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Thursday, 22 December 2016

Wednesday, 21 December 2016

3 Days Until Christmas

Christmas is really such a lovely time. When I'm not stressing about buying presents or making the arrangements to balance three different families in a period of two days. But then I remember that some people do not even have one family to plan the holiday with and I am then overwhelmed with appreciation. 

My own home is not very festive. One of the things I look forward to when moving out is being able to decorate, have both friends and family over for drinks and food, and the all-round happy and positive vibes this occasion produces will make it less likely for arguments to break out. 
My nanna and pop are not big on the occasion though they celebrate it with family. There are no decorations. No Christmas related movies each night we reach one day closer to the 25th of December.

Unlike my boyfriend's house whose mother and brother has decorated with all sorts of christmas lights, hanging stars, a christmas tree, ornaments and a blow up santa in the front yard. 

I myself am not a very religious person. As I have mentioned before I am religious in my own way but do not conform to a particular religion so I don't see Christmas as a day that Jesus was born. Like my mother had said; would Jesus have wanted us to spoil our children with toys on his day of birth when the unfortunate kid down the road gets a gift from the two dollar shop? I don't think so.
But the idea of giving to one another is still quite lovely. And the getting together of families is lovelier. Seeing cousins and distant relatives you don't see very often but still share many younger memories with.

My boyfriend's aunty, uncle and two young cousins came from Canada for the holiday. The first time in seven years.
His mother had only gone on about it for a year - exceptionally excited to see her once baby sister again. And I only hope that when time passes and our lives become different and go down separate paths, that my siblings and I will remain close and use this holiday as an opportunity to be reunited again, no matter where our lives may lead us.

These ideologies and sudden feelings of gratification for my family and life weren't quite like this the last Christmas, or the Christmas before. 
I couldn't purchase presents and I rarely got along with my nanna and pop so why would I want to spend the holiday with them? But I am glad to say that maturity has slowly changed this, and although we may not see eye to eye, I appreciate them and their perspective nonetheless. 

But what I want to say is that I am truly so appreciative of my boyfriend's family. Especially his mother - who has provided me with mothering advice and mothered me when my own mother was an hour drive away and had younger children to deal with. Sitting around with their family, meeting my boyfriend's aunty and talking and making jokes with his uncle has given me the sensation that I belong. I don't feel out of place. Or like a distant relative. They have taken me in as one of their own. 

My sarcastic and often misunderstood humour is accepted and laughable with them. 
Boyfriend's uncle said whilst discussing back in the teenage years about alcohol being purchased from a weirdo outside the bottle shop: only problem about that nowadays is that weirdo makes porn and sells illegally...
Me: when did that start happening? About the same time you became a dad? 
That earned a few chuckles. 

And of course I am appreciative of my boyfriend too. I feel like home with him and he has brought me into a family I had always wanted. 


Monday, 19 December 2016

The Reality of Music Festivals

If you asked me a year ago not necessarily what I thought, but how I felt about Music Festivals, I would smile, butterflies would be released into my stomach, I would suddenly feel an overpowering nostalgia and excitement towards the topic and would reply with, "I love them".

I really did.

My first music festival was in the year 2014 at Groovin the Moo in Bunbury WA, when I was seventeen. Apart from photographs of the previous years, I didn't really know what to expect when the weekend came. My best friend and I packed our bags, got picked up by another friend and we began the roadtrip down south, playing music from a playlist dedicated to the acts playing. We were excited. I couldn't bloody wait.

The day came. We took shots in the car on the drive there. We were all tipsy by the time we arrived, hiding the pills we planned to take where security couldn't find them. We got inside and I was blown away. I guess the fact that we were quite far from home contributed to this feeling that I felt, resembling that of being far far away with so many possibilities but also a sense of freedom. 
The music festival held many alternative and Indie artists so the attendees consisted much of hippies and everyone had a smile on their face. 

Everyone was so nice that if you were alone for a moment you didn't feel that way at all. The first act we saw was Andy Bull. He was amazing. And shortly after we took the pills hidden that we had all probably only taken once in our still very young lives and so when it hit us, we were happy and excited and carefree and wanted to run around but also smile at everyone and my best friend and I shortly found ourselves lying on the grass, having a deep and meaningful conversation admitting our appreciation for each other.

It was one of the best days of my life.

The expectations my first ever GTM gave me has stuck with me. Although I really really want to see the acts I am going to the festival for, I still hope for an amazing day like this; running around with my best friend, dancing everywhere and going on rides and making new friends. 

But over the years the Music Festival scene has changed. 

Not everyone is smiling anymore. Majority of people are gurning. And people aren't smiling at you in a carefree manner, instead many are resisting the urge to start a fight. 

It is clear to see now that Music Festivals aren't all about the music and the vibe anymore, but revolves solely around taking as many pills as you can before you black out and seeing as many people that you know where you share a large hug, ask them how its going although not really caring for the answer, before quickly bidding farewell and carrying on. 

And I am not innocent from this either. I take pills. One doesn't cut it for me anymore so I take several and by the evening I feel like utter shit, want to go home and barely want to see the last act anymore. Then the next few days is followed by a come down where I feel sad, then okay, then tired, then angry. And I find myself asking whether the festival was worth it? 
I can barely remember majority of the day so did I even have a good time? The photographs on my phone say yes, but I don't remember for sure, not really. 

I have been hoping for a day to come just like my first time. And trust me there have been some for sure. For instance, Corona Sunsets in the summer of 2015 was an amazing day shared with my friend. Only thing is we are no longer friends. Come to think of it, neither are me and the girl I attended my first festival with either. 

I have attended two festivals so far in this still early festival season, and have been utterly disappointed by the both. It's not the same anymore. Whether its the vibe that has changed, the attitude, or me. I don't know. 

And I guess that means I should just let go and stop trying to recreate the days of those first few experiences otherwise I will just be disappointed and will start feeling bitter towards the idea of music festivals altogether. 




Monday, 12 December 2016

Our Love Story

My boyfriend and I are celebrating our two year anniversary. It has actually been half a year more but we decided not to count the months that we were broken up and apart.
In celebration of this event, I have decided to share with you readers the story of us. I have mentioned my boyfriend in posts many times before. I have written about our outings and some of the things we do. But I have never actually told you our story.



Our love story isn't a passionate and romantic one. It wasn't exciting and completely heart throbbing. It was different; to me at least and to what I had seen in movies. It was different to all the expectations I had built up throughout my childhood and teenage years.

I wish I could say that the past two and half years have been amazing and great every moment. But that would be a lie. I have put him through hell.
And I am not proud of how I have handled things or for the things that I have done. I was not an easy person to love, and at times I am still not. And he is not proud of his attitude for a lot of the time, or the effort he has always put in. We have both made mistakes. But the least we can say is that we have learnt and we try harder.

Now, I will start from the beginning of our love story that took place in the year 2014 when we were both 17 years old.
We met at a gathering, and by met, I mean, we stared at each other for majority of the night, both too shy to make a move.
It sounds like any other love story, right?
But the truth is I didn't want to be at this gathering. I wanted to be nowhere. I wanted to crawl into a ball in my bedroom and sleep my life away. I was scared. I could barely utter a word to anyone. I tried to socialize and act like every thing was okay. For my friend. For myself. But I was not okay. I was very far from it.

And then I saw this boy, quiet, standing several meters away and not speaking whilst he stood with a group of boys.
Would it be lame if I said that when I saw him he almost looked familiar, but not quite? I had never seen him before. But I couldn't stop staring at him.
It was a connection to say the least. And my boyfriend, who is not sappy or rarely ever romantic later said the same thing.



Apart from a few mutters during a game of pool, we never said anything to each other for the entire evening. It wasn't until several months later that we saw each other again at a party. He left the girl he was talking to in the corner and came to me. I felt slightly more confident and tipsy enough that I was able to say more than a few words and the paralyzing shyness I used to feel, particularly during our first encounter, was starting to become a bit better to handle. 
We proceeded to spend the whole night together.

Our first date wasn't the usual dinner and a movie, or as it is most days, just a movie. He took me four-wheel driving in some dunes along the beach. It was his hobby, if not passion. And despite that I mostly just sat in the car, I was so happy that he had shared something about him on our first date, without actually directly telling me. 
We parked the car on top of a hill and from there we had a clear view of the ocean and the top of a ship wreck which we then proceeded to tell me the history about it and its reputation for crashing on every trip. 

A little secret about this first date however, is that I was so scared, contemplated bailing last minute and was so nervous that I downed a 'Cruizer' before stepping out the door in the hopes that it would give me the confidence I had several nights ago. 


After several more dates, we began to share how we felt. I told him I was suffering from depression without ever using the term. He shared with me his deep anxiety, without ever uttering the word.
We would stay up until the early hours of the morning, just talking. We told each other things we were not able to share with anyone else.

I let out a lot of the suppressed thoughts and feelings I had bottled up as I could not tell everyone how I felt for they would be disappointed. Everyone was counting on me to get better. So was I. But how do you make someone understand that the darkness that brings you down, takes your hope and fills you with unbearable fears of the present and future was not actually you? But instead felt to be something else in you and it wouldn't leave?
I didn't have to make my boyfriend understand. I could tell him everything and he listened and understood anyway.
He told me of the strange thoughts that didn't feel like his own. Of how he has contemplated ending it all. Of the medication that sat hidden away in his top drawer.


My boyfriend soon got better. He didn't need the medication anymore and he gives me a lot of contribution for this and that makes me happy.
However, I did not. I thought I was. I hoped I was. But I wasn't. And it would become clearer when I would break down. When I would lose it when I was drunk. When I would spend every weekend taking substances in order to hush it which only seemed to make it worse.

I never quite let him in. Perhaps I envied him for getting better whilst I still often felt extremely low and hopeless; like a waste of space that would only bring down everyone and everything in its path. And perhaps that's where it went wrong; because I didn't let him in. Instead I ignored it until it got worse. And when I finally did get better, there was still this gap between us and I could not bring myself to get closer; to fill it.

They say the second time around at relationships is just setting you up for a loss and will fill you with more disappointment than the first time around. I beg to differ that this is the inevitable outcome. Breaking up and being apart can lead to two things; you either realize that they were no good for you, or you realize that they really did make you better.


And he made me better. It took me a while to realize but I realized in the end. I realized where I went wrong. I realized that I pushed him away and numbed the feelings I had for him in fear that he would leave or hurt me. When in fact it was me hurting him all along as he never gave up hope that things would get better. That I would get better.

Perhaps what doomed us was the fact that I never quite let go of those first few months where we were in our own bubble of understanding and connected-ness because we were both broken. When he got better I felt betrayed and as if he no longer understood.
But the time apart reminded me that there was is much more to him than this brief terrible period in his life, because I often defined myself by my sickness and rarely ever saw myself as anything more.



I appreciate him for the person who he is now, which is so much. I have learnt to love his soul. And I have finally allowed him to love my own.

I'm proud of these past couple years and I am happy where we are today.



It's not a typical love story and at times it was very hard, but I wouldn't trade mine for the world. And my only advice to you readers, is to let them in. I was lucky to get a second chance. But many of us are not given this luxury.




P.S just noticed he is literally wearing sunglasses in all but one picture. 


Thursday, 8 December 2016

Next Post

Good morning,

I would just like to tell you readers that in celebration of mine and my partner's two year anniversary, I will be sharing the story of us on my next entry on Tuesday the 13th, for those who are interested.

This is quite a special post for me. These past two years haven't been easy, I can  tell you that.

Thanks,
Alita


Tuesday, 6 December 2016

Fern - Chapter Three

The third chapter of Fern is below. 


Chapter Three
My mother gave me a generous sum of money to help me redecorate.
I think it was due to the guilt she felt for never allowing me to do it in our old house. Even for my own bedroom my father had arranged for an interior designer to handle and purchase everything from the furniture to the frames that would hold the photographs hanging from my walls. He would never appreciate it when he walked in to find I had rearranged my furniture or made some sort of life-size cubby house.

Majority of what I had spent with my mother’s money was for items to be placed in the backyard. I’ve always quite preferred the outdoors so I intended to make a haven for myself and my mother, where we could sit, talk, relax, drink wine and watch the forest. After hours of laboring and putting together the flat-pack furniture whilst my mother treated the carpets and scrubbed every non-fabric surface in the house, I made a remark that if there were such things as bachelor pads then this must be a hens retreat.

It was getting dark when my mother and I decided to call it a day. Apart from the small things here and there to make the house more homely and more us, we were just about complete anyway. 

We had gone to a furniture store first where I spent majority of my funding. Apparently this town only knew old classic designs as opposed to minimal modern pieces but that was okay.
My mother arranged for the store to deliver it to us due to the lack of space in our BMW Sedan. We had just gotten home when we received the boxes for the two white wooden sun chairs, a day bed and an outdoor coffee table. I placed the sun chairs on the grass looking out to the forest, the day bed and table under the vine patio.
We also purchased a small four person dining room set in mahogany. I convinced my mother to purchase a bright orange sofa with wooden legs as well for the lounge room.

From another store I purchased pink and orange cushions that were made to be placed inside but I scattered them on the day bed instead with matching candles, to mimic the colour scheme of the sunset over the ocean which would now be difficult to see.
I twirled twinkling fairy lights around the border of the wooden pillars as well as the trees closest to us, lining the edge of the forest as I had imagined the night before. It wasn’t much but the forest provided a good enough backdrop that we didn’t need a whole lot.

I was lounging back on the sun chair staring at the forest. Mother had called it a day and a night, heading off to bed a little after seven o’clock to catch up on sleep. She insisted we had a bit of a day tomorrow but for what I didn’t know.
I could hear the calls of birds from high up in the branches. It was soothing being here. 

At our old house it wasn’t uncommon for people to constantly be over, whether they were for my dad or for me. And I liked the company of my friends, I really did. But the frequent discussions of other people, who was doing what since school ended and where we would take pills the coming weekend was boring and tiring. I felt as if sometimes I wasn’t allowed to be sad or to just be.
It was frowned upon to be unhappy if the entire neighborhood envied your house and paying bills was never an issue.  I understood that.  I was appreciative of what we had, and perhaps I am a pessimist to be disappointed of what I didn’t.

I wonder what my father, who was the most important man in my life, would think of this place. I imagine he would stick his nose up and shudder at the thought of sleeping in such a small and old home for even a night. 
But I imagine that our lives would have been much better if we had lived here and not in the upper class suburban area that we did. There wasn’t exactly much temptation here, after all.

“It’s looking good”, I hear a familiar voice. I stare out into the forest and see Fern appear through the trees with a smile, the twinkling fairy lights shining bright on her.
“Thanks”, I reply. “It’s quite cozy”.
Fern nods. “Mind if I sit with you?”
I shake my head.
I watch her as she walks over to me. She’s wearing a pale green sundress and a brown cardigan that hangs loosely around her pale shoulders. She’s barefoot I noticed, but she looks pretty; carefree and natural.
I am wearing tight black jeans, a red jumper with black ankle boots. I am amused by the contrast in our appearances.
Back home it wasn’t uncommon to dress almost identically to your friends, whether intended or not.

Fern sits on the sun chair beside me, outstretching her legs on the wood in front of her.
She stares at the forest and the glowing trees. We sit in silence for some time. I feel uncomfortable and the obligation from back home to entertain our guests has kicked in, but I do not know what to say.
Several minutes pass and eventually I say, “Halloween seems like a pretty big deal around here”. 
Fern giggles that tells me she is well aware. “Superstitious is a common trait amongst small town folks”, Fern agrees.
“Are you?” I ask, turning my head to look at her.
“You could say that”, she answers, going quiet.
I nod, not knowing what more to say.

I pull out the packet of cigarettes from my back pocket and light one up. I take a draw, blowing the smoke out above me before outstretching it to Fern.
She takes it with a smile, following suit.
I look at her, her large brown eyes and wavy blonde hair and think that she looks far too innocent to be smoking. The picture doesn’t look right.
But I have always liked people who don’t meet initial expectations. Everyone I used to know was nothing more than what I had first thought, and there is something about Fern that I find so mysterious and intriguing.
Perhaps it’s the fact that she has come to this small town that contains no more than eight stores or a large old room with broken chairs that they called their cinema. Or that she speaks so bluntly without revealing much of herself. Instead it just opens me up to wonder more. 

“What are you trying to get away-“I begin, but she speaks at the same time and asks, “why did you move here?”
I adjust my seating position and look back out to the forest.
“My mother and father are getting a divorce”, I answer in the most natural tone that I can manage.
“Oh”, Fern says, though I don’t look at her. 
Then there is silence for some time and I assume that Fern is waiting for the tears, the sobbing and the cries of how much my life sucks. That’s what everyone else had expected. 

“You must hate your life”, my friends would say. But I would never reply. I didn’t hate my life. Sure, I hated this awful but brief period of time where the pain is still fresh and painful, but I didn’t hate my life.
They would stare at me, waiting to hear how sad and broken I was as if they got something out of it. And the sad thing was that I am quite broken and hurt. My father didn’t just betray my mother afterall. but I never felt as if I was able to tell them that. Or anyone.

I turned back to Fern. She was reclining in the chair, one leg bent upwards while her head hung back. She is taking a draw of the cigarette and blowing out the smoke into the sky.
For once I have not been interrogated as to why my parents are getting a divorce or how much money my mother had gotten from it.
Fern doesn’t seem to care in the slightest and for some reason that bothers me.

“Is that it?” I ask.
Fern smiles, sits up and hands me the cigarette. I take it and watch her, waiting for her to say something while I take a draw.
“Divorces happen”, Fern shrugged.
I resist the urge to let my mouth drop in mild shock to her uncompassionate and inconsiderate response.
Instead I take another draw and rest my head back on the chair; allowing my automatic standoffish mode to take pilot.

I close my eyes, feeling the heat of the cigarette between my fingers that rests on the arm of the chair. I keep my eyes closed, feeling unfamiliar to these sorts of reactions of being offended and not knowing what to do or say. Usually I was the one to have the last word; to cause others to not know how to react to my bluntness but I have been out-blunted.

I can feel the cigarette burning to the tip so I sit up and open my eyes and find Fern sitting up on her own chair, leaning into me. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
I let the cigarette go and fall onto the ground. I step on it with my boot until the glowing ash dims out. 

“Nothing”, I reply, staring out to the trees.
“There’s an ocean under there”, Fern oddly states and I look at her in confusion.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, my eyes narrowing at her.
She shrugs coolly. “You present yourself like a puddle”.
Was she reading from an invisible book? I didn’t quite understand and the confusion makes me feel vulnerable, adding to the frustration that had already begun to build up over the last few minutes. I stare at her and her gaze doesn’t falter. I consider telling her to leave but she smirks.
“I thought so”, Fern says as if answering her own question.
I am silent. I have no idea what to say or what to make of what she had just said.
“You know, if you want to tell me something you just should”, she said as if seeing straight through me.
“I don’t”, I say I almost too quickly and she raises her eye brows in response.
“You just took me off guard. It’s not quite what I’m used to”, I argue.
Fern lies back on her chair, crossing her feet and lifting her hands behind her head. “Well, when you do, you know where I’ll be”, she closes her eyes.
Truth is I do want to talk about it. I just never felt that I could. Or more like, whether or not I should. 

I didn’t exactly trust Fern. I barely knew her. But it wasn’t the lack of trust that made me feel uneasy about sharing my life story with her. It was just that I was scared or didn’t know how. I wasn’t sure. After all these years of keeping things only to myself it had perhaps become a bit of both. But either way, not sharing was something I had become good at.

“Why don’t you tell me something?” I asked.
She opened her eyes and peered at me. “I will. But not now”.
“Why not?” I asked, sounding almost demanding.
“Same reason as you”.
“But how would-” I began but she interrupted me with a “shh”.


I met her gaze towards the forest. I could hear birds squawking from the far distance. 
 I didn’t notice the full moon hovering brightly just above the tree line. It was beautiful. Fern and I continued to sit there in silence just staring out and for once I didn’t feel the need to interrupt it. 
I was one who felt the need to listen to music during almost every moment of my day, as if to drain my thoughts out or something. But this quiet was nice. And maybe I listened to music far too often that it left a stain because it almost sounded as if there was music coming from deep within the forest. 

Monday, 5 December 2016

Camping spot #2: Sandy Cape

My boyfriend and I like to go camping. We go every month or so, maintaining the ritual until the cold and wet season kicks in and I can barely get out bed let alone to the middle of nowhere.

But seeing as its warm, we have been taking advantage of the weather and have been going camping pretty often, checking out new places and trying to find different spots.

Dwellingup, aka Nanga Mill is our favorite. I guess this is because it is a forest which provides you with not only a shit tonne of space to go exploring and heaps of hidden places to find, but probably also due to the fact that there isn't sand in every possible direction and you aren't constantly finding sand in places that sand should not be.

But Sandy Cape was beautiful; located just past Jurien Bay, about 2 hours north of Perth that we also recommend. 

We have been here twice. The first time was just the two of us escaping from reality for a couple nights as it was a long weekend. We kept ourselves amused for the ride there by playing Eye Spy. On the roads that we traveled down however, meant there was literally only sky, the road and shrubs on either side of us with the occasional sign, so we got creative with the things that we 'spied' by coming up with words not commonly used for it or things not easily seen. Like, for instance 'condensation' for the clouds, or some sort of car part my boyfriend knew I wouldn't even know existed let alone could find on the car that drove in front of us.  

Sandy Cape. surrounded by gigantic white sand dunes and beautiful beaches, offers camping sites with public bathrooms and access to the beach. However when we got there it was far too busy for any additional campers and it was $15 a night which neither of us wanted to pay. So we headed down a sandy track that ran parallel to the beach in the hopes of finding a less crowded and much cheaper spot to stay. 
To go down this track (just right of the camping grounds) I recommended you have a 4WD as the track is very rocky and sandy and could probably do some damage to your vehicle. 
The track had a  clearing every 100m where a track ran from it towards the beach, leading to a secluded and private clearing perfect for camping. Majority were taken and it wasn't until we went down the 7th or so track that we finally found a free spot.


It was on a cliff, looking down at the ocean and was covered in rocks. It was a bit difficult trying to set up with the wind and hoping that the jaggered rocks wouldn't cut or damage the bottom of our brand new and expensive tent, but the view was beautiful. 
After we had set up and were watching the sun descend below the ocean, I wandered around the cliff edge, finding a small and steep path that lead down to our private beach. What more could you want?

The sand was so fine that in the morning we found the sand had somehow gotten into our tent and covered our sleeping bags and pillows but I had grown attached to this spot, despite how windy, and was reluctant to leave.

We spent the morning swimming in our beach before taking a drive to the dunes and passing an Eagle perched majestically on top of a tree. 

The second time we came here was with a group of friends. We didn't camp in the same spot, instead finding a free patch of sand directly on the beach for all of us to fit. It was quite late by the time we got there so we had some drinks, made dinner and chatted until bedtime.

The next morning however was another story. As all the boys had 4WD's, they tied a rope to the back of their tray, got the kneeboard out and everyone had a turn sliding down the beach and across the water.
Some of the boys who were more daring hopped onto a surfboard while the rest of us spectated and had the first aid ready or sat on the tray, holding on for our dear lives. 

On the way back home we stopped at the 'Desert of Rocks' or, 'The Pinnacles', whatever you want to call it.
It was about $12 a vehicle and there were so many huge rocks springing from the yellow ground in an impressive manner. 
Just don't get your hopes up because it literally is nothing more than a desert of rocks with gigantic stinger bugs stalking their pray (you). 





Monday, 28 November 2016

To fall in love fast and recklessly or slowly and sensibly?

It's Tuesday, which means blog post day. I have decided to discuss a matter that is something I have been debating with myself and others for quite some time.

I don't have any lovely photographs of my own to add to the mood, so I have included a still image from one of my favorite music videos 'Blue Jeans' by Lana Del Rey just for the sake of it, but also because I kinda think its sort of relevant.





There are great perks to both kinds of falling in love, especially falling fast and recklessly, which is how most of us imagine being in love. 

Falling in love fast and recklessly is the kind of love that poetry and songs are written about. When you have no absolute control and are lifted up to Cloud Nine and everything is so utterly wonderful that it makes you believe in magic. 
It's passionate, and there is fighting and crying but there is also making-up, staying up late talking and their mere presence beside you is appreciated and losing it cannot be fathomed. 

I have found that when asking people this question, on which one they believe is better, it depended quite primarily on their age and experience.
For first time lovers, they'd choose the first one. What's the point in falling in love if it isn't with everything you've got? They'd ask. And that was a fair point.

But when I asked my mother, who had been in love both kinds she answered with, "slowly and sensibly. Passion does not last but unconditional love is permanent". 

I agree with my mother. It is with the fast and reckless love that the old saying, 'love is blind', derived from. You are so blinded by love that you look past the flaws, and when the excitement and passion begins to fade which are the two aspects that practically made the relationship, the flaws aren't so invisible anymore and as it turns out they're impact is much bigger than originally anticipated. If you love with all you've got, it gives the love potential to take everything that you have, after all.

Slowly and sensibly I'll admit sounds boring. But it is this kind of love that you see both sides, the good and the bad, and you fall in love honestly so that there will be no surprises down the line. It takes time.
It's the kind of love that not only shares all the affection and fun, but the living; like paying bills and mortgages and all that other boring stuff adults are forced to do.
It's the kind of love you can count on and don't have to worry about losing over a petty argument that exploded and got taken completely out of proportion.

I believe we must all experience both. Because the first one is the fast and reckless falling in love is the one we want. It will also teach us a great deal. Because if you do love with everything you've got, when it's lost, you'll lose everything you had. And you know what? That's okay! Because finding who you are and picking yourself up is a great learning experience. You'll also find pieces you didn't even know you had. And you might make something better with all that's collected.

And you'll probably find that in the end, a love that is slow and sensible is the one you need. And you might not want it any other way. 


Monday, 21 November 2016

Night Terrors

Sleep paralysis has become a popular topic these past few days. I guess that's due to Kendall Jenner coming out about the fact that she experiences this quite often and the media have been fussing about it quite a bit.
Although I think many media forms like Celebuzz and magazines have been overreacting about this, I will not deny that Sleep Paralysis is the most scariest bloody thing. Ever.

Many people who have experienced sleep paralysis know the trembling fear of not being able to move. They know of lying in their own bed awake, begging to sit up or clench their fingers. They may even think that it will never end. And for some reason, even if you are accustomed to this, you feel the terrifying fear that overcomes you as if your instincts are taking over and your instincts know that this is all wrong.

Some people however, like myself, have it even worse.

My first experience with sleep paralysis was shortly before my 18th birthday. I was having a nap in the mid afternoon. It was spring, the day was warm and light shined brightly through my curtains. It was a pleasant nap, until I woke up, readjusted my lying position and went back to sleep. I then heard someone twisting my door handle and entering my bedroom. I kept my eyes closed, assuming it was my grandmother, so that she wouldn't bother my slumber. Then I heard the sound of little footsteps running along my floor boards, a small hand tickle my neck, before running back out the door and leaving a giggle that sounded to come from a small girl, behind.

I had opened my eyes as the small girl touched my neck.
It was then that I realized I could not move. I stared at my curtain, urging my limbs to wiggle but failed as the small girl giggled and ran off, closing the door behind her.
The more I tried to move, the more my brain wanted to sleep. I tried to sit up, but it took every ounce of energy I had to move even an inch that I fell into deep unconsciousness.

I woke up perhaps several minutes later. I was confused and in a daze. I got up from my bed and walked out into the kitchen where my grandmother was standing. "Who's here?" I asked her.
"No one, why?" she asked me back.
"Is Tracy (my aunty) over?" I asked again, assuming that her very young niece was here and was the one who had come into my room.
My nanna shook her head. Odd.

I told my boyfriend of this experience. He had told me before that he has experienced sleep paralysis, particularly when he was twelve years old and he was terribly sick with pneumonia. Some nights when he couldn't sleep he wouldn't be able to move, and he would see the shadow of a witch hiding behind his cupboard, slowly coming out.
But it was only then that I actually understood what he was talking about.

Perhaps this conversation, of knowing how much it could get worse from a small child tickling my neck, was what gave way to my next experiences.

For the following year I noticed a trend with these nightmares. They always seemed to occur at five in the morning, when the first light of day was entering and a blue haze was cast over my bedroom.
I am not sure why I woke up, but it is not uncommon for me to wake coming into the hours of when my alarm would go off. I opened my eyes and there, right in front of me on my bed, sat the outline of a demonic gargoyle. It was perched in a squat only inches away from me. I remember seeing it so clearly because the light outside the window was coming in and the figure was so dark compared and I could see its little horns.
I tried to scream, sit up and run away but I couldn't move and I could make no sound. After trying to squirm free and to escape, all I could do was close my eyes and hope it would go away. I could still think though and if my thoughts could have been heard they would have been terrified screams. 

After this I was convinced that this was way more than a mere nightmare. I was awake after all and saw my bedroom as clear as the light of day. I could think clearly as I would when I am up and about. And if you ask anyone who has had these experiences they will tell you that when it is occurring, it is the realest thing that you know.
I was terrified to sleep for a long time after this. I made my dog sleep with me quite often and sometimes I would not fall asleep until around two in the morning when I became so tired that I knew I would fall into deep unconscious and I would not awake until my alarm.

My worst experience of them all, and by all I mean from about 15-20 experiences so far in total, was when I felt my dog trying to jump into my bed during the early hours. I felt Millie try to curl next to my legs and I tried to adjust my position for Millie's comfort when I realized I could not move. It was then that I knew what was happening and as usual, fear erupted in every one of my cells and my heart began to pound. From my last experience I don't dare open my eyes anymore. I don't want to see what is waiting for me or what is sitting on my bed. I just try to scream, to call out to my grandparents to come and save me but I make no sound. I don't even bother trying to move free anymore. I just lie there, pretending to be asleep in the hopes that it will grow bored and leave.

What I had originally thought was my dog suddenly becomes larger. It crawls over my feet and creeps up to my face where it grabs hold of both my hands and holds me down to the bed. I can feel it breathing above me. I have never been so scared. In my mind I am praying to be rescued me from what I am sure is evil.
I am given enough strength to move my fingers, but that is all. I move my fingers, clutching on to the wrist of this thing and digging my nails into what feels like shedded snake skin. I dig my nails deep into its dry flesh and then suddenly I am out of bed, weak, but moving. I am using every single bit of my energy to open my bedroom door, run down the hallway and into my grandparents bedroom. They are asleep and I call out in a loud whisper for them to help me because that's all that I can manage. I cry for them to get up and go to my room and wake me.

I then wake up in my bed, confused. I was so sure I had been awake. I was so sure that me running into my grandparents bedroom and seeing their sleeping bodies really happened. But there I am and what I thought was me, had called out to them and asked for them to wake me. And despite that this was by far the scariest thing to ever happen to me, I realize now that it really is all a dream. A vivid one. A realistic one where the dreamworld is completely identical to the real one. But a dream nonetheless, and that helps.

I still have these experiences occasionally though not as often and not quite as scary. I did some research to have a better understanding of these dreams and it helps. They almost always occur when one is falling asleep or waking up. I have also begun to master the escape of it. I have had these so often that I can feel it coming now and I can feel my chest becoming heavy. I can feel my body slowly becoming paralyzed and I wiggle my fingers until I am completely awake again and can move.

My best advice for anyone who has this is to not open your eyes. It doesn't help. Trust me. Keep your eyes closed and think hard about something else. That's what I do now.
I don't focus on it, despite the fear that demands to be felt. I think hard about the beach and the shore and the sand and suddenly I dreaming of it and I am sound asleep.

Despite how these experiences feel, remember that they are not real; and that is coming from someone who even spoke to my mother about getting a possible exorcism; that's how sure I was that they were indeed real. They are dreams but you're mind is simply more awake than what it should be. 

Here is a renaissance painting depicting Sleep Paralyisis. I realize now that this is the gargoyle-like figure who had visited me in my dreams. I had seen this painting before from Twilight and it must have been stored in my subconscious. 





Sunday, 20 November 2016

Fern - A not-so short story by me (so far)

Chapter One


“You just moved in, huh?”
I was picking up the last of my bags from the back seat of my car. They were bloated and bursting with clothes. My hands full, I closed the car door with my hip and glanced to the neighbour’s house where a girl around the same age as me stood on the grass, observing.
Her hair was long, to her waist like my own, only blonde. She had large eyes and she was pretty. Prettier than me; which was saying something. But her face was still, tired, matching the monotone and lack of enthusiasm that she spoke in. She appeared bored, and her boredom has somehow resulted in sarcastically pointing out the obvious so I took her as somewhat snobby and not someone I wanted to associate with.  

I gestured to my bags and didn’t reply. The girl nodded while eying me.
I began for the house, feeling rude but also skeptical about our new neighbor and I wasn’t in much of a conversational mood.
My mother was in the kitchen, already beginning to unpack some of the boxes and place everything disorderly on the bench tops. I passed her with my bags and headed down the short hallway to my bedroom. The house was small but my new room was slightly bigger than my last so I didn’t complain.

I placed the bags in my hands with the boxes and other bags I had already brought in. I considered popping back outside and introducing myself to the neighbors’ properly and to procrastinate from unpacking. But I was in a shitty mood and had been for the past three hours.

Leaving my friends in the city was fine. Leaving the city itself was fine.
I didn’t mind small towns. Sucks we weren’t close to the beach anymore but sacrifices have to be made. I get that. Besides, it was nice driving down the road and having forest on either side of you and large trees growing freely in the backyard as opposed to just garden plants. 
My child self would have killed to have lived here and would have wandered around in her fairy wings, running under the branches and down trails, constantly in search for the fairy kingdom I believed dwelled in forests like these.
But my father didn’t come to say goodbye. I had expected him not to, but expecting is far different from it actually happening. There was still a smidge of hope there that only the event occurring could remove.
And I hated him. I did. He ruined this family. He left my mother and I like we were nothing. And even if he did come to say goodbye I would have only nodded, but he was still supposed to try.

It was beginning to darken when I had set up the main pieces of my room like my dressing table and bed. It was an old house. My window sill was wooden and the window itself had no fly wire. The view outside was of the forest behind us. Thick and dark green. My previous bedroom view had been of our pool and the small rock waterfall my father paid big money to be made. Now it was grass and trees. Just a shit load of green basically. But it was soothing and comforting and I think I liked this one better.

I could get used to it here. I really could. A fresh start was exactly what my mother and I needed.  Where no one knew what went on with our family. No one would give us sympathizing looks and where status didn’t mean everything to everyone.

I unpacked the primary boxes, making a mental note to do the bags tomorrow and walked out from my room and back to the kitchen to check on my mother’s progress. In the few hours that we had been here the boxes in the kitchen were emptied, the benches cleared and the cupboards filled. I smiled at my mother who kneeled on the floor in the lounge room, beginning to unpack another box who reciprocated my gesture. 

My mother was beautiful. Slim, tall, with flaws like everyone but she always told me it was often the flaws in people that encouraged their beauty all the more. After all, it is with the flaws that make people different, she would say, especially when I would point out something about my appearance I didn’t approve of. And then my mother would point out something in her own that I barely noticed and it would put my insecurities at ease; because even my perfect mother wasn’t perfect.

“Need a hand?” I asked my mother who shook her head in response.
“No honey”, she replied, opening the box and removing ornaments and framed photographs, placing them on the 70’s styled brown carpet beside her. Then she stopped, shot her head up at me and smiled. “You can put some jazz on for me though”.
I smiled. Jazz was a special occasion kind of music for my mother. She only played it when she was in a good mood, like one time on her birthday and she was on her fourth glass of red wine and the three of us sat in the lounge room and watched her drunkenly dance. Or on a Sunday morning after a night out with my father before everything turned to shit.
But I guess packing up everything and leaving everyone but your daughter behind to move to a small town in the hopes for another chance at things, was an occasion enough. 

“Okay”, I nodded.
“The stereo is in there”. My mother pointed to a box sitting on the floor beside the lounge. I headed for it, opened it and pulled out the stereo, resting it on the bench top for the time being before plugging the cord into the nearby socket. The iPod was conveniently in the same box.
It had taken some convincing on my behalf to get my mum to use it when my father and I had got it for her one Christmas, several years ago.
My mother wasn’t excited or interested in the new gadgets and technology and was more a woman with simple and what many people would consider an ‘old fashioned’ taste. For instance, we were not allowed televisions in our bedroom. We watched shows and movies together as a family. And Wednesday nights were game nights, where we would play board games or my mother would invite her sister and my cousins over and we would play charades. 
But I had convinced my mother that grabbing an iPod from a fire was far easier than trying to cart a hundred CD’s and records, so she allowed me to transfer all the music over to it and she has used it just about every day since.


I connected the iPod to the stereo and clicked on the playlist titled ‘Jazz’. I hit play, put the iPod down and watched my mother for some time as she hummed and removed more photographs from the box. I smiled at her though she didn’t see, glad to see her quite happy and content. She needed to getaway. She really deserved the best.

I then left her, creeping off back into my room and pulling out a packet of cigarettes that I had hidden in one of my backpacks.
Patting the back pocket of my jeans to make sure my lighter was still there, I crept out from my bedroom, walked down the hall and out the backdoor.
It was dark outside, almost a complete pitch black.
But the light coming through the backdoor allowed me to see the backyard faintly at least, but nothing from the where the line of the forest started and beyond. Only black abyss.
The backyard was large; long and wide. It was much bigger than our small, old alfresco sized yard with a plunge pool that was only suitable if you lived in the city. 

There was pavement where I stood for a couple meters and after that was nothing but grass. Above me was an old wooden patio, with vines wrapping up the pillars and intertwining, creating an enclosed plant ceiling that I knew would only provide shelter to the sun and not the rain. Nevertheless, I knew this place had potential as I pulled out a cigarette and lit it up, taking a deep draw, before sighing contently.
I needed that.

I took another draw as I began to imagine the possibilities of the backyard that mother and I could do. I knew she would be up for it; anything to distract her and DIY projects was something we both had always wanted to do, but any remodeling or decorating of the house was frowned upon.
I began to imagine wrapping the trees with fairy lights. We could get an outdoor setting for beneath the vine patio. Maybe place some sun chairs on the grass and in the summer we could get a plastic above-ground pool and drink cocktails like we would at home.


I took another draw of my cigarette, looking around the backyard and feeling excited for all the things that we could do. 
I walked away from the backdoor and along the grass. I neared the edge of the forest, where pine trees lined the backyards of all the houses on the street that were separated by a small white fence in between that provided only slight privacy as opposed to security; easily able to take a shortcut through the forest in order to enter someone else’s backyard. 
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. There goes my hobby of sun tanning naked in the summer. Hell no was I going to risk someone taking a stroll through the trees seeing me. But at the same time, it must be a nice community for people to be so carefree and open with their homes. I liked that.

I stood between two tall pine trees so that I would no longer be classified to be standing on my own property anymore. I tried to peer through the dense forest, blowing a cloud of smoke into the darkness but it was too dense and not even the light of the moon above could get through the tree tops. I would explore it, I decided, taking a final draw of the cigarette before dropping to the floor and stepping on it with my sneaker. 

“You shouldn’t litter”, a voice stated.
I jumped, turning around and finding the next door neighbor leaning on a tree trunk, watching me curiously.
“Jesus Christ”, I yelped, grabbing my chest with my hand and taking a deep breath. “You scared the shit out of me”, I said unimpressed.
I kept my gaze on her, waiting for her to explain what she was doing but she only smirked, pulling her long blonde hair behind her ears before tucking her hands into the pockets of her grey hoodie.
“You just go around scaring people all the time or what?” I asked snappily.
“Sometimes. Depends what mood I’m in”, she replied, turning her gaze to my house.
“Well, next time you feel like spying on me, I’d rather you didn’t”.
“Aren’t you a bit young to be smoking? Does your mum know?” she asked, returning her gaze to me.
I looked down at my sneakers, tugging my hands into the pockets of my jeans uncomfortably. This girl did not understand basic etiquette and politeness, and also the fact that some things were not of her business and therefore required no comment from her. I wasn’t sure whether it frustrated me or the strangeness of her somewhat different behavior interested me. My automatic reaction was to roll my eyes and tell her to mind her own, but instead I remained standing. There was not much else to do inside anyway.

“I’m nineteen”, I stated. “It’s legal so no, according to the law I am not too young to be smoking and no, my mother does not know. And I would rather keep it that way”.  
The girl nodded. “I’m nineteen too”, she said with a slight smile. “Can I have one?”
I hesitantly reached for the packet in my back pocket before handing it to her. She pulled one out, as well as her own lighter that she had hidden on her body and lit the cigarette up, casting a bright orange glow across her face.
I watched her as she inhaled before slowly blowing out into the space above. The air was still and cold, so the smoke hung above us like a cloud.
“I’m Fern by the way”, the girl outstretched her cigarette-less hand. I shook it, her fingers feeling cold against my own and said, “Cameron. You live next door?”
She took another draw and nodded. 


I tried to peer around the fence to get a look at her house. Their backyard was the same as ours, big and empty and there didn’t seem to be any lights on inside.
“It’s more of a holiday house”, Fern said. “It’s my grandmothers. We just come here when we want to be alone”.
I nod and remember the holiday house we had down south on the beach that my mother gave up in the divorce. “That’s pretty cool. Anyone else with you?”
“Nah”, Fern replied. “Kind of defeats the purpose of being alone”.


I feel slightly uncomfortable. I consider asking why she is bothering me if she wanted to be alone so bad but decide against it. I don’t exactly want to make enemies my first day here.
I watch Fern as stares out into the forest for quite some time. I wonder what a girl as pretty as her would want to get away from. Perhaps it’s her tendency to come across as rude that makes her not very likeable. Strangely, I think I might like this girl. 

Her directness is almost a relief and a good change from the passive-aggressive girls I had grown accustomed to in the city.
I meet her gaze to try and see what has caught her attention but see only darkness. It’s beginning to feel awkward, I think; the strange silence between us that usually tells me it’s either time to fill it with mindless banter or to leave. I decide to leave.

“I’m going to go help my mum”, I tell Fern. She leans up from the tree and bends down, putting out her lit cigarette into the soil and picking up the one I had dropped.
She holds them both in her hand and says with a smile, “shouldn’t litter”.
“Noted”, I say.
Fern continues to stand still by the tree and I wait for several moments for a goodbye or something, but she only continues to stare back.
I turn away and walk back along the grass of my backyard when she calls out, “I’ll see you around?”
I stop and turn around to face her direction. “Yeah”, I smile with a nod, before heading back inside. Strangely I think that I’ll look forward to it.


My mother is still unpacking when I go back inside. She’s humming loudly, swaying slightly as she puts photographs from distant years on the mantelpiece above the fireplace that doesn’t appear to have been used in years.
She places a photograph down of me sitting on Santa’s lap from my 7th Christmas and then a photograph of me and her both on a swing at the park.
She turns around, sees me and beams. “Cam!” she says smiling while outstretching her hand to me. 

“What?” I asked.
“Dance with me”, she smiled, waving her hand around.
“Mum, no”, I groaned, despite that the sight of my mother being so happy filled me with a similar sensation.
She grabbed my hand anyway, lifting it up and forcing me to twirl around. I laughed and mimicked her, twirling her around and watching her spin gracefully.
I find myself laughing in a way that resembles more of a giggle of which belonged to the nine year old me and not actually the nineteen year old one. The dancing and the music brings feelings of nostalgia of a time I didn’t think I remembered or even missed. But I remember my mother always dancing when I was child, whether it be merely rocking side to side when she held me or breaking out into swing dancing with my father as if they were in a speakeasy club in the twenties and not actually in our lounge room.   
Everyone had been so much happier then. Especially my mother.
We’re lying on the carpet now, our heads side by side and our legs spread out in opposite directions. The carpet feels nice between my toes – a warm sensation as opposed to the marble tiles we used to have.
There’s a bag of Salt and Vinegar chips lying beside us that we had bought for the drive but never got around to eating until now. I’m staring at the ceiling that is an off-white colour from age and wear. I wonder how long until I will get used to staring up at a low ceiling with paint peeling in the corners, after being accustomed to high ceilings and chandeliers.
But there is something comforting about this place. Maybe it’s the isolation. Or the smallness of the house that makes me feel safe and connected. It’s hard to deceive people in such small spaces, I guess.


I wonder how my mother, who had gotten used to a life of luxury and being surrounded by large, expensive things way before I ever even came along will cope. But if I, Cameron, who has never known life any different, can lie on the carpet floor of a house I had never stepped foot inside until today, than my mother should be fine.

“Are you going to miss home?” I ask through a mouthful of chips.
I hear the sound of a chip crunching between her teeth and she replies, “this is home now, and not at all”.
I am not surprised with her response. It would be hard to miss a place that held so much pain. I only wish I was as strong. And despite it all, I find myself still sad that my father never said goodbye. But I am almost sadder that he never said goodbye to my mother.


“Honey?” my mother says. “I know this isn’t the best house and it’s a small town but this isn’t permanent, okay?”
I sit up, turning my neck so that I faced her with a smile and said, “mum, it’s okay. I actually kind of like it here. The house needs a bit of work”, I said, looking around at the old brown cabinets in the kitchen and the old carpet we lied on. “But I like it. And fixing it up could be fun. I always wanted to be on The Block”, I teased.
My mother smiled back at me. I noticed her eyes had begun to glisten and I only hoped they were happy tears, or tears of relief. And not actually the tears that belonged to someone who thinks that they have made a huge mistake.

“I love you, honey”, my mother smiled, peering up at me whilst sliding her hand and holding mine.
“I love you too, mum”. 


Chapter Two


I’m staring at an abundance of large orange pumpkins. There seem to be about six dozen stacked upon one another, taking up several large tables outside the front of the grocery store.
Further down the street at the front of other stores are Halloween decorations. What appears to be a surprisingly high end boutique, with a simple but metallic sign reading, ‘JENNY’S’ holds different Halloween costumes on display at the glass window. The store beside it supplies candles, hundreds, from all colors and sizes with a sign that reads, ‘Halloween Sale. 50% Off’.

“They really take Halloween quite seriously here”, I comment to my mother, unable to take my eyes off all the pumpkins.
“It’s a small town. People get bored”, my mother whispers before stepping inside and grabbing a basket.

We do our usual shopping that consists of primarily fruit and vegetables. I remind my mother to buy cleaning agents and I ask if we can look at the other stores on the small street of this town that is dedicated to shopping so that we can commence our redecorating and give the house some colour other than brown.

We go to the checkout where a middle aged man with glasses stands reading the newspaper. “Good morning, folks”, he smiles when we place our basket on the counter.
I look at his name tag and reply, “good morning, Jeff”.
“Morning”, my mother says sweetly, unpacking the basket.
Jeff begins scanning the groceries and placing them into a paper bag. “You two here for a holiday or something?” he asks.
“We just moved in actually”, my mother replies.
“Oh”, Jeff says, looking up and eying both me and my mother. “Welcome to town then”.
“Thank you”, my mother replies.
We pay for our groceries and a last second Cherry Ripe before we begin out the door with our bags. 

“I almost forgot. Aren’t you going to get yourselves a pumpkin?” Jeff called out to us. “Halloween is just a week away and you’d be surprised how fast they all go”.
My mother turned around to face him. “Oh, we aren’t that big on Halloween”, she said, which despite my many protests was unfortunately true.
“Take one”, Jeff smiled. “It’s on the house”.
I stared at Jeff. Was this supposed to be some sort of house warming gift? And if so, why a pumpkin and not the designer make up they have selling for ten dollars more of what it would be in the city?
“That’s very kind of you”, my mother smiled sweetly before walking over to the enormous pile of pumpkins and picking the closest one to her up.
“And we have a jacko-lantern making class on Saturday morning at the town square”, Jeff added.   

I rolled my eyes in response, leading the way out through the door and back to the car parked meters away. 


“Sometimes I wonder how I created such a rude young person like you”, my mother said lightheartedly.
“You got lucky”, I teased, opening the back door of the car and placing the groceries on the backseat.
“Shall we keep looking?” I asked my mother, gesturing to the dozen shops lining the small street.
“Yeah sure”, my mother answered. “And because I am in a good mood, I’ll give you some funding money for your work on the house”.


To be continued...

Monday, 14 November 2016

15.11.16

The start of these warmer days has miraculously provided me with the energy to explore and get up and do more than just simply lie in bed on my days of leisure and binge watch Gilmore Girls. 

My boyfriend and I are making more of an effort to explore our much complained about city and find out what it really has to offer. We went on a hike and visited Ellis Brooke Valley Reserve that contained a quarry which I had intentions of swimming in but the lack of algae and the fact that the ducks nearby would rather swim in the dirty puddles than in that water made me change my mind. Nevertheless it was beautiful and has the potential to be a really great picnic spot. 



My boyfriend and I also saw Violent Soho. I would also like to take the time now to congratulate them on being nominated for the Australian Aria Award for best album of the year. 
I have literally been wanting to see them for years and my, did they not disappoint. Tired Lion also opened up the show who I hear a lot on Triple J and have taken a liking to.
Metal bands isn't really my thing but Violent Soho have really managed to capture my heart. The mosh pit was filled with people pushing and jumping around quite violently, something I despise, but I found myself jumping around and yelling along to the lyrics and it just really was just a great night. 



My sister and I have also decided to be Vegetarian. Now before you start rolling your eyes and calling us pathetic, hear me out.
Having a vegetarian diet is something I have contemplated for many years, but I wondered what I would do if I went over someone's house for dinner and they had to make something different for me and I would feel bad. But we decided that we have had enough with the treatment of animals that are bred only for their meat and if that meant we had to eat before going over anyone's house, than so be it. 

I know that the consumption of meat was necessary for humans to evolve, in fact, it was vital for this. I don't disagree one bit and people always argue this. 
BUT we have evolved now. We are smart and we have come up with so many substitutes and other ways that we don't have to rely on meat anymore, however our instincts still overpower our humanity. 
I don't hope for there one day to be a world with no meat eating. I just hope for a world who does it ethically and cruelty free. I hope for a world who doesn't eat meat every, but just enough to remain healthy. And for a world who doesn't waste animals or kill them inhumanely. 

Below is also a photograph of myself and some friends at the Ascot Racecourse that we attended for another of our friend's birthdays over the weekend. It was only approximately a half hour after this was taken that the alcoholic affects of the game of beer pong we played using champagne kicked in and I spent most of the day drinking large quantities of water and remaining seated. 



Outfits in order:
1. 
- denim vintage style shorts from Ally Fashion
- red top was snagged at an op shop for $4

2. 
- black, purple and white striped top from City Beach. One of my winter essentials

3. 
- Favorite midi red dress from Universal store. Absolutely love the flattering length and cross over neckline with tie
- black strappy heels are from Forever New, which were purchased with a gift card
- paired with purse from Colette that can also be worn with a long shoulder strap