanna, Nicki Minaj etc): there is more attention paid to their bodies, clothing and sex appeal than their voice. And what disappoints me is the number of young girls wanting to be like these women. We are still being led to think that: "I can't be famous or popular unless I get my kit off" or "I have to show a bit of flesh if I want to be taken seriously."
What happened to educating ourselves as much as we can and working our way to the top? It is an odd way of thinking: we feel a sense of disgust at women who enter politics, business, economics yet applaud women who prance about in barely there clothing.
Food for thought: Why don't women like Michelle Obama, Hilary Clinton, Cristina Kirchner de Fernandez, Maya Angelou (the list could go on seriously) get the same level of recognition, fame and adoration from millions of young girls worldwide in the same way that Rihanna, Nicki Minaj and Beyoncé do?
Time Magazine's 25 Most Powerful Women

The Hungry Caterpillar

I recently came across an article entitled: "Life's officially harder for today's young people - because we want more from it."
I have to admit it did make me think. My friends and I often talk about the pros and cons of living in a modern world where life is faster. We have better health care, longevity in life, increasing leaps in technology and (arguably) a better lifestyle than our parents and grandparents did. Yet, we couldn't work out why most of us still felt incomplete, lost, unsatisfied and deeply unhappy. It's ironic: to have everything yet feel an impending sense of inadequacy and sadness. 

I believe that every generation faces its own type of hardship which is unique to that group of people due to changing political landscapes and varying economic climates.
So, if most generations have had it hard, why is it harder for today's youth? A short answer would be that we've become more consumerist and ideas of what we think we can gain from life are now distorted. We appear to be living in a culture and society where most people think that by having more money and more possessions will equate to happiness. We are currently living in an economic climate where most material things are in short supply, including money. We have insane dreams about money, the lifestyle it promises and wanting more of it purely because we don't have a lot of it at our disposal. The latest phone, more money instantly, increases in salary just by clicking our fingers will apparently make us happier. We expect things to come to us instantly without realising the years of hard work and dedication that are often required for this. 
We have higher aspirations, career goals and personal targets that we want to achieve in a set period of time. I encourage everyone to dream big and set themselves that goal, but with our current circumstances we are horribly limited with regards to jobs, financial funding etc. But this doesn't mean that your goal is dead: it's just going take more time. More time = more time to think, perfect and tweak. 
For example: some of my friends want to be married with their first baby by the time they're 25 years old and some friends want to make their first £1m and have a family before the age of 30. Frustrations kick in when we realise how limited we are: we feel at a loss, stagnated and most of the time are unable to cope with this. We are so used to such a fast pace of life that we don't really know how to unwind, so most of us turn to booze as a coping method which all too often comes back to haunt us - be it health wise or the consequences that occur from out of control behaviour. 

On one hand I think that it's great to set yourself a standard that challenges you because it constantly motivates you to keep going. On the flip side, we don't realise how long it takes for dreams to materialise into what we want. All too often unforeseen circumstances may occur which throw us off course and dishearten us. Pick yourself up, dust it off and keep on going. 
We become stressed because we have a fear of 'so much to do, so little time' and the fear of not achieving these aspirations in the next 3-5 years which leads to a sense of failure and soul-crushing disappointment. 
It is so easy to get caught up in dreams, a desire for wanting more and even easier to drown in the depths of self-pity. What we all too often forget is that standing up after being knocked down is a sign of true strength, determination and grit. It is important not to tie your dreams and ambitions into the next 5 years: people often worry so much about their life in the next 10 years that they forget to savour their present. We forget that we have time and in order for certain things to reach its natural peak, time is required. The hungry caterpillar didn't transform into a beautiful butterfly overnight.
To make a mistake or not fully achieve something is not a failure - things happen for a reason and sometimes we need to just take things as they come. 

The Pursuit of Happyness

It's been an odd week/weekend for me recently, a lot of work, writing material and interactions with certain individuals has left me with an odd, hollow feeling in my stomach with a lot to think about.
I'm a firm believer in that everything happens for a reason and that mistakes are a part of it: things are supposed to happen to us. Good, bad, painful, happy, angry,indifference: in the grand scheme of things it appears to slot perfectly into place with hindsight.
Hindsight - it's a beautiful gift even if we end up kicking ourselves for not assessing a situation or a person with rationality. But had we not been through that experience and come out the other side, we wouldn't have had our revelations with hindsight.

It's almost ironic how everyone is fed this idea of everlasting happiness and all the perks that allegedly come with it - and we believe it. I'm not 100% certain about this, happiness is a mood; it comes and goes.
Call me the pessimist but I genuinely believe that the plastic, commercialised idea of everlasting love and happiness doesn't exist. And it is the realisation of sky high expectation that ends up breaking people.
But, this doesn't mean that everything is a Shakespearean tragedy: things have to come to an end naturally or forcefully. I just don't buy into the whole idea of being happy and in love forever - I think we just get used to people and adapt to situations over time.
The imagery of "everlasting happiness" is first introduced to us as young children are the happily ever after endings that dominate Disney movies, then "rom-coms", things like Valentines Day etc.
Yes, I am the anti-cupid. Why? Well, unfortunately these things subconsciously influence us with regards to how we view ourselves, others and relationships in general. When things don't work out, we imagine ourselves on a killing spree as heartless b*tches but in reality? You cry endlessly and blame yourself for everything that went wrong. Even if it wasn't your fault.
Sooner or later we find out (painfully) that true love's first kiss is often a clumsy, teenage fumble that fizzles out faster than a Chinese cracker in a monsoon. Then the supposed feelings of exhilaration, dancing in fields (without hay fever) and gazing into your betrothed eyes lovingly doesn't last forever and after 6 months you voluntarily want to stick pins in your eyes.
Then we find out that these films never told us how painful, annoying, unreliable, immature and ridiculous the process is. And that Prince Charming doesn't exist - sorry, but "perfect" people are terrifying. Example: the guy from American Psycho. Enough said.
I'd love to sit here and say how all of the above is just made up, but sadly it isn't. It's all part of a long process and it teaches you so many things: look after yourself no matter what.
There's someone for everyone and they're not going to be the perfect Prince Charming  but it's important that they don't complete you or fill an empty space in your heart. They have to complement you and you need to make sure that you are ready. Toying with people's hearts and feelings is cruel. I wish the people who did it realised that.