Author: sophiekemsley
Fragility
I’m not sure what it was – the way the lilac flowers swayed in the soft Spring breeze as I looked out of the train window, or the remnants of varying emotions within – still lingering from a range of recent events – or perhaps it was just ‘that time of the month’…
But something made me stop today. Something made me pause, and without any clear reason, I found myself feeling overcome with a strange sense of sadness (perhaps perpetuated by the piece of music which was on my MP3 player at the time)
We all know that nothing in life ever stays the same way forever and for the most part, we’re grateful for that. Life could not be classed as life without change or growth… but all of a sudden, today, that acknowledgement of impermanence resonated within me with a sense of fright, as I realised just how fragile any given moment is.
All too often it takes a tragedy to remind us of this. Through soaking eyes we utter those somewhat cliched words, “…this really puts things into perspective…” and vow to henceforth never let any of life’s daily grind detract us from that which is truly important – our family and friends, and our values. We reflect upon this for a little while but despite best intents and purposes the sentiment can so quickly be lost – the telephone rings, we remember there’s somewhere we need to be or something we need to be doing, something irritates us, we see something amusing in the distance, or we go to sleep – there are so many minor occurrences that can so easily detract our minds back to things which in the grand scheme of things, really don’t matter.
…At this point, I recall an excerpt written by one of my favourite travel writers, Canadian Ryan Murdock, in his book ‘Vagabond Dreams’, a stunning book describing a both physical and personal journey through Central America which I wish everybody would read:…
“Nicaragua taught me that there’s a poverty of life in the West, a poverty of the spirit that mimics the drudgery and dull wasting away of monetary poverty. Meaninglessness is our great disease. Life’s spark is smothered by routine, by the grind.”
Herein lies the problem. We simply have too many other things to think about in life – duties to perform… plans to be made… financial sustainance to achieve…. and other random, sporadic little things to think about – that we don’t always feel as though we have enough available time in which we can revel in what Murdock refers to as ‘life’s spark’ – those moments when we can focus upon fun, and love – all variants of it. And central to that is appreciation – the underpinning knowledge that the special moments we share, with the people we care about – may not always be an option to us…
Life goes by so quickly these days. We each live within a constant state of change where the various elements of a ‘typical day’ can change week upon week. Our circumstances change, and people will come and go from our lives all the time. It’s simply not feasible for us to forever live out ‘life’s spark‘ in the same way, yet we so often allow ourselves to be consumed by meaningless things that a year from now we will barely remember. And perhaps that’s why the word ‘fragility’ was the one which so pertinently came to my mind today. These days, at the ages we are, dwarfed by what sometimes seems to be an insurmountable pressure to ‘sort our lives out’- it is more important than ever to make the most of any opportunity we have for love, and fun (aka – the stuff which matters most, in the grand scheme of things).
But how does ‘making the most’ of these moments manifest itself? How do we handle such ‘fragililty’? For something so largely important, it can be done in the smallest of ways… Listening to every word. Savouring every minute. Focusing on the ‘here and now’ and not allowing our minds to wander towards external things that may be bothering us. Tight hugs…
…but above all, giving thanks that we ever had that opportunity in the first place – because it’s all so susceptible to change.
… Upon reflection, perhaps today’s strange surge of sorrow was down to the flowers swaying in the wind – looking at them, overcome by how beautiful they looked growing along the banks, knowing that several weeks ago they were not there, and knowing that in several weeks’ time they will have disappeared again, but being grateful for the pleasant imagery they provided today…
My Favourite Time of Year…
In the school corridor one April some years back, possibly 2003, a friend and I burst into hysterics when we noticed a teacher pinning drawings of bunny rabbits onto a display-board that featured photos from that term’s Drama production of Greek tragedy Antigone (in which yours truly had been cast a typically bit-part role as King Creon’s Servant #12 or something like that, and had still managed to royally muck up her lines). But it wasn’t the photos that amused my friend and I, more so the caption across it, “Spring Into Drama”, and the way the teacher, ‘Dr. Wazza’ as we fondly referred to her, was gleefully pinning the bunny rabbit cartoon drawings across her display, clearly proud of her pun. We laughed about this for a good while, especially whenever we passed by it in the weeks that followed.
I’m not quite sure how or why I still remember this hardly life-defining moment of laughter, but each time Spring rolls around I find myself thinking of it as a season of freshness, movement and fun, and then I think back to that caption and become slightly more appreciative of Dr.Wazza’s sentiment.
Spring IS a season to do new things, to have longer days and find things to fill them with, to re-acquaint ourselves with fresh air and blue skies. There’s something about it that just makes me want to be everywhere doing everything with everyone in every moment – to make the most of those days, weeks and months that appear all too fleetingly before the darkness will once again descend. To really start afresh.
And I very much like this feeling.
I very much like Spring.
Song of the Day: Wonder Stuff – Piece of Sky
This song is a pretty scary 25 years old… but it still sounds so fresh, and is still one of my favourite tunes to listen to at this time of year.
Space’s Perspective of Earth…
So with a relatively important piece of work to be getting on with on this pleasantly Spring-like Saturday, I did what most people do when they’ve a billion better things to be doing and logged onto Facebook for a bit of voyeuristic procrastination. Whilst scrolling down the Newsfeed, expecting not to see anything of any real importance, I saw that WWF’S Earth Hour – United Kingdom had posted a link to an intriguing sounding video – a timelapse filmed from the International Space Station as it passed over continents and cities at night.
The concept of space and the Universe has always been one to absolutely stagger me. Despite wanting to, I just can’t understand the science or enormity of it all. There are so many things I’d love to know about the solar system, but each time I try to learn I become lost within an intimidating wave of terminologies, equations and measurements that I simply can’t even begin to process. So, for me, space is just that. A limitless and mysterious yet fascinating mass that has long preexisted mankind and will longer still outlive it.
Thankfully, you don’t need to have an intellectual understanding of space to be able to enjoy this video. In fact, limited knowledge of the subject only serves to make this video all the more fascinating. How strange to see our planet from this angle. How strange to see the Western US coast as just a mere black landmass splattered with lights – no sign at all of its cosmopolitan cities and suburbs which brim with movie stars, mansions, beaches, beauty salons and bubble-tea bars. How strange to see Europe without seeing continental breakfasts, Alpine rivers and roving valleys. How strange to see the Northern Lights flutter above the planet like emerald ribbons in the wind… quite a contrast to the view from ground-level – rooted to a hill North of Reykjavik in freezing evening winds, salopettes flapping against shins, faces gazed up waiting for even the briefest of views of those green flashes… How strange just to see the World without seeing that which constantly beavers away to keep it going, and keep those lights lit – its people…
Imagery like this fascinates me because it reminds me of just how big the world truly is. It’s funny to think of all of the things that were going on below the recording equipment that were just too minute, too obscure, to be picked up: people cooking dinner, catching buses, watching television, brushing teeth, embracing, getting married, giving birth, fighting wars, passing away… all things which are significant to us individually, but appear not to be acknowledged in Space…
No wonder its size is so hard to comprehend…
Song of the Day: Tennis – Deep In The Woods
“The smoke in the night
the ash on the light
I think that it might be the last thing in sight
I know now I am right to
let you be consumed by
the smoke in the night
the ash on the light
A February Thought…
I sometimes wonder how much time we collectively spend, simply trying to ‘figure things out’
Figure our evening outfits out.
Figure our weekend plans out.
Figure our weekly menus out.
Figure our finances out.
Figure our feelings out.
Figure our lives out.
I will always be one to advocate the importance of opportunities for personal thought and reflection, but lately I’ve found myself considering the idea that maybe in some situations the only real way of figuring something out, is to just do it before the opportunity has passed by during all the time you spent contemplating it. Maybe some things are just not meant to be figured out. Just do it, and see what happens,
Maybe it will turn out that a bit of extra thought could have prevented a mistake.
Maybe nothing will come of it at all.
Or maybe, it will turn out to be the best decision of your life.
But at the very least, you’ll know, and that knowledge will make future decisions that little bit easier to make.
Song of the Day: Public Image Ltd – Rise
This was one of the signature songs of former Sex Pistol, John Lydon’s next musical project, Public Image Ltd. Released in 1986, the track served as a comment against the apartheid which was still prevalent in South Africa at the time. When I listen to Rise, I do not only hear – but feel – the resentment towards apartheid and the general socio-historical context of that specific time period… something which is nowhere near as evident in today’s generally meaningless chart music.
But that’s not the main reason for posting. I just generally enjoy this tune.
Things I Learned in 2013…
2013 was one of the first years in which I didn’t really set out any particular aims or targets at the beginning, and given that I’m still sat in my same old chair in my same old room – it shows. 2012 had been a very good year, in a number of different aspects of my life, and so I didn’t really see fit to change anything in the New Year – 2013 – other than to just carry on, and keep smiling. Throughout the course of the year, such targets did begin to emerge more and more, and I did try and work towards them, but here we are now at the end of the year, and I haven’t really achieved any of them. The moving-out-of-home thing hasn’t quite come into fruition yet (which is especially gutting since the amount of money I’ve spent on driving tests – another thing I was hoping to achieve this year – could probably be enough to purchase a small mansion!), and I’m still infuriated by South Eastern Trains on a regular basis. Generally speaking, not a lot has changed, and whilst that’s not necessarily a bad thing, it does leave me feeling a little underwhelmed at the end of the year, and disappointed that I haven’t achieved more, even if I have had a lot of fun.
But then I started to think about all the things beyond the surface. I started to look at things in greater depth, and I realised that whilst I may not have necessarily achieved very much this year in terms of what general society tend to define as ‘symbols of success’ (a relationship, children, a house, promotion at work, car), I’ve still learned a lot of things from life, that have helped me grow as a person, and right now… I consider that to be a success in itself…
Here’s what 2013 taught me…
1) The Value of Mistakes
Nobody likes to make mistakes. We fear the repercussions, and when those eventually manifest they have the ability to completely stifle us. We can feel guilty and stupid and disappointed in ourselves, especially if our mistake has let others down. It’s never a nice experience, but if a mistake we have made truly affects us then we will always do our best to learn from it, and try to ensure that it never happens again. I have slowly become to appreciate my mistakes more and more. I’m not afraid to acknowledge any of those moments when I know I need to get my arse in gear following any errors I’ve made – be it something specific, like forgetting to do something at work – or something a little deeper than that – like when I’ve perhaps jumped to unfair conclusions, or judged somebody too quickly. Guilt can be a rough ride but all mistakes can make you a better person, provided you don’t allow your pride to get in the way. They teach you how you can do things better.
I try and imagine a world in which nobody ever makes mistakes, and all I can imagine is a place where complacency has diminished peoples’ values and appreciation, and where comparative ease has slowly removed the incentive to take risks or try and improve at things. I think I prefer the way we have it here, even if it is a little harder.
2) The Value of ‘Shitty Times’
Aaaaand similarly. Most of us will have experienced shitty times at some point or another, albeit to varying extents or reasons, but we all know what they’re like. Shitty times are those wonderful moments, perhaps days, weeks (or maybe even more!) in which we feel that nothing we can do is right, that we’re never going to achieve anything, that the world is made up of 95% horrible people and that everybody hates us. For us women, we often like to attribute this to our monthly cycle, (a.k.a, ‘The Monthly Nutfuck’) but it’s not always that vague or general a feeling, sadly. Tragedies are more than just a genre of ancient old Greek stories, they actually do happen – and suddenly. Life does not always deal a fair hand. None of us are immune from being hurt or heartbroken. Being kind to others does not always mean they will be kind to you. Shitty times can spawn from all of these damning realities, and some in particular can be exceptionally hard to deal with. There is no quick fix, nor magic potion that can ever make any of these experiences easier to bare, but there is a value within them somewhere. And this is it: Whenever you manage to overcome a shitty time, no matter what kind, you become so much more than the person you were before. You are wiser. You are stronger. You find appreciation in the smallest things… but perhaps even more pertinently, you know you can get through it should it happen again, and that’s a little bit less fear to live with, at least…
Similarly to how I imagine a world in which nobody makes mistakes, I am just as underwhelmed by what comes to mind when I think about a world in which everybody is happy all the time and nothing bad ever happens. I am underwhelmed because I don’t think it could ever exist, even with the aid of all the magic needed to eradicate all the despair in the world. That’s because without shitty times, we don’t really understand happiness. Without shitty times, happiness means nothing.
I can’t pretend that I enjoy shitty times. I dread them with a passion and hate the way they make me feel, but deep down I do see the purpose in having them every once in a while. They can remind us of our focus and values, and sometimes even instigate the changes that deep down we know will make us happier but for whatever reason have been reluctant to go through with.
3. “If you don’t like something, change it; if you can’t change it, change the way you think about it. ”
When something doesn’t quite match your expectations, you can either run yourself – as well as others around you – into the ground with ongoing whinging or negativity, or you can shift your perceptions in order to focus on the positive aspects of it all. If you don’t think there are any positive aspects – search for them. If you still can’t find them – try and create them. If you can’t do that still, then accept that it is not something you’re destined for and do whatever you need to do to escape, but don’t let those around you also be brought down by your negative sentiments. I appreciate that this rather simplistic idea cannot be applied to all circumstances, but it certainly could during the experience that prompted me to take this away as one of the key things I’ve learned in 2013.
Ometepe Island, Nicaragua – October 2013
4. The Value of Just Being Yourself
Okay, I actually realised this several years back, so it’s not a new lesson learned as such, but in 2013 I’ve become an even bigger believer in this. There’s an all too infamous quote by Gandhi; “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.” I’m sure you’ve all seen it before (probably in the form of some kind of twee internet meme) but in recent years I’ve understood this sentiment to be so true. There is simply little point in pretending to be somebody that you are not, for whatever reason may be behind that.
For many years I tried to deny to myself that I have a bit of an anxiety problem. It’s hardly anything uncommon (basically – I’m just one of those people that has the ability to over-analyse and worry about particular things way too easily, and when I do I tend to go very quiet and hide myself away without explanation, probably appearing as distant or nervous to others). Thankfully, it doesn’t interfere with my life as often anymore, but it’s still a part of me that for many years I was too ashamed to acknowledge – even to myself. It was that failure to acknowledge it that caused it to have more of a noticeable and negative impact on my life. Through feelings of guilt about being affected by something that I considered just ‘a stupid problem’, I tried so hard to pretend to myself that it didn’t exist – but pretending – as I discovered, was just a huge and tiring waste of energy which could instead be used on actually combating the issue. My experiences with anxiety are still not the kind of thing I’ll shout about unless asked, even to my loved ones – some of whom I know regularly read this blog – but I have definitely benefited from acknowledging it within myself. And that’s been the most important thing. Now that I’ve acknowledged it, and started to try and both understand and combat it completely, I’ve stopped giving myself as hard a time about it, because I know I’m aware of it now, as opposed to trying to sweep it away.
It’s so much easier just to be the person you are than the person you think that others think you should be – like feeling comfortable in something larger rather than trying to squeeze into an ill-fitting dress that hasn’t seen the light of day since 2007. (Likewise, as much as I enjoy glamming up, I see little point in doing it just to reign in the opposite sex with a Clinique-inspired mask that doesn’t accurately reflect the buck-toothed scarecrow face behind it)
Much of society opposes the concept of public nudity. I agree that it would probably be a bit inappropriate for everybody to walk around naked, but it does seem a slight shame that our most natural state of being is also one so commonly met with disapproval. In a superficial world like ours, where one’s possessions, wealth, number of social media ‘friends’, visual qualities of partner and whatever other stupid things there are out there, have – so horrifyingly – become the symbols of ‘success’ as perceived by society at it’s shallowest, it seems that many have taken the instruction to “Cover Up!” way too literally. If everybody could just focus on self-acceptance and being content with themselves as they are, there’d probably be far fewer instances of self-esteem issues than actually exists and is responsible for so many incidences of Depression existent in British society today. Be real and be raw and don’t waste any precious time on people who can’t like you for who you really are. The likelihood is they’re covering up too much too.
5. Think Before You Throw…
There aren’t many things in life that can’t be replaced somehow. In many ways this is a good thing, but in another sense, I fear it sometimes leads to needless disposal.
In 2013 I came very close to throwing something special away on the basis of a couple of things that had occurred within a proportionately small period of time and upset me. Knee-jerk reactions paved the way for belligerent opinions and fabricated insistence that I didn’t need this thing in my life anymore; that I was happy enough without it. Life is busy and we don’t always get the time to sit and think properly about our thoughts and actions; and often we make decisions based only upon the whimsical emotions prompted by the irritable fatigue that can come about as result of our hectic daily routines, and prevent us from thinking properly. It was only when I did take that time out, that I realised the magnitude of difference between those belligerent, knee-jerk opinions… and how I truly felt deep-down. I realised that I didn’t want to let go of this special something after all, as it had meant so much for so long, and instead I wanted to try and repair it. By simply waiting a while, and reviewing the situation from more angles, I prevented myself from making a huge mistake.
We are lucky that in this part of the world we have access to so much which is good, and that we have so much choice and freedom; but that shouldn’t allow us to lose grip on the relationships and possessions which truly mean the most to us. We shouldn’t be any more willing to dispense of something on the basis of impulsive reaction and the belief that it can be easily replaced with other wonderful stuff, because all that ultimately does is question the value of everything else that we will ever hold dear. I’m not saying that we should never release ourselves from particular things, but if we do then it should be on the basis of a timely and fair assessment, not just a whimsical reaction.
And so there we have it, five of the main lessons that were either learnt or reiterated in 2013, and will be used to combat 2014. Hopefully this year I’ll achieve a bit more than I did last year, and maybe those five lessons will be the thing that help me do it…
Song of the Day: Swing Republic – On The Downbeat
A final epiphany of 2013 was the discovery of a musical genre of which I had previously never heard: ‘electro-swing’ – which is basically a fusion of early to mid 20th century swing with 21st century beats. This is a great style of music to listen to during the daily commute!
Christmas as a Child – Festive Flashes from the Nineties
…With Christmas almost upon us, I felt that really it’s about time I went ahead and submitted an appropriately festive post. I had a few ideas… some short, some long, some deep, some…just ridiculous. In the end I went down the slightly more personal route. I began by asking myself what Christmas represents to me, personally, rather than what it may mean to society as a whole.
I found myself having flashbacks to Christmases gone by, and from those I noticed no singular meaning become apparent. I realised that Christmas only means as much as those random memories of it which have remained, and the best ones I’ve ever experienced were as a child, when the excitement was real and raw and there was more time to enjoy it all. Since adulthood, Christmas has pretty much been about the same thing: a hangover, a day off work, food, spending lots of money on presents, and just having good times with the family and friends… which is all very nice, but arguably, a bit same-y too.
Below are the main memories from some of the first Christmases I ever experienced and can remember, from the ’80s, ’90s and ’00’s, written down just as they appear in memory (with a little help from the diaries). The recollections are brief, with details missing here and there to the extent where they may not even make sense, but these are the things that have stuck… are they similar to your first Christmases, too?
Merry Christmas everyone 🙂
Christmas 1988 – The first one I can really remember, aged 3. Spend the time bouncing up and down on my new trampoline at our house in Rickmansworth and intertwining pieces of purple and green plasticine to form ‘snakes’ with which to try and scare mum. Watch Raymond Briggs’ ‘The Snowman’ and fail to understand why he disappeared at the end as not old enough to know about the various ways in which water can change states. Enjoy the imagery, though!
Christmas 1989 – Enjoy arranging Christmas tree with older siblings. Annual appearance of god-awful decorations that have been a part of the Kemsley family Christmas since the 1970s. Much laughter ensues following the emergence from the decorations box of ‘Moody Fairy’, who we ceremoniously prop at the top of the fir once the rest is complete, ready to glare down upon us for the rest of the season.
Left: ‘Moody Fairy’ a.k.a plastic, flame-haired angel with stern eyebrows, produced from gluing turquoise feathers onto a blue cone. Probably purchased from Woolworths in 1971.
Right: ‘Grey-haired lady in car’ a.k.a ‘Pauline from Eastenders’ aka most un-festive tree decoration ever. Still features each year to this very day.
Christmas 1990 – I receive a set of marker pens, colouring-in book, and my first ever Walkman, which for the first year or so will play nothing beyond my Winnie the Pooh cassette during road trips to Kent. Creep into sister’s bedroom at 2am to open our stockings. Sister delighted with New Kids on the Block album and variety of new floral scrunchies. Tuck in to the token giant tube of Smarties before taking a quiet trip down the stairs to see whether or not there are any presents under the tree. Yes! Unable to get back to sleep due to excitement. The first one to be awake and dressed, for the last time ever…
Christmas 1991 -Starring role in the infant school nativity as ‘Narrator #2’. Also have an additional musical responsibility; clear instructions given on at what particular moment to tap single xylophone key to add dramatic effect to virgin birth. Dozens of six-year olds all running around using the word ‘virgin’ with no idea what it means, but consider it most probably linked to mode of transport experienced in recent Summer break. Mrs M’s face turns a shade of puce when asked how the baby Jesus came into being. Show starts. Mum sits proudly in the audience, probably at the back due to insignificant casting of daughter. Mary and Joseph’s parents most definitely along the front row.
Spend Christmas Eve watching ‘Father Christmas’ cartoon the whole country is raving about. Looks and sounds like big fat Barry who lives next door. Start to wonder if Santa is my neighbour…
Christmas 1992 – A Boxing Day trip to Kent to see the grandparents. In Sittingbourne, Grandma B is plumping up the cushions as we arrive. Her second husband, the retired army major, sits slumped on the settee in a mustard coloured knit jumper looking thoroughly fed up with the company and itching for us to leave. We eventually oblige.
On to Faversham next, to see Grandma and Grandad L. Smoke from Grandad’s tobacco pipe filtrates around the whole house. He plays The Entertainer on his organ, as the rest of us sit around on the claret velveteen sofas tucking in to a tin of Quality Street. The fudge diamond lures me in with it’s pretty cerise foil wrapper, so emblematic of Christmas in its own little way. To me, anyway.
Finally we stop off in Seasalter to see Nana and Grandad D. It’s the last time we’ll share a Christmas with Grandad D although we don’t know that at the time. Nana is preparing one of her roasts and repeatedly suggests I go and help myself to a chocolate from the tree, which looking back was probably just a ploy to keep me out of the kitchen and out of the way.
Cousins are in the bedroom playing Super Mario on the Nintendo, and the bungalow reverberates with a regular chorus of the menacing sounding 8-bit music whenever Mario goes underground. Serious, studious faces fixated on the screen to match. In retrospect, how the hell did people who played or witnessed this game not end up institutionalised from the insanity provoked by overexposure to this particular sound? Offending musical piece below:
Christmas 1993 – Annual attendance at the Christmas Eve service at St Peter’s church in Rickmansworth. Fusty smell, much like the one in the old hall in which we do Brownies, engulfs nave. Parents and sister whisper away about people they recognise from living there in the eighties before moving to Watford. Knock the knitted hassocks that are hanging on the hooks of the pews in front with my feet due to boredom… don’t understand a word the vicar is saying. Yawn. Want to go home… Do go home – eventually. Brother – who didn’t join us in attending church – has had an unfortunate incident with the chip fryer. House smells of chips and there is a smattering of grease on the ceiling, which in fairness may help with Santa’s descent into the house. Brother goes out to a party and the rest of us eat ham and chips and bemoan the smell.
Christmas 1994 – Santa has brought me a plethora of Playmobil, and a plush toy dwarf from Snow White. In addition, mum has bought me the video of the Disney version to go with it, but when we try to play it, it switches and jumps on the screen proffering only the grainy vision of a castle and nothing beyond. “Will need to go back to Our Price…” says mum, sorrowfully. I am secretly relieved. More interested in the Playmobil anyway. Mum only bought me the Snow White video because she wants me to be less of a tomboy. Pah to that. I have also received a strawberry-scented candle that will fumigate the whole house for the next year.
Christmas 1995 – Play Donkey Kong Country on the Super Nintendo with my sister from dawn to dusk whilst she tries to revise for her A-Level mocks. Disinterest in Christmas Dinner due to eagerness to reach next level. Sister just as enthused as I. A swift exit from the dinner table with a pause only for the Eastenders Christmas special. Frank Butcher has returned to Albert Square and the obvious chaos has ensued. Dad lets me have a little glass of Baileys provided I don’t tell my classmates. Grandma L suddenly dies a few days later, a piece of news which will be served in the form of an unexpected phone-call from Grandad during the middle of spellings practice with mum, and the fond memories of this Christmas are suddenly obliterated… the soundtrack to Donkey Kong now synonymous with funerals and tears and the unfathomable thought that I’ll never get to see her again.
Christmas 1996 – I’m in the school Christmas production, and this time playing a much more significant role, opposite Ben B. The rehearsals wear me out and I’m terrified of laughing on stage. On one occasion the laughter reaches the unfortunate point of no return. Tie pink fleece around leggings in valiant yet ineffective effort to disguise. Oh dear. Manage to keep a straight face during the live performances due to being blinded by the coloured Christmas bulbs that are strewn across the ceiling of the school hall. Can’t see a thing, which makes it much easier to perform. Get to go home from school early after watching ‘Cool Runnings’. Enjoy the consequential attempts at Jamaican accents with classmates. Spend the entire Christmas holidays watching random films on Sky, like the 1970s version of ‘Freaky Friday’ starring a teenage Jodie Foster complete with cropped nutcut. Delightfully receive bright orange Spice Girls t-shirt and silver mini-rucksack from Santa.
Christmas 1997 – My first Christmas at secondary school. Go and stay with Grandma B for a few days and have a day out in Sittingbourne. She buys me a tamagotchi and a strawberry milkshake at McDonalds. Spend the Christmas evenings listening to Ben Folds Five and start wishing I could play the piano better. Plan to ask Mr C about learning contemporary things rather than classical. Spend much of my time working on my history homework… a big old pastiche on peasants that I hope Miss B enjoys assaulting with her red biro once I’ve handed it in after the holidays. Miserable old witch. Disappointed that mum has considered the awful flame-haired fairy which has sat atop our tree for over two decades as no longer worthy of being there, and has replaced it with a boring, normal looking one. Even more disappointed that she has thrown original fairy in the bin and we will never be able to giggle at her synthetically coiffured ‘do again. R.I.P Moody Fairy.
Christmas 1998 – A seasonal German class to end term with. Teacher is a terrifying Welsh lady with luminous yellow hair moulded to her head like a walnut who spits out her consonants and shouts a lot:
“SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ‘KLING GLOCKCHEN KLINGELINGELING’!” she orders us, before firmly pressing on the ‘Play’ button of the large, angular 1980’s cassette player with her wrinkly, chipolata-like forefinger. A traditional German Christmas song starts. As die kleine Helga sings – her jovial tones muffled through the speakers of the aforementioned antiquated equipment – the class sits very still and solemn underneath teacher’s big grimace of glee. All the 13 year olds in the room agree that this is a stupid song. Lunch bell rings. Song thankfully becomes lost amidst the sound of everybody shuffling together their books and pencil cases whilst packing away, “FROHE WEINACHTS!!” spits teacher happily as we dash out the room.
Nobody able to get ‘Kling Glockchen Klingelingeling’ out of head for remainder of day. Manifests into cathartic lunchtime singing sesh the teacher would be proud of.
Christmas 1999 – Was overshadowed by the arrival of the new Millennium. Most frequently asked question of the festive period is, ‘How many L’s are there in mileninimum?[sic]’ , and everybody everywhere is planting a time capsule as though it’s the in-thing to do! In 2010, there are due to be a lot of Polaroids and Alien Babies excavated from the ground…
For the first time, the question “What are you getting for Christmas?” is asked less frequently than “What are you doing for New Years eve?”. My answer, if anyone cares: Staying over at Emily R’s house with Rupal and Emily H, eating and drinking all evening, and poking fun of the name ‘Vladimir Putin’ each and every time it’s mentioned on the news, which remains on tv in the background in order to capture celebrations in the capital. All make individual oaths to go on London Eye. Wake up in another century and realise nothing much has really changed. Physics homework still to complete. Computer geeks across the world celebrate the lack of impact of the Millennium Bug. School-kids like ourselves are disappointed, on the other hand. We were hoping all computers everywhere would die. Forever. Most particularly those ones in the IT labs at school… could’ve resulted in an easy way out of the impending test on how to use ClipArt to maximum effect.
Christmas 2000 – Sister’s (now ex) boyfriend living with us. All on best behaviour at Christmas. The entire congregation of St Peter’s nearly passes out during the Christmas Eve ceremony thanks to the never-ending nature of ‘The Shepherd’s Farewell’ – a long, grim carol being sung by the choir – for which it is compulsory to stand. Believe the song has finally reached its cessation when after a short pause in which all had slowly started to crouch down, the organ repeats arduous four-noted bridge into yet another verse. This prompts giggles between sister and I to which lady behind gives a disapproving glare which is noted by mum, who promptly nudges us to behave. Grandma B is also with us this Christmas, and she too is at the church. Her hearing Aid interferes with the induction loop and a high-pitched whistling noise can soon be heard. Grandma B oblivious… rest of the congregation very much aware.
Christmas 2001 – We temporarily have no kitchen whilst a new one is being built. Basic food for the timebeing only. Mum spends weeks working out how to manage this over Christmas. Discover incense sticks and spend a lot of time chilling out in my room under a new, blue-tinted lighting system with home-made hanging foil stars which I am exceptionally proud of even though upon greater reflection they look absolutely shite. Revise for GCSE mocks but get sidetracked by brother’s Playstation 2 and celebrity editions of ‘Who Wants to Be a Millionaire’. Eat lots of chocolate and any other foodstuff which doesn’t require cooking. Listen to System of a Down a lot and revel in being the cliche of a moody teenager who hates “aufori’ee” and exams. Send Christmas wishes over MSN Messenger to anyone who cares and try to get my head around the NEAB poetry anthology and whether or not Maya Angelou is indeed frightened of anything at all.
Christmas 2002 – Receive an electro-acoustic guitar for Christmas and do my best to try and learn some Christmas songs. Mum unaware that I have been playing the guitar secretly during the run-up to Christmas whilst she has been at work, and has clearly not spotted the fingerprints that are already all over the neck. Receive chocolate fondue set from brother’s then-girlfriend which I manage to break within the first few minutes. Awkward. Feel very foolish. Swiftly change the topic of conversation to Popstars: The Rivals and debate who will do better out of Girls Aloud and One True Voice. Trivial Pursuit is brought out again. Sister wins and takes great pride in doing so. Nobby girl.
Christmas 2003 – Go Christmas shopping with sister and mother. Young chap in Gadget Shop flirts with sister and tries to kiss her under the mistletoe in store. I go into grumpy, typical 18-year old mode and complain that it’s “always her and never me”. General self-pitying mood lasts throughout Christmas. Sister tells me off for being miserable during otherwise lovely walk around Cassiobury Park on Christmas Day. Huff. Watch childhood favourite Lady and the Tramp for a bit of nostalgia and virtually shit self at the Siamese cat song. Had forgotten how scary it is. Grumble grumble.
18 now, and Christmas is nowhere near as fun as when I was a child…
Judging Judgment
There are two personality traits that absolutely do my nut in:
– People who try taking the higher moral ground by claiming that they never judge others. At all. Ever. No sirree.
– People who are judgmental to the extent that they consider their beliefs and perceptions to be fact, regularly dictate these ‘facts’ to others, and are not prepared to consider a different viewpoint. At all. Ever. No sirree.
Maybe you’ve met some of the first kind, or second kind, or maybe you’ve even met people who display signs of both of those traits. It wouldn’t surprise me, because the practise of being judgmental is something which our modern-day society has a lot to say about.
As most already know, the UK has not always been as tolerant of diversity as it is today. Despite the vast number of improvements over the years, there are still many gaps in need of the creation of a big, cast iron bridge between them before we can really think about classing ourselves as an egalitarian society. However – we are getting there, and constantly making progress. A combination which includes – but is not limited to – passionate human rights organisations, developments in the law, and inspirational individuals have all contributed to a society that is much more welcoming of different types of people than it was say, fifty years ago. Rightly so, and long may that continue.
However, there’s a particular word, defining a particular characteristic, that has seemed to become a little misunderstood and stigmatised throughout this process. Over the years, it’s gradually turned into become of those ‘buzzwords’ that any person or organisation will claim not to be, in measure with the new movement, but which is actually a fundamental and automatic part of human nature – the trait of being judgmental.
At this point, you may be finding yourself adamantly telling yourself that you are not judgmental, but if you are, then the likelihood is that you too have been swept up into this idea that to judge others is a big no-no that is not and cannot be done ever ever ever. But when you sit and really think about it, each of us are judging others all the time. We judge anything, anybody, anytime. In the same sense that we judge the road as being too busy to cross, we find ourselves judging other people based on our interactions with them. We may judge that people are unfriendly, or beautiful, or funny, or malicious, or kind-hearted, or lazy, or *insert any other adjective here*. We don’t always acknowledge it as such, but anytime we do this – we are making a judgment, and being judgmental. It’s automatic, and it’s based on experience, but it’s still judgment – a belief based on a personal interaction with a particular person or thing. In my mind, it is verging on the impossible to be non-judgmental.
I’ve considered this idea a lot lately, and it’s been only by doing so that I’ve started to be receptive to just how often I find myself making some form of judgment about others. Like this morning on my way to work, I passed a lady who had ginger hair and red trousers. My immediate thought was that the colours clashed and it wasn’t the best of choices, and that she was foolish for not realising this. That was a judgment. A trivial one perhaps, but a judgment nonetheless.
I’ve been served by cashiers who have given me the totally incorrect change. I’ve considered their basic mathematical ability and rendered them ‘stupid’ in my mind. That was a judgment.
I’ve sat next to people on the train who emanate the scents of festering filth and a voice within has narrated to myself that they do not wash. That was a judgment.
I’ve walked past Wetherspoons in Canterbury at 9:30am on a weekday morning, observed the bunch of folks consuming pints of Abbots Ale on the pavement, and questioned the integrity of their lifestyle. That was a judgment.
And when I see hooded youths walking towards me on the pavement as I walk within dark skies, I feel afraid and intimidated. That too, is a judgment.
And that’s just a few examples. On this basis, I am a very judgmental person indeed.
The prevalent theme in each of these – and other – situations in which I’ve formed a judgment, is that the judgment has often been automatic and difficult to suppress. A hunch. A notion. Whatever you want to call it, it’s there, and I sometimes ask myself where I’d be without it. Jumping into cars with strangers? Believing every single word anybody ever tells me? Thinking that a breakfast-time beer at the pub is a healthy way to start each day? Judgment can serve value, it can be a safety mechanism. If we were never judgmental, we may as well lie back and stitch, ‘Home Sweet Home’ across our chests and prepare for the rest of civilisation to stomp all over our sorry selves as we sit wondering what we really think about… well, anything at all.
But if being judgmental is an automatic response more commonly displayed than we would each like to think, what makes it such an apparent sin? How and why is the concept so widely and frequently maligned by diversity activists alike?
For me, it’s a very simple equation:
Judgment + Close-Mindedness = Bad
Judgment + Open-Mindedness = OK
And that is where the difference lies. That is where the diversion occurs between people who remain judgmental in an automatic sense, and people who are judgmental in the non-forgiving, ignorant sense that has been the key catalyst in this whole ‘war on judgment’ that modern day equal rights activism has fought so hard in. This is the reason why so many are so scared to voice or even acknowledge their own opinions and judgments. They don’t want to be misinterpreted as sharing a behavioural trait in common with the kinds of people who are too blinkered to ever consider that their opinion, and their judgments, aren’t necessarily the same thing as ‘facts’.
Other peoples’ judgments and opinions on things never really bother me – on most occasions, they make for interesting discussions and the opportunity to see things from a different perspective. But when those judgments are over-flaunted, or combined with a nauseating bucket-load of close-mindedness, that’s when the art of being judgmental really, really, winds me up… like an old-fashioned clockwork doll, affixed with a natural expression of 19th century denunciation.
In a world so wealthy with diversity of thought, surprise and contradiction, it staggers me how confident some people can be that what they think about things, people, the universe, is the truth, and how much they think everybody needs to hear it! Not only do I find it irritating, but it completely undermines the ability of anybody else around them to make up their own minds. The internet is a great tool for these kind of people. They leave controversial comments on news stories, or create websites advocating their controversial beliefs, or post a bajillion Tweets per day just to let people know what they think, as if it really matters. I will always support people expressing their thoughts and feelings, but I have very low tolerance for those who constantly try to portray these thoughts and judgments as facts, or, at the very least, try and convert others into sharing the sentiment.
We all have our own opinions, and we all have particular reasons behind those opinions. So why do some people think that theirs are any more founded than anybody elses? And why are those same people often the ones who so seldom acknowledge the other side of any debate they are ever involved in? It’s that which embellishes stigma to the natural and automatic process of making judgments and forming opinions. It’s that which makes ‘judgmental people’ seem such a pain in the arse to the rest of us, even when the practise of making judgment itself is something which everybody does.
Do you know what? I quite like knowing that the judgments I make aren’t necessarily going to turn out as a reflection of the truth, if there indeed is a ‘truth’ (and in many instances, I don’t think there is. Most things will always be just a matter of opinion). I’ve been proven wrong about things hundreds of times about hundreds of things, and whilst they weren’t always discoveries for the better, it’s all added colour to the rich fabric of life and taught me the importance of keeping an open-mind about things, all the time. Because nothing ever stays the same, nor would we ever want it to, and just because we feel a particular way about a particular thing now, we may feel differently tomorrow. The important thing is that we allow for that to happen, and don’t let the judgments we make turn into a curse that narrows our horizons too much.
“Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.” – George Bernard Shaw
Song of the Day: Tunng – Hustle
A nice little ditty from an English band who’s musical style is often classed as ‘Folktronica’ – definitely worth discovering!
This Is Why Travelling Will Always Be One Of My Priorities
(Photos from Guatemala, Honduras and Nicaragua)
Every time I tell myself that each big trip will be my last, on the basis that I’m “getting too old and need to save the money for things like mortgages and cars” I know that I am lying to myself, and that I am allowing societal pressure to ‘settle down’ to try and deprive me of doing what it is I enjoy doing the most.
In reality, though, I think travel is one of the most important things for anyone in the world to do. The daily routine – whether or not you enjoy yours – is an endless cycle of pretty much the same thing every single day, and it’s important to have a bit of different perspective every now and then – to look at your life from a different angle and ask yourself whether or not you’re really happy with the way things are going or perhaps if there is something in your life that could benefit from change.
Central America – with its beautiful and unique flora and fauna, tropical wildlife and colourful characters has been the perfect place in which to spend a fortnight away, and in an ideal world I would never have purchased a return ticket.
But for now I just have to treasure and appreciate the memories and look at my big ol’ World Map and work out where to go next.
sophiekemsley 