Goodbye 2016

As 2016 draws to a close this evening it seems only appropriate to reflect on the year we are leaving behind.

Many believe 2016 has been the 'worst year ever' and, sure, plenty of bad things have happened, need I mention Trump, Brexit or Syria?

Politically the UK made a (poor) decision to leave the EU while in the US Trump was elected President by the people (although which people I remain unsure). Musically the world lost pop icons David Bowie, Prince and George Micheal along with many more. There were countless terror attacks globally along with the continuation of wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria.

However, social media hasn't held all bad news, many people have been focusing on the good things that happened this year (yes, believe it or not there were some) and that's the best way to look at things isn't it? Sure, you can't ignore the bad, but you can embrace the positivity and it all becomes a lot easier to deal with.

So, in case you think this was the year the world fell apart here are some positives to take from 2016;
- Sri Lanka is now a malaria free country
- Giant pandas are no longer endangered
- Africa is free from Ebola
- SeaWorld stopped the breeding of captive killer whales
- the Ozone layer is repairing itself
- the 2016 Olympics featured the first ever refugee team

There have been many tragedies this year but if we had equal coverage for all the good things this year then maybe people wouldn't think 2016 was as bad as they claim. But I am not going to be brought down by the negatives of the year because, for me, it has been a good one, a very good one.

I will happily welcome the new year but I am in no rush to leave this year behind. I have had plenty of wonderful memories with people whose presence makes my day.

2016 was the year I began learning to drive. The year I got four universities offers in a week. The year I got to spend 10 months with my wonderful boyfriend. The year I became close to some extraordinary people who have helped me in ways I could never have imagined. The year I welcomed my baby cousin into the world. The year I achieved an A in one of my AS subjects. The year I signed up to being a blood donor. The year I got to see two of the most important people in my life go to university. The year one of my best friends gave birth. The year I got to spend Truck Festival weekend with my dad. The year I saw West Ham play at Upton Park for a final time.

It was the year I read some wonderful books (The Girl On The Train, The Handmaid's Tale, The Kite Runner, Revolutionary Road) and watched some brilliant films (Trainspotting, Legally Blonde, 13 Going on 30, Big Fish, Still Alice, The Help). It was the year I finally finished The Reader and finally started 1984. It was the year I once again attended the always brilliant Truck Festival and saw Neck Deep, Blossoms and Slaves in concert. It was the year I saw The BFG, The Revenant and The Girl on The Train at the cinema.

It was a year that I happily got to spend with so many wonderful people.

It was a year full of laughter and love. 2017 I'm ready for you.

--- Aimee ---

Pitfalls

Monday 21st November marked the third time in a little over a year that I saw Slaves live.

I'll admit I wasn't overly excited; after all this was the third time I was seeing them, I knew what to expect.

I'd seen the set list a few days before. I knew they would play Debbie Where's Your Car? I knew they would play The Hunter and Cheer Up London. I knew they would play the majority of songs from their new album Take Control which I had wisely began listening to a whole two days before the gig (there's nothing like being prepared eh?)

There were few surprises on the day. Isaac performed the majority of the set shirtless. The pit was full of young people whereas the outer layer of the crowd were generally people above 40. The atmosphere was insane.

But if I learnt one thing on Monday it was this; mosh pits look way more fun than they are.

I'm sure that is not always the case. For example, I am sure that if you're a teenage to early twenties, fairly muscular, above average height male it's great. Unfortunately for someone of a below average height who has little to her, I struggled. I really struggled.

I survived a whole two songs in the pit (which was pretty good going for me I thought) before I began to panic due to a severe lack of space and air.

I was beginning to severely overheat and had already been pushed to the ground countless times. My tactic of grabbing whichever person around me looked most stable had helped but not altogether stopped my falls.

By this point I had lost Bella (who I was with up until mid-way through the first song) and was completely alone. But this didn't bother me; I was absolutely fine being alone and I wasn't expecting to be with Bella the whole time anyway.

My cute and punk looking space buns were failing me. I was covered in sweat; both mine and other peoples. I was thankful for choosing shorts and fishnet tights as opposed to my ripped jeans. It was not my finest hour.

I saw a tweet the other day about a fan who experienced the 'crowd from hell' along with a response that she 'couldn't handle' the gig. There were many comments about how she should have expected this atmosphere for the concert she was attending along with many highly unsympathetic comments regarding her experience.

This wasn't the case with me. I knew what I was letting myself in for - well I kind of knew - after all no one had specifically told me that I would be crushed between 6ft guys and knocked to the ground more times than was necessary but you live and learn.

I'm not bitter, I'm just not so sure it was for me.

--- Aimee ---

The Social Media Age

The world in which we live in is very different today than it was 10 - 20 years ago.

So much change captivating the world. A lot of the change which has occurred over the past few decades has been regarding technology and, in more recent times, social media.

When I was 12 my two main forms of communication was BBM and MSN. Social media meant talking with your friends in a way that wasn't texting. It meant changing your personal message to how you were feeling and changing your name to include whichever of your friends you happened to be with followed by a heart emoji that you had to copy from someone else's BBM name.

Nowadays 12 year olds have everything; Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram. This isn't a 'I was never allowed these things when I was that age' rant because these sites simply did not exist, either that or they were not mainstream. Maybe social media wasn't what it is now but I for one am glad. I'm glad the only social media embarrassment I get is from my 2012 Facebook posts about how great my day was with my bffs and not from a 2013 Instagram post where I now realise I look utterly ridiculous in my crop top on a far from summers day.

Unfortunately the rise of social media has led to the downfall of our honesty.

Instagram is a prime example for this and I am a victim of the lies. Scrolling through my feed on a regular basis means relationship posts of how perfect a persons relationship is despite only recently getting back together following their third split. It means seeing the gorgeous views of someone's holiday somewhere exotic. It means seeing how flawless a person looks and leads to you thinking 'wow they are so much prettier than I will ever be'.

But most of all, it means a carefully selected group of photos which allows an outside to view your life as perfect. Or as indie. Or as picturesque.

I don't see these posts and question the people behind it. I accept what is put in front of me. I believe that these people really have perfect lives and I fear that this will never be me.

In a bitter, happy-loathing way, I want to see the negatives. I want to see the fights, the 3am sadness, the upset. I want to see that people are still human; that it's not just me having a bad time.

Because no one wants to admit that life is crap. It's an unfortunate fact of life that not everyone wants to accept. It's not because they are self-loving, positive hippies, it's because, in a world where you get to choose what others see, why choose the bad stuff?

It's dangerous; convincing yourself that life has to be an endless stream of great, Instagram worthy events. You'll fool yourself into believing that it isn't living that is important but the physical representation of it which exists through your social media accounts.

Obviously you can't let people know everything about your life (unless you're on of those annoying people who literally takes to Facebook for anything from a Chinese takeaway to your opinions on this weeks Strictly Come Dancing) which is where social media really is our friend. Only highlighting to good or the bad and not fussing over those boring and uninteresting days we all have more often than we'd like to admit.

But there is one thing which saves me from the despair of immaculate Instagram posts with a group of friends who I don't have, the Facebook check ins to exotic destinations, the posey and more-happy-than-it-is-actually-possible-to-be Snapchats and that is Twitter.

Whether its reading new theories on The Missing, finding out the latest drama in someone's friend's-sister's-daughter's love life or reading debates between feminists and meninists, Twitter truly is your guy (let's just assume Twitter is male.) Whatever the use, Twitter is entertaining, informative, amusing and, above all, it is honest.

Twitter for many acts as their safe haven; a place they can express their emotions no matter how dark and negative as well as sharing their best days. Who wouldn't want to see how especially positive someone is feeling today, does it not just fil you with joy?

Brutal honesty is a commonly seen thing, posts are littered with others giving their opinion, there are fewer lies.

If you were to scroll down my Twitter feed it would largely consist of tweets about the following: dogs, Jack, my blog, feminism (in one form or another), recent news stories, my friends, my family, music, films or books. Because that's who I am, away from the perfectly portrayed life on Instagram.

Twitter is the harsh reality of the social media world. Not everything is glorified; it doesn't need to be, people on Twitter don't expect a romanticised idea of life. It's the real world. Or as close to the real world you can access in the modern age.

The growth of social media has altered our values, our expectations. There no longer is any point in talking about mundane, daily occurrences. Importance now lies within how your strengths are promoted and your flaws are kept hidden, developing a frightening world where perfection is dominant and making mistakes is shunned, forgetting that, at the end of the day, we are only human after all.

--- Aimee ---

The (Very) White House

Since life pre Donald Trump is soon to be no more there is uncertainty in the air for what is yet to come. And the rest of the world is watching America experience the calm before the storm which will destroy America; whether that's due to Trump himself or his loyal supporters.

Unfortunately the future is no longer looking like the altered Utopian presented on our screens with the release of Back to the Future 2 in 1989. Instead the future is looking dark, frightening and bleak; especially so if you are American.

I really fear for the future of humanity when a country so great and wonderful (or so it claims) as America elects a racist who actually believes you can rid of 3 million people because 0.006625% of their religion are extremists and therefore a threat.

In times like this you really do have to ask yourself 'Are there really people out there who believe this?'

One Trump supporter stated that stopping all Muslims entering the country was the correct action to take because 'we can't identify what their attitude is'. Funny, I've never heard anyone talking about kicking white teenage males out of the country because some of them cause mass shootings? Especially shocking when you realise that 94% of terrorist attacks in America since 1980 have been carried out by non-Muslims.

If you have been active on Twitter this past week since Trump got elected then you would have been present with real life scenarios that have surfaced. Muslim women fearing wearing their hijabs in public, women being sexually harassed following Trump's delightful phrase 'grab her by the pussy', people of different ethnicities being told to 'go back home'.

The irony is, most of these people are 'home'. They are American citizens or as American as someone can actually be considering that, excluding the natives, all American's are immigrants but Trump, along with many other 'Americans' seem to ignore this in the same way that they ignore the fact that Trump's wife is also an immigrant and, for a certain period of time, was an illegal one too.

It's disgusting really, how someone can get away with so many racist, sexist, xenophobic, homophobic and discriminatory comments and still be given power. I'm pretty sure that, if fewer than a handful of those comments had been made by almost anyone else there would be severe consequences. But he's the person the people want I suppose, although which people that is I remain unsure of.

In late October The New York Times released a list of all the people, places and things which Donald Trump had insulted via his Twitter account. That list came to a total of 282. Those 282 things included; journalists, CNN, Forbes, protesters, Germany, Britain, illegal immigrants, Whoopi Goldberg, Samuel L. Jackson, television commercials and Obamacare.

I just want to know how. A) I want to know how it is even possible to insult so many things - surely no one hates the world that much? B) how someone can insult that many things and still have people voting for him.

In a world where the ice caps are melting, animals are losing their homes and sea levels are rising; America have elected a president who believes climate change is a hoax created by the Chinese. So well done America, at least we can give Brexit a back seat for now.

--- Aimee ---

A Post for October

As I led in my bed on September 30th I decided I would spend my October documenting (on my phone as is the modern age) each occasion that I found vaguely interesting. So, hopefully I have actually done something interesting this (coming) month which is worth writing about but, more importantly, worth reading about too.

It was a busy month. Not busy as in forever-doing-something-with-no-time-to-enjoy-yourself because, let's face it, I will always find at least 6 hours a week to watch and re-watch comedy shows on BBC iPlayer (don't lie, the BBC has the best range of comedy shows.)

I went to London (which I wish I visited more) as part of my Travel and Tourism coursework which (thankfully) was not the terrible disaster which I feared it would be and, once we realised that District and Circle tubes weren't the same, it all went fairy smoothly. The day would have likely been considerable less enjoyable had I not got to spend it with Grace who managed to save my sanity with the macaroni cheese topped with jalapeños I stumbled upon in EAT assisting the positive nature of the day.

This trip came following my day out a LEGOLAND (yes, little miss sociable right here) for a friends trip which was a very, very cold day which was not helped by idiotically deciding that the rapids were a great idea. My saving grace that day was definitely my Quorn chicken fajitas which were literally the nicest things I have cooked, ever.

Top tip to anyone planning on going on two consecutive school trips; don't. It is very tiring and there is far too much walking involved.

Aside from London, Grace and I also went for a well earned Nandos (even my Quorn chicken fajita can't beat their veggie burger with garlic bread and medium Peri-Peri sauce) and lovely little shop (although I have no recollection of buying anything but I know it was primarily charity shop shopping) on the last day of term before she ditched me by spending her whole half term in France (cheers babe.)

I had my first insight into university life by visiting Wolverhampton, Canterbury Christ Church, Derby and St Mary's and, my, what an experience it was. I absolutely loved absorbing the positive atmosphere of places where I may end up in under a years time. Despite the tremendous amount of walking involved, the days were wonderful (with thanks to my parents' ridiculous humour and jokes which honestly made me feel like I had taken my kids on a day out. And, although I am so very excited to start uni next September (providing I don't majorly screw up my A-Levels this year) I can't help but reject the idea that I'm actually ready to move out and become largely independent.

Part of me would love to believe that I am ready, that I will be able to face any challenge given to me and that I really want to start my future but, another part of me is insistent that I'm still secretly an 8 year old who likes baking cakes and stroking dogs which, to be honest, I still do. The worst part is that the excitement I have for university now will drag on a whole 10 months until I actually get to go and experience university life.

I watched Trainspotting for the first time also which, although it was very heavy and highly confusing, was a brilliant film (but now I'm sad that I won't 18 by the time the second one comes out in January because the trailer looks AMAZING.) If you haven't seen it, you need to watch it although you probably shouldn't if you are very strongly against drug use because that is pretty much 97% of the film.

Half term also happened which meant three things; a) reading and essay writing, b) a chance to see Jack and c) a spontaneous shopping trip (and who doesn't love one of those?) I really did mean to watch more films that I hadn't seen before (which I probably should've done considering I borrowed about 8 from my neighbour at the beginning of half term) but it just didn't happen. I did finally get round to starting George Orwell's 1984 which I have been meaning to do for literally months and, so far, its everything I hoped it would be and more (no spoilers please I've started it but haven't got much further than that.)

One of the highlights of the month was definitely travelling to Southampton to visit Jack (twice) even if the first train journey was one of the most stressful and busy journeys in my life. But the travelling was very much worth it especially with the warm welcome I received from Jack's flatmates. The three day stay I had, assisted by a cute cinema date to The Girl On The Train (which was amazing despite it's 44% rating on Rotten Tomatoes and it's lack of similarity to the book at points) was pure bliss even if I did have to watch The Apprentice.

I also got tickets to see All Time Low which I am super excited about but it was the most stressful half hour of my life. I have decided that I do not like ordering tickets as soon as they go on sale because websites are crap and stress levels are high but I guess it's just something I'll get used to and, hopefully, more comfortable with.

Less exciting things also happened like work and netball which I figured I'd give a mention anyway just so it seems that there are other things I do besides from watching TV and visiting people and places. And I did see various people also such as my dads friend who visited for a few days and some family friends who cooked a lovely roast and providing an evening full of happiness

Near the end of the month I managed to actually make some new friends (I know, who'd have thought) on a lovely evening with those whom I already adore. It was so nice to feel comfortable around new people and actually be told such nice things about myself which really gave me some confidence which I have needed recently. It was only a small thing but it made me sure o the fact that, around the right people, I really will be loved and cherished.

I'll admit, looking back at it now it was a more exciting month than I thought it would be but I am glad it was as action-packed as it was because, on the whole, it was a really good month.

--- Aimee ---

Young and (Un)Fit

I am so fed up with people telling I'm 'young and fit' simply because I'm a healthy looking teenage girl.

Newsflash: not all young people are actually 'fit' (in an athletic way and not the cringy af, supposedly complimentary way which teenage boys deem acceptable) even if they may appear to be so.

Because I feel as though I am constantly apologising for being less fit than is socially acceptable for my age (and, I guess, someone of my physique.) And I don't want to apologise but I also don't want people to assume that I am able to do a ridiculous amount of exercise or being brilliant at sport simply because of my age.

And this annoys me on a regular basis because I feel so awful for not fitting the standard that I should be.

Example 1: Numerous times I have played two consecutive games of netball (40 minutes each) on a Sunday morning but complaining about being tired from this results (nearly always) in a 'don't be silly, you can do things like that because you're young and fit'. Alright, you try running around for 80 minutes and tell me you're not knackered? I'm not fitter than the rest of you, you just assume I am because I'm younger, and that's not really how it works.

Just because I'm younger it doesn't mean I can run (/play netball) for longer, it just means that, in the time I am playing, I can (probably) run a bit faster (aka get tired just as quickly and not actually have this extra stamina that you claim I have).

Example 2: A few weeks ago I played in a netball tournament and, at one point, played four games (10 minutes each) consecutively without a break. I was knackered and, due to this (I think, but I'm no doctor so I don't actually know) I injured my knee (google told me it was a sprain so I think it was a sprain). I don't have good knees at the best of times (bending down is usually a struggle) so this really wasn't ideal. At least this meant I had a valid reason to be bad (not on purpose ofc) in the following game and not get the usual 'but you're young' when I state that I have weak knees (well, I assume its not normal for a 17 year old to struggle to stand up once having sat down on the floor?)

I also guested for another team last night and when I was knackered after 36 minutes of game play, the captain of the team told me 'yeah but you're young and fit'. Point proven.

Example 3: A couple of years back I was suffering heavily with back pain which resulted in me seeing a physiotherapist. It was largely helpful and they gave me exercises to do (which I aabandonded when I began feeling moderately okay). I have decided that there is a 98% chance that this is hereditary (yay for me) so at least I know it's not my fault or could have been avoided (although the few years I did trampolining couldn't have helped). And it makes it a bit awks at netball when I have to explain that 'oh yeah btw kinda can't run very fast now because I just jumped, landed awkwardly on my knees and it's hurt my back' (lol at my body) for which saying I feel a 'pft, bad back, you're 17, you can't have a bad back', secretly hidden by the sympathetic 'oh go steady' comments.

And if you're a girl then you'll know how back pain is only worsened on what I shall refer to as the monthlies (or the magazine I get each month as my dad delicately put it.) This makes certain weeks rather hellish, made even worse after any form of exercise which makes me feel like a 70 year old woman who struggles to walk. (No, no honestly I am 17 not 70, believe me.)

Example 4: I really struggle to breathe while exercising in cold weather which I had almost forgotten about until last night when I was gasping for breath. It was kind of a good thing though because it made me decide I have to go back to the doctors (I think it's asthma but I don't really know.)

And again I feel as though I am disappointing my team and myself but I also kinda don't want to die. Don't think that would be fun. Sorry guys, I would love to run faster and help you out but I kind of can't breathe over here so just give me a minute please.

Oh how I wish I wasn't submitted to this category of 'young and fit'. How I wish my fitness levels weren't based on my age. How I wish people were more understanding that anyone can have health issues and how these can affect a persons life.

But, if I'm wishing for anything, how I wish my body wasn't so weak and pathetic at only 17.

--- Aimee ---

A Handful of Lasts

As I enter my last week with Jack (my super amazing boyf) living within walking distance, I'm beginning to notice all the other lasts that are taking place and I'm not sure I'm okay with it.

Back in June I noticed the beginning of the end (wow, so dramatic) with all my lovely friends in year 13 leaving for summer while I was stuck starting my A2's (fun). I realised the last time I would see everyone at school had already gone and quickly the sadness of this realisation followed.

By this point I'd already had my last private study with Dan. I'd already had my last Friday gossip with Mark and Jamie. My last lunchtime with everyone.


And the sad part was I saw it coming, missed it and then it was gone. All my fears and nerves over exams had obliterated these worries. The opportunity to see these events come to an end had gone and there was nothing I could do.

It still hasn't quite hit me that these people will not be joining me at lunchtime, they won't be around when I have a free period, they've gone.

A party a few weeks ago was the last time I saw most of them. I almost cried saying goodbye to Kate and a emotional (and maybe slightly tipsy) me went back for the 'goodbye hug' at least three times. I really did try to live in the moment (how cliché) but it's hard. One part of me was loving life and the people I was with whilst the other was reminding me on how soon all these people would be gone and starting their new lives.

On the (drunken) walk home that night I needed Mark to comfort my holy-crap-everyone-is-leaving-for-uni-what-am-I-going-to-do mood (which he did, so thanks Mark). And I tried to dodge this reality that changes would actually start happening.

Now I'm the sort of person who loves a bit of sadness and heartbreak, just not when it comes to my own life (unless it's going to inspire an amazing blog post.) I'm struggling to believe that it's real and actually happening, while also being sad that it isn't me. I'm being left behind while everyone begins their new adventures, helplessly watching.

I've already seen Jack, Mark and Grace together for the last time (so much love for you all), the group that I got the privilege of spending my final months of year 12 with, something I will be forever grateful for. So thank you Jack, Mark and Grace, you have been the bestfriends I could have hoped for. 

It scares me. I don't want to see Jack for 'one last time' before uni. I don't want all these lasts but I cannot stop them; it's inevitable.




And I know it will be me soon enough. I'll have my lasts with other people, lasts before I leave for uni (hopefully). That will make me sad sure but at least it will be exciting, unlike the same daily routine of sixth form; without most of the people who make it bearable.

I'm sad to be saying goodbye to the best people I have been lucky enough to meet but I'm taking comfort in the thought of their new and wonderful lives. So take this as a massive thank you. Thank you for letting me feel so welcome. Thank you for including me. Thank you for bringing me happiness. Good luck in your new lives, I hope they are nothing less than incredible.

--- Aimee ---

Braless and Careless

#FreeTheNipple (as its known on many social media sites) is an often controversial campaign; one I'm about 95% on board with (5% of me is too scared of partaking in the campaign in fear of judgment).

The concept of normalising female nipples to be de-sexualised (if that's a term?) isn't really an irrational belief. Their whole purpose of nipples is to feed babies (unless I missed out on the memo telling men their purpose is sexual pleasure? Maybe it's just men that get that memo.)

It seems to be the case that you can show as much cleavage or boob as you want but the moment the nipple is released (like the wild animal it clearly is) there is outrage (usually from the likes of white-middle-class men like Piers Morgan (if he counts as middle class.))

I mean I get it and I don't. If it really were nipples people are so scared of seeing then why are people so quick to slut shame girls wearing low cut tops? Maybe (if we're lucky) these people would drop to the floor at the cheeky sight of a nipple.

It's especially ridiculous when women get sent out of restaurants and cafes for showing their nipples (or not even showing them in most cases) while breastfeeding (logic please????) 'It makes me feel uncomfortable' so what? Maybe I'm uncomfortable with your awful sense in fashion but I'm being polite about it. Plus its kinda a big deal, you know, feeding a living human, it's not an unreasonable request to want to breastfeed (if you have a child ofc, otherwise it is odd.)

You see, Free The Nipple actual means normalise and de-sexualise the nipple, not get your tits out for the lols (as many people see it.) There is a purpose to the campaign and it's a reasonable and achievable one. It just seems ridiculous that many men are enticed by nipples and tits but the minute you essentially give them what they want, you get scrutinised (probs because it's for feminism and not for their own desires to be met (oh poor you)).

Other than the social norm of wearing a bra (and I don't really get why it's the norm) and wanting my boobs to look good (or better should I say) there isn't really much point. For starters, shopping for a bra is the most annoying and lengthy type of shopping.

First you have to work your way through the range that M&S (it's the only place to find the right bra, lets be honest) have to offer and decide if you want a push-up, balcony, strapless, plunge, t-shirt, underwire or multi-way (to name a few.) Who needs that number of choices? I want a bra that's comfy and fits, is that too much to ask?

Then you have the 'oh shit I don't remember what size I am, mum (because mum means more knowledge and a free bra, so who's the real winner here) can you check' followed of course by the awkward *hope no one sees my naked back in the middle of M&S while mum checks the size which has probably faded by now* which is just as bad each time. And, if you're wearing a dress and not a t-shirt, you, my friend, are screwed.

If you're lucky and still have a visible bra size in your bra you then have the delightful task of finding 'the one' (bras, not boys; it's probably an easier task). White, black, skin colour, red, blue, pink; oh I don't care just give me a bloody bra.

Upon deciding on the nicest and most 'you' colour you'll probably find that it isn't available in your size (ha, peak) and back to square one it is. But if, low and behold, your size is there, you'll get to try it on and 9 times out of 10 it doesn't fit because the bra size from your balcony bra doesn't correlate with the same size in the push up one you've picked up. Oh well, no new bra for you today.

Personally I will only #FreeTheNipple in tight tops where a braless Aimee will not be a overcome-with-pain-especially-in-the-event-of-stairs-Aimee. Tight tops are a much nicer compromise and rarely even show everything. And I guess not wearing a bra isn't technically freeing anything except my inner feminist but I'm cool with that, after all that's the whole point of the campaign; not to literally get your nipples out (obvs).

So, I think you should all #FreeTheNipple whenever possible because bras are uncomfy and hard work and a commitment that I'm not willing to make.

--- Aimee ---

A Release

This world is an ugly and disgusting place (woah what a pessimist).

So much terror and trauma, death and killings, sadness and hurt. Sometimes it's nice to (and I know its bad and highly frowned upon) turn a blind eye on all this and reach for an escape. There's no complete escape of course, you always have to come back to the real world (yes, I agree, it sucks).

It's not just the acts which make me despair against humanity that I like to escape from, it's everyday life. It's the sadness I overwhelm myself with when I'm having a bad day. It's the 'nah not today' feeling when I wake up. It's the expectations of me that sometimes I just want to chuck out the window.

Some days it is just better to find escape in either music or a book; that usually works for me.

Books are the more challenging option (probably because it requires effort, oops) because, unless it's an intensely gripping book, like The Girl on the Train (which was AMAZING) it takes so much willpower to convince yourself to keep reading (well for me anyway). Sadly I'm stuck with that at the moment. After rapidly finishing The Kite Runner, I moved onto Travelling to Infinity, which, if you don't know is the biographical piece of literature written by Jane Hawking about her life spent with Stephen. (Aka the book behind 'The Theory of Everything' which I haven't watched so no spoilers please.) It's a remarkable book but some detail I could do without (sorry Jane).

I guess it must be even harder if you're not spiritually connected to books (aka a bookworm) which,  most of the time I like to convince myself I am (ha, I'm really not). If you can't see the beauty of a book within at least the first few chapters then what's the point? (which is probably exactly your thoughts before you hide the book away for another few months (or years) before you pick it up again and force yourself to reach the end).

Everyday life is the issue. I can fly through a book in a week by reading parts here and there if I'm on holiday. But I'm not. And I'm very bad at reading when everyday (modern) life is so darn distracting. Why would I want to read when I could switch between Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter every couple of minutes and see no new content? Or when I could re-watch old episodes of Gogglebox? Or sit waiting for one of my friends to make contact with me? (Ha, as if.)

I wish I could be more a more New-York-coffee-shop-reading-classics kinda gal but I'm not and I probably never will be. I'm more a stereotypically-reads-on-holiday-like-the-rest-of-the-nation kinda gal and I can live with that.

Music however has a much different effect on me. It's not something I need to 'get in to' or be in the right mood for. Music is something rather different.

Music can have such an impact. It can change you emotionally; change your behaviour, impact your life. If you are yet to experience this type of world, you haven't found the right song. That one song (or many songs) that hit you right in the heart. The ones where you just have so much passion and fire in your soul that no words seem to do the feeling justice.

When you're on a train (like I currently am) and you just want to scream the lyrics at the tops of your lungs. (Don't worry, I won't. Even if I did people wouldn't know the song so it would just look odd (The Only Hope For Me Is You is the song in case you were wondering)). Or when you're at a party and Mr Brightside comes on and you just feel completely overjoyed with life (really hoping this is a multicultural thing and not just another British quirk).

And I swear I fall in love all over again when I hear The Fall by Imagine Dragons or All I Want by Kodaline. (How a song can ever possess that much beauty I do not know.) And that, that right there is the type of impact I want to gain, whether it be from music or from any other aspect of life.

I want to live my life listening to rebellious Green Day and My Chemical Romance songs while also shedding a tear at Coldplay or Kodaline. I want music to take over my entire existence. I want to relish in my release from this world and live with all the happiness compressed within it.

--- Aimee ---

Women's Equality Day

So today is Women's Equality Day which means I can find joy in scrolling through the hashtag to find numerous feminist tweets. One's that make me think 'hell yeah you go girl, you fight for those rights'. Basically the type I love.

Because to quote my all time fave film (Titanic if you didn't know) 'Of course it's unfair. We're women. Our choices are never easy' which hits the nail on the head (obviously by a man because women doing DIY and using tools is one big NO.)

Unfortunately this trend has also been taken over by meninists or (less radically) people who do not see inequality (as every other female empowerment trend always is because why should women get to speak, am I right?)

I have to thank these tweets in a way, they help me feel a lot better at myself as I know that I'm not an arrogant fool who literally cannot see inequality even when staring you in the face (maybe you should go to Specsavers love.)

And of course there are many types of anti-feminist. There's the people who don't understand feminism and therefore don't support it (understandable but if you read up on it you're likely to agree so you should do it). Then there's people who see inequality but as a fact of life and not a problem which needs (urgently) addressing. There's people who don't see inequality and just want all these angry feminists (who are obviously on their period) to shut up (um mate maybe you'd be angry too if your gender was being constantly oversexualised and deemed to be weak and made fun of and highly domesticated on too many occasions). There's people who think that all feminists are 'butch lesbians' (we are not). There's also (and these are my favourite) people who think that women and men can't be equal because of the biological difference (sorry but that is just bullshit).

Out of the what-do-you-mean-you-want-equality tweets I've seen today, one of my faves has to be the one describing being female as 'boob privilege'. Now, clearly you don't have boobs because, if you did, you'd probably agree, it isn't really a privilege. Yeah boobs are great and all but they are super, super annoying and bras are super, super uncomfy. And, it wouldn't be 'boob' privilege even if it did exist, it would be 'big boob' or 'average sized with lots of assistance of a push up bra' privilege because that seems to be all guys ever want (in terms of boob size.)

And all these little extras and freebees that females get are totally within the capabilities of us women who receive them. It's not my fault that we are oversexualised and, because of that men think they can do things which claims ownership of us like buying us a drink (which is not an invitation to bed I'm afraid). If I could stop the sexualisation of women I would in a heartbeat, it's not nice to be harassed in the street because I made the time to look pretty (for myself) today (which you can read about here). But I can't. Why? Because I'm not the one sexualising women.

But this is a problem. Despite the feminist fight which ignites inside of me when I see these anti-feminist tweets, there is a huge problem.

There are women in the world being forced into marriage (often as children). Women being raped by boys who are 'just being boys'. There are women who are sexually harassed in the work place. There are women who are forced to raise children they don't want as single parents because abortion is not legal in their country. There are women who are scrutinised in the media because they didn't wear a bra (c'mon ladies #FreeTheNipple is where it's at) or because their swimsuit was revealing which, unless it's not covering the vagina or nipples (which is the whole point of a swimsuit as it should be as minimal as possible because then you get less awkward tan lines) then how is it revealing? Breaking news: woman has thighs and stomach and boobs which aren't completely covered by a bikini. I'm sorry to scare you like that, I bet that has come as a huge shock to you all.

So when you look at all these issues (and more, which you can find a list of on one of my favourite websites http://everydayfeminism.com/2016/02/160-examples-of-male-privilege/)  how can you have the guts to tell me inequality doesn't exist? And is that what you're really saying, or are you in fact saying 'yes I can see these issues but they just aren't important enough to accept' because, if you are, you are trash.

So I'm going to celebrate being a woman today and I'm also going to celebrate every other day that I walk this planet. Because female inequality is real and it is happening now. So I'm going to fight for the equality I deserve because, in the words of Rachel Platten's 2015 hit 'I've still got a lot of fight left in me'.

--- Aimee ---

Results Day

This morning I woke up to the typical 'good morning' text from Jack feeling anxious and rough. I hadn't been drinking, I had another reason to feel rough; I had slept awful. Why? Because today was results day and my body wanted me too know that, waking me up at 1am and again at 5.

7:40 was way too early for my body to even think about getting up but I forced myself to. I needed to get into school both for my own results but also to be supportive for my friends.

I was going to write this blog post but I didn't in fear of jinxing myself for the big day (that just sounds like I'm getting married; I'm not). But it would have made little difference, I got the results I was expecting which eased the sharp pain of disappointed I could have felt.

Thankfully I wasn't alone so I was able to laugh about the fact I got a U on one (of the two) exams I did. It didn't bother me, not anywhere near as much as it should have but I think it's better that way.

It's not because I was happy with getting a U. Of course I was annoyed (and can I just point out that I got a D in the subject overall so, actually, it wasn't that bad.) But yesterday I made myself adopt a positive attitude towards receiving my results. Worse case scenario I would have to retake two exams (shout out to English Lit for not being split into AS and A Level).

Two exams isn't the end of the world. If I had to resit two exams the world would still keep spinning, people would still die, it wouldn't really matter.

I think I needed this, to put a perspective on life (woah that sounds deep) to ensure my own sanity when I opened that dreaded envelope.

Despite the D that stood out on my results sheet (is that what it's called? I have no idea) there was another result which probably assisted my lack of worry. That result was a miraculous A which I was over the moon with. I'm still in shock that I could get an A (like seriously, cut the joke now, A's are not my thing.)

I've been on such a high all day (a personal pride high is legal don't worry). And it's (oddly) made me really excited for Year 13 and University (pft what a nutter). I'm just so extremely happy that sometimes hard work really pays off. I was so nervous of expecting an A (it seemed pretty ambitious despite how confident I felt with the subject) in fear that I would get nothing more than a C.

I think the most important thing that today has taught me is that believing in myself can be a worrying thing but that maybe I'm not always as awful at things as I first assume. And maybe that's just about the best lesson I could ever teach myself.

--- Aimee ---

Girl Groups

Growing up every teen chick flick seemed to revolve around one thing; girl groups. Ok yes, relationships and crushes often came in at a close second but were rarely present without this overpowering theme.

I was painted this picture that high school (well, secondary school) would be a magical time. That I would be bombarded with an overwhelming number of parties and social meet ups. Most of all, I was under the impression that these events would take place as the result of being part of a girl populated friendship group.

In high school (I won't bother correcting again) you meet friends, form your group and, bam, those are your friends. And then, on your journey to adulthood, you ditch a few but, ultimately, you keep the same friends.

And this probably isn't far from the truth. Timeless stories from my mum or dad shows that some friends are for life (not just for Christmas). Maybe, sometimes friendships do stand the test of time (wow apparently I've turned into a middle aged woman).

It's impossible to walk down the corridor at school without seeing a gaggle of girls (if girls had a collective noun I'm pretty sure it would be gaggle) huddled together (probably gossiping about the latest crush of the group).

Is it me? Am I the type of person that wants this. Someone who wants what 80% of girls at high school want. Does anyone actually want it or does their life just dump them there? I don't have the answer to how it happens or how it happens to the majority but leaves some of us stranded. Maybe we just don't fit in and we just have to search harder for the place in which we do fit.

I have only ever been part of two groups in my life and neither were female only. (I guess female only groups is usually a requirement and not a preference.) I think it's better that way. I'm all for girl power and the alike but girl groups leave me with one word; drama. Too much of it. I would rather lead my simple life with people who don't create or involved themselves in drama (relationship or otherwise.)

But my life hasn't been bad because of it. Maybe I have missed out on a conventional teenage girl sort of life but I'm still enjoying life in spite of that. It's not all that (here we are again with the middle aged woman quotes), having a group of girls to share your life with.

I think it's since the 'girls' and 'lads' holidays that I've paid more attention to this. It's made me wonder how I'm going to feel next year when its 'my' turn. Unless some kind of miracle happens I won't be partaking on one of these (and that doesn't bother me much at all). But (I think) I'm ok with that, with just living my life without meeting any sort of requirements or standards.

Perhaps I'm just bitter. Bitter like the person who hates doing the 100m sprint because they can never win and if they can never win then what is the point (unintentional reference to the Olympics.) Or perhaps I feel like an outsider because life hasn't been quite how I expected it. Or maybe I don't see the appeal because it has never personally affected me. After all, you can't miss something which you never had to begin with.

--- Aimee ---

Books Against Films

Books and films. Two things I love. The majority of people would be delighted to combine two things they loved but I can not share this delight for there are always issues. When you are so overwhelmed by a book you notice every tiny detail that the film misses out, usually leaving me with a sense of disappointment and thinking 'well that would have been a good film if I hadn't previously read the book'. That's all films based on books are usually, disappointments (with few expectations such as The Hunger Games Trilogy, they were outstanding).

I felt this disappointment yesterday when watching The Kite Runner. Having read the book whilst on holiday last week I was sceptic to whether it would be able to do Khaled Hosseini's masterpiece justice. It did not.

The disappointment began with the opening scene (one of the final chapters of the book) where the director had (for some strange reason) decided to split up the phone call from Rahim Khan to Amir and their later reunion by including the entirety of the storyline between these two scenes. This is where I began to doubt the film, it didn't seem to quite work as the relationship between Rahim and Amir had not been established (unless you had prior knowledge by having read the book.)

The second major issue I had (ignoring the fact that I had to watch the entire film in subtitles as it was spoken in Afghan which proved to be more effort than I was prepared to put in to watching a film) was that the film should have, without a doubt, have been narrated by the main character (Amir) as the book is written from his perspective. This problem with not including narration meant that key lines were missed as they did not feature in the book as speech, missing key moments and lacking inner thoughts, ruining the emotional effect of the book.

I highly recommend reading the book, it is a true masterpiece with focuses on some major issues such as war, rape, self harm and infertility. Unfortunately, the film failed to leave me the same overwhelming sensation that the book did due to missing out of some key areas addressed in the book. Self harm and infertility were given no mention in the film. (Infertility may have been hinted at but if it was I for one was unaware of it). However, themes such as death, punishment and regret were still strongly apparent in the film, much to my relief.

Other than these issues neglected by the film, there were many, many more inaccuracies.

The film showed very, very few scenes focusing on the friendship between Amir and Hassan, leaving an empty hole where the happiness of their friendship should be for the audience. The lack of focus that this was given severely impacted the film for me as many revelations nearing the end of the book were not foreseen in the film as they are in the book. Disregarding the importance of their friendship also disregards Hassan's inability to read (although I guess its assumed) and Amir's passion for writing;  proven only by the journal given to him by Rahim Khan for his birthday.

The book describes Hassan as having a cleft lip which is fixed by the operation Baba pays for as a birthday gift to Hassan which (spoilers) is found to be relevant later as it is discovered that Hassan is in fact Baba's son too (and not just the servant that he is viewed as.) The film neglects this issue that Hassan although this is perhaps understandable if taking into account the difficulty this would case to recreate. But, this is aa key moment in the film as, not only does it bring Hassan great happiness, it shows the dedication and love which Baba has for him.

Whilst in America following the fleeing of Afghanistan, Baba gets ill. The film only briefly touches on this with a hospital appointment one scene and then his funeral a few scenes later. The illness is never actually mentioned in the film whereas the book discusses it to be cancer (of which type I cannot remember.)

Then there is the inaccuracy in the infertility of Amir and his wife, Soraya which is never at all mentioned in the film. The book dedicates a few pages to this issue, enough to see the pain which has been inflicted by it. The couple do not have children in the film version but it is never stated that they cannot conceive and that this is the reason for being childless.

The revelation that Hassan was killed by the Taliban was bluntly put in the film in the line 'Hassan's dead' whereas the book took a more descriptive (and nicer) approach by describing the events leading up to this as well as the events which occurred afterwards.

Furthermore (yes the list continues), following Amir's journey to find Hassan's orphaned son Sohrab, Sohrab receives no introduction on who Amir is (poor kid). Sohrab then defended Amir by attacking Assef (you really need to read the book because you're likely to be very confused by now). Why would the kid defend someone when they had no idea who they were? And, during the scrap between Amir and Assef (and Sohrab I guess), the book shows Assef telling his guards not to enter the room and whoever walks out alive has won but there is no reference to this in the film, leading to the question of why did the guards stay out of the room the entire time when they were not instructed to? This also led to Amir being chased after (a pathetic chase of about 10 seconds) which should not have taken place as Amir won the fight fair and square (with the assistance of Sohrab).

The picture given to Amir in the letter he received from Hassan (although it was given to him by Rahim Kahn) contained a picture of (in the book) Sohrab and his mother and father. The film however only included a picture of Sohrab and his father, defeating the point that, when Sohrab says he is forgetting the appearance of his parents, Amir is able to show his the picture he has. (But, it's okay because they missed out that part of dialog in the film.)

Following the disappearance of Sohrab under the supervision of Amir, Amir visits the church (or it might be a mosque, I'm not sure) to find him. Amir heads this way due to Sohrab showing interest in it when they drove past, a scene excluded from the film, posing the question of how did Amir know where he would be?

The self harm which occurs and is the beginning of Sohrab's downfall is missed from the film. A significant event which causes friction between Sohrab and Amir which, according to the film, does not even take place. The troubles present both before and after the self harm (or possible suicide attempt) surrounding Sohrab being applicable for a Visa is also completely neglected. Sohrab (in the film) is able to get into America with no difficulties, a complete ignorance of the challenge Amir faces in the book to successfully get Sohrab into America. The mix of the struggle for a Visa and the suicide attempt (I really can't decide whether it fits more with suicide or self harm) complete the struggles for Sohrab and give reason to his negative views on life and subsequent attitude. This negative attitude is only implied in the film through the lack of communication with Amir and Soraya.

In the future I might continue my belief that I stuck to with The Longest Ride; don't watch the film if you've read the book, it will only disappoint.

--- Aimee ---

My Happy Place

It's one of those poplar questions to be asked; 'where is your happy place?' Upon being asked this many people would surely struggle to find an immediate answer. How many people really know where they are truly happy?

I've given two answers to this question (well two aloud anyway). One being my gran's house and the other (in later years) being the cancer research shop. I guess it's quite sad, having a shop as your happy place but it's such a cute shop and it makes me feel like I'm doing good in the world. Surely no charity shop purchase can be seen as a bad buy?

Not the usual answers I suppose although I'm not entirely sure what a 'usual' answer would be. I suppose it would be a park or a city; somewhere with many memories attached to it. Happy memories likely to span many years. The truth is I probably do have places like this just not any that immediately come to mind (well done for the awful memory Aimee). 

These were the answers I would have given if I had been asked this prior to a few weeks ago because, a few weeks ago I realised I had been wrong. I realised that my happy place wasn't a house or a shop, it was a room, my bedroom.

Sad as it may be it is the place I am happy. In my own company in a familiar place. Plus, what's not to love? I am surrounded by a lifetime of presents, purchases and pictures. I can sit and observe all the aspects of my room that I love and which bring me happiness, as described in more detail here (ooo a hyperlink, how fancy). After all, how can you not love the place that is the best portrayal of who you are that exists?

Without sounding too much like a loner with no friends (which is hard to do when that's pretty much what I am), I do enjoy my own company and the freedom to do whatever I want. The absolute bliss of being able to watch a film, read a book or blog without having to leave my room is something I treasure.

It's not always being alone that makes me happy. I love meeting people (in my room) or calling people (in my room). No, in all honesty I do like going out and actually doing things in my life but, at the end of the day all I really want is to crawl back into my bed and watch an episode of Gogglebox for the 15th time (I wish I was exaggerating).

It would be silly to say my room (or more importantly my bed) is the only thing that makes me happy. The list isn't that simple. Who could say a walk in the country or on the beach isn't one of the most relaxing and fulfilling past times which allows so much happiness to be felt? A sense of relief and a carefree nature. But of course there is no happiness quite like being in the comfort and security of Jack's arms at the end of a bad day (#cringe).

I guess it doesn't matter really, where your happy place is, as long as you know where it is so, at the end of a long, stressful day, you can crawl (not literally or you will resemble the mental state of the female in 'The Yellow Wallpaper') and be happy.

--- Aimee ---

One Size Fits All

No, contrary to the common belief, one size does not fit all. It's a myth, of course it is. How can one size fit all when a size 10 dress doesn't even fit all size 10s?

It's because there is one thing shops seem to forget when sizing up their clothes; boobs. I don't have a large stomach and I don't have broad shoulders but I have boobs and, when shopping, they are a really pain (and no that's not just from wearing a bra).

My boobs are the bane of my life when it comes to clothes shopping; nothing too tight but nothing too loose. Not too revealing but still comfortable. (Urgh girl with large boobs complaining about her struggles. Sorry, it's probably annoying but just be thankful that your boobs are in proportion to your body.)

I guess it's not just boobs they forget, it's legs too. Let me and my short and stumpy legs shop in peace. Please. The correlation between height and size is wrong and, generally, just very confusing.

Clothes are complicated. Very complicated; dresses especially. How am I supposed to find a dress that fits when my lower half is screaming size 8 and my upper half a 10. Size 10 isn't massive, that's not the problem. The problem is that women come in all shapes and sizes and clothes shops just don't cater for that. I struggle into my size 8 tops knowing full well they may rip at any moment during the awkward putting on process. Or getting it off. They are both a struggle. It's no fun, trying to squeeze into outfits because, even if you had the money to get it in a bigger size, it then wouldn't fit the rest of your body.

To add to insult, there are clothes which look gorgeous. Petite summer dresses which you look at and think 'wow I want that. I want to look that cute'. But it just isn't meant to be. People have ideas in mind when they design clothes, of course they do but sometime things shouldn't be available if they are just going to look dreadful. Some clothes are designed for smaller sizes so don't try to make the same style dress suit a size 6 and a size 16, it isn't going to work.

Being short doesn't help the issue. Apparently if you're short you are a size 6/8 and tall a size 10/12 (we'll talk compared to my feeble 5"6 (that sounds about right, I don't know my exact height). Anything long is a no go; dresses, play suits, dungarees. You name it and I've probably tried it on and stood on tip toes trying not to fall over my own feet.

Are small people not allowed clothes? Please explain this to me. It's highly unreasonable for me and my short legs.

The other week I tried on a long play suit. Well, I say 'tried on' I attempted to try it on. It was unsuccessful. I got just below my hips before I thought to myself 'there is no hope struggling, this is not getting past my hips. My hips. My hips which stick out, like every other girl. Why is it so hard for retailers to comprehend that if something needs to go past my hips in order to be put on then it needs to be bigger. This was a size 10 play suit (one which, in all honesty, I probably would have tripped over anyway.)

Shopping is stressful enough as it is, don't make me guess which size I need to pick up today. Why is it that I can still fit into size 8's in New Look but have to buy size 12's at Topshop? Two whole sizes is way too broad, how the hell am I supposed to know which is the more accurate one? (Although in this case it's obviously New Look because I don't have the body that Topshop account for.)

It's no wonder really that clothes is almost always a no-go as presents go (unless it's for a man, then sizing seems to be miraculously easy) and let's not even get started on online shopping.

I guess I'm stuck. Lured in by New Look's summer sales and Primark's affordable (and reasonable, I'm not one to buy a £20 top, I don't see the point) prices. Trapped in the world of inaccurate sizing's and frustrating shopping. A world where size 6's are A cups and size 14's are D cups (sorry all, that's not quite how it works).

So don't worry lads, it's not just you being stupid, women's sizing makes no sense and confuses us too.

--- Aimee ---

Truck Festival (Take 2)

Ah Truck Festival, how wonderful you were (again). A weekend filled with laughs, music and festival food (Wok and Roll where were your tofu noodles at? I was looking forward to those but it was ok because the burrito from elsewhere made up for it.)

Attending with a first time festival goer my dad, it was quite an experience. Whereas a avid festival goer myself (yes, one previous festival makes me an avid fan) not much of the festival life bothered me, my dad's two complaints were the quality of the toilets (eh, understandable) and the lack of kebabs (less understandable).

It started off not so great when, after being at the festival for a few house I realised I had forgotten my hairbrush. What a moron. Saved by the high ponytail and the girl who leant me her brush (thanks you absolute babe) it proved to be less of a problem than I had first thought. It was, at least, less of a problem than the 'instant' porridge my dad had brought that was only 'instant' with milk and a microwave (someone didn't read the small print).

The camping side of things was actually pretty good (as good as camping can be that is) and it only took two attempts to fit the tent into the bag (pretty impressive if you ask me)

There were three major band highlights for me this year (oddly one for each day.)

On the Friday we saw Neck Deep and it was amazing. After seeing them in April (thanks Jack) I knew it would be brilliant and it did not disappoint. Handing over to the crowd for a verse of 'A Part of Me' made me melt inside. Utterly beautiful. It was one of those moments that there just aren't the words to describe the sensation. It was all worth it, even if it did result in a semi lost voice.

For me, the second highlight came on the Saturday night. Manic Street Preachers headlined (shout out to my dad for coming to the whole weekend when this was the only band he wanted to see.) The atmosphere was terrific. Opening with 'Motorcycle Emptiness' (I have never felt more alive than I did during this beautiful number) and ending with 'A Design for Life' the set could not have been better. Dragging my dad into the mosh pit (it wasn't the best mosh pit granted) proved to be very fun and not too injury worthy.

The third came with Kodaline's performance last night (although the water fight in the crowd prior to their performance was also pretty memorable). Despite not being an avid fan, I was able to enjoy their songs and the brilliant atmosphere which came with this. In all honesty I could have easily burst into tears during either 'The One' (an absolutely epic love song) or 'All I Want' (the saddest break up song I have ever heard. 'But if you loved me why did you leave me'. Everyone can relate to those lines, it is just magical.)

So that was Truck 2016, hoping to see you next year and if there is one thing that this weekend has taught me it's that you should never go braless if moshing may occur, it is not comfortable. (And also don't take chocolate to a festival and leave it in a tent, especially digestive biscuits but that is probably a given.)

--- Aimee ---

A Fed Up Feminist

'So women want to be treated equal but still want us to hold doors open for them?'

Oh sorry, did it inconvenience you to be a helpful person; not a gentleman, a person.

In 2016 do people really still believe equality is about holding doors open? Really? Like proper educated individuals?

Equality, believe it or not, cover issues a bit more serious than feeling like you have to hold a door open (you will never get those 10 seconds of your life back, what a tragedy).

It's time to rise and shine and smell the oppression (it probably smells like Lynx). Stop complaining about opening doors and start complaining that women are oppressed (it really would be a much better use of your time and I won't feel the urge to punch you.)

As a top that I fell in love with yesterday read (it was love at first sight), Fuck the Patriarchy.

Yes, there is an image of masculinity which is pushed upon but does it really impact you that much? Are you going to start working out because of the pressures in society or because you want to impress females and yourself?

Are you forever forced to be skinner in order to be pretty? Are you scrutinised for saying you love your body when society thinks otherwise? Are you made to buy bigger sizes at clothes shops (it really knocks your confidence) who cater for size 6 models because this is their ideal?

And why is it that almost any clothes shop feel the need to make women's clothes either; partially see through (where is the practicality?), lacy (come on, we all know lace is supposed to be sexy), low cut (we all know the degrading vocabulary which correlates with this), short (I'll probably be slut shamed for wearing a skirt anyway, do you need to make them so short?), uncomfortable (I don't think fashion is always worth it's pain), awkwardly sized (no, my hips and boobs aren't in proportion to the rest of my body, can we please stop assuming they are), sexist (yes Primark I'm talking to you with your pink love heart shaped football shirts, give it a break), tight (I'm always going to sweat so could we please make this less obvious when I do) or grey (talk about the sweat patches! Grey tops should not exist.)

Are you confined to the tiny area between too much makeup and not enough? Between too masculine but not feminine enough? Between too tall and too short? Too skinny and too fat? Too loud or too quiet?

Maybe I don't need to fit any criteria because I'm not trying to impress anyone. Why is anyone ever described as 'too' anything? What criteria are we trying to meet? It can't be perfection because society will never let us be perfect, or even feel it. Comfortable in our own bodies, where's the profit in that?

Do you have to face being degraded while being referred to as 'honey' or 'sweetie' or 'darling'? No, I'm not a 1950's housewife who is happy catering for her husbands needs so stop treating me like it. I don't care if you are male or female, don't refer to me in a way which states 'aw nice try, you did your best' or, more sexist-ly 'you did well (for a female)'. We all know that's what you mean. 'You did very well but you're a woman so you can't be that good can you?'

Do you get mocked for wanting equality? Do you get told to 'calm down' because you're a woman angry with her society? I think I have a perfectly good reason to be angry, stop making me feel bad for doing so. No, somebody is NOT on their period, somebody is fed up of being oppressed.

Do you grow up needing to learn how to be 'wife material' or are you instead told how you're going to 'break hearts' when your older? Do family friends comment on you being a 'fine young lady' (which we all know means being delicate, polite and attractive.) Are you pushed (from an early age) to believing you must have a family to be deemed someone who's 'made it'? Forced into believing a stable family home with kids (after marriage of course) is the ultimate goal. Are you questioned on whether you will be able to balance kids and a job? Will you be questioned upon offloading you kids for the day whilst you go to work (you've got to pay for the kids somehow).

Is your gender associated with being weak and incapable? In need of helping (a damsel in distress if you will). In need of a man to make her feel complete (just read a book or watch a sad film, it's much cheaper).

Do you have to fight for equality or do you already have it?

--- Aimee ---

Defining Emo

Define emo.

What springs to mind? Black? Metal? Piercings? Goth?

'This song makes me feel so emo'. Yes I have said that on many occasions when listening to classics such as Welcome To The Black Parade (how can you not feel emo listening to that?)

If I was to define 'emo' I would put it somewhere between screamo and punk; easier to understand than scream but deeper (and darker) than punk.

According to the reliable source that is Google, an emo 'is overly sensitive and full of angst or adopts a certain style characterized by dyed black hair, tight t-shirts and jeans'.

So, am I an emo?

I'm not ashamed to say that I dyed my hair black to be more emo, but I've come to the realisation that I'm not any more emo than a 5 year old boy who listens to Take That (who are/were (are they even together any more?) a pretty good band - this isn't me hating on them.)

Anyway, I don't know who I was kidding thinking a simple box (well two, oh the joys of thick hair) would magically transform me from the shy kid in class to a rebellious and, well, emo one I guess.

I guess a part of me wanted a change so I could at least pretend I was a different person. I still think that it makes me feel as though the friends I used to have really don't know me know, sometimes people don't recognise me and I'm happy about that. I'm happy that people who used to know me don't recognise me because I'm not the same person anymore and people should know that.

But honestly, I couldn't be emo if I tried.

I'm more like that shy kid that secretly (secretly meaning not hiding it, just not talking about it) listens to punk (or whatever the hell the music I listen to is actually classed as).

How can I say if I'm emo or not when I don't even know what an 'emo' is?

I'd like to think I'm too nice and approachable to be an emo (although I have been informed that people think I'm a bitch and am not approachable at all...oops). But is being 'emo' even about the type of person you are? Is it not more about the music you listen to? Even then which bands are exactly 'emo'?

Gerard Way stated that emo, to him, was 'fucking garbage' and 'a pile of shit' (his words not mine). Yet My Chemical Romance still feature majorly in discussions on the topic of emo music. It begs the question on who can define which genre(s) a band belongs to? Doesn't it depend on the album or even the song?

In my opinion The Black Parade is an emo (or at least what the majority of people class as emo) album whereas Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (what a rad album name) is not emo, nah (na, na na na, na na na), it's not even close.

But people have different opinions. Pop lovers think anything angrier than James Blunt (another fab artist - not a dig) are heavy bands.

Here's the thing, if you are ruling out any band who you class as 'emo' you are probably missing some truly great music. Some music is loud, some is angry, some focuses on real issues; it doesn't make them emo. Listen to different music and live a little, bring out your inner emo.

And, as I close this blog post (I'm not really sure if what I currently have has any purpose so I figure I'll end it here before I keep rambling on about things that might not even be emo), I realise the two most emo things in my room are my Green Day calendar (who aren't even emo) and my winged eyeliner (which I like to think is stylish and not just the singular aspect which groups me with other emos.)

I'm not emo and I never have been; oh well it was worth a try.

--- Aimee ---

<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/18231365/?claim=axy29ddygez">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>

Legally Blonde (and Highly Sexist)

After constant criticise for not having seen Legally Blonde (from Nicole due to it being her favourite film) I decided to give in and watch it.

My immediate reaction was 'wow this film isn't the girly piece of shit I was expecting' (no offence Nicole).

So yes the film was good. Very good actually. I really enjoyed it.

It had it's fair share of humorous and serious moments; just the right balance.

But, as (I hope) anyone who's seen the film knows, the film presents the audience with many sexist moments (displayed in a comedic way as to not offend of course).

Elle Woods. She is a stereotypical blonde. All about the fashion and beauty. Definitely not about the brains. All she cares for is a guy. She's the type of character that I would like to slap in the face and teach about real life, although, I do credit her self-motivation.

A brief overview if you haven't watched the film: Elle Woods chases after her ex boyfriend which leads to her going to Harvard to prove her worth to him (and doesn't even end up with him.)

Let's start with the fact that Elle is accepted into Harvard by a group of white, middle aged men with their decision purely being based on her looks. It's highly uncomfortable to watch a group of businessmen viewing a young woman as an object of pleasure.

These men didn't chose Elle because of her potential as a Law student, they chose her because of her looks. I'm sorry, did someone say sexism?

Despite the fact that this (I hope) wouldn't happen in real life, there are so many things that are wrong about this but there wouldn't be a film without this plot so I guess I'll leave it alone.

Studying Law purely to prove yourself to a guy screams sexism. No one is that committed, there really is more to life than a guy, especially one who doesn't even want you. The whole concept is borderline stalking and, switching which gender the character who is pursuing the other is, I'm sure this point would be picked up on a lot more.

Elle Woods is not a typical female success, it takes her while to understand her own capabilities. By the end of the film she is able to prove women can be 'girly' and be smart (and the ability to put this asset to good use.)

I guess it's okay not to address Legally Blonde as sexist; it was meant as a light-hearted girl power film, not a mockery of females.

But it does mock them. And, what's worse is that she's blonde. Poor girl, she really did have no hope.

And it's not as if it's Elle's fault. Her society has led her to believe she is incapable of being a success (well, based on her brains anyway.) It's no wonder the girl thrives in her beauty and fashion, what other choice does she have?

Yes, Elle is able to overcome the stereotypical image of a dumb blonde but you mustn't forget how she got there; by chasing a guy.

Thankfully, Elle doesn't get back with her ex and finally learns that she is more than just a pretty face; an excellent message to give. By the end of the film she seems to have her priorities right, focusing on her own success and forgetting her previous intention.

I'm not sure whether the whole thing is a comedic dig at blondes or if it's a realistic portrayal of female power. I finished the film with a lack of knowing how I really felt.

I strongly believe that, in the film, there are two versions of Elle Woods. Version one is girly, dumb, makeup loving and, to be honest, a character who I do not like. Version two however is strong, smart and capable; that's the kind of character I like to see.

I could never visual myself as Elle Woods at the start of the film, but Elle Woods at the end is something I think I could become.

Hell yeah I could become a female success but not to impress a guy, I wouldn't stoop so low.

--- Aimee ---

Calling Out Cat Callers

Summer. Cat calling. Oh don't those two fit hand in hand.

Last week I was lucky enough to be informed, through the act of cat calling, that men found me attractive. Oh what a privilege that was. Finally I could believe that I was beautiful. Thank god I could finally see my own beauty, my own worth...oh wait I've known that for years and it didn't come about because a few twenty something guys told me.

No, I don't like cat calling. No it's not complimentary; it's just plain rude.

It isn't because I'm a feminist.

It's because I'm a self respecting female who doesn't wish to be treated as an object.

Why, why, why. Why do people find it necessary to voice their opinions in a gross and degrading way.

Yes I often aim to look good but, if you're going to be distasteful about it then please just keep your opinions to yourself. I do not need your approval to feel good about myself. I do not base how I look on how many men I can catch the attention of.

Do people really still believe that is a nice and considerate thing to do? Have people ever believed that or has cat calling always been a way to show dominance and power?

Don't cat call me. Don't cat call me. Don't fucking cat call me.

I am a 17 year old girl. I am not an object who exists for your pleasure. I am going to go far in this world and no, it's not because of how I look.

Don't objectify me. I am a human being and I deserve to be treated like one.

I shouldn't have to think twice about what I'm wearing because I may get made to feel uncomfortable by men who seem to be unable to keep their opinions to themselves.

Am I being naïve about this whole thing? Am I missing something? Was the educating on how to be a moron something I missed out on because of my sex?

Cat calling is not appropriate, not in summer, not ever.

What do people gain from making others feel uncomfortable?

There is nothing and I mean nothing pleasant about being cat called. All it does is make that person feel like nothing more than an object who isn't even worthy enough to be respected as a human being.

So next time you open your foul mouth to shout some form of sexist remark, don't. Instead to something much nicer, be a decent human being and keep your mouth shut.

--- Aimee ---

Confessions of an Uninspired Writer

It's currently 21:11 and I have some time to spare so I figured I would blog.

I'm frantically looking round my room trying to find an object which will spark off a genius idea for a post but so far I have had no luck.

I guess that it would help matters if my room wasn't so full of uninteresting 'organised' crap.

Oh I could talk about my DVD collection and how I have only watched half of them. Or maybe talk about my Dr Who box sets and how, despite love for it I haven't actually watched an episode since last summer. It's not that I haven't wanted to but I just know once I start the first episode I won't stop there and I have more important things to do than binge watch four series of Dr Who. (No I do not see how you could watch any series since David Tennant left.)

Maybe I could write something about the books hidden in my wardrobe and how they have shaped my life in the most magical way. I mean sure, I could do that but there is that fact I have only read less than a quarter of the books I own. There are well over 50 book sat lonely on my shelf that I haven't even considered to read since I brought it.

One day I will get round to it and have the time and the effort to read them, I don't want to not experience the wonders that lie between the pages, what a waste that would be. Sure I haven't got round to it yet but at least they look pretty.

Is there perhaps something to say in the jars of artsy crap I brought last summer when I was certain that I would really get into sewing and being creative. I'm still holding on to the hope that one day I will put all those materials to good use.

What about the keyboard hidden out of sight in my wardrobe, purchased second hand four years ago and the most I've used it was for about a week last summer. Sure, I learnt a few songs but only the notes, I didn't have the patience or skill to start learning chords too.

Maybe I could write about the clutter that is currently sat in the top of my wadrobe but what's the point, if it's not worthy enough to have on display in my room then it's probably not worthy enough of me writing about it.

Is it worthwhile me mentioning my collection of Me to You bears in my window which are just sitting there and getting dusty as the days pass? Maybe I should shamefully mention that I just had to move and check what they were actually called because it's been at least three years since my collection has been added to so now they are just a piece of who I was which have far too many memories attached to for me to get rid of.

Could I write to admit that I am wearing aged 8-10 Disney pyjama bottoms which make me feel like Jennifer Aniston in that episode of Friends where she looked super cute...who am I kidding, that is literally every episode. I'm just as shocked as you that these bottoms still fit me, have I not grown at all in 7 years? Oh well, it would be a lie to say this is the only piece of clothing which I should have outgrown long ago.

If I glance left I can see masses of CD albums, most of which have been neglect. Not neglected in an awful way, just in the sense they haven't been listened to since purchase. Do I admit that my music varies from Steps and Westlife to My Chemical Romance and Slaves?

In all honesty my eyes keep wandering back to my elephant duvet and how I have a supposed 'elephant obsession'. I didn't think I did or maybe it just never considered it. It's only a duvet, ornament, canvas, necklace, dress and teddy (and phone case as I have just been reminded.) Alright maybe I see where this rumour came from.

In the most basic form, all that makes up my room belong to three groups; who I am, who I was and who I one day hope to be. Hmm, I've never of thought of it in that way until now. Maybe I don't need half this stuff. Maybe I should move on from some of the things which, unpleasantly, remind me of who I was. Maybe I should give in and accept I may never use my artsy stuff, perhaps it has always been a lost cause that I just haven't accepted.

Do I now confess that I had meant to write a really deep post but in reality have just written about what I can see in my room? Not that it's all bad, my room is pretty damn cool and, for once, pretty flipping tidy too.


--- Aimee ---