We are a controlled society; a ‘nanny’ state as my grandmother calls it.
No matter where we are born or to whom or in what circumstances, ultimately we are all born equal. We all have a beating heart, we all have muscle and flesh covering our bones and we all have hopes, dreams and desires for ourselves and our family and friends. Yet, looking around us, this doesn’t actually appear to be the case, does it? Our nation calls itself a democracy but how much say do we actually have? The government have imposed a Bedroom Tax upon anybody with an unoccupied bedroom which will severely affect those barely surviving off their already low income; the university tuition fees rose to a staggering £9,000 despite numerous protests across the country; good, honest people who have worked everyday of their healthy lives are now being termed as ‘scroungers’ and being denied their rightful benefits when they clearly are not fit to work…these cases are but to name a few. And yet a majority of us just sit back and allow this to happen. Sure, we hear about the so-called radicals and extremists on the TV but when you count their numbers and compare it to the population of Great Britain, it is but a small, insignificant number. So, why are we allowing this to happen?
I feel that the above image I found on the Facebook page ‘The Peoples’ Uprising’ gives us an interesting theory. Too many people these days sit glued to shows such as Keeping up with the Kardashians or The Only Way is Essex; they become so engrossed in the lives of wannabes who rise to fame through their sex tapes that they fail to see the real life that is happening around them. They don’t think to switch to the BBC News channel to catch the 6 o’clock news and this is why they miss major events occurring within their town, city and country and ultimately, why they fail to speak up. They can’t speak up against what they feel is wrong on the government’s part because they don’t see it to know that it’s wrong in the first place. Could it be that the reality shows polluting our TV screens and peers’ minds are part of a government ploy to maintain their control over the masses? I’m not accusing the government of a mass coverup but it’s an interesting idea to consider.
The same can also be said for the numerous music channels that churn out the same modern ‘music’ by artists such as One Direction and The Saturdays. There’s no variation; it always seems to be the same bands and artists playing. Could it be that the government are attempting to brainwash us into sharing very similar ideas? If One Direction and The Only Way is Essex is all people are exposed to, then they essentially become clones of one another, all liking the same song or all crushing on the same foul-mouthed, over-tanned ‘man’. This means that if everybody shares the same ideas and values then no new, fresh ideas, ideas that could change the world, can be born.
It would foolish to say that we are just controlled by the media and the government though. A lot of us are controlled by religious leaders. Some religious leaders, particularly within Christianity, scare their followers saying that if they don’t do this and that, then they will go straight to what is known as ‘Hell’ upon dying. These people, not knowing what follows death, allow their fear of the unknown get the better of them and when their leaders offer them redemption in the form of following their strict rules, they take it gladly. An example of this can be seen with Mother Theresa. A lot of people perceive her as evil as opposed to saintly. In Africa, she preached her values and beliefs to the natives, condemning the use of condoms and their ‘ungodliness’ in preventing life. Because of this, the HIV virus spread like wildfire causing needless suffering and death.
We are all born equal though, no matter what anyone says. We are all born with the power to change the world and it’s about time we used this power.
You know you’ve reached the end of your career when you’re relegated to the Eurovision competition, a competition that the UK infamously never wins (remember last year where we finished second from last with 12 points?)
I find that songs sang at this competition are painfully cheesy and laughable in their lyrics and the dance moves that accompany them. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good entertainment but it’d be nice if it was a serious music competition, one that heralded new talent and produced new classics that people will still be singing along to in 30 years time.
Who knows though, I might be pleasantly surprised this time.
I doubt it though.
I wish I were a bird
High up in the trees
One step closer to Heaven
Than I am in this Hell
I’d spend my days
Flying wherever I liked
Without the worry of
Gathering enough change
For a bus or train fare
And I’d spend my evenings
In my tree
Carefree and content
Hopping from branch to branch
Staring up at the star-spattered canvas
That would be my only blanket
I wish I were a bird
High up in the trees
Away from humanity.
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my…bloody bedroom window.
With a groan, I rolled over, bathed in the morning light made grey by my grubby white blinds. The tapping continued, seemingly becoming more and more impatient. I heaved myself from the cloud-like mass of duvet and padded across to the window.
I grabbed the blind’s chord and pulled it up as thought it were a stage curtain set to reveal a glorious spring day with cloudless skies and vibrant daffodils bobbing their heads in the breeze, wafting their delicate scent across the garden.
Instead, a short scream escaped my throat. A huge crow was perched on my windowsill. It eyed me inquisitively before going back to tapping at the nooks and crannies around the window pane. Evidently, it was trying to find some food; perhaps a worm seeking shelter from the harsh morning frost.
As I reached forward to open the window, the crow fluttered away, melting in to the bright winter sun. I headed to my desk and grabbed the pack of suet balls I’d bought from Tesco the week before. Opening the window, the air grasped me in its chilly embrace, making my bare arms tingle as goose bumps materialised. I threw a single suet ball and watched as it descended into a sea of glittering white. Patches of snow dotted the beer-bottled covered wasteland that is our garden and I watched as magpies, thrushes and the odd crow pecked sadly at the ground, trying to uncover the non-existent food that hid beneath.
It was as though my eyes had suddenly been opened. The crow had been a winged messenger, informing me of his friends’ desperate plight. These birds were nearing starvation in these harsh conditions and just because they are smaller than us humans and speak in a language that we cannot yet understand doesn’t mean that their lives are any less important.
I hurriedly got dressed and grabbed my purse, my heart set on buying Tescos’ entire stock of bird feed. In the end, my student loans didn’t quite cover the entire stock but after this rude awakening, I feel that every single one of us has a responsibility towards the wildlife that makes this country so beautiful and breath-taking.
Even if you can’t afford bird feed, I encourage you to leave out water-soaked fragments of bread. It’s better than nothing and will help the wildlife thrive another winter.
Back in November, I set up a website and a Facebook group on which I offer angel oracle card readings. I understand that spirituality isn’t everybody’s cup of tea and I respect that (as long as you respect my own beliefs). The world of angel readers is filled to the brim with incredibly gifted people so I initially didn’t think that my site or page would receive many hits. How wrong I was.
A mere three months on, my site has reached just over 830 views and I have been inundated with reading requests. A majority of my readings have received extremely positive feedback and some of the comments I have received have been heart-warming and humbling. Someone, over the festive period, described me as their “angel”. All of my readings are free and some people have said that I should charge for my services. But you know what? Comments such as the “angel” one and the knowledge that I am genuinely guiding people and helping them to heal emotionally is all the payment that I need.
I might not receive any money for this but the rewards that I have reaped, such as meeting some amazing people, far outweigh this and I sincerely hope that it is something I can continue and develop for many years to come!
The past few months have been difficult. I haven’t felt like myself for a number of reasons, the main reason being that I’m finding my studies quite difficult. Not difficult in a Oh-my-God-I’m-so-fucking-dumb-and-cannot-do-this-degree kind of way…sure, the work’s easy enough. Write a poem, write a story, over analyse a book and inject false meaning into it simply to justify having it on the syllabus (surely “It’s a good read” is reason enough)…all of that I can do. I just find this so draining though. Reading and writing are things that I have dedicated almost two thirds of my life to. Life hasn’t always been great (but this isn’t a sob story; no one’s life is perfect and you’d be a liar if you claimed otherwise) and without my books, notepads and pens, I would’ve gone insane. They enabled me to escape the stresses and strains of everyday life. If my nan ever nagged me for not tidying my bedroom, it’d be no problem. I’d go into my room, grab a book and escape to a different world and meet fascinating, intriguing characters.
So, naturally, I decided to pursue my passions and applied to study for a degree in English and Creative Writing. The first year went smoothly, albeit for the odd hiccup. I made brilliant friends, I became independent, I had my own money…life was brilliant! Until my second year. Then things got serious.
Suddenly, my tutors treated me like their peer. They told me, writer-to-writer, what they really thought of my work. I’m a sensitive soul (I plaster a constant smile on my face but be warned, a raging hormone machine lurks beneath this veneer) and really take things to heart sometimes. Instead of thinking “Well, that’s OK. I know how to improve for the future.” I’d think “HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY WORK! I PUT AS MUCH BLOOD, SWEAT AND TEARS INTO THAT PIECE AS A NEW MOTHER PUTS INTO BIRTHING! INSULT MY WORK, INSULT ME! I GIVE UP! I’M A FAILURE RAH RAH RAH &!@%…” Yeah, you get the picture. A similar thing happened with the literature side of my degree. My essays would get comments such as “Focus more on the primary text. What do the blue curtains represent? They clearly represent the author’s deep depression…” Suddenly, I found myself disliking what I’d previously reveled in. I found reading a chore. I’d scan the words on the page, seeking a hidden meaning and when I couldn’t find one, a sense of failure would creep over me.
University was draining me. It was draining me of my essence…of who I was. I felt like an empty shell; I no longer enjoyed the only things I’d ever been any good at. Who was I now?
Christmas rolled along and I thought this would be my chance to read books that I’d chosen myself, write about things close to my heart and work on my novel. I was wrong. I was exhausted. Mentally at least. I looked at books and just couldn’t be arsed. I looked at my notebooks with fear, doubting my ability after a first semester comprised of negative comments. I drifted through those festive weeks, reading nothing but the odd newspaper and writing nothing but a mere shopping list or email. For those who aren’t writers, it might be difficult to understand but I was so low. I was questioning my identity and questioning whether or not I was on the right path. I felt lost, confused…I felt like a failure. I’d failed myself, I’d failed my family.
Over the past week, though, this has changed. My flatmate lent me a book and I devoured its contents within two days which is something that I haven’t done in months and today, a much-trusted tutor called me to discuss a piece of creative writing I’d submitted a couple of months ago and received rather negative feedback for. Having put my heart and soul into this piece, the grade it was awarded with disheartened me and I emailed my tutor, needing answers. Our conversation today was really uplifting, though. She recited the positive comments that had been scrawled over the piece, comments that I’d not seen through the blanket of anger and hurt that had suddenly engulfed me. She told me that the piece had potential, she recounted stories of times when she herself, a professional writer, had been disheartened by similar feedback. She told me that I’m “one of the stronger writers in my year”. These comments really cheered me up, to be honest. They gave me hope. They gave me confidence. I took her comments on board and I’ve decided that I’m not going to give up on my dreams of being a published writer. As soon as I’d hung up, I logged into my neglected blog and posted two pieces I had been working on and within half an hour, I’d received two positive comments.
Today has opened my eyes. University isn’t easy. It shouldn’t be easy. If it I swanned in knowing everything beforehand, what would be the point in going? I need to man up and learn from my mistakes. Mistakes are blessings in disguise because they make me a better writer and make me stronger.
Winter sunshine is deceptive.
I wake up in the morning to a slice of sunshine in the bed beside me…and groggily look at the gap in my curtain, confused and fearful of this strange light peaking through my window like a pervert. Can this be sunshine? Warm, golden, cheerful sunlight that hasn’t been seen by civilization for an eternity? OK, OK, I exaggerate slightly. Make that ‘Warm, golden, cheerful sunlight that hasn’t been seen by civilization for a couple of months’.
Throwing open the curtains, I gasp as I’m engulfed in its rays. My skin greedily laps up its warmth and my mood instantly lifts. This beam feels like God himself staring down at me…I am the chosen one! I am the Messiah!
I shake the sleep from my head and mooch into the kitchen. I eat breakfast whilst perched precariously on the narrow window ledge, basking like a snake in the desert. I close my eyes and glug a glass of tropical fruit juice, imagining myself to be on the balcony of an apartment in Spain or some other equally hot country. A police siren cuts through my day dream and opening my eyes, the illusion is broken by the overgrown weeds in the back garden, strewn with empty beer bottles and cigarette butts.
Having had my breakfast, I pull on a spaghetti-strapped vest top and a pair of daringly short shorts. I finish the look with my over-sized shades (which admittedly, I wear more for the ‘cool factor’) and skip down the stairs, the prospect of university no longer as daunting or depressing.
Taking a deep breath, I step outside, ready to be embraced by spring…
Fuck. It’s. So. Cold. Really fucking cold.
I run back upstairs and dive under my duvet. The sun is still lounging in my bed…I can almost hear its light, melodious voice singing to me.
Hahaaaaaa….foooooooled yooooooou!
I get up and shut the curtains. Fully this time. Forget the sunshine, today’s going to be spent nursing my crushed hopes.
We lie low in the ditch, our breath caught in our throats as the awkward shuffling cuts through autumnal leafy piles. Birds sing joyously in the tree tops, unaware of the danger that skulks beneath them; a danger far deadlier than any mere cat or fox.
Emmi bites her already-tattered lower lip beside me, her eyes wide as silent tears slice through the dirt on her face. A bubble of snot inflates with every slight, infrequent breath she takes. The lip biting is a technique she developed back when we were kids. It prevents her from audibly expressing her fear. It’s handy in an environment such as ours where fear incarnated lurks behind every tree, inside every abandoned house…in every place that we once felt safe.
I love angel tattoos
I need to get my tattoo fund going again…I have various ideas for my own angel tattoo but being the poor student that I am, it will have to remain imprinted on my mind as opposed to my skin for a while longer!
(Source: take-me-far-away-from-here)
In August 2013, I’m hoping to go to Thailand to volunteer for two weeks in an orphange in the Phang Nga province. The orphanage opened not too long after the tragic 2004 Tsunami in which a lot of the children whom the orhanage is home too lost parents or guardians. I felt drawn to this particular project for a number reasons. Firstly, I had a fantastic upbringing. I had warm food, I had new clothes when I needed them and I was brought up in a home surrounded by love and affection. I honestly do not know where I would be today without these and many other things. I certainly wouldn’t be where I am today! It makes me sad to think that not every child receives the same start in life and although the orphanage is a fantastic place, I still want to help contribute to these children’s lives. The orphanage depends on volunteers to run and sometimes, when there aren’t enough volunteers, the children have to help with tasks and I feel it is extremely important that children should be allowed to be children. Speaking as the older sister of a six year old boy and a four year old girl, children are fascinating people. Their perception of the world is profound and their excitement over what we consider small, trivial things is heart-warming and humbling. The longer this stage of life can be prolonged the better I feel, for both children and guardians alike.
The £590 that I have to pay towards the PoD charity goes towards the orphange, its upkeep, food and the children and their ammenities. I need additional costs for the flight and any additional money that I raise will go solely towards the charity. I hope to host various fund-raising events until next August and again, any additional money that comes from these will go straight towards the orphanage.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my plight. I really hope that you can help me make a difference to these children’s lives. For more information, please visit PoD’s official site at http://www.podvolunteer.org/Child-care-and-orph…
Thank you so much once again.
Jasmin
