Thursday 30 January 2014

Dreaming of Birthdays

Several days since I made an explosive statement regarding my decreased presence upon this blog, deep down I knew that I would quickly run back towards my writing-mad roots within a short space of time - on such a horribly damp day like this, how could I prevent myself from lifting my spirits beyond stormy, whipped-cream-they-ain't clouds whilst typing at a million mph on a site purely dedicated to living Life as a Modern Teen? 

Anyway, I probably wouldn't have been able to get through this week without jotting down my thoughts as I'm now counting down the hours (obviously I give myself a break at lunchtime at midday; sticking my salt-coated fingers into a bag of Doritos can last as long as my heart desires, so I constantly remind myself) until my birthday arrives in the spectacular form of presents, balloons and bowls upon bowls of bean sprouts, which are central towards my annual feast of Chinese-inspired food - what better way to celebrate becoming a year wiser than feeling cheerful about maintaining a healthy diet instead of poking one's head into a container of Danish butter cookies? Well, I suppose that all of us have varying ideas as to how we may get into a jolly mood during our birthdays and pigging out on baby sweetcorn seems to be one of my mine, therefore I can't help but openly express my excitement over turning a new leaf and hitting a newer, more respected age - there will be plenty of birthdays to go until I get tired of growing older, so why should I deny myself the opportunity to appreciate the joys of becoming maturer and further away from the perils commonly found within adolescence? 

As I'm in quite a sunny mood at the moment (which, if you had been blessed with the powers above to look outside my bedroom window, you would find it virtually impossible to catch a welcome glimpse of yellow rays), I needn't dwell upon yellow-headed spots, greasy locks and legs a hundred times hairier than an overgrown field because birthday fever has all but created a soothing light within the darkness covering most of the house, unveiling my inner welcoming nature towards the celebrations being prepared for this upcoming weekend which will undoubtedly feature plenty of fun and form new memories to be remembered for years' to come. 

Having experienced an outstanding amount of emotions and being forced to deal with issues within the past year, reaching a new milestone within my life has left me feeling nostalgic to what had previously been associated to me, which is potentially what can signify the meaning of celebration for various people. 

This time last year, I hadn't the faintest clue that my first furry brothers (no, I have not coined an affectionate name for my two, far-from-unshaven legs!), singing soprano Tom and loyal companion Jerry, were to pass away and even now it brings home how much it still pains me that their presence is no longer within our family, especially as my birthday was the last celebration that Tom - who only made his way to Kitty Heaven nearly two months later on what was ironically Good Friday - was destined to see, along with Jerry who was reunited with his brother six months later. Sure, I shouldn't open up formerly closed wounds over my losses because Tom and Jerry only represented love, cuddles and smelly fish-scented breath (courtesy of their powerful passions for meals) and since December I've been able to regain a sense of happiness by adopting two oh-so-beautiful kittens, as you will obviously know are called Bart and Benny. 

For as long as I can remember, I've always felt curious with regard to whether cats and indeed kittens are aware of various events, such as Christmas and birthdays as it is currently the case - even a month after the festivities were celebrated over a plate piled high with roasted turkey and servings of luxurious treats, Benny the Hissy Kitty has recently developed a penchant for the Italian fruit bread known as panettone, much to the amusement of my family. Alas, my question relating to cats' senses of holidays has not yet been answered, but I'm wondering whether offering the kittens' a small bowl of the soon-to-be-made chocolate birthday cake could make them realize that I am commemorating a highly special occasion in my life - unfortunately, I'm unwilling to take any chances on what I have deemed to be my cake!

Perhaps what I feel the proudest about myself is that, along with gaining piles load of knowledge and harning skills within numerous categories (completing a novel, instructing my brother how to destroy a hard drive, progressing in French, all to name a few), I've morphed into a better and wiser person within a year by letting go of a childish nature and settling into my own skin as a teenager, which has opened so many doors to finding a form of happiness catered towards my needs. I've learnt, I've grown (or so my shoulder-length hair has, casting more doubt over the length of my sameish legs) and I feel settled within my mind, taking control of my actions and allowing confidence to flow through my body as it rightfully should. 

Of course, would I honestly be staying true to human nature by being entirely immune to falling prey to moments of weakness and indulging in one too many chocolate digestives? I'll admit my faults and give way to guilt clouding judgement over making foolish mistakes, but nothing can prevent me from getting back onto my feet, which somehow feel ten times stronger whilst donning my beloved high heels! Besides getting dressed to the nines by being clad in a red laced dress specially worn for special occasions and receiving compliments upon compliments over getting a year older, I've discovered that birthdays hold a higher message which goes beyond pearl earrings, books and Lorde's fantastic Pure Heroine, all of which count as my super-duper gifts this year. Until now, pride as heartfelt as this has never surged through me, which has ignited an unignorable desire to make the most of leading a happy, if not dazzling life as a modern day teenager. I've wised up to the numerous downfalls of adolescence and often fall back into annoying habits of moaning about them, but haven't I achieved the most of a potentially self-destroying situation by using spot-related complaints to my own advantage through the art of writing? So yeah, this blog could pretty much be my safe haven and land of wild dreams, producing tales and offering inspiration at the times when I need it most!

Almost an hour since I sat down at my desk and the rain is still falling, as the clouds remain darker and more sad-looking than ever before. My difficult age - which I may reveal to you one day when the timing feels perfectly right - can only be used as a source of inspiration whilst my child-like imagination remains intact and my upcoming birthday solely represents the never-ending joys of living life (and eating cake!) to the full. If you are celebrating your birthday or simply dream of indulging in self-need for a day similar to your birthday, I hope you have a great one because all of us, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, deserve it. 

Now, how will I maintain self-control until I get my hands onto the presents?

Sunday 26 January 2014

Note From The Blogger (Serious Mode!)

Hmm, it seems rather strange that, for the very first time since I created this blog and set out my motives whilst displaying a subtle hint of my writing style, I feel the desperate, unavoidable need to declare my thoughts and opinions regarding this blog via an editor-style note.

Don't fly into panic mode and worry that, having reached an amount of zero readers within the three months or so of setting up this website, I'm going to shut it down and lose all of my inspirational work within a single, highly dreaded click of a 'delete' button! I couldn't be further away right now from deciding to give blogging up for good because I enjoy it so intensely when I'm swimming in full flow and gaining experience, which is far too valuable to put into heartfelt words.

So, let's get down to business and declare my innermost thoughts, otherwise I'll probably be spending the next twenty-four hours chatting about something very likely to bore you half to death (as if that is one of my highly prioritized intentions!). As I usually try to upload a new entry every two to three days, there typically comes a time when I cannot think straight or develop any fresh-as-an-apple ideas which inspire me to write about them for around an hour or more, and recently I've been struggling against my increasingly-growing frustration due to being unable to discover any much-needed inspiration.

In more simple words, I seem to be coming down with writer's block (and a sore throat, if the numerous amounts of vitamin-rich orange lozenges are enough to go by) and I feel too exhausted to fight against it with admirable bravery like I usually would. so ditto those dreaded groans of annoyment and head banging onto the rock solid wall - just what I would classify as whole-hearted fun, right?

On those beloved occasions where I couldn't possibly imagine feeling happier and everything is falling in place beautifully, pounding up the stairs à la a big-footed huffellump (as constantly reminded by my family) and switching on my laptop to jot down my views and spread the uplifting joys of inspiration through the internet morphs into the most joyous activities which I could ever do. Yet it is oh-so-easy to lose sight of the euphoria spreading through my veins and beliefs of treating myself to squares of dark chocolate when my mind goes as blank as a TV without any satellite signal (which could only signify the beginning of my brother's very worst nightmare on the Sunday afternoon in which his football team's match is being aired) - and unfortunately, I've been forced to make an unwanted decision to throw my cocoa butter-scented hands into the air (and no, I'm not going to start a sing-along to a Florence + and The Machine anthem, regardless of however tempting it is to hum tunelessly to You've Got the Love) and giving up on my hopes of posting a new entry today, which disappoints me greatly.

Perhaps you figured this out ages ago when I seemingly took a turn for the worse by dedicating a whole entry to chocolate (of which I've been getting the startling impression has been mentioned far too many times in recent posts), but I'm running out of ideas in relation to what I could talk about - come on, do I honestly share a resemblance to a cash machine where there is never any doubt as to whether I'm constantly loaded with the valued goods? Like a sharp-toothed vampire draining its victim of its livelihood and, um, blood (right now, the sight of red-coloured gore needn't be discussed too often whilst my porridge-themed breakfast shifts uncomfortably within me), making myself write on days when I can't remember the correct pronunciation of the French alphabet, let alone feel optimistically ready to switch into wannabe writer-mode, is sucking all of the enjoyment and fun that I used to gain out of running this blog - and now I've reached a drastic point where enough is enough.

In case your eyes only chose to skim over several lines instead of reading the whole piece, let me classify what I meant: after completing over forty-five articles to which I dedicated my whole time and valued attention, I'm waving goodbye to the undying need of forcing myself to complete an entry for the pure sake of it. I love to write and it entertains me more heavily than a re-run of The Simpsons at times, but shouldn't it return to its original state of being regarded as a sweetly-flavoured treat which would provoke a squeal of excitement (obviously one unassociated with a seal's form of communication) to escape my pink-tinted lips, instead of a lifeless, dull-as-Breaking Dawn sigh chilling the atmosphere? In hindsight, I ought to have thrown the towel in weeks ago but I carried on as part of myself wanted to remain occupied, particularly during the Christmas holidays when a frangipane-coated mince pie kept calling my name (or my cake-loving heart continued to send messages towards it, more like). It appears that, on the eve of my birthday next weekend, I'm listening to my heart's desires and following a path more catered towards my own - couldn't that potentially be the greatest gift of growing a year wiser?

On the subject of my birthday, I'm looking forward to spending the next few days placing my thoughts about what I intend to wear and how I'm ever going to survive another moment without my highly cherished present, which consists of a ten-piece eyeliner collection, being clutched with my fingers - let the good times roll! Currently, my intention is to write on here as of when the mood takes me or perhaps once a week, which I think will be a good idea to aspire towards on a baking-free Saturday mornings!

Every day, my life continues to change and bring surprises - some of which are suddenly announced without a moment's warning - so I have to move with the flow like everybody else, growing up into an ever-expanding society. At the moment, studying hard for life-changing exams and surviving through the unsurprising stress which typically comes with brain-racking revision are all but of a high importance for myself, alongside dealing with circumstances within life itself. I'm a teenager who is learning so many things that my head sometimes threatens to spin manically, yet I get up from my chair and stand tall amongst everybody else - running this blog is counted as one of my most appreciated achievements, so I don't see why I ought to come to an abrupt stop at this time, despite growing frustrated in relation to my lack of ideas of late.

So, let's see what happens next, OK? If you were to ask me right now, I have absolutely no idea when I will write here next, though I'll make an effort to return to the red-coloured laptop by next weekend or even the day before my birthday on Friday - how could it be possible to run out of inspiration like endlessly consumed cans of Pepsi on the eve of celebrating an exciting milestone?

See you soon,

LikeATeen

Thursday 23 January 2014

Inspirational Women: One Teenager's Views

Come on, have you ever given a single thought as to how the world carries on like one would receive a sugar-fuelled high from a large can of caffeinated Red Bull? Whether it is purely based on the admirable effort which workers place into their jobs or life as it meant to be, I'm not entirely sure yet it couldn't be argued that inspiration keeps our minds as vivid and bright as a recently installed light bulb; and as the title of today's entry suggests, women are the key to being encouraged to reach the same heights (in a six-inch pair of Jimmy Choos, needless to say) and achievements as men, which makes me stand tall - obviously as much as one possibly can in a pair of Converse-wannabe trainers - and feel immensely proud of my gender.

Although it needn't be a cause for wide-eyed concern, I'm not going to start a heated rant about inequality and offensive gender differences because I rolled out of my pink Hello Kitty duvet (ditto a stereotypical tendency, as is the colour pink) a few hours ago, so I hardly feel capable of preventing my eyes from dropping à la one lifeless flower and setting a new-age trend via a discussion on the Huffington Post website. In fact, today I wish to present my views and opinions regarding women whom I admire and feel inspired by, all of which are for numerous and rather varied reasons - as I figured out whilst scrubbing my flakier-than-a-chocolate-flake scalp in the bathroom a while ago, why wait until National Women's Day in March to compile and present a list of women who deserve to receive recognition for their positions in society? And as I'm only a teenager and have yet to morph into a women within the space of a single night in a few years' time, I immerse myself in grand forms of pleasure by exploring my views in relation to women who you may not automatically believe would hold such an influence upon a girl leading the current generation of iPhone-using, tracksuit-clad (as if I'd ever be caught dead picking up such an ugly ensemble in Sports Direct!) teenagers. So, read ahead and be amazed as I'm taught valuable lessons by the greatest and most inspirational women who have paved and are still leading the way for our gender today... 

Audrey Hepburn: Perhaps my love for all of her films from both the highly memorable 50s and swinging 60s instantly granted her a mention on my list, but nonetheless I'm still blown away by Audrey Hepburn whenever I watch any of her films which are always just as enjoyable and exciting as ever. Renowned for her dainty and delicate beauty, Audrey quickly became an icon and was propelled to stardom after picking up her first and only Oscar for her outstanding role in Sabrina, which was unbelievably released sixty years ago. What I love so much about Audrey - whose actual birth name was Edda, after having been born in the Netherlands - is that, as much of a star she was in the glare of the spotlight, she remained down-to-earth and used her famous name to goodwill by lending a helping hand to numerous charities, including working for and becoming an ambassador for UNICEF towards the end of her life, which was sadly cut short after passing away from cancer at the age of 63 in 1993. As she started to step away from her acting career, Audrey made it her mission to helping children across the poorest nations in the world, which is as much remembered as her extraordinary acting career to this very day. 
OK, not only do I immensely admire her caring nature and good deeds towards charities, but it would be nearly impossible to not feel a tiny bit inspired by her style portrayed in her most famous movies, such as Paris When It Sizzles, Charade and, as almost everybody knows, Breakfast at Tiffany's, which is my joint-favourite film with French assassin-themed thriller Nikita. Although it isn't entirely easy to come across a black dress which looks entirely like the one she wore in Breakfast at Tiffany's, nonetheless I still try to dress a bit like Audrey because I fell head over heels when I first caught sight of her pearls and simply-styled clothes, which interest and influence me more strongly than any wild-themed collections showcased during London Fashion Week on any day. 
So, you see - not only can you dress up to the nines, but you will still have enough room in your heart to offer help and bring joy to those greatly in need, which counts as one of the many things I wish to do when I grow older and feel more inspired than ever by this greatly remembered woman. 

Jennifer Lawrence: Without a single doubt, I do speak for today's generation that Jennifer Lawrence, with her hilarious nature and ease at her Oscar-winning skills, is a modern-day icon and a woman whom we look up to, if her live on-air gaff with Jack Nicholson at the Oscar's after-party last year was anything to go by. 
At around the time that the first Hunger Games film was released (which, unlike the recently released instalment, Catching Fire, was simply called The Hunger Games; there was no need to add a colon this time round), I began to become familiar with Jennifer's pleasant and wonderfully natural attitude as she popped up more often in magazines and participated in interviews, which only highlighted how great she truly is.
Basically, I love Jennifer because she behaves exactly the same as I would if I happened to be jetting off to Hawaii to film some kickass scenes for Catching Fire and having my photograph taken on countless red carpets (which, to my disappointment, are just as red as my current spotty breakout) whilst wearing the most spoken-about dress in town! In hindsight, I hadn't realized how bored I had grown of hearing the same boring expressions and statements being declared by self-titled 'pretty' Hollywood stars, many of whom have only got their lucky stars to thank for their applaudable success because owning and honing a supposed skill played absolutely no role in magically shooting up the careers ladder, and like trying out a new healthier brownie recipe (believe me, no recipe featuring chocolate stands any chance of being classified as safe for your log-shaped thighs), Jennifer is a breath of pure sweet air because she doesn't allow her status to prevent her from hitting out against critics and standing up for what she rightfully believes in.
Alongside agreeing entirely with her opinions related to body shapes (hers, I must admit, is one which I'm glad to admire - womanly curves all the way!) and staying true to herself, I do take the time to watch several of Jennifer's films from time to time, which my brother strangely appears to enjoy as well. For months, my brother and I have been chatting nineteen to a dozen about going to the cinema to see the new X-Men film, Days of Future Past, in which the fabulous Jennifer dons a bluer-than-a-Chelsea-kit skin whilst portraying the younger version of my favourite villain, red-haired Mystique, and I proudly count Silver Linings Playbook as one of my prestigiously top films - needless to say, I almost tripped up the stairs in excitement when I heard the news that Jennifer had picked up the 'Best Actress' gong for her terrific portrayal of young widow Tiffany in the film!
As her career continues to go from strength to strength, I feel certain that Jennifer will remain honest and admirably frank as she now is whilst keeping millions of us glued to the screen as Katniss Everdeen prepares to commence battle against the evil President Snow in the next Hunger Games film. Without needing to declare it, I will be amongst them.

Tavi Gevinson: Having felt inspired to set up my blog because of undertaking a long, yet thrilling journey towards adulthood, it doesn't take too much to give an out-pour of admiration towards a fellow teen, who happens to be seventeen year old Tavi Gevinson, best known for creating fashion-themed blog, Style Rookie, at the age of twelve. Come on, how many twelve year olds would you expect to know how to construct articles and discuss fashion in a similar manner to the glossies flooding the magazine aisle at the supermarket? Plus, Tavi still remains true to her writing roots by later founding online magazine/blog, simply titled Rookie, where numerous contributors discuss various topics and interests, all of which are associated with its target audience: teenagers who want their voices to be heard and get a whole lot more than picking up a boring-as-hell copy of a typical teen mag.
For teens like ourselves, we don't want to be part of the mainstream and follow the same crowd as almost everybody else does - as soon as I clicked onto an article written about jazz legend Sade, who is definitely one of my favourite singers ever, I knew that I'd found a new home. Well, a virtual home, if you wish for me to be more specific. And who do I have to thank? A teenager who speaks for so many of us and has created something greater than I ever allowed myself to hope for. Tavi, I (and whoever else is reading) salute you!

And (as I always save the best until last!)... 

My mum: From the moment, I began to write this entry, part of myself instinctively knew that my beloved mum would be the recipient of a very special mention, which would undoubtedly remind her of the royal status she holds within my family. And aren't all women inspired by their own mothers, whether that very honest fact occurs to them or not? Regardless of whatever I choose to do, I always have my own mum to encourage me to try my hardest and bring me back to earth during those thankfully rare occasions when I fly into an sleep-deprived panic over my lack of shut-eye. For that, despite my reluctance to admit my moaning tendencies, I have my mum to thank for keeping an eye on me and teaching me almost everything (apart from football-related knowledge, for which I bear the burden of listening to my brother chat all day) I know!
From learning how to bake a cake (and beat the ingredients with more vigor than a boxer's jaw-shattering punch) to applying eyeliner in a manner which doesn't make me receive unfortunate comparisons to an angry ghost, my mum has handed over so much knowledge to me that I don't know where to begin my praises for her! Obviously, I'm proud to call my mum an inspiration because she means so much to me and gives me a reason to stand up tall because of my gender - in my opinion, mums will always remain a valued source of inspiration as they are whom we base our gender upon and offer priceless advices whenever we shall need it.
With my mum by my side, I couldn't feel happier about being a girl - and eventually a woman - because she is the very best example that I could ever have!

And so, there you have it: several women - or girls or whoever, depending on how you wish to call them - who I find inspirational and are, in many ways, role models who I strongly admire. All of us ought to have inspirations or muses of some sort because they play a more important role in our lives than you may realize - and long may we continue to be inspired!

Monday 20 January 2014

Aww! Picture Time with the Kittens

After growing increasingly dog-tired with spending absolutely ages conjuring paragraphs upon paragraphs on almost all of my blog entries, I recently had a light-bulb moment (as one does during an extravagant feast of homemade blueberry muffins) about going back to oh-so-welcome basics and describing a vital part of my life in my well-known frank detail.

Well, how could I be more upfront and eye-poppingly honest by posting a couple of pictures featuring my two newest stars, Bart and Benny? OK, kittens may not be entitled to sharing similar titles with famous Hollywood stars, but in my eyes, affectionate Bart and motherly Benny deserve to receive their own stars on a footpath in the middle of Oxford Street or somewhere equally pleasant - just writing about them is more than enough to make me swell up with intensely felt pride! And as I'm educated at home, the kittens are usually only a few footsteps away from entering their semi-permanent home based in the kitchen - which currently reeks of strongly scented onions thanks to preparing tonight's meal consisting of pasta (with a little bit of help from an extremely intrigued Bart, whose golden-coloured eyes resembled saucers whilst I chopped the smelly vegetable into kitten-friendly pieces) - so I spend almost all my time with the two precious guys on those all-too-rare occasions when even my fascinating Law book cannot keep me glued to the section describing various forms of assaults. Well, I do like that kind of thing, though I ought to avoid getting off topic whilst immersing myself in inspirational mid-flow - kittens are obviously on agenda!

Unless you have been unfortunate enough to miss out on my previous blog entries where I gave a near-graphic description of Bart and Benny's background, I'll dedicate a couple of sentences (all of which seem extend around the ten-mile long mark, in case you haven't noticed) to the subject, which partly explains my passionate love for the close brothers today.

Around September time last year, the BBs (without a reference to the Beauty Balm product, if I've somewhat confused your inner skincare guru) were born outside along with their other two brothers - resulting in a litter of four kittens - to a mother who had assumedly led a domesticated life beforehand, yet had somehow been living in an outdoors environment and was thought to have no longer had an owner. At around two or three weeks of age, Bart and Benny and their two other brothers were found in somebody's garden without their mother in sight, which later resulted in their being taken to a nearby animal centre where they resided for several months until my family and I adopted them. From the onset, Bart has always been the most confident of the two and is treated as the cute-faced, sweet-hearted baby he naturally is, though it quickly became clear that Benny had assumed a sort of motherly role towards his brother which explained his reluctance to open himself up freely and, well, behave like a kitten - even now, despite a noticeable lack in bloody scratches and wild-sounding hisses, Benny still allows his timidness to prevent him from enjoying the attention which his brother receives, but anything is better than catching a glimpse of an expression highly detailed in terror, right?

So, my family brought the kittens home a couple of weeks before Christmas and we slowly set to work on encouraging the kittens to glow as brightly as a plum-scented Yankee Candle - well, I meant in confidence because I always have to keep an eye on a cheekily behaved Bart whilst a candle is burning in the kitchen. Within days, Bart grew to love being stroked by an adoring audience and revelled in the attention he got whilst taking an evening nap on top of my old dressing gown (could you believe that I used to wear pink like there was no tomorrow?) and basket, which had previously belonged to my old furry-purries, Tom and Jerry - although I felt a little bit stung that Benny would seem to make a massive effort to avoid all contact with us, it would've been nearly impossible to keep my excitement regarding Bart's friendliness under wraps for any longer. Having had next to none information about semi-feral kittens, I had been expecting numerous boxes of plasters to have been emptied within a few days because almost nothing on the internet offered any accurate suggestions to semi-feral kittens' behaviour - needless to say, relief flooded through me like a creamy ice cream sundae when I only managed to get away fairly unscathed with a mere tiny scratch or two on my hands!

Anyway, fast forward six or so weeks and I couldn't feel any happier about my two new brothers (when will I get a furry sister?), both of whom have easily adjusted to living in a happy and welcoming household far quicker than any of my family anticipated; sure, we may have been slightly unlucky as to being unable to put on a pair of Santa hats onto the kittens' heads at Christmas (unless we counted one of Benny's legendary hisses as a jolly festive carol), but I think that every kitten - whether born in a household or outdoors - has the right to express their natures differently and my furry pals are growing more confident as each day passes in a fur-blinding blur. I don't care about the amount of mess they intentionally create whilst messing around in the bed-like comfort of the litter tray (a.k.a the unofficial social hub) and the litter-stained white paws which fly towards my jumper each time I stroke a wild-eyed Bart before mealtime - perhaps the love I feel so intensely now had already been born the day my family brought them home in their Kermit the Frog-green basket, but they already feel and officially are cherished members of our family!

And oh, I almost forgot my original purposes which included uploading a couple of pictures of the darling two, showcasing their already-perfected poses - when will Elite Model Management start chasing me to take them to a luxurious photo shoot?


As you would expect with energetic kittens, there comes a time when sleeping is all they ever wish to do! On the left is Bart, whose patterns have become more noticeably defined within recent weeks, and Benny, of course, is lying asleep on the right, his tortoiseshell coat shining in its silky soft glory!


Taken earlier today, grey-coloured Bart has recently formed a habit of sitting - and as you can see in this picture, standing tall in such a royal manner! - on a stool near the television in the kitchen, so he can spend a couple of hours catching up with the latest affairs and keeping everybody else in the know! And, as seen behind him, Bart is never more than a sniff away from being able to sense what is cooking in the oven, though he is out of luck today because dinner is set to be cooked on the hob!



Is he obsessed with himself or what?! I seriously was not joking when I declared that Bart loved lying on my old dressing gown, so you really can poke fun at my old fashion sense! And also say 'aww!' under your breath at the adorable sight of a kitten attempting get some shut eye on New Year's Eve!



Finally, a solo picture featuring the one and only Hissy Kitty! Unlike Bart, Benny's fur is miles darker and remarkably resembles a mixture of my old cats' glorious coats, which makes me feel rather nostalgic whenever I look at him. At long last, Benny leapt onto the stool during an all-too-rare moment when Bart happened to not vacate it, so if you look extra closely, you can see the slightly smug look on his elegantly-sized face! Ah, too fight over sitting on a stool seems far more exciting than listening to my brother's constant discussions over Minecraft...


And how could I not leave the very best until last? Here, the kitties are sitting next to their toys, two of which are grey cats whilst the other two are a very grizzly pair of tigers, so they always feel right at home with a few beanies to punch and bite whenever they are in a very contented mood. Despite the flash suggesting otherwise, both Bart and Benny have golden/green eyes, though I'm not entirely sure whether they are likely to change in the near future - so far, only Bart's fur has developed rather noticeably, whilst Benny, except for his ever-lengthening body and tall form, has remained the same. Together, I couldn't imagine Bart and Benny feeling any happier, and I hope that their two other brothers experience the same feelings, who happily received a new home shortly before Christmas.

What with my life being jam-packed with constantly taking pictures and hanging out with my beloved furry friends, it is a wonder that I still find time to write all about them here, but that's kittens for you!

Saturday 18 January 2014

Claiming a Slice of Happiness: The Things which Place a Smile on My Face

As a teenager who was literally born 'to moan' (thanks to my more-irritating-than-possible brother's statements, which have unfortunately been permanently inscribed into my head) and is quicker than an Olympic athlete to complain about whatever my problems may be - running out of oh-so-perfect red apples at the weekend probably wouldn't count as a full-on disaster in the majority of people's eyes, yet that fact still doesn't prevent me from flying into panic mode whilst clad in kitten-patterned pyjamas - you would possibly burst out laughing and allow saltier-than-sea tears to stream down your face at the thought of my claiming a cake-sized slice of happiness all for myself since I don't particularly make it easy to appreciate, uh, constant downpours of misery-inducing rain and the eighteen bars of Ivory Coast dark chocolate which my mum bought for me during a supermarket promotion, one of which is already being eyed up by my unnormally greedy brother.

Yes, letting a square of pure indulgence melt inside my mouth provokes a hint of pleasure to spread around my body when I've switched to relax mode and flicking through fashion magazines which come free with the newspaper on Sunday afternoons is welcomed with outstretched arms after dedicating more than an hour to moisturizing my drier-than-desert feet which sadly have a tendency to reek of smelly cheese - a food which I forcibly avoid at all costs unless a scrunched-up face and a pale complexion quickly turning the colour green is your rather sick idea of entertainment - but, as with many things in the ever-so-complicated means of living which we iTunes-listening humans refer to as life, there will always be certain aspects and interests which will grab our attention quicker than another dreaded re-run of the aged Carry On films.

OK, you needn't guess which activities hold my concentration for a longer period than an hour spent studying the best method of creaming a waist-expanding cake - writing on paper, typing on an oh-too-slow laptop, threatening to lose my sanity when football is all but discussed and watched during the whole weekend, etc - but I've come to realize that hobbies are definitely not the end- and be-all of what unleashes the largest amount of happiness into our lives: from applying a layer of liquid eyeliner as thick as whipped cream in a style which would somehow receive a seal of approval from my semi-make-up artist, semi-baker mum to my lucky stars granting my wishes of stroking a particularly jolly Benny (a.k.a Hissy Kitty, who retreats into the comfort of his beloved monkey toy after a long day spent in the sausage-scented kitchen), I could lose count of the countless things which place a crooked, yet joyful smile on my lips! And it is only when I sit down in my chair (the fake leather covers of which are starting to get ripped, though in quite a startling manner like my torrentous mood) that I can immerse myself in an ocean of appreciation for everything which brings me joy during those harder-than-ever times in my life, so today I have constructed a list of all things (well, what I am able to remember at around nine thirty on a cloudy Saturday morning) which play seemingly insignificant, yet deeply meaningful roles in the manic eyes of a half-asleep teenager.

Everyone, as I have probably declared for the one hundredth or so time, is different and so my ideas of happiness may strike you as unintelligibly bizarre, but I've grown used to standing out of the crowd for steering clear of donning bubblegum pink Crocs and endorsing my passion for cut-price boxes of blackberries as I see a member of the local Weightwatchers club seek pleasure from the container of a spicy-flavoured Pot Noodle in the corner of my watchful eye: why should circumstances change for my views of engaging in Jelly Babies-infused excitement and expressing profound gratitude in return for being the recipient of law-themed novel? Anyway, here goes:

1. Playing with over-excited kittens: Before the thought even dares to cross your mind, my two five-month old kitten, affection-seeking Bart (who has remarkably mastered the skill of curving his pouting lips into a half-smirk, half-cheeky smile, which is reminiscent of my former 'Jelly Belly' pal, Jerry) and timid Benny - who, unlike his slightly chunkier brother, has been draped in numerous layers of admirable beauty, most noticeably with his silkier-than-silk (sorry if that hardly makes any sense!) fur coat - have not developed a worrying addiction to sugary cans of Red Bull, despite their remarkable levels of endless energy. From the moment they are carried down the stairs in their Leapfrog green basket to their second home (in other words, the glorious land of food awaits in the form of an ordinary kitchen) to the time they return to their initially tidy bedroom, Bart and Benny are bursting with excitement whenever they participate in energetic games around the rooms, which usually results in giving me a headache as I'm always unable to keep up with the playful pair!
Out of the two, Bart definitely plays up to his role of attention-seeker because of his overwhelming confidence, which sometimes has a tendency to overflow into the disliked form of cockiness if he fails to behave as calmly as his quieter brother, Benny. At the moment, Bart particularly enjoys racing around the kitchen in a frantic search for a small red ball (no, no, I'm not referring to the giantiac spot getting ready to burst on my inflamed chin!) and even Benny gets a massive sense of enjoyment from joining his brother from time to time, so I feel immensely pleased that the pair have blossomed right in front of my eyes - and also magically transformed into larger and more sociable creatures - within the space of six or so weeks since my family adopted them from an animal rescue centre.
Watching my two new babies play and enjoy the attention they constantly receive from myself makes me just about want to explode with happiness because it means the entire world to me - who cares about recording the latest episode of juicier-than-ever Revenge if two fun-loving kittens represent a wonderful sense of euphoria in my life? Well, I would hope that I could grab my hands onto both because I do need a small break from handling a kitten more excitable than an One Direction fan claiming tickets for a concert from time to time. And stop draining my parents' bank account to buy numerous boxes of plasters when Benny chooses to take a swipe at my already-cut hand.


2. Watching a beautiful sunset: Yeah, this one will probably strike you as the most boring representation of obtaining happiness, but what better way to drain my Canon camera of battery than to snap up countless pictures of a glorious sunset?
Like many things, falling in love with the wonderful sight of a setting sun may only interest girls, but I just can't help sighing happily as I see a long, sunny day slip away in the most beautiful of endings: skies resembling colourful scoops of raspberry ice cream and orange clouds as fluffy as sundaes topped with whipped cream provoke a stream of happiness to spread through my veins and ignite a peacefully burning fire to warm my whole body, which comes to an abrupt stop whilst gazing outside a half-open window.
I somewhat prefer the sight of the sun during the winter - obviously when I'm not sitting in the front seat of the car and run the risk of being blinded by overly bright sunshine - because it's beauty is more subdued, yet it still tells a more remarkable story and captivates my attention completely. In twenty or so years' time, I hope that part of myself still appreciates poking my head out of a window - along with running the risk of catching a chill from the ice cold temperatures - and being astounded by a sunset as though I had never set eyes upon one in my entire life. And oh, maybe I could be madly in love with an oh-so-handsome boyfriend by then who would take his eyes off the football results on his phone for a moment or two to enjoy the jubilant end of the day with me. So I can hope.

3. Hearing my dad hum tunelessly. Part of myself feels torn over this one - do I really love the over-played tune which my dad always hums whilst I'm trying to concentrate on finishing a Sudoku puzzle or does it push me over the oh-too-dangerous edge due its powerful tendency to annoy? I don't know, but I think that my dad has been humming for so many years that I have somewhat grown immune to being inflicted by its powers to irritate me immensely; bearing in mind that being forced to watch football or clean the kittens' litter tray are my main two options on a Sunday afternoon, listening to Dad's tune is pretty much a gift from the miserable grey sky, despite its lack of potential popularity on YouTube. If Dad knows what that website is.

And as my wrists are beginning to ache intensely after dedicating ninety minutes to my frustratingly slow laptop, I'll finish it off at number 4 - enjoy!

4. Chocolate: Only one perfect word had to declare my passion for raw cocoa beans and smooth, delicious texture: without chocolate, how would I feel inspired to unleash my hidden devilish side and steal a blackcurrant Jelly Baby from my brother's bag of sweets? Chocolate, without a doubt, is an inspiration and a potential muse, though it possibly don't quite fit the bill like a Texan supermodel or painfully gorgeous actress. Three paragraphs needn't be used to express my love for the tasty treat because only a few sentences can describe how much I enjoy every single mouthful without boring my readers to a cocoa-induced death! Forget swimming with dolphins or bobbing my head along to a piano solo on the Minecraft game: chocolate, alongside revisiting childhood films as a spot-faced teen and kicking my brother in the leg with a strength I never knew existed, creates a happier atmosphere and secures my elation like a long-desired purchase of a Prada handbag.

And as I claim my hands upon a larger-than-imaginable slice of chocolate cake (in my dreams for now until my birthday in a fortnights' time), a pint-sized amount of happiness has been enjoyed: what will you do with yours?

Wednesday 15 January 2014

Escaping Life Through TV

Although you may not instantly realize it to look at my fluffy jumper-clad form (purchased during a terrific online sale in the smallest, yet snuggliest size, natch) and take notice of my remarkable habits which also includes a feverish delight in being taken away by a captivating book and drawling at the oh-so-heavenly sight of the birthday cake I intend to make at the end of the month, watching television doesn't particularly stand out as a large and highly important part of my life.

The reason why, you innocently ask, as you struggle to get out off the sofa in a red-faced, sweat-trickling rush? What with my natural preferences to receive maximum enjoyment through spending numerous hours in front of another screen - it needn't take two to tango in order to realize the desktop-sized screen which I'm talking about - why should I count away the time through sitting down once again to be drawn into a fictional world (the only exception tends to be documentaries based in a near-riotous secondary schools, a show of which I'm bursting with impatience to return to our screens) when I could be doing something more meaningful and achievable with my ever-so-precious time? Perhaps mentioning my excitable passion for a school-themed programme has broken the previously magical spell which I had cast to represent a different part to my novel-addicted personality, but I guess that the truth ought to be told in front of my adoring fans (if any do exist): as soon as the sun has firmly disappeared behind numerous dark-as-my-mood (only during my thankfully rare moments of pure teenage fury) clouds and a glimpse of the moon can be seen through my window, I race to the living room and grab the TV remote to catch up with my favourite programmes, being instantly taken for an exciting ride to an universe similar in appearance to my own, yet entirely free of factory-produced Cornish pasties and sale-purchased Adidas tracksuits threatening to ruin my unveiled enjoyment.

Yes, yes, I know that I may sound a little overly dramatic with my descriptions and could appear dangerously far-fetched when I tell of my stories related to hissing kittens (one of which already seems to share a similar personality to my own, which, in hindsight, is quite a startling thought) and fights over who dominates The Sofa for the duration of the evening, but who am I to avoid the honest fact that I do immerse myself in heartfelt pleasure over the prospect of hiding away from razor-sharp claws and discussions over Jose Mourinho (courtesy of my brother being a loud and intensely proud Chelsea supporter) for a couple of hours per evening, typically in the comforting form of remaining glued to a 32-inch television?

Of course, my mood-lifting joy rapidly transforms into a moody sulk whenever I'm faced with the unfortunate problem of having absolutely nothing to view, whether it is regarding a film or a lack of interesting programmes being aired on TV, but I suppose that everybody is prone to getting caught up in such a frustrating moment when it comes to either discovering that none of your clothes are suitable for a date or the food lying around your fridge simply cannot be used together in a meal together, though I wouldn't put it past mad food scientist Heston Blumenthal (well, I'm not entirely sure whether he studied science at school or university, but you don't create slimy snail porridge for no reason, do you?) to come up with some wacky ideas which would make your eyes pop out of your head. Besides, when I couldn't imagine feeling happier and my dark brown hair happens to shine more prominently than Hissy Benny's silky-as-milk-chocolate fur coat, hardly a single obstacle - maybe except the sturdy wooden gate guarding my kittens from a prison-inspired escape in the Land of Food, a.k.a the kitchen - can stand in my way of being transported to another scenario and forgetting about the dry skin which I somehow never bother to scrub away on my size seven feet. Well, let's commence with my love of television, OK?

Since I was a young and pink-lipped child (without resorting to sticking on a dark shade of magenta lipstick, though I barely knew anything about cosmetics at the tender age of three), television has been present in my life and I've grown up watching countless programmes about yellow dress-donning puppets, computer-generated half-dressed dolls and even a large, imposing bear whose orange-coloured coat failed to co-ordinate with his 'big blue house' - but who cares about these childhood favourites when they are no longer on my expanded radar? Nowadays, I cannot prevent myself from being drawn to fantasy-themed shows where pale-skinned vampires (I was going to say 'creatures' instead, but I might as well use the V word for once and for all) rule the town and modern-day witches with cleavage as heavily exposed as a Playboy bunny save the day because I also share a love for those stories in the physical form of a book - some passions die hard, right?

In all honesty, I'm incapable of mustering up a logical answer for which I'm interested in myths, most of which are represented in today's culture, but perhaps it plays an important part in my desire to escape from the hassles of daily life; unless the myths are proven to be true, I'd have to be sleep-walking through town or trapped in a seemingly realistic dream to imagine that blood-sucking vampires, hairier-than-my-unshaven-legs werewolves or broom-flying witches would be trawling through the street through the dead of an all-too-rare quiet night. Mythological creatures could not be possibly further from my remarkably frank reality of keeping my head glued to the Algebra section in my maths book and peeling (and eating, if my mum's head isn't peeking in my direction) carrots in preparation of a Sunday roast, which explains my reasons for which I fall head over two-inch heels for characters wonderfully unique to people whom I regard whilst walking around town.

Alongside a soft spot for programmes such as the legendary Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which kicked off my long-running interest in sci-fi at the age of ten) and sister-oriented Charmed, I couldn't have bitten into a juicier apple than the soap-inspired Desperate Housewives, which has remained a favourite of my equally engaged family almost ever since it first aired on our screens. From the moment my brother and I pressed 'Play' on the remote, it didn't take a single heartbeat to fall in love with the housewives - all of which I grew to like in their separate ways - and the idyllic-looking street where they reside, heavenly Wisteria Lane. Even to this day, I still dream of moving to an area as beautiful and perfect as Fairview because its appearance reminds me of my life-long want to live amongst a society as close and caring as what is depicted on the show, though I quickly learnt that you cannot instantly form an unchangeable opinion on the basis of presentation - who, if one was aware of countless affairs, problems and even murders taking place underneath their noses, would yearn to remain in a place which is not as sticky sweet as the name and pleasant image suggests? Still, none of the spectacular, yet horrifying storylines provoked me to switch the TV off because I never failed to enjoy what I now call my favourite programme, standing aside many others which have come and gone through my TV set over the past few years!

And undoubtedly, age matures you in so many ways that it doesn't necessarily dawn upon you until a particular occasion arises, which, in this case, relates to television programmes - had you been a couple of years younger, would you have been able to stay gripped on the edge of your seat during an episode of CSI like you may be now? Certain subjects may be enough to send us into a restful doze if we are incapable of appreciating the hidden message lying beneath the glossy outfits and catchy theme tune; if I'd had my own way (and kept control of the remote, which had this time been held in the hands of my father), I would've put on another re-run of The Simpsons whilst watching Revenge for the very first time because I couldn't exactly figure out the plot or grow accustomed to its suspicious characters. Three seasons on, I eagerly look forward to catching up with Emily/Amanda (it takes ages until you get used to the story and characters) once a week, which also enables me to spend some quality time with my dad whilst enjoying reliable and entertaining American TV.

OK, the last way I wish to portray myself is to brag about my interests - including ones involving a screen as wide as Weightwatcher's very worst nightmare - and the shows which captivate me the most strongly may not generate the same amount of fascination for another person, so I have no desire to shove my opinions down anybody's throat in order to promote programmes which I enjoy immensely. TV is not for everybody and hey, I'm not entirely bothered about using it as the sole source of entertainment all the time - give a laptop (with internet access, of course) and the password to my Blogger account to write about TV instead of watching it any day!

Whatever happens, I'm just going to carry on escaping my life - which I do enjoy living when spots aren't dominating my T-zone and I occasionally forget the meaning of erratic hormones - through sitting on my leather sofa and catching up with my favourite shows. And who knows which programmes will grab my attention in the near future?

Sunday 12 January 2014

Everything is Changing and I Still Feel Like a (Moaning) Teenager

If I were to participate in a survey in relation to dealing with changes, I would feel intensely unsure as to whether I ought to declare a fondness or overwhelming dislike for it because I seriously don't know. Just like my educational-related choices about either attending university to study Law or breaking into the journalism industry as soon as I finish the last question on my English A-level exam (there is no doubt about it now: I will take my A-levels, despite the French one being commonly described as torturous), my ever-blossoming habit of being indecisive appears to be extending to fellow avenues in my very un-Wisteria-Lane-isque life, which is rapidly growing to become as much of a pain as my brother calling first dibs on the TV remote just in time to watch a football match featuring two teams which he doesn't even like for the pure sake (to my red-faced anger) of it.

Everything, it seems, depends on to which it is related: if a genuine phone call was made to my house (very unlikely, as I can somewhat remember seeing fishy numbers flash up on the landline phone every couple of months) which declared that I could move to any country in the world, it wouldn't take a single second (or a heartbeat, which would undoubtedly stop in my sudden state of shock) to go for it because curiosity has always provoked me to wonder about the ways in which a life is led in a different and fascinating country, and one is only able to appreciate fish and chips as the top favourite takeaway so many times until foreign cuisines grab your interest and draw you into an unique style which you instantly wish to explore.

Yet I wouldn't particularly fancy giving my colourless bedroom a lavish makeover at the moment because I'm pretty content with the way it currently looks, though green-eyed envy used to be a culprit of stirring hidden desires to paint the bland-looking walls a vivid magenta (well, that idea was way back in my pink-forever days as a cutely-clad little girl) when I only wished to follow suit with the oh-so-over trends of the day. Why is that, you ask? Sometimes, I can only achieve the top levels of happiness by going on a spending and money-saving splurge (a.k.a pick up a numerous amount of pocket-friendly bargains, whilst purchasing enough to fill up a not-so-cheap wardrobe) on the H&M website and feel right at home in my own skin by keeping certain things, including the position of my office-like desk, the same because familiarity has always struck me as a welcome sight when you get the startling impression of everything else changing - even if it is for the better.

So, is it hardly any wonder that us teenagers feel as though we have been taken through hell and back during our tedious and slightly traumatic years of maturing into calmer and certainly anger-free adults? Along with getting on with daily pressures of keeping on top with our mountain-high loads of homework and making a mental note to take out the rubbish when the foul-smelling bin reaches the same height as a lanky footballer, if only we could rid our angst-fuelled complexions of scream-inducing spots in time for birthdays; a spot wedged between the top of my lip before I even became a teenager has already claimed the prestigious title of being the most celebrated partypooper in all history! Although we can't help but feeling pretty excited about gaining a curvier and more enviable figure when we reach the eventual end of waking up with strands of stringier-than-guitar-chords greasy hair stuck on our faces, several changes - such as losing an beanpole-inspired physique, one of which was a precious weapon whenever we wished to indulge on our favourite and deeply unhealthy foods, in place of a figure which can easily lose its beauty within a single bite of a deep-fried chip - are not always welcomed with open arms and it can be extremely difficult to get to grips with changes which you partly appreciate taking place and detest with the whole of your spot-covered soul.

Therefore, it's almost impossible to not express my heartfelt gratitude at being granted more freedom and independence in relation to particular activities in which I can engage myself; even just strolling around a street, nowadays packed with empty buildings and an astounding army of charity shops caving in on the remaining legion of retailers somehow managing to stay on their financially struggling feet, gives me the opportunity to clear my muddled mind of the daily hassles truly getting under my bumpier-than-a-pot-hole skin, though I must admit that it needn't take a second thought to race up to my bedroom and switch on a battery-drained laptop to write down my feelings in order to gain a sense of clarity and oh-so-sweet peace within my own mental state. At least my love of jotting down my thoughts and experiencing the pleasant joys of achieving a small, yet meaningful ambition of completing a blog entry doesn't cease to have ever changed, and I doubt that it will in the near future - why dedicate a whole day to playing video games when you could immerse yourself in the feel-good vibes surrounding achievement by baking a cake (forget about putting on the pounds because the lemon-flavoured sponge comes first!) or exploring your creative skills through playing an instrument or painting an artistic picture?

Trends, whether they may include neon-bright boob tubes (even a few years on, I still have my doubts about being able to wear one without resorting to the embarrassing method of holding onto to it in the wide-eyed view of the general public) or YouTube-based performers working their way up the charts, constantly change as we adapt our style and interests all the time, most of which we barely bat a black eye-lined lid to because it plays such a normal role in our lives. Of course, I wouldn't dare to say no to differences being made if they are in the best interests for the majority of people - who would object to something good taking place? Still, I'm prone - and probably I won't be singled out as the Chloé-scented weirdo out here if others are prepared to join in - to experiencing sensations of nail-biting nerves when a new and out-of-the-blue change is on the verge of being inflicted on my life, even if it one which I have spent countless days and weeks dreaming of happening. Perhaps part of myself fails to get over the initial shock and hangs onto it for dear life as I find it impossible to loosen my grip in place of something more stable than I could even begin to imagine; don't an extreme amount of problems stem from our instinctive fear of heading into the unknown without an ounce of certainty to offer us any guidance?

Until I reach a stage in my life where I feel brave enough to leap out of the sky like the scared-stiff stars on the yearly series of I'm a Celebrity..., I don't think that I will confront my inner fears about taking a leap of faith into the unknown. I had no idea how difficult it is to live as a hormonal and angsty teenager until I became one, yet I'm doing pretty well for myself (by the way, producing a batch of chocolate chip brownies helps matters from time to time) and I didn't even have a choice about it! OK, New Year was almost two weeks ago and my main resolution was to avoid writing a list of resolutions like wildfire, but I believe that if I did sit down for half an hour before colourful fireworks lit up the starry sky à la 2012, I would've included an earnest ambition to give full flow to bravery guiding me through these hard, yet intensely thrilling years. Considering that 2014 only began eleven days ago, I didn't quite expect to be uttering these words so quickly, but who cares? I guess that I can count this amongst my homework of getting my hands dirty with moisturizing my previously desert-dry feet this sunnier-than-usual weekend - whatever happens during my years of living live to the full (via sticking my head in a festive-sized bags of brazil nuts) as a high heel-teetering teen, I'll never allow myself to forget the values of appreciating and embracing change for the better!


Friday 10 January 2014

Careers Advice: What To Advise a Teenager

As I have overly discussed in previous posts of late regarding my particular indecisiveness (which, at the rate that I keep unpurposely mentioning it, will claim the title of a deeply unwanted habit, just like my so-called penchant for dark chocolate has spiralled out of control within a few weeks), it needn't surprise you that a sudden bout of confusion has struck at my baffled mind once again, this time in the form of deciding on the route I intend to take as a career in the near future.

Oh yes, I may have all but spent the past few years emphasizing about my intentions to post hundreds upon hundreds of my lavishly written CV to various writing companies and newspapers, constantly drifting into a Bahamas-ique fantasy of leading the way in the highly influential industry of journalism whenever my eyes lost focus during a repeated episode of The Simpsons which my brother somewhat felt inclined to watch for the six hundredth time in a Homer-packed week, yet a part of myself is sending out a blazing warning that a change of heart is closely brimming towards the horizon. If I had allowed myself to fly into a sensational panic about the current outbreak of angrier-than-rebellious-mood spots as my inner drama queen would instantly revel itself within, a meltdown would be inevitable had I not been currently feeling rather laidback regarding the curiosity leading me towards something potentially greater than I had even dreamt of, but I guess that everybody reacts differently to various events which take place in our not-so-easy lives, am I not right?

Perhaps it was the long-awaited visit to a Crown Court a few days ago which set me thinking about my future career path and planted a few seeds into my easily captivated mind, but I cannot be entirely definite right at this moment; right now, all which matters the most to me is sorting out the junk splattered across the dustier-than-the-polluted-air floor coating the bottom of my mind, rather like throwing out the spam we typically receive in our virtual mailboxes almost on a daily (and irritatingly so) basis. Would I sound like a half-crazed nut case (with a special soft spot for tasty pecan halves) if I declared the fact that all I wish to seek in my lifetime is a world of stability and clear surroundings, never hanging on the edge of my seat with the nail-biting fear of falling beneath solid ground? The same, as I believe, applies to almost everything which plays a role, regardless of its imposing or seemingly insignificant size, within my life, and it is the main key to maintaining a healthy level of vitality and self-happiness - if the decision could be passed to our hands, would any of us choose to worry about holding onto dear life to a deeply needed, yet bitterly despised job when another option more welcoming to our needs was available to be taken immediately? Unless I asked the question (whether it was rhetorical or not, I'll leave it up to the Oxford Dictionary to declare it) incorrectly, there is hardly any doubt at all as to whether we, widely known as a happiness-seeking species, would stop at nothing to achieve the lives we dream of leading, and stability is only one of the things which we strive to gain in order to keep the party going in a super slick fashion!

Anyway, enough is enough about avoiding stumbling into ankle-destructing pot holes and one's legs wobbling as dangerously as a bowl of raspberry-flavoured jelly, and let's move onto business - careers! Age may be influencing me to think about what I intend to do once I throw away age-old school ties and cease relations with impossible-to-sharpen pencils, and, in many ways, I do feel slightly excited about what lies ahead in the not-too-distant future; the once dream-like reality of going out in a bustling city to make a living is really hitting me hard now, which has opened my eyes to everything associated with leading a financially secure and independent lifestyle. Within a few years' time, I'll be further away from my long-gone days of playing with Bratz dolls and getting ready to be introduced to living it up as a qualified and respected adult, but in what profession will I gain all of my experience and make my knowledge more valuable than a Tiffany diamond? Until recently, I had been swept into the sea (one of which is far saltier than a single serving of heart disease-endangering French Fries) by a wave promising a successful career as a high-flying journalist, realizing my potential to earn a semi-decent living through the influential art of writing away to my heart's content. This gave me the perfect opportunity to lock myself away in a steaming hot bedroom (mine of course, which would later become a B.O-reeking burden during a heatwave) for hours on end and settle into the style of writing which I still loyally abide by today, but I hardly ever gave a single thought to the renowned difficulties which thousands of wannabe journalists face whilst attempting to leave their mark on the overflowing industry.

Unlike numerous teenagers whose aspirations don't reach much further than making a noticeable appearance on The Only Way of Essex or claiming the hearts (or costly phone calls, courtesy of money-draining phone providers) of the British public during a short-lived stint on The X Factor, I steered clear of entering a market leaning towards misportrayed youth and worked hard at increasing my chances of pursuing a career in the journalism/media sector, but my outlook instantly changed as soon as I added Law to my curriculum a few months ago as a last-minute addition. Maybe I hadn't given much thought to it before or was too glued to the season finale of Revenge to pay the slightest hint of attention, but, whether I chose to believe it or not, I actually had already displayed some interest in Law by being drawn to reading articles about highly publicised trials and discussing committed crimes to my family on a regular basis. And as I slowly drew away from talking ten to a dozen about my first passion - fashion (sorry if those two homophones bring a former Bratz phrase to mind!) - Law started to take me into a world powerfully associated with our own and assumed the role of a slight obsession (yet an educational one!) within no space of time.

Therefore, the prospect of leaving journalism behind in place of joining the remarkable legion of lawyers, barristers and solicitors is beckoning and the hole in which I'm stuck in closing in on top of myself as time increasingly slips away - what should I do? I'm torn between following my near life-long dream of writing for national newspapers and earning a stable income from a well-paid job as a barrister, one career within the Law sector which interests me highly (or a member of the Queen's Counsel, if such a dream stood a chance of coming true!); reality is forcing me to reach a conclusion and follow a path which I will aim my studies towards, yet foggy confusion is all but preventing me from making a final decision.

From time to time, I can be as stubborn as a grumpy donkey and will virtually refuse to change my mind after making a conclusive decision - the only exceptions only seem to include a heart-panting desire to tuck into a sugar-laden Mars bar or take a leap of faith by watching a film which my action-loving brother likes. Yet I couldn't be further from living up to my so-called stubbornness by refusing to reach a decision as to my career choices, which is highly frustrating - what more could a girl seeking a crystal clear future want? Perhaps this could be the moment when it suddenly dawns upon me that I don't need to choose between two passions, after all; many news correspondents specializing in particular subjects such as Law usually get a degree before entering either the journalistic or media industries, so the previous burning desire to wave farewell to one passion needn't be reignited if I could combine the two, does it?

And when I'm immune to my stubborn streak or have proudly walked away from the evil clutches of indecision, I will probably wake up tomorrow morning in an entirely different mood - will my current idea last beyond eight hours sleep? Like Aladdin seeking for his genie in a bottle (so I imagine is the film's plot, having never sat down to watch it), searching for an easily led life is amongst the many items on my list of priorities, so I cannot wait to find out where I will be (apart from the chocolate section at the supermarket) within a decade's time!

Tuesday 7 January 2014

Getting Older (and Hopefully Prettier!)

Without disclosing too much information into my oh-so-private life, I'm getting ready to hit another milestone in my glorious teenage years next month and grow a little bit older, with perhaps a three inch growth spurt on the cards along with the devilish chocolate cake which I've spent the majority of my free time dreaming about! Yes, birthdays may not provoke a hair-raising scream of delightment or floods of sticky jam-flavoured kisses amongst my family as an overly eager gesture of appreciation for a Playboy-wannabe Bratz doll as they once did many years ago (taking a journey back to my days of looking up to a scantily clad Barbie and engaging in my dead-and-buried fascination in worms is not what I wish to do when I'm trying to prove my ever-so-grand maturity to the rest of the world), but, as a fun-loving teenager, who could deny themselves the once-a-year opportunity to be immersed in the golden glory of being treated like a king or queen and do whatever they wish, despite the fact that buying half of the stock in Tiffany's doesn't count?

Although I may no longer hold extravagant parties (well, as lavish as you could expect at a kids playground in the middle of a field) featuring a Disney Princess-themed birthday cakes, celebrating a year of growing up is not an occasion which gives a signal for my recently-eaten bowl of Shreddies to make a slushy appearance: I've probably got around ten years or so before the thought of saying goodbye to a younger and more enviable age fills me with pint loads of dread, so singing with joy about enduring yet another torrential year of dealing with spots miles bumpier than pot holes and mood swings a lot wilder than my mischievous kitten's behaviour still brings plenty of excitement for myself, which, considering that out-of-control hormones and red-faced breakouts are almost certain to affect me for a few more years yet, astonishes me a little bit. But who wishes to dwell upon greasy roots and unshaved hairs on one of the two days of the year when you are guaranteed to receive a pile of neatly wrapped presents? Ripping open a CD which I'd been listening to Spotify for a year or so means more to me than pouting at my angry-looking complexion in the mirror for the past half hour!

Anyway, I can't always help but feel a bit more optimistic than usual as the countdown towards reaching my birthday begins as a foul headache from staying up all night on New Year's Eve pounds through my aching body (to my lack of amusement, I happen to share my birthday with no other than womanizing Harry Styles, which nowadays highlights the alluring idea of going abroad whilst Directioners camp out of the curly-haired teen's house); perhaps a bout of sadness regarding the near end of Christmas stirs up hidden emotions within myself that I have to place my attention on my birthday, which surely seems far better than working myself up into a panic on the basis that the irresistible scent of mince pies won't be enticing me into the kitchen for another long twelve months. Yet for the amount of elation which my birthday usually generates - bearing in mind that the sole thing I enjoy about the summer is licking a half-melting chocolate Cornetto, I feel terribly inclined to express my gratitude that I entered the world during the freezing, though heatwave-free winter - my brains are all but sucked dry of ideas when it comes to coming up for present-related ideas, a reason of which I fall prey to moments of pining the past where all except a couple of gifts were kept top-secret until the very last minute because I would so easily avoid getting frustrated with myself and beginning to have ice-cold feet as my birthday rapidly crept upon me.

That's a major problem regarding getting a delicious taste of freedom, do you not believe - with the amount of space we are generously given, confusion meddles with our minds and taints our thoughts as to the means of how we use our resources correctly, which eventually results in an extreme backlash or outcry against losing once-passionate appreciation for which many people would undertake any task in order to be in such a seemingly desirable position. Sure, I may not be running the country and turning a blind eye to what the population wish for me to do (it would hardly take a moment to instantly realize to whom I'm referring, if the current state of affairs hasn't so much as affected you), but the independence for which I used to dream about can assume the role as a heavy burden from time to time - would I be incorrect to declare that a large majority of teenagers feel incapable of reaching a conclusive decision without doubt ebbing away at the back of their minds?

Whether it is buying a book or picking up tickets for a singer of a particular genre, reaching an all-final decision is absolutely essential to growing older and handed more control related to our priorities; along with studying hard in lessons and getting accustomed to the often difficult world surrounding ourselves, it does sometimes feel as though the world is piling us with a hefty amount of homework, half of which isn't even handed over by our teachers! A birthday is a day to celebrate one's birth, I ought to remember when an hour of gift-searching on Amazon has left me in a disastrous state of frustration - as younger generations typically place a higher emphasis upon their interests and their lives in general, we cannot help but form a tight bubble within ourselves and follow beliefs that we know who we truly are at heart, yet who are we kidding? If I was given a pile of recipes with the task of picking out a cake for my birthday, I would probably be knocked for two if I successfully managed to choose just one cake within a short while; considering that my sweet tooth has the remarkable ability to extending its taste to wonderful flavours and beyond, the most probable conclusion would be to pick everything or drawl at the mouth-watering sight of a creamy chocolate fudge cake until the sun set and a full moon rose behind my captivated form. Even though it may not initially occur to you, birthdays are no exception to being sucked into the ever irritating frustration and falling foul as a victim to indecisiveness, a lesson which many are bound to learn as we get older (and hopefully prettier!).

But as soon as I've caught sight of a golden-looking light at the end of the pitch black tunnel, I can return to daydreaming about residing on a throne which wouldn't look too out of place at Buckingham Palace whilst my family would treat me as the pearl earring-clad queen which I would quite fancy to be. Oh well, some daydreams don't stand a hint of a chance of becoming a fully-fledged reality, but at least I needn't look far to get a slice (or two, if my puppy-eyed look is worthy of an Oscar winner!) of cake and a collection of chart-topping CDs as I hit a new and highly influential age!

Monday 6 January 2014

Writing Stories: The Lessons I've Learnt

Oh, I feel immensely inclined to apologize for failing to post a small message regarding my recent absence from my beloved blog, but jotting down a wave of newborn ideas for my new story has all but been consuming my time and Danish biscuit-fuelled energy (a reason why I have to visit Denmark in the future!) because I cannot bring myself to put an abrupt stop to the ever-increasing flow of ideas which continuously keep occurring inside my fictional-based mind. Once you're on a roll, why bother to hold your horses on carrying on and reaching further heights?

Sadly, this may mean that a couple of lacklustre episodes of celebrity-themed reality programmes could potentially be missed in favour of sitting at my desk (which, at this rate, will be hotly becoming a business room for all things related to teenage angst tales) and racking my brains for new infos as to the rapidly blossoming personalities of the main characters and whether their L'Oréal-glossy manes of envy-maddening hair are either poker straight as my own or blessed with beach-style waves, a fantasy which I highly doubt is unlikely to transform itself into a reality any time soon. But I couldn't care less because producing a story - one which needn't get any inspiration from previous works because it is partly based on the lives surrounding a large proportion of those in modern day society - is far more meaningful than wasting sixty minutes on decorating a dreary-looking house and creating a Cola Coke-free buzz between certain characters on The Sims, which often leaves me wondering why I even bothered to think about playing an unreal game instead of performing a task superiorly essential to building my writing-related confidence.

For as long as I can remember (whilst spending hours in the relaxing comfort of my old black leather chair on an ancient Packard Bell computer), writing has flowed through my veins like a mansion-living football having an insatiable yearning to participate and score as many goals for their chosen team and I've grown used to my writing style as years have flown by in a Wordpad-fused daze, so now seems to be the most convenient time of experimenting with stories and handing over full creative control to my vivacious imagination - by the end of this destined-to-be-perfect year, I'm dreaming of completing a novel and potentially publishing it through Amazon's amazing Kindle Publishing service, which offers novice authors the irresistible opportunity to post their stories through their website and receive a sizeable chunk of the profits. And how could a teenager semi-permanently on the lookout for a wardrobe of clothes shake their heads vigorously when their stories may net them enough cash to spend a whole day at a shopping centre? Well, that is the plan, if my dream-like consciousness takes the reins of my imagination for fifteen minutes; what kind of ferocious obstacles could dare to stand in my way of reaching stardom - at the nearest H&M retailer, so I hope - and redeeming myself as a non-One Directioner teenage author?

Unless luck permanently resides by your bedside and the most dreadful event which has ever occurred in your life is getting a cold perhaps every five years, you seriously do not know what you're talking about if a spell of anxiety-increasing writer's block hasn't caught you like a bird trapped in a cage at the most possibly worst moment; for what seemed like ages, all attempts to write anything ceased from my tension-led mind and slowly, yet dangerously developed a fear within myself to so much as open a document and type at a hundred mph like I previously used to - and all that I had worked for and used to relish with such euphoric excitement was endangered by worry wrapping me around its finger and ever so nearly destroying my passion beyond any hope of repair. That fear is partly what stands for my near-daily yearning of jotting down my thoughts on this blog because I'm terrified that the longer that I go without typing or releasing any creative energy, I will gradually slip back into my difficultly destroyed ways and return to avoiding anything associated with taking part in writing activities.

Strange, doesn't it seem, that now I have such a burning desire - obviously without a reference to the catchy Lana Del Rey song - to write a story as it has never been done before and break the chain of passionless fear which, at one stage, threatened to engulf me fully, but I've emerged to another side and grown up, in quite a large sense, to stand on my two feet and wave au revoir to previous feelings of tension. So, part of myself loves the joys which comes with completing an entry on my blog and getting in the mood to become a character, but a large chunk within me also screams for the undying need to express myself in the manner which makes me feel a million times more confident - unlike interjecting my thoughts entirely into everyday speech, letting the words flow through paper or on a laptop enables me to fully explore various opinions and fish out the one which is best suited to myself, and it quietly creates a sense of security and self-esteem upon which you don't dwell because basically enough is said through your writing. That brings me the most heartfelt joy because I wouldn't necessarily grant myself the title of overly confident - as if I would ever dream of being renowned for highly frowned upon cockiness! - but writing unleashes a secret diva who may never see the light of day had I not branched out into getting my thoughts across within the cleverly spoken (without uttering a single word!) art of writing. And I'm hopeful that the same emotions will be stirred pleasantly in my newborn ambitions to receive the maximum pleasure from creating a novel and eventually completing it, feeling intense passion for my characters and losing track of time during my extensive stints at the laptop throughout the year.

Sure, a complaint regarding a lack of natural sunlight in my bedroom may distract me from finishing a character's heated sentence or a sudden brain freeze could put a hold to coming up with logical ideas which will still exist by the following day, but difficulties play a role within everything we choose to do, don't they? I'm not entirely bothered whether a career on a par with J.K. Rowling's is on the card, though the thought of it is rather nice; most importantly of all, I'm a teenager who simply wishes to have something to do on a miserably damp Sunday afternoon. Video games and television programmes only guarantee to hold my attention for so long, whilst being entirely engaged in creating a story consumes you from the moment you roll out of bed until struggling to stay awake during an airing of Eight out of Ten Cats leaves you with no choice other than to fall asleep on your pink Hello Kitty pillow; bring on the frustration, mascara-streaked tears and complexion-glowing satisfaction as the yearning for writing a novel becomes far stronger than my mum's cup of tea!


Friday 3 January 2014

A New Year, a New Attitude: The Fabulous Tales of a Moaning Teenager

However much I wish to whip my oval-shaped head away from the damning fact, there are hardly any available options where I can easily escape a famed truth which has been renowned for quite some time now: alongside my other often-unused title of 'Heffalump' (which, in hindsight, makes a lot of sense as I send shockwaves through the ground whilst pounding up the slightly unstable stairs in heavy leopard print slippers), I'm otherwise known as **** the Moaning Teenager - the asterisk is a clever cover-up of my real name, which, I'm dying to say, does not contain four letters - whose hot-headed temper is more ferocious than my brother's when his beloved football team loses against a highly applauded rival. Sure, I may not scream to the rest of the world with heartfelt pride about my unfortunate nickname, which is commonly mentioned by no other than my intensely irritating younger brother who has probably not yet realized that he is the main reason for which a razor-sharp comment - typically declared as an act of willful moaning - escapes from my lips on almost a daily basis. Come on, who could not expect me to complain every once in a while if an unruly sibling dares to trespass into your bedroom at your lack of consent?

Like many others across the world (or cyberspace, if a Facebook-surfing teen cannot release their testosterone-fuelled strength to check out a globe), problems usually arise from our surroundings and being a crazy, half-sane teenager doesn't offer anything other than creating more stickier-than-banoffi-pie dilemmas which only yourself can sort out - and what better way is there than to endure five tense minutes of unleashing your hidden anger by either writing about it (which, considering I run a blog and spend a plentiful amount of time sitting by my laptop, would be the most effective method of controlling bouts of angst-incited fury), knocking out a punchbag to your red-faced satisfaction or, as many find immensely easy, moan and explore your feelings through the art of communication?

On the basis that a large amount of us are increasingly abandoning notepads and pens (unless a Swarovski-adorned one is up for grabs, I'm not particularly thrilled about staining my fingers with bulletproof ink than anybody else), I highly doubt whether many people will find or choose to dedicate their time to jotting down their thoughts in a diary - is it just me or does almost everybody seem to be oh-so-busy all of the time? - and exercising your anger doesn't appear to be giving the keep-fit image which it promises to promote as obesity grows into a more startling and health-endangering problem across countless nations. Therefore, speaking out loud about the emotions swimming as rapidly as Olympic athletes inside yourself may be the sole means of remaining honest with regard to dilemmas driving you crazier than a manically behaving chipmunk high on caffeinated Red Bull (hence an explanation why I race faster than Courtney Stodden donning six-inch heels if Alvin and the Chipmunks is broadcast on TV) - and without having an anxiety-reducing complainment regarding a recent breakout of yellow-headed spots days before Christmas or issues bound to face us in the near feature, it makes me question whether we, as an emotionally-led species, would manage to stay as mentally stable as possible.

Yet, whenever a joke related to my 'hissy kitty', clawing maniac Benny, is brought up and somehow mentions my moaning tendencies (and I won't even go into shame-faced detail about Liverpool's anthem, which my brother swiftly swapped to 'You Never Moan Alone'), I can't help but experience a particular amount of annoyance towards myself that I allow my inner complainer - who, at the rate, will have a field day whilst returning a faulty bag of potatoes at the supermarket in twenty years' time - to take over my wiser senses all too easily, which has sneakily transformed itself into a habit far harder to break than an impossible, Malteser-sized hazelnut as I've grown older and more aware of the world surrounding myself. How could one making a meaningful effort to save money avoid feeling crushed and angered by reports of increased charges for services and necessities which the whole population relies on every day - of course, I may have many years of dressing up in above-the-knee dresses ahead of me yet it doesn't disguise the fact that a future concerning my generation doesn't twinkle as brightly as an heiress's collection of valuable diamonds! And instead of falling prey to an alcohol-fuelled culture which is threatening to destroy any morals and respects for teenagers and young adults of our era, typing at a million mph on my laptop to search for my opinions hidden behind daydreams of pursuing a career in the tightly-packed journalism industry is my method of soothing my strung-high emotions and reaching a solution which places my mind at ease.

Let's face it, nobody wants to experience the unignorable need to moan or mutter in a growling tone in relation to the situations which either bring the worst out of our typically amiable personalities or propels us into a state of destruction - a touch of feel-good personality is all which we strive to discover within our lifetimes, am I not correct? Leading a life commonly addled with oiler-than-a-deep-fat-fryer locks and a blood-red spot as large as a Premier League football doesn't particularly help when I've already been thrown into an easily irritable mood, but I can only make the most of what I've been blessed to have; would any of us deserve to be referred to as human if we were never prone to going through a round of bad, deeply unwanted luck? As most choices of making a break for it are firmly closed, I have to endure the inevitable, lip-pouting disappointment of being burdened with yet another rash of angry-looking blemishes, a sight which couldn't be further from a natural, spot-free image which I've permanently inscribed inside my mind - and venting my broken feelings through a few words isn't worthy of being called a crime or the butt of somebody's jokes, especially if that person's face is beginning to get covered in an ugly blanket of blackheads themselves. Now I have realized that being open about my emotions is no longer an offence (though I already knew that fact thanks to my trustworthy Law book) and moaning is actually good for people in general - but I clearly have no intentions of raising my moanful skill to a similar par with professional moaner Karl Pilkington, who is lucky enough to get paid for speaking his mind!

So, there is no longer any need to construct a New Year's resolutions list starting with a necessity to destroy my moaning habit - this attitude is one which is best suited to my character and, in certain ways, assumes the role of an inspiration during my countless hours of writing away on my blog. Why should I change it any time soon?