Where I am Now

It has happened – I have finally got to the point where I can say that I have finished university and my time in education (unless I’ve failed my final exam and messed up all my coursework so will have to do retakes in August, but hopefully that won’t be the case). Finishing university has always been a huge milestone for me, and tied up with the fact that I have never not been in education, it’s a big one. When you’re in school, you dream of the day that you won’t have to be in school any longer. No more exams, no more essays, no more petty childish drama – and pretty much all three happen still in university. I say ‘you’, which realistically is a big assumption to make on behalf of everyone reading this, but what I’m trying to grasp at is that feeling of anticipating the next stage of your life. I, for one, had big expectations of what I would be like once I’d finished in education. I had hopes, dreams, and plenty of those pesky assumptions which I’m now having to reflect on.

The first big thing is independence, which in essence I have achieved in terms of living away from home during university months, doing my own washing, cooking etc etc. Yet when I was younger independence did not look like going down to tesco just before it shuts because you needed to put a wash on and have run out of tablets. It did not look like eating the same meal for three nights in a row because you want to save money. It did not like forgetting simple things every now and then because you’re tired, such as hot ceramic dishes do not mix with cold water. I know, I know, it’s all about living and learning and growing and bettering yourself, but that mantra does no good at 1am drying your bed sheets with a hairdryer because you forgot about the wash you put on.

One big thing I always thought about was what job I would have – and the dream job has changed many, many times. Becoming an author (and by that I mean a good author who has people who like their books so much that they can making a living out of it) has always been a dream job, but there are always others that pop in and out of my mind. First I wanted to be a professional horse rider, then a pop star, and then deciding I wasn’t a good enough singer so a songwriter. Recently, the dream is to be in publishing, and I certainly expected to have a job lined up and ready once university was finished. Yet, here I am, and all those hopeful publishing applications I sent out have been returned with a ‘thanks, but no’. You’re always told that you go to school, then to university, then you’ll get a job – but nobody really talks that much about the in-between. When applying for universities, no one told me about how, even if I do well and get a great degree, a job won’t be there waiting for me. They didn’t tell me that even if you work your arse off not only at your degree but at applying for jobs, it won’t necessarily mean you’ll get one either.

With the job dreams also come the social life dreams, and I always assumed that by the time university was over I would be in a committed, happy relationship with someone who could celebrate with me over all those job offers I had coming in. Again, Little Miss Assumption over here, but when I was younger that was what I thought was the most important. It was like a list of items to take the Life Goals Supermarket, and you would tick each one as you went along. Job? Tick. Relationship? Tick. What else was needed?

I knew I was going to forget a big one, and that is the dream I’ve had for a long long time, probably starting at about 10 years old – and perhaps the saddest one when I look back at it. What I wanted all through secondary school was beauty. And isn’t that just awful? Sure, sure, we can just argue and brush it off by saying that society makes us try to value what we’re born with (looks, parent’s wealth, lack of both) over what we earn for ourselves (perseverance, patience, kindness). And sure, we can all stand around and say that no society, we will not be partaking in that thank you very much. But at the end of the day, when I would go home at 12 years old and look in the mirror, all I would see was acne, a big nose, un-styled hair, and chubby patches all over. I’ve spoken a lot about acne and appearances in the past and how I now feel more confident, but I’m still filled with the memories of standing in front of a mirror and wishing that there were no mirrors in the world so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. Wishing that there was some way to exchange your face for a new one. Wishing that there was a way that meant I could live my life without anyone looking at me. And I wished for that day in the future, the day when I finished school for good, when puberty should have been and gone and left me unblemished, with clear smooth skin, great hair, and a body I was happy with. That was what was going to be my biggest marker of how far I had come.

But, as is the way of life, things didn’t exactly go to plan. Here I am, university finished, but just after the days of stress with my emotions all over the place and a few days of very hot weather, I’ve had another skin breakout. I have red spots dotted around my face like some flicked paint at me with a toothbrush. I’ve got black heads on my chin and nose, and something resembling Mount Etna on my neck. You stare in that pesky mirror and it’s pretty hard to think that you haven’t come that far at all.

Then I have to slap myself for being so melodramatic. Because I am not that twelve year old girl thinking that people won’t like me just because I have a spot on my chin. Like, jesus christ Eleanor, it’s not the end of the world. Yes, it sucks. Yes, it kinda hurts when you poke it, but it’s just a spot. There’s the magic of makeup if you’re feeling super downhearted but other than that, your face and your looks do not define you. Twelve-year-old me hardly knew how to write paragraphs, and here I am having just written a 10,000 word dissertation on a topic I love on top of my various other coursework and exam revision. On top of that I have worked every single weekend for almost two years now so that I can keep living in London and support myself. On top of that I have been going to different opportunities to make contacts and get work experience. And on top of that I’ve surrounded myself with friends who I love (and who assure me they love me back when I’m not being so ridiculously melodramatic).

And so, like most of these blog posts go, this has turned from reflection to being a self-affirmation that whilst all my hopes and dreams haven’t exactly come to pass, I’ve realised that they’re allowed to change a bit. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll be a bestselling author telling the story of how she almost let a pimple keep her from chasing her dream, and everyone will say, “Man, she was a melodramatic child”.

Room for Improvement

It’s unsurprising that there a very few people who feel 100% happy with themselves – be that of their physical appearance, mental state, achievements, wealth, and more. With unfair media representations, everyone has expectations which are often unattainable. Personally, I’ve struggled with feeling happy in my own skin, as mentioned in several posts(see here and here and here), but over the past few years I’ve been able to feel more confident about my work achievements and, every now and then, I feel better about my looks.

However, there is always room for improvement – or, at least, that’s what my mind tells me. It just doesn’t matter where I get to, I’m still making comparisons with everyone I see. Why can’t I be as effortless as her why do I have acne why I am I podgy in really inconvenient places why why why. 

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It can be a pretty nasty cycle to get stuck in, looking at everyone else and wondering why they are all so much better than you in completely different ways. But I came across some inspiring quotes – probably discovered through late-night scrolling on the internet – that gave me a bit of a kick up the arse. Instead of just wallowing in self-pity, why not actually try to do something about it?

Some things have quick remedies. For example, I hated the fact that my heels were so rough with dry skin. One trip to lush to buy a foot scrub and some lotion, I had one less problem to obsess over. Earlier on in the year, I was panicking about my future, but after sending several emails and spending a couple months in sheer panic, I secured an internship.

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Now I’m onto physical appearance, and that’s a bit more tricky to deal with. I decided that I wanted to be leaner and fitter, rather than thinking about weighing less because focussing on my weight just depresses me more than anything else. For some people looking at weight helps them focus and gets them motivated, whereas for me I see that number, crawl into bed, and eat some crappy food to try and cheer myself up – which really doesn’t help the initial problem.

At the beginning of this year, I started doing yoga in an effort to do some exercise during the week and although I don’t always manage to fit it in (sometimes due to being busy, other times due to sheer laziness), it has helped me a lot. Now entering the new year, I’m debating between starting up running or joining a different sports society, so we’ll see how that goes. To try and help the rest of the ‘podgy in inconvenient places’, I’m trying to eat slightly healthier from here on out. Normally I’m not bad with what I eat, but I could probably do with eating some better, nutritious meals to help my body out.

So, yes, ‘room for improvement’ can be a bit of a risky mantra, especially as it implies that you are never perfect, but who the hell is perfect? Striving for better is hopefully going to do more good than harm, so we’ll see if this new regime manages to stick. Though I’m sure that serving of chips and mayonnaise I had yesterday doesn’t really help (it’s ok, I had a really healthy breakfast to balance it out – I mean, that’s how healthy eating works, right?).

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Guide to University/Life: Put yourself out there

I wasn’t sure whether to make this a general post or Guide To University, but as the inspiration came from experiences at University, I decided to go with the latter.

It’s bloody difficult getting your life together, as I’m sure everyone can relate to. From getting into good schools, to doing well in exams, deciding if university is for you, picking your career path, making steps towards said path – I mean, come on, that’s not even including your social life, your housing, bills, taxes, food, relationships, and everything else on top. Instead of trying to tackle all of these today though, for now I’m going to focus primarily on the career aspect.

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I’ve been told all through my life – by parents, friends, adults that actually have their lives together – that if you want something, you have to work for it. That you can’t just sit on your arse with your hands open, waiting for something to fall into them. That it’s not all down to luck and chance, that you actually have to work for it. It’s about perseverance, determination, and a bit of guts on top of that.

In the career paths I’ve looked into (journalism, writing, and publishing), networking is a large part of them. That means that whenever I’m in a setting where a contact could help me greatly in the future, I have to suck it up, go up to them, and get their details. I was crap to start off with, when I was on the Young Journalist Academy and seeing all these amazing people walk through the door and thinking ‘damn, wish I got their email’. Honestly, you have to just put yourself out there and shove some of those nerves, and maybe a little dignity, aside. You can’t be insecure, you just have to toughen up and walk on and, if they don’t give you that email, they don’t give it to you. You won’t get it without trying, and that’s the mantra I try to keep on repeat in my mind.

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Next step? Actually email them. I’ve only just started to make sure that I actually do that as soon as I can, rather than wait until a lot later when I think ‘oh, maybe so-and-so could help me out with this problem’. I suppose I’ve been lucky enough to have had the opportunities that I’ve had, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t worked for them. I only received work experience at The Sun by talking to someone at an event and asking for their card so I could email, which is when they asked if I’d be interested in experience. I’m currently on an internship for publishing now, which I managed to get after sending out email after email to as many publishing houses as I could asking for any experience in the industry they could offer.

What I haven’t manged to do well yet, and I imagine won’t be able to deal with perfectly for a while, is rejection. I am bloody terrible with rejection, feeling as if it’s a personal attack and agonising over wording in emails, whereas they were probably written within minutes. Finding the strength to not let yourself be upset when you’re not picked is so hard, but I’ve found the real challenge is picking up the pieces and getting on with it.

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Take a couple months ago for example, where I had an offer for an internship for two weeks that I already had set plans. I replied, angry at myself, only to find out I could shift my plans. Another email hurriedly sent, only to find out that they’d found someone else. (This all happened in about 15/20 minutes) Then comes the anger, the tears, the irritation, the cursing, and copious amounts of chocolate and tea.

So it’s safe to say that when you do put yourself out there, you’re also very likely to be rejected a few (a lot) of times. But when you finally get that ‘yes’? All worth it. 100%. (Well, maybe not the many calories you’ve put on, but you can deal with that later)

The One When I Used to Play Golf

I used to play golf. There were times I loved it and there were times I hated it – let’s just say it was a complicated relationship. Part of that just had to do with my ‘compatibility’ with the sport, I suppose. Four hours is a long time, especially to a 14 year old – which is around the age I started to play.

I mainly picked up the sport because my parents played, and still do, a lot. On a Saturday we would go, usually early, most of the time in cold temperatures, and always with my groaning about said things. I would play with the ladies, because playing with the juniors wasn’t so great (more on that in a bit). The thing with golf is that it’s very difficult to be consistent. One day you could be brilliant, and the next your swing just isn’t working and you get caught up in your head and the next minute you’re throwing your clubs at the ground.

Maybe if all I had to worry about was myself and just playing golf I’d still be playing today. There were times when I loved it, especially when I managed to somehow get a hole in one. The last golf coach I had told me that I had a great swing, and it was nice to find something that I could be good at. Unfortunately, there are many other factors that I had to deal with.

Like with several other sports, you don’t see a lot of female golf players. On the TV it’s the male competitions that get the most attention, just like with football and rugby. For me, it was very similar at the golf club I played at. There were no other girls my age, so in the juniors it was myself and boys of all ages up to eighteen. There was a ladies team, but most of them were over forty.

The first coach I met was called Mike, or Mark, but we’ll go with Mike for now. He was an all-around arse anyway, but he clearly believed that women didn’t really belong in the golfing world. His comments to me were far from encouraging, and I remember him telling me not to compare myself with the others as I’d never be able to hit as far as them because I’m a girl. The first time I went out on the course, Mike announced that I would go around with two 8/9 year olds instead of those my age because I had to go off the women’s tee, as if that made me less worthy. The two boys immediately complained about having to play off that tee with me and I remember quitting halfway through the round because of how awful it was. The embarrassment of not being able to putt well, especially it being my first time playing on the course, was only made worse by the two boys already having finished and telling me to hurry up.

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Luckily I didn’t have to deal with Mike for long, and a different coach came to the club, the exact opposite of Mike in every way. Despite this, it was now the other players I had to deal with. I remember a lot of staring and laughing. On a Monday night the coach offered a training session for juniors for £5 which I attended, only to be avoided by the boys who refused to instigate any conversation with me. When we were partnered up, they were wary of answering me or just trying to even speak to me. The coach once set up something to help us concentrate, where each of us would try to make a putt whilst everyone else jeered and shouted and tried to distract the player. Each boy stepped up, each boy received the same shouting. Yet when I went to putt, everyone was silent. In my embarrassment, I tried to quickly make the shot to get it over with and still missed it. It was very apparent that I didn’t quite belong there, or at least that’s how they saw it.

My experience of playing golf is usually the first thing I bring up when people try to downplay sexism. But my tales of woe and melodrama don’t end there.

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I talked in another post about the difference a good teacher can make and within that I briefly mention my PE teacher whose treatment of me was the final nail in the coffin of my golf-playing days. The lack of support in my chosen sport was astounding, and maybe it was just through lack of knowledge of golf on her part but it was like she didn’t even try to help me. There was definite favouritism in that AS PE class, and it seemed like those favourite pupils were the ones to always do the best. Maybe they simply blossomed under the light of favouritism and the constant remarks about how wonderful they are, whilst the rest of us were left to wilt. Every week that teacher would demand to know if my handicap had dropped yet, as if I could just simply drop by 10 in a few days. A completely demoralising experience, which just made me want to give up because how the hell was I supposed to compete? I even played a round of golf with her and won, but that didn’t help.

The whole class went to a local driving range where the professional there told myself, and the teacher, that I had great technique and a good swing. The two of them assessed me as I coached my classmates, and the professional told us that he’d give me full marks for everything. There were about five categories all marked out of five, and when I came to find out what my teacher gave me it wasn’t what the professional, let me emphasise the professional, had said at all. I was given one 4, two 3s and two 2s. She commented that she didn’t know if I’d had a ‘fluke’ that day, and she was trying to reflect that in her marking. And that was just for the coaching. For my playing, she scored me a low C – and by low I mean it was a C by a couple of marks. There was a man in my club that was a mediator for PE, so he assessed me on perhaps the worst day possible – freezing temperatures, and even some hail – so although I wasn’t playing my best, he still told me that I was a high B on that day and he would assume in better conditions I could be an A student. He called my PE teacher, and next thing I know she’s telling me that she’s decided to bump up my grade – to a middle B.

It should come as no surprise that quite PE after a year. There were other moments in that class of absolute dejection – such as being made to swim against my classmates, most of whom were talented swimmers whereas I was not. I lost, on every front, and was met with laughter, and then the classic scene of being picked last. Definitely my worst school experience by far, and I’m surprised that I managed to actually get through the year when I think back to it.

There’s not much else I feel like I can say. I decided to write about this a few weeks ago when talking with friends about bullying, and this popped up in my head. My experience with golf doesn’t even come close to the horrors some people have had to survive, but it’s still one that, looking back, I have more bad memories than good. I remember the sexist coach, the staring, the boys who refused to talk to me, feeling isolated, alone, different, unwelcome, that PE teacher, feeling worthless, and just wanting to give up. There are moments I consider trying to play again, when I think about when the nice coach told me that I had a great swing, or how that professional at the other club told me I had talent. I think about getting fantastic at golf, just so I could go back to that PE teacher and show her theream good at something.

But for today, I’m happy, and I’m not going to risk that.

Why I’m scared to voice my opinion

Someone from my old school did something incredibly brave a couple of days ago, and it’s been covered by most media outlets – they came out as non-binary to President Obama. This post isn’t about what they did directly, but has been inspired by it – if you’re interested in their story, however, they here’s a link to one of the many articles they’ve been featured in: read here on The Guardian.

Of course my whole timeline on Facebook became filled with this story with people sharing their support, various videos of what happened, and the mentioned articles. I was unable to watch it live, so I went to look at one of the videos posted but ended up in the comments section. As expected, there were the usual disgusting comments of people being unkind, insensitive, and all the rest. However, there was one that stood to me for all the wrong reasons. It was a perfectly polite comment, saying something along the lines of ‘I understand being transgender, but not non-binary as I’m not exactly sure what it means’. This is me paraphrasing of course as I can’t remember the original comment, so forgive me.

It wasn’t this comment that got to me, but the responses to it. All of a sudden, just because someone commented that they didn’t understand, they were called racist, homophobic, sexist, and a whole bunch of ugly names. They hadn’t been rude in their comment, in actual fact they’d been polite and weren’t unkind towards the subject matter at all. They expressed not understanding, and it seems that in a lot of cases these days that is just unacceptable – and, as usual, I’m just talking from my experience.

I’m afraid of talking about, discussing, or even stating what I think on subjects such as feminism, racism, discrimination, gender, oppression, sexuality, and more, mainly because I’m afraid of the backlash. Of course there are the usual arguments, such as how because of the colour of my skin/gender/class, I’m not allowed to have opinions on certain patters. That, however, isn’t what I want to talk about today. What really puts me off is that I’m scared of getting something wrong, of causing offence, of being unintentionally rude. It’s not that I’m planning on going out and saying something controversial in a take-no-prisoners manner; it’s being afraid of being targeted for simply not knowing something.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who finds it difficult not just to discuss these matters but even asking about them, all because of the standard attack I’ve grown to anticipate. Let me try to say this in a clearer way – for me, it’s like saying that I’m scared of maths. You’d probably laugh and say that we’re all scared of maths. What I’m actually trying to say is that I’m scared of learning maths, and that seems far more ridiculous. Why should you be scared of learning about something? Why is learning scary? Why is educating yourself something to be afraid of? Well, from where I stand, it seems that if you say something wrong you don’t simply just get corrected, but you get flayed and strung up for all to see, ostracised for simply not knowing something. Again, and I reiterate this because I want to make sure you understand, I’m not talking about people being intentionally offensive. I’m not excusing people who are so hurtful and rude that they seriously plan to hurt someone’s feelings or put them down. I’m thinking more along the lines of being openly honest and curious yet still polite in trying to say what you think and what you don’t understand in order to then learn.

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With arguments and conversations, it should be a clear discussion with formulated opinions and justifications, not just attacking the other person. I kind of think of it like a discussion on books. Person A says ‘I prefer fantasy to history because I love the imaginations and creations of different worlds’, only for Person B to respond ‘my god you’re stupid and ugly and fat, go back from where you came from’. It doesn’t work. Reading comments on these posts about this person from my old school just made me upset and depressed that this is how some people think. Instead of stating that they just don’t understand, they attacked a person and mocked their opinions without even providing a justified opinion of their own. One person said ‘I don’t understand this generation’ and all I could think was ‘I don’t understand yours’. We should all want to join in on the train of progression and go along with it, not dig in our heels and try to hold it back. We should jump on board and want to learn and stay on that track to a better, and hopefully more understanding and open place.

I think for now that’s all I want to say until more comes to me, and no it’s not just because I don’t think I can continue this train metaphor for much longer. I hope I’ve articulated myself somewhat clearly and I’d love to hear what you think – this may just be the rambles from some white female student, but it’s what I feel and, whether or not you think what I believe matters, my thoughts are here for you to read and respond to.

As always, thanks for reading, and I think the next post I write is going to be on a topic that’s a little less heavy. I’ll need something lighter to help carry me through essay and exam season.

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Female Beauty

I have a notebook obsession – seriously, it’s a bit of an issue that I try to handle every single day. I even tried to get rid of a few old ones the other day, and as I was flicking through  the pages of one of my numerous ‘ideas’ notebooks, I came across a small passage that I wrote. It was a first-person rant by a female character who was fed up of being called arrogant for thinking she was beautiful. When writing it, I think I must have been maybe fourteen and most definitely insecure about my appearance, so of course I wrote about characters who were confident, strong, and took absolutely no shit from anyone.

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Anyway, it got me to thinking – a rare activity for me – about why I, along with so many other girls, are so insecure. Yes, the easy answer is media and body-shaming and blah blah blah, but I think it’s more than just telling girls that they need to be skinny or it’s beautiful to have flawless skin and long flowing locks like some sort of Disney princess. I think you could go far enough to say that we’re not telling girls just about what beauty is, but that they can’t be beautiful. Or at least, they themselves can’t think that.

I’m not making much sense? Right, let me take you to a classic example of a pop song by a boy band beloved by most young girls. Heard of that horridly catchy and irritating What Makes you Beautiful by One Direction? Now, not to hurt too many feelings, I’m sure the boys of 1D did not intend to fit into the stereotype of putting down girls nationwide, but they certainly do with that number. Yes it might sound cheerful and seem sweet about a boy telling a girl she’s beautiful, but let me remind you of the killer line ‘You don’t know you’re beautiful, that’s what makes you beautiful’.

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I know, I know, they seem very cute, but STOP THAT RIGHT NOW. Are you seriously kidding me with this line? Let me elaborate what they’re saying here several times:

  • You don’t know you’re beautiful, that’s what makes you beautiful
  • What makes you beautiful, is that you don’t know it
  • I like the fact you think you’re ugly, it makes you more attractive
  • You have no self-confidence, which I like
  • I like to be superior and for you to feel inferior

Ok, maybe the last one is going a bit too far, but I’m standing by my point. We are telling girls that it’s better for them to have no self-confidence. It’s not good to think that you’re pretty or beautiful because that’s too close to arrogance which isn’t at all attractive. Far better for a boy/man to find a girl who thinks she’s worthless so he can be the one to reassure her, or not. We go back to the ageless stereotype of thinking girls should be meek and quiet who need to be saved by strong men. Stop that right this instant.

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And so we’re back to the classic slut vs stud dichotomy; women who sleep with lots of men are sluts, men who sleep with lots of women are studs – simple! You would think we’d be past this by now but, alas, we are not. And boy bands are partly to blame. Sort of.

Why are girls encouraged, still, that having confidence isn’t great? In an age when we’re trying to get girls thinking that they can be just as good as boys, and telling both boys and girls that they don’t have to fit the stereotype of being strong all the time/quiet and meek all the time, there are still a million and one issues. Beauty is one that we usually think we’ve covered, like there’s some long list and after the numerous attacks on body-shamers and huge long articles about plus-size models and what not, we’ve ticked that box. Hate to be the party-pooper, but we’re a long way from done. Girls are told to be confident in themselves and their abilities, but that doesn’t yet truly extend to being confident about their beauty.

So, let’s please change something. Even if it’s just a song that now says ‘You don’t know you’re beautiful-oh wait, you do know? That’s great news; I find your confidence attractive and I like that we’re on equal footing’, although that’s a little less catchy.

I’m Average

We have an obsession with being ‘special’, whatever that means. We go to great lengths to avoid being ‘normal’, whatever that means. When we think of being ‘normal’, I assume most people instantly think ‘boring’ – at least that’s where my mind takes me.

There are influences left, right, and centre for making you think that you want to be the to stand out. No, as far as I’m aware, we’re not encouraged by our culture to just fit in and be like everyone else. Don’t get me wrong, this is good – incredibly good, in fact. The goal of this encouragement is so that people just try and be themselves, which I love, but it does also go a bit beyond that. We’re urged into this mindset that there are certain people who are special, ‘chosen ones’ if you will. Most of us grew up reading books like Harry Potter and watching shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer that feature the trope of there being a ‘chosen one’. Hell, I’ve wanted to be Buffy for a long, long, long time, and I don’t see that stopping anytime soon.

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There are certain people we think of as ‘special’ – that beautiful one you see in class, the extremely athletic one who got a scholarship, that one that got the part in the play, and so on. I’m sure most of us think of celebrities as a whole as special people – generally anyone in the spotlight in media will have that tagline in my head. That’s why we want to be these people; we want to be special, we want to be extraordinary. Damn, even that word: extra ordinary. We don’t want plain ol’ ordinary, we want that extra.

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I consider myself to be an average sort of person, and it’s bloody difficult to be happy with that and, more importantly, be proud of that. I live in a nice flat in London, I have a part-time job, I get to go to higher education and, one day, I’ll be able to have a job which (hopefully) is one that I’m happy in. There aren’t many people who can say that they have all of that, which is why I have to remind myself daily to be happy with my life and what I have. I’m lucky to live where I do, to have the family that I have, and have the drive to work hard for what I want. So I’m not a celebrity for my incredible talents. So I didn’t get that part in the play I really wanted. So I’m not doing anything incredibly exciting or going on adventures or holidays that I see others going on. I may well get average marks despite working my arse off, but I need to stop thinking that that isn’t a good thing. So I’m not top of the class – that doesn’t mean I’m at the bottom.

Earlier this year, I gave myself this tagline: average. I was pretty bummed about it, until I realised that just because I’m not off bungee jumping a mountain abroad or featuring as a debut actress in a movie doesn’t mean that I’m an average person overall. What does ‘average’ even mean? Is there really a ‘normal’ that we’re all trying not to be? Just because you’re not in the spotlight doesn’t mean you’re any ‘less’ of a person than those who are in it. Maybe you’re the cheerleader screaming on the sidelines, supporting everyone around you and holding them all up. I’m happy with that.

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Man, I love Buffy. For more of my random thoughts and musings, be sure to follow this blog and leave a comment on how you feel about this. Or even a comment about how much you love Buffy. All are welcome.

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