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 ---
Thursday, 6 October 2016
Monday, 19 September 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Thursday, 8 September 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Thursday, 1 September 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Friday, 26 August 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Thursday, 18 August 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Wednesday, 17 August 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Wednesday, 10 August 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Tuesday, 9 August 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Tuesday, 26 July 2016
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 ---
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 ---
Monday, 18 July 2016
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 ---
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 ---
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Truck Festival (Take 4)
Nearing the end of festival season in the UK, it is probably about time I got round to posting my annual Truck Festival piece. 2018 marked...
