Friday, 3 September 2010
The violence of the London Underground
Seriously, WHY is it that when one is standing on a London Underground platform, one seems to disregard all concern for manners and social etiquette? I recently saw a healthy looking young man push past a very elderly woman who was trying to get off the train. Now what on earth was this guy thinking? Would he do that anywhere else? What was worse was that he was wearing a suit, so I assumed he'd have more respect, but I guess there's just something about the tube air that makes people forget that there will be another train in two minutes and act as if there's no tomorrow with jumping on this one, right here, right now. It really isn't worth being an absolute idiot over!
Friday, 13 August 2010
D-A-N-C-E
This song makes me want to make crazycool t-shirts and D-A-N-C-E!
I love how it references MJ's 'PYT', and the falsetto childlike voices are adorable.
Czech it out!
I love how it references MJ's 'PYT', and the falsetto childlike voices are adorable.
Czech it out!
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Money Matters?
It’s taken 24 years to realise what is so important in life, being Happy.
Dreams as an arrogant young girl, I used to tell my sisters that when I grow up, I’d be rich. That’s all I could imagine. How money would make my life complete. I’ve never known where this idea came from or who gave it to me. I was never deprived as a child, and I certainly didn’t have the same materialistic desires I have now.
It seems that being rich is so deep into my psyche ill never know how it got there. Sometimes I wonder if it’s one of my father’s Jewish traits or the French aristocracy from my mother’s side. Well ahem I wish.
But through experiences I’ve seen that money doesn’t make me happy. Yes of course it helps.
At the age of 15 I got my first job working in a flower shop. I soon loved the job. It made me realise that being creative was going to be my destiny.
My enthusiasm meant I picked up the floristry skills quickly. I was soon making Bouquet’s. The pleasure I got from mixing the colours and making something I was proud to sell.
Already having a taste of money, my journey had definitely started. But as I time passed the desire to earn more was greater than the pleasure of staying to do something I enjoyed.
So off I went to take a better wage. The repetitiveness of the job really didn’t encourage me. If anything it made me adamant of what I didn’t want. It wasn’t long before I had missed so many shifts that I was marched to the manager’s office. There they told me to pull my socks up or get out.
By the time I had finished my art foundation at 19, I wanted to earn real money. Or so I thought. So off I took my first banking job. It was here that my biggest lesson was learnt. Working in a corporate environment, it was not like anything else I had experienced. I was eager to move up the ladder and within 6 months, I did. But the pressure and strains of it all slowly ground me down.
Eventually I became incapable of doing my job. I couldn’t motivate myself to carry on. My health went down, and soon I became an underweight, miserable, ill-ridden mess. How could something so simple have such an impact? I just didn’t know who I was anymore.
It was time to change. I had realised no job was going to make me happy or rich, and even if it did, id rather be doing something I loved. So last year I made the all important decision of ditching the Job.
I had to finish off what I had previously started. Where I knew my passion lay. Using my creative ability and imbuing it.
Taking up education may not get me to my previous dreams as a kid but waking up everyday feeling happy, is what I’m all about.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Number One
I’ve always wanted to write. Not because I am good at it. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never written anything other than my GCSE Essays. The one-year I spent at LCF, only one essay was required of me. So I am quite out of touch with my English. But through my twenties its something I definitely want to improve. That’s part of the reason why I decided to go to university so late; I’m 24 now and am only starting my second year. The main reason was to improve my English skills. Although I didn’t choose the best course to do that, it gives me lots of opportunities to present myself to an audience, so spoken English in a professional manner is a must. It seems im caught up in today’s slang. I can’t find the words to express myself maturely and intelligently. So you’ll generally hear me say things like “ it’s long” or “Chief” at any wrongdoing.
Acquiring the correct English, not only makes you seem so much more intelligent, it also makes people take you seriously. All the younger generations are speaking slang and failing at school. I don’t want my younger siblings following in this declining society. How can I expect them to make use of our great language if I don’t? I think the shock that prompted me on this topic was seeing my 10 year olds sister’s friend’s, face book status. It was invaded with spelling errors. At the age of 10 I could spell competently. So why cant these kids I ask myself? Its as though they haven’t been to school. So what’s my excuse? No im not that bad, but my English skills are not up to scratch but that’s because I’ve let them down.
The degrees of learning
A first. That’s what I got for my degree.
It‘s weird, how important grades are, until you get them. Until they become a redundant piece of paper on your wall or in your display cabinet.
But, no matter what grade or level I reach, it is never enough.
Studying an unorthodox subject leaves you at the forefront of family discussions. Well, at least the discussions on my father’s side of the family. And even though, most of them are almost half way around the world; I do wonder if my path was fuelled by their wagging tongues and judgmental tones.
Before I started my art foundation, my uncle spoke to my mother on the phone. To examine the issue of my supposedly dubious education. Mum explained to him that it was my decision and that it was something I was passionate about. And in the quires stopped. I know that most of them are probably married, well-paid and are professionals with children. But they never really have the time for their children or spouses; not because of their careers, but because it’s not a ‘priority’. They don’t know the people who are supposedly the closest to them and they don’t know me.
I know that in the real world my degree doesn’t count for a lot, but I worked as hard as anyone else. I went to one of the top art/fashion universities and to get a first, I had to get above 85%, which most people don’t know. I’m definitely poor, but I am fairly content; my family seem to have come around to the idea of my career path- especially when they can boast about my grade.
But I have doubts. Like anyone else I feel the consuming feeling of uncertainty. But, I think that I finally have worked out that good things come to those who work hard. We’re in a world that doesn’t necessarily fully accept us and we have to play the game, put in the time and effort and curve it to make it fit us.
I will, or have, probably bitched and moaned about the hard times, but things aren’t meant to come easily. It helps you appreciate the things you have and hold them dear.
Let’s just hope that we’re true grafters...
Monday, 9 August 2010
Your choice or is it?
You can throw a stick and I'm pretty sure it will land on someone with a university degree. Gone are the days where higher education was merely the pursuit of the elite and the privileged. This is one belief that is reiterated to me by my family all the time. In fact trying to formulate a coherent argument, based on the fact that graduating from a Russel group university shouldn't be the only thing that defines my 23 years of existence, is something that my Mum wishes I keep to myself and refrain from announcing in the presence of others. 'Education, Education Education!' is all my Mum would rally on about, like a labour party backbencher. Any plans to divert from the journey set for me, i.e. to travel the world, in her opinion was the equivalent of declaring I had given up further education all together. My path had been set and that was it!
My path. My prerogative. My life. My choice.
Yeah right....
My path had been decided the day I was born. My prerogative had been disregarded a long time ago. My life was in hands of my Mother as long as I lived under her roof. And my choice, was simply an illusion of such.
I dunno. Maybe it's an ethnic minority thing. You know, the whole 'our-parents-came-here-against-the-odds-to-make-something-of-themselves-and-to-provide-for-the-bevvy-of-siblings-back-in-the-homeland'. And all that jazz. The emphasis to graduate from a good university, get a well paid job and generally succeed in life, goes beyond a simple personal individual quest to better yourself. It's the first point of reference in any conversation with relatives of family friends who you haven't seen in a while. And it's something I realized that I can never run away from. When you graduate with a 1st or a 2:1, your family graduates with you. When you get that great graduate job in the city, your family gets employed too. I used to view this whole obsession with education as a futile assimilation of imperialist aspirations. A way of separating ourselves from those who weren't afforded the 'golden' opportunity to go to university and further stagnate the gap between the rich and the poor. Another way of subtly saying 'I'm better than you'.
Today, my opinions are less subversive and rebellious. Old age is taming my world view or maybe I've simply given up. With the onslaught of a conservative government willing to introduce a 'graduate tax' and the lack of opportunity for graduates employment-wise in the UK and probably globally. In this gladiator pit of graduates all competing for the same position, my education, like others has unwittingly become my weapon of choice. Par consequence, I'm having to kit myself in some better armor.
Mum knows best.
My path. My prerogative. My life. My choice.
Yeah right....
My path had been decided the day I was born. My prerogative had been disregarded a long time ago. My life was in hands of my Mother as long as I lived under her roof. And my choice, was simply an illusion of such.
I dunno. Maybe it's an ethnic minority thing. You know, the whole 'our-parents-came-here-against-the-odds-to-make-something-of-themselves-and-to-provide-for-the-bevvy-of-siblings-back-in-the-homeland'. And all that jazz. The emphasis to graduate from a good university, get a well paid job and generally succeed in life, goes beyond a simple personal individual quest to better yourself. It's the first point of reference in any conversation with relatives of family friends who you haven't seen in a while. And it's something I realized that I can never run away from. When you graduate with a 1st or a 2:1, your family graduates with you. When you get that great graduate job in the city, your family gets employed too. I used to view this whole obsession with education as a futile assimilation of imperialist aspirations. A way of separating ourselves from those who weren't afforded the 'golden' opportunity to go to university and further stagnate the gap between the rich and the poor. Another way of subtly saying 'I'm better than you'.
Today, my opinions are less subversive and rebellious. Old age is taming my world view or maybe I've simply given up. With the onslaught of a conservative government willing to introduce a 'graduate tax' and the lack of opportunity for graduates employment-wise in the UK and probably globally. In this gladiator pit of graduates all competing for the same position, my education, like others has unwittingly become my weapon of choice. Par consequence, I'm having to kit myself in some better armor.
Mum knows best.
...heaven.
# And if you were faced with him in all his glory, what would you ask him if you had just one question?
Back in 2007 I survived a car crash and my mum had made me promise to go to Church and give thanks to God for sparing my life. My mum goes regularly and she always asked me to go with her, but in all honesty I could never be bothered. I was always too wrapped up in myself to really care about religion, and not to mention it was then that I had entered into a self-destructive, anti-social and just plain awful relationship with fellow car-crash-survivor (a story I'll tell another day, if at all). Three years on, having crawled out of the abyss, exhausted, dirt on my hands and sweat on my face, I had grown away from the me of 2007. I felt like myself again and it was a great feeling. I did a lot of things that I in no way did for the sake of deliberate defiance or liberation. I pushed my beliefs, I dated different people, I went out more, I danced, I changed my style, I tried to learn new things... Everything was experimental, serendipitous and brilliant.
And this brings me to now.
Yesterday I went to Church for the first time in I-don't-even-know-how-many-years. I don't even know if I had hit puberty the last time I voluntarily went to Church. I had been feeling low (to say the least) as of late and somewhat disconnected with my usual carefree and happy self. Disappointing exam results and general aimlessness both career-wise and romantically made me question exactly what my purpose was in life. I know it probably sounds so melodramatic but don't be too quick to judge me. I was far from suicidal and I was impatient to move on from this pitying way of thought but I did not feel the zeal for living. This is exactly what the quarter life crisis is, right - all of a a sudden having so much pressure and expectation to achieve a career/ambition, a stable boyfriend, make money and just have purpose in our short lives. And I say "all of a sudden" because it was just yesterday I was 16 years old and in sixth form, the world my oyster and the prime of my worries being whether or not I should attend General Studies this week when I'd never been to a single class since the start of term. Anyway, after talking with mum and good friend Miss McG, they inadvertently convinced me that maybe I'd find meaning in God. Everyone had been saying to me that "maybe Law isn't for you and something else is" and "what you're going through now is just a silly phase". None of these words made true sense to me and I could always think of a stubborn retort. I was pretty inconsolable and I knew that nobody but I could help myself.
McG said to me "God has a plan for everybody and maybe you can't do this now because you weren't meant to. Pray for guidance that he will reveal to you what you were meant for and what is right for you."
I did not go to Church equipped with the anticipation that I would miraculously find faith and meaning and contentment but I did not go with apprehension either. This first time marked a willingness to let myself be open to God; to interpreting my life and purpose; and perhaps to giving way to a new phase in my adulthood.
During the pastor's preach my head was filled with questions and - dare I say it - doubt. Christianity, to me, has so many flaws and unexplained areas that do not coincide with modern society. In turn, it makes so many others like myself turn their backs to it. The experiences I previously mentioned and I have thus far been through - many of them were against Jesus' teachings. Was I allowed to be in the house of God and believe in him half-heartedly? One area that concerns me is the question of sex. Am I allowed to follow God and at the same time believe that it's OK to have sex before marriage? And that it's OK to use sexual contraception? Was I inextricably damned if I just went my own way about things, even if it didn't mean I was a bad person?
I'm taking my cynicism differently this time. I am going to continue returning to Church and continue questioning until I can make an informed decision about my faith. In a way, I have so far clarified my negative attitude, even if it is slight, so I must be doing something right. Also, I think having something (someone) to be good for is a positive way to be a lovelier person. So now I'm less stressed out about all this "omg-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life-why-am-I-such-a-failure" business. AND I'm going to start with swearing less. I don't swear that much at all but I do much more than I used to. Furthermore, the pleasant people I met at Church made me appreciate followers of God in a whole new level. They were so NICE! The potential friend I made was definitely an added incentive.
And the cute guy I met. Ahem.
Back in 2007 I survived a car crash and my mum had made me promise to go to Church and give thanks to God for sparing my life. My mum goes regularly and she always asked me to go with her, but in all honesty I could never be bothered. I was always too wrapped up in myself to really care about religion, and not to mention it was then that I had entered into a self-destructive, anti-social and just plain awful relationship with fellow car-crash-survivor (a story I'll tell another day, if at all). Three years on, having crawled out of the abyss, exhausted, dirt on my hands and sweat on my face, I had grown away from the me of 2007. I felt like myself again and it was a great feeling. I did a lot of things that I in no way did for the sake of deliberate defiance or liberation. I pushed my beliefs, I dated different people, I went out more, I danced, I changed my style, I tried to learn new things... Everything was experimental, serendipitous and brilliant.
And this brings me to now.
Yesterday I went to Church for the first time in I-don't-even-know-how-many-years. I don't even know if I had hit puberty the last time I voluntarily went to Church. I had been feeling low (to say the least) as of late and somewhat disconnected with my usual carefree and happy self. Disappointing exam results and general aimlessness both career-wise and romantically made me question exactly what my purpose was in life. I know it probably sounds so melodramatic but don't be too quick to judge me. I was far from suicidal and I was impatient to move on from this pitying way of thought but I did not feel the zeal for living. This is exactly what the quarter life crisis is, right - all of a a sudden having so much pressure and expectation to achieve a career/ambition, a stable boyfriend, make money and just have purpose in our short lives. And I say "all of a sudden" because it was just yesterday I was 16 years old and in sixth form, the world my oyster and the prime of my worries being whether or not I should attend General Studies this week when I'd never been to a single class since the start of term. Anyway, after talking with mum and good friend Miss McG, they inadvertently convinced me that maybe I'd find meaning in God. Everyone had been saying to me that "maybe Law isn't for you and something else is" and "what you're going through now is just a silly phase". None of these words made true sense to me and I could always think of a stubborn retort. I was pretty inconsolable and I knew that nobody but I could help myself.
McG said to me "God has a plan for everybody and maybe you can't do this now because you weren't meant to. Pray for guidance that he will reveal to you what you were meant for and what is right for you."
I did not go to Church equipped with the anticipation that I would miraculously find faith and meaning and contentment but I did not go with apprehension either. This first time marked a willingness to let myself be open to God; to interpreting my life and purpose; and perhaps to giving way to a new phase in my adulthood.
During the pastor's preach my head was filled with questions and - dare I say it - doubt. Christianity, to me, has so many flaws and unexplained areas that do not coincide with modern society. In turn, it makes so many others like myself turn their backs to it. The experiences I previously mentioned and I have thus far been through - many of them were against Jesus' teachings. Was I allowed to be in the house of God and believe in him half-heartedly? One area that concerns me is the question of sex. Am I allowed to follow God and at the same time believe that it's OK to have sex before marriage? And that it's OK to use sexual contraception? Was I inextricably damned if I just went my own way about things, even if it didn't mean I was a bad person?
I'm taking my cynicism differently this time. I am going to continue returning to Church and continue questioning until I can make an informed decision about my faith. In a way, I have so far clarified my negative attitude, even if it is slight, so I must be doing something right. Also, I think having something (someone) to be good for is a positive way to be a lovelier person. So now I'm less stressed out about all this "omg-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life-why-am-I-such-a-failure" business. AND I'm going to start with swearing less. I don't swear that much at all but I do much more than I used to. Furthermore, the pleasant people I met at Church made me appreciate followers of God in a whole new level. They were so NICE! The potential friend I made was definitely an added incentive.
And the cute guy I met. Ahem.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
Yes
So it has come to my attention that my first blog entry was less than satisfactory and did not really adhere to the general theme of this shared group (don't kill me! I wasn't aware it had one and my interpretation of 'blogging' is more literally of a visual diary; to things which give me daily inspiration). Consequently, I am here to submit not so much a second entry as a sort of verbal extension of the last one.
However, just to warn you, I am prone to entering random nothingness from my head too. You must be direct and tell me to stop chatting bullshit when this happens.
Now, where do I start? The last eight months have been utterly life-changing. I didn't have high prospects for the year two-oh-one-oh, but boy is it surprising me in all kinds of ways. I have been through extreme highs and confusing lows (bit of a cliché-ic injection for you there), but in addition I have also become much freer and more mentally inspired in myriad ways. The year started off with an unconventional bang. I entered into a trans-continental relationship of which I had unrealistic and high hopes for. Somewhere along the line I'd lost my sense and sensibility, and blindly succumbed to over-indulgence. This is where the journey started. Being in this relationship showed me so much about life that is often left hidden, unsaid, unrealised, or abandoned. I experienced everything from an emotionally insecure and abusive partner to discovering more about my own emotional capacity and tolerance in relationships. I put up with a lot; I devoted myself to this person, made myself see things as he told it to me; listened to his stories and dreams. I even sent him physical objects- keepsakes and trinkets, to compensate for the lack of each other's tangible presence in our lives. However, when it came down to it, this person was demanding, insecure and petty. He read too much into things, had a warped perception of freedom, and was slow to empathise with the fact that every human being is different and each was most definitely to their own.
It was eventually time to leave him behind, and I knew it, clear as the Spring breeze brushing my face in March. It took just one moment for me to realise that I didn't need that kind of pressure from someone who was supposedly in love with me. In all fairness though, the distance probably added to the tension; in retrospect, I may have been hasty, but I certainly do not regret telling him that it was either a situation of him showing more respect for me or not having me at all (in which case he can hang up), and then hearing that dial tone. In fact, I was very relieved.
It wasn't until a while after that I realised my growing potential as a person and that my past fears and instabilities were disintegrating. It was the aftermath of this ordeal that made me. From March onwards, I saw everything that I'd been doing wrong. In effect, I'd previously surrendered myself and my morals, a case of losing my identity, disguised as lovesickness or loveblindedness. With support from friends, a one-time job which took me away to Oxford for a week, increasing concentration on my studies and my ever present trust in the future (sorry if this sounds like some sort of preaching opportunity... because it is) I started to realise how great I had it. Not saying I didn't feel the pinch of heartbreak, as even now that is something I realise I have to bear, but I just know that no matter how much it brings you down, there is always a way past a difficult situation.
The day that I handed in my dissertation and last assignment was very memorable for me. After many days of crying and sweating it out at Senate House Library with Florence, I felt elated at it all being over. We literally ran to our then second home, Russell Square, afterwards and pranced around with a pizza in hand. I will never forget that day. We were so psyched up that the day after that we managed to book a holiday to Corfu, Greece for following week. It was the ultimate reward for all of our hard work, and truthfully one of the best holidays I have ever been on. I would divulge more information but I wouldn't be able to do the time we spent away justice, but I will say this: the whole process- being away, achieving all that work, and finding solidarity in a relationship where I least expected- has given me so much strength to see what is good for me, and what I should do in order to maintain it. That is, hard work, and hard play!
Anyway, I feel that some sort of break is due, since I've typed a lot up until now. There are still loads that I wish to share with you all, but I am running out of free time tonight. But a quick plug before I dash off- if you're ever in Covent Garden, go to a restaurant called 'Food For Thought'. It is a cosy little vegetarian place which serves very generous portions of wholesome foods. Today we even sat in a little alcove, I felt like I was in Agrabah(!)
Below is a snap of my companion who introduced me to this place. As you can see, the food looks delightful!
Also, before I leave, I shall annotate the three images that I posted in the last semi-entry. The first one is by an artist called 'Queen Indra'. She is from Brixton and is capable of beautiful pencil illustrations. I chose that particular one, 'Solo', because I feel that the woman's stance captures the essence of pride-- but of a pride that is founded; one also wrought with humility and understanding. Of women, I feel that all has this great potential within them, and for that reason the image strikes such a chord with me.
The second, by Kubricki, is discordant and disjointed- just like the psyche of a woman, and more importantly, resemblant of how I felt near the beginning of this year.
And finally, the last is an aesthetically appealing image by Wakkawa (who paints quite erotic pictures), one with captures the fleeting moments within a female's life when she is evasive or elusive, when she wants to captivate yet escape the world at the same time.
That is all I'll say on that. I will be going now. I hope you enjoyed reading that- I certainly enjoyed writing it.
However, just to warn you, I am prone to entering random nothingness from my head too. You must be direct and tell me to stop chatting bullshit when this happens.
Now, where do I start? The last eight months have been utterly life-changing. I didn't have high prospects for the year two-oh-one-oh, but boy is it surprising me in all kinds of ways. I have been through extreme highs and confusing lows (bit of a cliché-ic injection for you there), but in addition I have also become much freer and more mentally inspired in myriad ways. The year started off with an unconventional bang. I entered into a trans-continental relationship of which I had unrealistic and high hopes for. Somewhere along the line I'd lost my sense and sensibility, and blindly succumbed to over-indulgence. This is where the journey started. Being in this relationship showed me so much about life that is often left hidden, unsaid, unrealised, or abandoned. I experienced everything from an emotionally insecure and abusive partner to discovering more about my own emotional capacity and tolerance in relationships. I put up with a lot; I devoted myself to this person, made myself see things as he told it to me; listened to his stories and dreams. I even sent him physical objects- keepsakes and trinkets, to compensate for the lack of each other's tangible presence in our lives. However, when it came down to it, this person was demanding, insecure and petty. He read too much into things, had a warped perception of freedom, and was slow to empathise with the fact that every human being is different and each was most definitely to their own.
It was eventually time to leave him behind, and I knew it, clear as the Spring breeze brushing my face in March. It took just one moment for me to realise that I didn't need that kind of pressure from someone who was supposedly in love with me. In all fairness though, the distance probably added to the tension; in retrospect, I may have been hasty, but I certainly do not regret telling him that it was either a situation of him showing more respect for me or not having me at all (in which case he can hang up), and then hearing that dial tone. In fact, I was very relieved.
It wasn't until a while after that I realised my growing potential as a person and that my past fears and instabilities were disintegrating. It was the aftermath of this ordeal that made me. From March onwards, I saw everything that I'd been doing wrong. In effect, I'd previously surrendered myself and my morals, a case of losing my identity, disguised as lovesickness or loveblindedness. With support from friends, a one-time job which took me away to Oxford for a week, increasing concentration on my studies and my ever present trust in the future (sorry if this sounds like some sort of preaching opportunity... because it is) I started to realise how great I had it. Not saying I didn't feel the pinch of heartbreak, as even now that is something I realise I have to bear, but I just know that no matter how much it brings you down, there is always a way past a difficult situation.
The day that I handed in my dissertation and last assignment was very memorable for me. After many days of crying and sweating it out at Senate House Library with Florence, I felt elated at it all being over. We literally ran to our then second home, Russell Square, afterwards and pranced around with a pizza in hand. I will never forget that day. We were so psyched up that the day after that we managed to book a holiday to Corfu, Greece for following week. It was the ultimate reward for all of our hard work, and truthfully one of the best holidays I have ever been on. I would divulge more information but I wouldn't be able to do the time we spent away justice, but I will say this: the whole process- being away, achieving all that work, and finding solidarity in a relationship where I least expected- has given me so much strength to see what is good for me, and what I should do in order to maintain it. That is, hard work, and hard play!
Anyway, I feel that some sort of break is due, since I've typed a lot up until now. There are still loads that I wish to share with you all, but I am running out of free time tonight. But a quick plug before I dash off- if you're ever in Covent Garden, go to a restaurant called 'Food For Thought'. It is a cosy little vegetarian place which serves very generous portions of wholesome foods. Today we even sat in a little alcove, I felt like I was in Agrabah(!)
Below is a snap of my companion who introduced me to this place. As you can see, the food looks delightful!
Also, before I leave, I shall annotate the three images that I posted in the last semi-entry. The first one is by an artist called 'Queen Indra'. She is from Brixton and is capable of beautiful pencil illustrations. I chose that particular one, 'Solo', because I feel that the woman's stance captures the essence of pride-- but of a pride that is founded; one also wrought with humility and understanding. Of women, I feel that all has this great potential within them, and for that reason the image strikes such a chord with me.
The second, by Kubricki, is discordant and disjointed- just like the psyche of a woman, and more importantly, resemblant of how I felt near the beginning of this year.
And finally, the last is an aesthetically appealing image by Wakkawa (who paints quite erotic pictures), one with captures the fleeting moments within a female's life when she is evasive or elusive, when she wants to captivate yet escape the world at the same time.
That is all I'll say on that. I will be going now. I hope you enjoyed reading that- I certainly enjoyed writing it.
Friday, 6 August 2010
Thursday, 5 August 2010
One
Having a lot of time on my hands and thoughts in my head lately, I thought it would be a good idea to start a blog. The name "twenty-something stops to..." could signify my current age (and the ages of the people who will hopefully contribute to this blog) and the journey that I'm taking to the uncertain destination that is in my future. However, the ambiguity was intentional and I won't explain any more on its multi-level meanings - I'll leave that for the entries themselves to illustrate.
(In a failed attempt to conclude with something less cliché and egotistical...) So prepare for a blog that covers my frivolous yet sincere ramblings of life's pleasures and annoyances, my position in what is called the "Quarter Life Crisis", and everything in between.
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