"There is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them.
But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for"
- Paulo Coelho
If only it was easy to decide what is worth fighting for, to decipher my dreams. I've never been so mixed up.
I'm trapped in a weird non-love triangle (oh sweet irony) and trying to decide what to do with my future, when both sides of the coin have their strengths and weaknesses.
Focussing on what is do-able right now. Namely, packing up my summer life for a return to Nottingham tomorrow. Hopefully my thoughts will clear on the drive down. xo.
Currently curled up on my bed (accompanied by a cat, naturally) while I plow through Ian McEwan's 'Saturday' for my Literature module this coming term. I don't know whether it's my over-spilling hatred for his book 'Atonement' or my apathy towards the central character, but I find myself rather bored. I don't know why. I'm aware of what I like in a novel, and McEwan is actually ticking most of the boxes... tempted to wrap the book cover in paper so I can ignore who it's written by and actually appreciate it.
Heading back to Nottingham on Wednesday! YAAAY! My room is like a bomb-site at the moment, and I don't imagine it will get any better when I'm in packing mode. Oh dear. xo.
I find holidays between Uni to be quite strange now. I, along with many of my old school friends, have been busy toiling in various internships or jobs (or working for free, like a chump, as I did) and as such it's been one of the weirdest times to try and be social. I find myself layering semi-translucent images of my friends up, to create a collage of their current selves.
The base layer is who I remember them as from my final year at school, the image of the person that I had formed over the many (or few) years that I had known them. By the summer of my first year, already there were new layers; new relationships, their course, new stories, changed habits.
So by this point, I find myself already adding the layers of things that haven't happened yet - plans for 21st birthdays (dear God, we're getting old...), plans for graduation, holiday plans, job offers (or a lack of them), 4th years at Uni for some, gap years for others.
In conclusion, I have a multitude of overlapping images, and no real idea of what life will be like after Uni. Weird.
I spent last night eating delicious burgers and sipping cocktails with some of my closest homegirls and other friends, as we said goodbye for another term. I had spent my lunchtime in a similar situation, saying goodbye to by dearest Elf (aka bff) over chips and bagels in our tiny village cafe. Yes, it was an unhealthy day. Bad times. But it was the perfect end to the summer. I am trying to see as many people as possible this week, before I pack my life up again for 3rd year next week. Bring it on.
Time to settle down with Liquorice for company, and Ed Sheeran's amazingggg album '+' for a soundtrack. Not too shabby at all. I'm gonna miss this cat. Xo.
I think everyone can still remember where they were when they heard the news about 9/11.
My ten year old self was on the school bus home. My usual bus-mate Sophie had got picked up that afternoon instead, so I was bored, staring out of the window at the passing countryside. I was tuning out much of the noise of the other kids, and trying to tune my poor hearing into the radio instead.
I caught snatches of what was happening. The tone of the newsreaders caught my attention and held it, as I strained harder to hear. I didn't fully understand; words like 'terrorist' flew by me, but 'attack' and 'planes' informed me sufficiently that something bad was happening.
When I stepped off the bus, amid the other chattering, oblivious children, my Mum's tense face as she grabbed my little sister and took my hand confirmed my subconscious assumption. Once we were bundled into the car, she had the radio turned right up, which was unusual because my Mum doesn't like driving with the radio on generally. Hearing the news properly for the first time, I was confused. My young brain understood that something was desperately wrong, but the full idea of what the terrorists had actually done had not even entered the deep recesses of my darkest nightmares.
I grew up that day.
Watching the news at home, watching the burning towers, watching them tumble in the blink of an eye - that was when it finally registered in my numb brain the horrors of what humans can achieve.
I was a naive child, I fully accept that. I didn't watch the news, thinking it was something only for grown-ups. I was content with my Disney films and happy cartoons. I had stood at the top of those towers mere months before, in the weak May sunshine, feeling on top of the world. Our hotel had been right at the base of the Trade Centre, and would surely have been destroyed.
My perception of the world was altered then, forever, as I sat with my mother, who was crying. I'd never seen her cry before.
My heart sank today, when I realised that the majority of my memories - of my life really, for I hold little claim to the actions I have no memory of - have occured during a time of war. I can hardly remember a time before - before news of suicide bombings, of air raids, of more lives lost. We become desensitized to this news. Horrifyingly ironic, as the family of those who have died would surely wish to be desensitized to the gnawing pain of knowing that their loved one will never return.
Nearly 3000 people died in one day. And surely millions have died in repercussions over the past ten years, either directly from warfare or the after-effects of the attacks. Thousands are suffering the health effects of the destroyed towers, of the asbestos and dust and destruction. Thousands of lives have been altered, irreparably.
We will never forget. And rightly so. The bravey and courage of so many people, in the face of such tragedy, should never be forgotten. xo.
