Dear Bubba

I cannot (I don't know whether this is a good thing to admit) stop listening to "Little Me" by Little Mix. I think it's brilliant! And yet, for all the market music manipulation and the potential cheesy-ness that the lyrics may suggest; it has alot of meaning for me.

Know matter what you think you might want to tell yourself, what morals you want to uphold and what you want to have in the finer details of your life, it is inevitable that something won't quite go to plan.

As a little bubba, she didn't know that she was going to grow into me. And the me of the present doesn't know what the future me has in store. What kind of values I might change. Where I want to be working. Nothing is concrete which makes life all the more interesting.

But what you can do with your life choices is look back.

This is me as a little bubba, less than, or around, a year old in 1995 ...

Things change so drastically that it's sometimes hard to keep on top. So I want to offer some (probably pointless) advice to my little self. You can't change the past, and by publishing this post, I'm not hoping to do so but to just get thinking. What would I do if I could re-write the years of my life?

These thoughts on the past are the medicine of the future. The footsteps I have taken will now point the way that I am headed :D  

So here goes; 

Dear Bubba, 

One of the first things I'd let you know is that you should never have to be anyone other than yourself. 

Individuality has always been something I've struggled with. I didn't, when I was younger, quite know how to deal with the concept of being different. It took me a long time to bring the confidence I have at home into the outside world. To stop walking as though the world was watching. Talking as though everyone was listening. And looking how I thought everyone wanted me to look. One of the biggest examples that show that I've finally come further than my inward teenage self was a conversation that only happened this Christmas between me and my brother.

  Undoubtedly, University has given me quite a bit of confidence and gave me the opportunity to start with a clean plate and to present my true self without any inhibitions. When I went back to visit my A-level college I felt alien in the fact that so many people remarked on how much I had changed. 

  I rarely let myself fully flow at school. School for me was somewhere that gave me an education and shoved me out into the world of work. I held onto my school years, almost with my life, and was quiet, as though I was trying to get on Fate's good side and plea with it to let me stay young forever. In truth, I was petrified of leaving home. 

  So as I took my reinvigorated self down the all-too-familiar corridors of classrooms where the teachers within no longer belonged to me, I struck up at least one remark from everyone who I spoke to regarding how much I'd changed. I felt I had. I was a new woman! 

  But it wasn't until I got home one day when my brothers came in from school that I realised it was as I had always imagined. My brothers told me that the teachers I had seen that morning had informed them of my presence within the school and I distinctly remember what one of them said;

"(So and so) said that you've changed so much but you haven't really. You were always like this at home."

That, as much as anything, affirmed the kind of person that I had now allowed myself to be and who I should have let shine every single day of my life. 

*

Dear Bubba, 

Don't try and copy the dress sense of everyone else. 

The aim of many of my secondary school days become focused on finding a way to infiltrate into the semantics of the word 'cool'. But I couldn't. I couldn't change the fact that I preferred being in the library; reading than sitting out in the freezing cold on a bench. Or that a high hoicked skirt and blazer wasn't sufficient to cover me from the chill. Nor that I had to eat more than just a plain pot of pasta ALL DAY because I'd pass out with hunger otherwise. 

  But though I couldn't change those fundamental aspects of eating, school wear and past-times, I still was given opportunity to be a talking point when it came to mufti days. What I didn;t know was that it was all for the wrong reasons. I could tell endless tales of my fashion faux-pas'. From wearing tiny hot-pants in the spring, getting a wedgy in class and being cautioned by the matron to co-ordinating a hot pink roll-neck jumper with a matching woolen cardigan and jewels on my jeans in a similar pink hue. No wonder I had my mum to dress me day in, day out until I was in year 8. To be honest, for a few years afterwards, she probably shouldn't have stopped!

  I have a big passion for hair despite the fact that I hated mine until I was 13 and I especially LOVE Afros!!! Wild; they're such a massive expression of a personality. And tamed under plaits they're so effortless. I once, in year 7, took it upon myself to copy this; tying my hair into 5 uneven plaits that hung over my face and awkwardly around my ears. I thought I was the bees knees!

*

Dear Bubba,

Don't eat garlic and mayonnaise sandwiches after school and think you can get away with it!

I had, and still have, gigantic cravings for garlic. So much so that after school I would come in and fold a piece of white bread in half, smother it with mayo and dash it with dried, chopped garlic. Then I would cut it into 4's and eat it like there was no tomorrow. My mum would sometimes ask whether I'd been eating garlic, a question that required me to hastily deny the knowledge that garlic even existed before slinking off to my room to mask the smell with chocolates and biscuits. 

*

Dear Bubba, 

You don't have to be afraid. 

Lack of confidence is something that has effected me my ENTIRE life. Naturally I'm not a very confident person and it takes something inside me to stir before I can be so. For me, this year gaining confidence has been about making a new start. When you can get rid of all the previous assumptions people have about you and focus on creating new memories it makes finding your voice so much easier. 

*

Dear Bubba, 

You don't have to try to break into singing or acting (when you can do neither) just because you don't think you have a calling in life. Something will crop up. 

There have been countless occasions in my life when I wasted afternoons looking at acting placements or coached myself in the art of scales. I always felt quite useless at anything when I was a child. But with determination I've got myself through my weaknesses to find my strengths and I've become a much better person for it. 

*

Dear Bubba, 

Honesty is the best policy but ...

We've all been there; caught between 2 friends, neither of whom we want to hurt but both of whom we feel that we need to support. I was often found lying to protect people and, later on, being too honest to be faithful to the Truth - neither of which worked. If I had anything I had to say to little me it would be, tell the truth but sometimes the whole truth isn't necessary. Keep those who mean anything and everything close to you and don't hurt those who aren't. 

*****

I don't think one blog post was really big enough for me to record everything I would want to tell myself. But this is just a start. Bubba - take note. 

Obsession 5

In case you haven't noticed, I love to smile!! :D

One of my favourite photos from my baby albums is this one: 

But, if you poured through my photo album, I didn't always smile nor know how. 

After I got braces it took an incredibly long time to smile, especially through the horribly condescending meetings with the orthodontist and the fact that the wires meant that every time I laughed my lip got caught on the top. I had to pull my lip down over the brace just to close my mouth. 

There was a time in secondary school when I didn't smile much. I felt as though, being moody helped me fit in. Somehow I got to the equation that more people would speak to me if I was 'normal'. 

But after a while, I figured that my version of normal - which was smiling and laughing stupidly - made me happier. I didn't need to worry about infiltrating the 'cool' group or having a boyfriend. I smiled my days through, reminding myself to do it everyday and soon the cheesy show of teeth broke into  routine. 

The only tolerable type of pain is when you've been laughing too much and when you think you're going to be sick from laughing too much!

And with multiple mantras, including the words 'laugh', 'smile' and 'love', I have this very simple one to share: 

Just keep smiling!!!

Obsession 4

I love PETS AT HOME!! I'm crazy about it!!

I've always been very fond of pet shops with animals on sale and the cleanliness and beauty of the pets in Pets At Home just inspires you to buy all of them!!! 

I particularly enjoy looking at the rabbits. Musing at their thoughts. How they eat. What they eat. They're gorgeous!!

This shop is a very worthy contender for Obsessive Tuesdays. This is number 4. 

(Here's a few snaps from my most recent visit) 

Under the sea ... under the sea ...

I remember the first time I looked underwater.

The sea, from above, always looks so scary. A distorted version and poor mix of colours, shades and depths. Though I could happily swim in the sea - provided I didn't go out too far - I wasn't quite ready to bring clarity to the ill-manufactured still.

One beach day on holiday I finally made a pact to at least look. Snorkelling was what people do on holiday. I had pet fish at home. When I got older, maybe I wouldn't want to do handstands and play on surfboards all my life (in that there was needless worry). I ought to just check. 

I was speaking with a friend, who, if I remember rightly, was in the midst of a full-fronted ramble. I dropped the hairband that I had on my arm at my feet on purpose as I slowly zoned out, paddling my feet in the sea. 

"Oops!" I whispered, stopping her momentarily. I pulled the goggles I had been twirling on my arm onto my face and bent to pick up the band. 

The water was so clear and there were little grey fish ebbing away from my black hairband that was drifting with the current. I grabbed it and surfaced.

"Wow!! It's a different world down there!! It's a different world down there!!"  

My friend was unfazed. I suppose she had already seen the spectacle that had shocked me so much. 

Steadily a love of the sea developed and encapsulated everything I did. I went home and swapped Barbie's for plush lobsters and fish and a box. I made my own aquariums and watched reefs on TV.

Still to date one of my favourite programmes is "Blue Planet". I can't get enough of the majestic ways of the sea and how, as humans, we have been purposefully denied the priveledge of being part of the underwater world. 

I would say that God made us without the capabilities to breathe underwater or produce a film over our eyes to fashion homemade goggles. But, if you don't believe in God, and believe in evolution instead, the concept still holds. We have been denied that opportunity. It was only because of human skill and craftsmanship that we have protruded on the land of the fish. 

However, there are many lessons to be learned from the sea. 

When the Killer Whale comes into any animal programme or conversation, I squirm inside. I've watched countless attacks of Killer Whales on baby Humpbacks and the process doesn't seem fair. 

So, there I was looking for something less gruesome than another episode of Heroes, when along comes a nursing mother and baby on Blue Planet. You can almost tell by David Attenborough's voice that there is some malicious content on it's way. This Killer Whale pod chases a mother and baby for 3 hours. Then once the baby is tired enough, they separate it from the mother, drown it, kill it, eat it's tongue and leave it. 13 months carried by the mother. Something like a month of Earth and gone - all for it's tongue. 

We can almost match this injustice with our own kind. Murderers; who take lives for no reason. People who steal babies. Arsonists; who start fires. All for what? Not much more than a tongue. 

But, even though I had seen the wonders of the underwater world, I was still fairly scared and it took me a while to go out and swim in the delicate covering of the bikini, knowing that I was exposing myself to the fish and (moreover) jellyfish. It wasn't a very inviting welcome!

But after a while, every beach meant snorkelling. Every empty shoreline meant going deeper. And every glimpse of coral meant finding more. 

I absolutely love the sea, and though I don't believe that as humans we were ever given the right to steal glimpses of the sea, I so glad that we have. 

Those winter nights ...

I live in the most amazing city and the most amazing part of it too! I absolutely love it! 

When I began looking for Unis in year 13 I had absolutely no clue where to start. Location, at this point had nothing to do with it. I was living in Dubai and I knew that my family wouldn't be coming back to the UK with me. So I could have gone anywhere with a 7 hour flight or a 3,000 mile distance. It seemed that the University I went to wasn't important either. 

I reckon I'm more of a creative person rather than an academic one. I can get by in exams and coursework but it always seems that no matter how much I do, I never quite make it. I had never been so stressed in my LIFE when I took my A-levels and I still didn't manage to get the grades I thought I was working towards. In a way, working like that, constantly, put me off academic learning for the rest of my life. I wanted to know new things but studying for fun with a £9,000 investment each year didn't seem value for money. 

Still, I poured through a whole manner of degrees from international development (something I would actually have really liked to do) to creative writing - a subject that would have made my dream degree. 

But it's virtually unheard of to do something 'fun' at a Russell Group University. Don't get me wrong; I absolutely love studying English and Spanish and the intellectual factor makes me feel a less than a little girl and more like an adult. But conjugating verbs and writing dissertations that have an indoctrinated style is a far cry from the freelance capacity of a creative writing student. 

When I finally found a degree and selected some unis, one of which - Southampton - was somewhere I'd often visited, I began to half-resent the idea of going back to the UK. 

I enjoyed the sun, but from an English-born-and-bred point of view, it's hard to imagine how frustrating the constant sun can become. There is little respite or inspiration for change. But the more I thought about Southampton, the more I fell in love. The campus was so green and breezing around the lanes just seemed so homely. Something really had clicked. 

I absolutely love the scenery and those gorgeous winter nights. 

And the multi-coloured rhinos :D

Obsession 3

"Hiiya, how're you? How's the kids?" is the kind of conversation I should be having with Papa John.

This one goes without saying. With an obsession with food and eating in general comes an appreciation of Italians and more over pasta and pizza!

My third biggest obsession is pizza!

ATTRACTIVE?!

I remember when I was in year 3, with the over-reaching and lucrative brain that tried to match itself with everyone else. It seems that, until 3 years ago, all I wanted to do was be 'normal' or, at least, a form of insanity accepted by all.

We had a task in the computer labs - when ICT was actually a fun subject that brewed many of the computer technicians and designers of the future - to write a small poster about ourselves.

How fun! It always seemed when we were younger that we were in love with ourselves. I certainly was at that age. We found our misshaped eyebrows a point to rave about and the fact that we had chocolate for breakfast was something that everyone "needed" to know.

So I set to typing, adding clipart and all!

What do I like? 

So, in between writing about how I liked animals, wanted to be a popstar and enjoyed when my mum went out to evening classes because dad would let us stay up later than was per usual, I managed to squeeze in that I liked eating pizza.

Where this came from I have no idea. At this point, I barely ate pizza, except sniffing it as I walked past the canteen with my cool bag full of fruit, yogurt and sandwiches which were subject to hefty scrutiny before consumption.

But (I think) I liked the idea. I envied the children who walked out to lunch play with orange stains at the sides of their mouths - a sure sign of a satisfying meal. I liked how they were still able to devour their lunch from the smell of their breaths and a small sniff of their hands and by a simple lick at the corners of their lips. If I wanted to re-taste my lunch, I'd have to burp. LOUDLY.

But somehow, having had little pizza experience, I suddenly; in Dubai, began to crave the stuff. I put in a request for a family Papa John's night when I went home this Christmas.

I'm hooked.

I fantasize over pizza. I replay the chefs I've seen in Domino's lathering soft dough in tomato puree, then dashing it with cheese amongst other toppings. I create slow-motion videos in my mind of mozzarella melting on a pizza base.

I love it hot, cold and dipped in garlic sauce!

Day at the Zoo

For as long as I've known, I've been in love with animals and until year 11 I had set my mind on becoming a zoo keeper. So I really can't resist opportunities that let me go to the zoo or the farm.

Like today! :D

When my nan asked what I'd like to do; a toss up between a walk and visiting Amazon World Zoo Park which was, eventually, decided for by the rain, we ended up being the only 2 in the park.

There are very few things I like to do more than spend time with animals and so this afternoon was a real treat.
I tend to go for monkeys. Since my favourite animal is the Orang-utan, primates seem to float my boat!

Yet this trip was surprising and completed by the emergence of 2 Canadian otters. We had been waiting for the ocelot feed but, instead, had been lured by a sleepy face poking out through the hay in the neighbouring cage. The small female gave a yawn, scrutinising our faces, and then stole back the warmth of her hut. But eventually as her mate; a much larger and evermore curious male - who we later found to be named; Fingle - limped out she was tempted to make her debut. 

Fingle, detaching himself from Maple (the female) walked over to a corner and began eating a form of liquid that left a mustard rim under his nose. 

Peanut butter.

The pair wasted no time in fooling around in the (what-must-have-been) freezing water. They were Canadian and so I assumed they could handle it, but still the thought made me shiver. They dipping in, lacing around one another and then taking it in turns to attack the polystyrene 'rocks' of their cage.

They were so fluffy and adorably cute - a rather simplified and childish description. But they were absolutely gorgeous!! So I think I've found my new love and, yet another, obsession: Otters!

Excuse me?!

The world, as we know it, is a beautiful place with beautiful places; the New Forest, Bali, Niagara Falls. It's full of unexplained occurrences and in a atmosphere that stretches to lengths unknown. And you'll find people; helpful, caring, generous. On some days of, particularly, high spirits, it is hard to fault our earth.

That is, until we become aware of awards like this:

The World's Ugliest Woman. What kind of disgusting world is this?!

When I saw this video posted on Facebook about Lizzie Valesquez, I was absolutely shocked. For one, she's most definitely not even ugly!

But immediately, after I'd thought that, I stepped back. 

Woah! Woah! Woah!

Why did I have a right to decide if anyone was ugly? If I was saying that Lizzie, I must have a concept of ugly and beautiful. There must be a pattern in my mind; a template or checklist, that needs to be fulfilled. Why was I even thinking like this? How could I, even if I didn't voice my opinions, have this schematic selection of a person based on looks. 

And, I guess, for all of us, it's the same. 

One of the things I like about the world is that (I believe) everyone has a soulmate. Someone who we're searching for. No one doesn't have one. If you never get married but you do want to, that's not a sign that you're not loved. It's just that you haven't been in the right place, at the right time. And so, when we find our soulmates, we realise that everyone has different perceptions of beautiful. 

I'm not going to be the only one to say (and I know this sounds awfully crude and horrible) that I've sometimes passed couples and thought;

He/ she's going out with them? 

And then I've quickly reverted back to my philosophy; everyone has different concepts of beautiful. 

And it's horrible! It's horrible that I can't help myself thinking these thoughts! But, with the reinforcement of the mantra; 'beauty is only skin deep', hopefully there will be a time where none of that superficial judgement will reside within me. 

It is for this reason, that I have a big aversion to beauty contests. I'll glance at the picture but will look no further into it. 

Miss Universe - how condescending! The woman who wins this title is meant to be the most beautiful lady in the whole world!! But, first of all, not everyone is going to find her attractive! It's just an affirmation of the image of the body that judges on the panel think we should all be aiming for. Thigh gaps, wavy brunette hair, pearly ocean white teeth. 

But what's even more aggravating is that the most beautiful woman in the world (if there is such a thing) may not have even entered the competition! She might be at home, with children to look after, a job, a voluntary placement. Maybe she doesn't have time to enter. And so, for all the money and publicity spent on the event, the winner might not even be the winner. 

Beauty is such a problem in the world! I often like to think, if we were given a separate sense that would aid our navigation - like super sensitive noses and hands that translated our designs into buildings - the world would be better off blind. 

For all the stick and horrible torture that Lizzie suffered from cyber bullies who put her name and face to the world's ugliest caption, she has come out strong. She has been able to reach out to people and educate them about beauty. She is a true inspiration to all.

I've just attached this video below if you're interested in finding out more about Lizzie. This is the video that I watched when I first heard about Lizzie.

Please enjoy and take on the words of wisdom that she has to offer :D 

Well, Thanks For Your Input !!!

There is never a time when a criticism can't be better used.

I've been a writer for the University newspaper since the beginning of term and, I suppose, as a journalist you have to be open to controversy. That is a fact that I wholly accept. But when you don't even write anything offensive, criticism is completely unnecessary!

If I had to decide, I'd say that I was more of a blogger than a journalist. My mind isn't adapted for this structural conveying of information with specific points and targets than need to be met in order to keep the reader entertained. My mind is wild and rambles beyond belief but in a bid to broaden my horizons I tried writing for the newspaper.

I stick mainly to opinion articles because I know that's what I can get away with. It's just my opinion - I don't have to be write. And because it is my opinion, I get excited by the fact that I might spark debate.

One of the latest articles to be published under my name was "We wouldn't hurt a fly" which examined thug culture in Britain. Admittedly it wasn't one of my best pieces, it was a piece I used
to break into this type of writing to develop a certain professional style. But, even though it might not have been a righteous article for publication, the editor of the section deemed it good enough to be featured. And so it was put up on the website for the whole University to peruse at their leisure and negate my views should they so desire.

On many of my articles, I'd never had a comment before. I assumed my writing just got brushed away as a topic of little importance, but at least, I figured, I was building my portfolio.

So when I saw that I had a comment on the thug culture article, my heart leapt a little. But it was for a completely different reason that it was still jumping after I closed the window.

The comment wasn't bad but it still knocked me.

I love the unrelated part about celebrities, it read.

I had written that bit mainly to up the word count so it would be of suitable length. And at the time I thought that celebrity influence was an additional viewpoint that would provide insight into the problem.

Perhaps it wasn't. And perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it. Maybe it was irrelevant. I didn't really know why I cared so much about someone else's opinion on my work. I was looking for the spark to start a meaningful debate, but when I got a frank and useless comment, I was suddenly thrown.

I found myself thinking of retaliation. I felt the need to craft ridiculous speech.

"Yeah well ... well ... well, I've got an interview at Gregg's, so there!"

I didn't have an interview at Gregg's. I don't know why anyone would have cared if I did. But I felt like it would be some backlash, something that would make that user stop in their tracks. I thought it was like a warning: Don't mess with me!!!

It wasn't.

But for all the worrying I had done on the subject, just one simple classic song filled the room.

"You need me, I don't you."

It's funny how music can do that. Calm storms, ignite flames, burst rivers.

I listened to the song, the careful matrix of the lyrics. Ed Sheeran was right; I didn't need them. In the first place, I didn't even know why I was getting worked up. I already knew that, but I just needed someone to tell me. 

I'm a first year and though I'm not a baby, I could do with guidance. Perhaps the slight cast on the day wouldn't have been there had someone commented;

I don't think this part should be there. 

I feel defiant to change it for their sake. So now I'll leave it posted; wrong. Some people are just so quick to criticize.

Thank goodness for Ed!

I'm a Grown Up!

It doesn't take much to feel accomplished; a coffee in hand, walking home with 2 bagfuls of groceries, organising a trip on your own, having your shoes heeled.

And, when you find that special something that takes you - if only momentarily - through to adulthood, suddenly self-consciousness disappears.  You become a good version of yourself; smiling with head held high.

It's weird, how something as simple as putting your signature at the bottom of a piece of paper can make you feel accomplished. 

The concept of signing a contract; after you've scribbled your name, suddenly becomes more grave. But the act of holding the pen and writing can change you. It's bizarre. Like I could write my initials on a piece of toilet paper and sending it hurtling down the loo and I might have, unknowingly, signed myself up for some secret agreement with sewage maintenance.

That wouldn't make me feel proud. I wouldn't hold my head high.

But suddenly if you change the loo roll for crisp A4 with printed lettering and ominous words, it seems more significant.

I guess, in the adult mind, we don't believe that there are men on the receiving end of your toilet, like we are able to as a child.

I, reckon I'm still a child. A big one. But nevertheless, signing my first house contract gave me a sense of achievement. I have entered an adult world I didn't really need to be in.

So now, to add to my collection of names; lean, marsha, mash (my parents' choices), unemployed, child and student ... I can now add 'tenant'.

Laura; the tenant.

Back to black

It is with great difficulty and a strong acquisition of knowledge that one may find himself in two countries at the same time.

And it may be the beauty of the flight that changes this improbability into reality. You find yourself duplicated in the lengthy dreams of the world which you have just left and musings on your new destination. You realise, furthermore, the solidification of your destination. It was once, a few minutes ago, a future imagining that suddenly bore meaning as it strengthened into colours; greens, blues, greys. Into viscosity and violent truth.

I know my family lives on in this shell of a country that, being once my reality, is now a future (and past) imagining. I can no longer touch where they are but know that the place in which they live, and themselves, is true simply because I was once there and keep it alive in my memory and expectation.

And so, I am in two places at once; the physicality of my being and the emotional transportation of my mind.

Obsession Number 2

Here comes obsession number 2 ... OLLY MURS!! 

I absolutely love Olly Murs; his voice, his smile, his music. I love his style - how he dresses for videos and photo shoots and I've been pretty obsessed with him since he released he's first single after The X Factor. 

I wouldn't say he's my idol, though. For me, an idol is someone you aspire to be and I don;t see myself singing or growing a beard any time soon.

My favourite song of his is Dear Darlin' with Right Place, Right Time in a close second.

I was actually so 'fanatically engaged' (shall we say) with him that I watched this video: 

And this one ...

... more than once. I think he's a real gentleman and getting to meet him would be a dream come true!