Remembering the Victims of 9/11

| sophiekemsley

To head this post, I’d like to share with you the following excerpt from one of my old diaries:

Tuesday 11th September, 2001:

Got home from school to find mum in a state of distress with the t.v on.  There was news, smothering every channel, about trouble in New York.  4 planes had been hijacked and crashed – two of which had been directed into the Twin Towers, which consequently collapsed.  The city centre is covered in dust.  Thousands have been killed, vast amounts injured.  The finger of blame is pointing at Palestine.  People are likening this to a much worse version of Pearl Harbour, and fearing a Third World War.  There are also whispers that London will be next.  Tony Blair is pledging allegiance to President Bush which means we would be their allies in War.  Everyone I know is completely shocked and subdued right now.

Do you remember where you were, and what you were doing, when you first heard news of this atrocity?  I don’t know of one person who isn’t able to recollect this information when asked.  I can clearly remember also, returning to school the next day and our headteacher showing us newspaper images in assembly.  For somebody normally so outspoken, on this occasion she said very little, for the pictures spoke a thousand words.  I think, for many of us teenagers sat in the hall that day,  pumped up on the innocent naivety of our youth, the news served as a harrowing notification of a world beyond Watford.  Yes, two towers collapsing 3500 miles away does effect us.  There is more to our planet than the daily rugby scrum around the vending machine in the school canteen.  Powerful nations are not exempt from tragedy, and our world will never be the same again.

There is a lot to be said about 9/11.  It is a topic of much debate across the globe.  Occurring at a time in which the internet was rapidly gaining popularity, it is arguably one of the most documented and debated events of all time.  Suddenly, more and more people, young and old, rich and poor, were firmly planting their flags somewhere along the spectrum of political opinion in an attempt to try and answer the question on everybody’s lips – why?  How did this happen?  Who is responsible?

However, this weekend, let’s cast aside our various beliefs and opinions over where we apportion our blame, and remember one thing and one thing only – all the victims who lost their lives on that day.  9/11 isn’t merely about a straightforward tussle between the U.S government and Al-Qaeda, it’s also about the number of innocent people – from both societies- who have been caught up in the brawls of their leaders, losing their homes and loved ones because a minority of people in a position of world power were unable to resolve their differences any other way.

This Post is for the real victims of 9/11, the ones who had no choice but to be caught up in it.  I’m referring to all the mothers and fathers who ended up losing their lives on what was meant to be another Tuesday in the office, working hard to provide for their children.  I’m also referring to all the firefighters who so bravely went out to face the terror head on in order to try and save as many lives as possible.  And finally, I refer to all those who have had to live with the pain of their family being torn apart, or the images engraved in their memories of people jumping from 80 floors up in a desperate attempt for escape – one of whom would land on a firefighter and consequently kill him with the force from his falling body.  That kind of visual is one that just shouldn’t be happening in the 21st century, but it is.

2,977 people lost their lives that day –  people just like you and me – the peace-seeking working class.   The only difference is that they were there that morning, and we weren’t.

Below is a tribute that somebody made about the disaster.  It is incredibly moving and at times distressing.  But for anybody who questions why we remember this atrocity every September, this is why:

“Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding.”  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I hope one day that peace will come, for all of us, everywhere.

Just a short thought…

| sophiekemsley

“For goodness sake!”, I whispered to myself, frustrated,  as the customer in front of me at the counter in River Island fannied around with her purse for what seemed an eternity, laboriously counting up the coins she needed to hand over to the cashier to pay for her new pair of plimsolls.  I looked at my watch and noticed the time – 11:27am.   I was determined to catch the 11:35am bus home as that would be the one that ran nearest to my house.  Rain was looking likely and this particular bus ran only twice an hour, so I needed to pay and dash as quickly as possible if I was to have a chance of catching it.  The customer continued to take her time resolving the payment, and then a balloon burst inside one of her shopping bags, which resulted in her toddler being terribly upset and only exacerbated the pandemonium.   I was tense, and also a little bit frustrated after eventually conceding that there was no way I was going to make that bus anymore.

I slunk out of the shop, later than planned, and wondered what could fill my time up for half an hour before the next bus arrived.  It was at this point that I checked my phone and noticed a missed call from my mother.  It transpired that she was in town too and wanted to meet for a coffee – something I can never turn down.

Had I got out of River Island when I wanted to, I would have bolted towards the bus, paid my fare and sat down before checking my phone – at which point it would have been too late for me to go and meet my mother.  Instead, I met her, we had our coffee, and during the additional time in town I remembered something which I had set off to buy in the first place, but had forgotten about in my frenzy to try and make the 11:35 bus.

I guess it was just like they say:

“Everything happens for a reason.”

Well, perhaps not everything.  The example above is a very simplistic and convenient one.  There are many other experiences which are a lot harder to understand.  For example, I’ll never see a reason for somebody planting a hoax bomb by the station last night, which consequentially evacuated the city and wasted everybody’s time.  Though maybe, I do see one positive outcome – that being the first-class response of the police and emergency services, which will surely have made myself and other residents of Canterbury feel a lot safer about living here.

Maybe it is not that things always happen for a reason.  Perhaps it is just that there is just good and bad to be found in everything, provided we make the effort to look for it.   Things are only ever what we make of them and sometimes it is not about what has happened, but how we react to it.  Everything we experience teaches us in some form or another and as such there is always a lesson that can be taken away and used for our next experiment.

Just a short thought anyway…

 

Song of the Day:    Socratic – Diamond in a World of Coal

I’m not usually a fan of these American alt-rock bands that have nasal-voiced vocalists (think Panic at the Disco or My Chemical Romance) but there’s something quite original and unique about New Jersey indie-rock outfit, Socratic.  This song is one which particularly grabbed my attention this week.  Beautiful.

 

 

 

A Pause in the Park

| sophiekemsley

Any 25-year old female who has a million and one things on her mind deserves at least one relaxing afternoon in a park to escape from it all and read a book.  That is my belief anyway, and it has been that way ever since I moved to Canterbury and first caught glimpse of the picturesque Dane John Gardens– a lovely, historic park enclosed within the city walls, adorned with beautiful, colourful flower beds and a pathway lined with lime trees.  “I simply must sit and read a book there one sunny day”, I have been saying to myself for the past three months, each time I pass it’s gates on the way into town.

The rather idyllic plan finally came into fruition today, when the early morning sunshine convinced me that today should be that day in which I fulfil my vision, before the impending Autumnal weather dashes my opportunities to.  I dressed and headed towards the town, and looked forward to an afternoon of sunshine, a good book, and perhaps a punnet of fresh fruit to complete an altogether rather sophisticated scenario.

Wait, sophisticated? Me?

The reality is – I forgot to bring my book, the blanket I brought to sit on keeps blowing about in the wind, and creepy-crawlies are snooping around the pack of cocktail sausages I’ve purchased from Marks&Spencer (fruit had been an option, but ultimately I succumbed to my stomach and not my head).  I feel the very opposite of a sophisticated young lady right now, more like a lumbering mess who’s fringe cannot withstand the wind.

Thankfully, I have a notepad and pen in my bag, so at least I can write.  It’s time for another hour or two of earthly observation!

Pen at the ready!

There’s a man to my left who looks very serene.  With his hat tilted over his face he lies back, relaxing against the grassy verge that slopes down from the city wall.  You wouldn’t for a moment think that just a few yards behind him, over the wall, is a traffic-laden ring road.

This park is also situated right next to the train station, and when a congregation of people appear sporadically, pulling their suitcases through the limetrees, you can tell that one of the London trains has just pulled in, as is the case now.  Visitors, or perhaps you could even call them ‘pilgrims’ make their way into the city centre, for what?  A holiday?  Studies? Visiting family, perhaps?

I just love how touristy Canterbury is.  I love walking through the streets and feeling like I could be anywhere in the world.  Watford was diverse, but not in the same way that Canterbury is.

A teenage girl strides across the grass wearing a pair of headphones that are clearly based on the retro models, with the frame that goes around the head.  She is headed towards the bandstand, where a group of teenagers are sitting, making the most of what’s left of the school holidays.

Serene old man has risen from his afternoon slumber and re-gains his bearings after an hour or two in the luxury of his subconscious.

The wind is doing my head in, and I battle to keep my food covered and my rug on the floor.  When it rains, we have umbrellas.  When it’s sunny, we have sunglasses, but what protects us from the wind?  Maybe one day, somebody will invent something that does just that.

The biggest hula hoop I’ve ever seen passes by on the shoulder of a young girl who walks in tandem with a man clutching a bunch of bright green skittles.  I assume they must be from some kind of theatrical school.  Oh please, stop and perform!  They look to be headed towards the bandstand but the group of teens remain seated and I feel a tinge of disappointment that I’m perhaps not about to be witnessing any displays of acrobatics afterall!  I also notice that one of the teens who is sitting in the bandstand has bright pink hair.

I want some candyfloss.

What is it about people-watching that captivates so many?  There may not be a great deal going on, but this is infinitely better than watching Eastenders or that silly programme I caught last night about single women competing for a relationship with Gavin Henson.  I guess it’s because, this is real life.  Forget actors, forget those who seek fame and fortune by masking who they really are and forget television programmes: If you want to enjoy an authentic slice of real life – go outside and look at it.

Two men walk past me clutching picnic equipment.  They meet a group of women sat next to the war memorial and the lady wearing pink seems particularly keen to see what food they’ve brought along with them.  I get ya, sweet’eart!

I have to strongly resist the urge I have to roll down the steep, grassy slope behind me.  Flashback to Mrs Ho telling me off for doing so during school Sports Day in year 8.  Thankfully, the sight of a lady with bright green hair sidetracks my mind.  Welcome to the 21st century!  So men, which do you prefer, blondes or brunettes?  Jet-blacks or redheads?  What about greens or pinks?

The group of teenagers sitting in the bandstand are smoking and it saddens me a bit.  If only they could appreciate how great it is to be young and carefree, instead of trying to be ‘adult’, and do ‘naughty adult things’.  Hey kids, want to be an adult?  Then why don’t we swap places.  You be 25.  You enjoy the headaches that come from trying to simultaneously figure out your career and settle your finances whilst feeling the increasing push to fund the move into a place of your own.  You do that, and I’ll be a 13 year old again, who has no responsibilities, and can sit around eating sweets all day whilst trying to perfect my rendition of Greensleeves on the recorder in time for Thursday morning’s Music lesson.  Deal?

It feels increasingly like it’s about to rain and the flash from what is obviously a very large camera held by a tourist at the top of the Dane John mound which overlooks the Gardens meets my eyes.  Where has the sun gone?  Out to lunch?

Parks are so under-rated these days.  Modern day consumerism is gradually destroying our heritage.  We have been stolen by the likes of the internet (I realise the irony of the fact that this is an online blog), plasma televisions, new shopping centres, discounted retail outlets, that we often forget about the great outdoors and the fun it has to offer.  It doesn’t cost a penny to go outside, yet there is so much inspiration to see and feel here.

I debate what do next.  Stay here and sway around battling the breeze or go home and face the important tasks that – EW, a bug on my shoulder.  How long have you been there, darling? Say hello to my finger!  Ideally I could stay here forever, but there’s paperwork to fill out and job applications to do, plus, I need to blow my nose.  It seems as though I forgot to bring tissues as well as my book.

For the second time this afternoon, a fly has found its way into my drink, rendering the remaining liquid undrinkable.  Want to buy me another, Mr Fly?  Thought not.  Cheeky sod.

I need the toilet.

The park is getting emptier.  Come back, sun!  We’re losing business, and I’m running out of things to write about.  Mind you, I do like that girl’s yellow dress.  I wonder where she got it.  I’ve been looking for one like that.  Oh, how I long to be able to shop again.

I look down and see a friend’s face flashing on my mobile phone.  I answer the phone.  You’re in town too?  Cool, so am I! Let’s meet for a coffee.  The notepad goes back in my bag, and, albeit somewhat abruptly, normal life resumes once again.

Song of the Day:     Jim Noir – Turn Your Frown Into A Smile

Oh this song is so sublimely sweet, it’s impossible to dislike it.  I was listening to this in the park at one point, and it fit so nicely.  A beautiful classic from Mancunian neo-psychedelia genius, Jim Noir.

I won’t be wearing shorts this August, but I can still post them.

| sophiekemsley

It’s raining, it’s pouring, it’s August, it’s Britain.  The wind blows, the trees sway, the sky is grey… and I sit inside lumbered with a kidney infection so painful that if childbirth were to be any more painful than this, you may as well just zip me up now and start calling me the Cat Lady.  Yes, this is the epitome of a perfect Summer’s day.  Who needs strawberries ‘n’ cream when you can instead have the gourmet lunch of Diclofenac ‘n’ Cefalexin tablets?

There are a number of things I feel I could write about today, so rather than write about just one, I thought I’d do some shorts instead.  Enjoy:

R.I.P Amy Winehouse

Last week, I was shocked to receive an instant-message from a friend informing me of the death of Amy Winehouse, 27.  I can’t pretend I had ever enjoyed her music, and I had never really found her personality too appetising either, yet despite that, I was genuinely rather sad to hear the news.  To me, it is a sad reflection of the ‘other side’ of fame and fortune.  Without knowing myself what the celebrity culture is really like,  or knowing Amy personally, it would be naive of me to speculate what exactly caused her to start suddenly rolling down the hill of drug abuse, but the biggest shame is that her death appeared to happen just as she was starting to get her health and personal life back in check.  I hope that wherever she is now, she is at peace and rest.

In the meantime, I cannot help but laugh at portions of the British press and public, who were more than happy to slate and ridicule her whilst she was alive, only to now place her on the pedestal of being some kind of demi-goddess now that she is gone forever.  Such hypocrisy and mawkish sentiment is nothing if not cringeworthy, and you could even draw comparisons between this and the precedent death of ‘The Peoples Princess’ some 14 years earlier.  One can only hope that, unlike with Princess Diana, the press can leave Amy to rest without needlessly regurgitating aspects of her life years down the line in order to ‘make a good story’.  R.I.P Amy, you leave behind a legacy of a music enjoyed by many, but if the world can take anything from your story, please let it be the lesson that drugs are not the answer to either a problem, nor a need for ‘fun’.

Putting the ‘poo’ in ‘shampoo’

Owing to a recent move a couple of hours South, and a lack of money not helped by the extremely frustrating rarity of available work in the area, I have had to temporarily go to a different hair salon that’s more local for my usual cut and blow-dry, until money becomes available to me again and I can go back to Watford for one.  It’s always strange going to a different salon when you’ve been used to attending the same one for three years, and as with any kind of ‘replacement’ you cannot help but critically compare it to it’s predecessor.

There wasn’t anything particularly wrong with my haircut itself, rather, the strange experience had whilst my hair was being washed and shampoo’ed.  As I lay back with my head in the sink, trying to relax as advised by the stylist – a spindly young man in his late teens with bleached blonde hair – I closed my eyes and tried to think about soothing images to go with the gushing water trickling down my neck.  For a couple of minutes I was at complete peace with the world, until the stylist started speaking; “I had to get the train to work today, and Sittingbourne Station smelt of poo.  Then I got on the train, and that absolutely stank of poo too…. I wonder where it goes? Do you know where it goes when people poo on a train?  Like it must just go straight onto the track or something. Ewww.”  I grinned, politely, not really knowing what else to say, and the young man continued his story.  By the time we had reached the second rinse, I had heard all about a school trip he had been on as a 12 year old, when the coach got stuck in traffic in Paris and a fellow pupil had thrown up into a sock because there was no toilet on board the coach, and how the coach had also smelt of poo.  Something tells me that the editor of 2011 edition of, “The Hairdressers Handbook” tried to aim for an innovative new approach when it came to conversational tips.  Long gone are the days of being asked if you’ve booked any holidays, or whether or not you watched Eastenders on Monday night, faeces-focused folktales are here to stay!

Memories in Waves

On Monday evening we went to the beach at Tankerton for sunset and dusk.  This is the beach at which we used to own a beach-hut, some 10-12 years ago, and being back on those pebbles, looking out over that same patch of ocean I used to take my dinghy out on back in the late 1990’s, I felt a strange shiver down my spine.  For fleeting moments, I felt as though I was 13 years old again – short bedraggled hair, fringe, braces.  I remembered what my personal sphere had been like back then – school, lessons, teachers, my Backstreet Boys posters, my 8-strong group of best-friends.  I remembered all those pre-teen dramas, some of which would be playing on my mind during our weekends by the sea.  Why did so-and-so sit on a different table in Geography class – I don’t think she wants to be friends with me anymore.  What will happen if I can’t find my piece of homework about Mughal India, will I need to re-do the whole leaflet?  What if my felt-pens ran out?  When will I next see that cute boy I sometimes pass on the way home from school? Have I been invited to Rupal’s sleepover this year?

It’s funny how when you look back you wonder why you spent so long worrying or thinking about particular things that nowadays seem so insignificant.  I probably did see that cute boy again on the way home from school, but that’s all that would ever become of him – just a stranger who’d walk the Whippendell Road at the same time as me.  And it was never worth me losing any sleep over my piece of homework about Mughal India – I did end up having to re-write it, and as far as I recall I got a ‘B’, but it wasn’t a piece of work that would ever had any bearing on my future.

I compared my personal sphere then to the one I have now and marveled about how life is an on-going process of change.  My home has changed, my career direction has changed, my best-friends have changed.  Worries have come and gone, people have come and gone, jobs have come and gone.  Life is a transient motion which does not stop, and it fascinates me no end.  It can also be pretty intimidating to think that things you put a lot of focus an emphasis on now may one day, 10 years down the line, mean less to you.  Maybe things cannot be forced, maybe they can only be.  I just don’t know, but still, it interests me…  what do you think?

Song of the Day:       Super Furry Animals – The Turning Tide

In line with my third point, this is an amazing little song about the fascination of change by legendary Welsh rockers, the Super Furry Animals.

“The service was slow, my eyes began to grow into telescopes, that are looking out to a world of quick-sand-castles  on their keep, still waiting under siege for the turning tide.  Need some inspiration, time to hitch a ride on the turning tide”

 

Finding a home for the Past, the Present and the Future

| sophiekemsley

If you’ve ever had the impressive motivation to enter a gym, or wandered around the sports and fitness section of a department store, you’ll probably have seen one of those exercise machines upon which you place each foot on a separate pedal and swing your legs back and forth one after the other.  Their proper name is a ‘gravity strider’ or ‘airwalker’ and they provide the same fitness benefits as a brisk walk; the bonus being that you don’t need to worry about the weather.  You can even position it in front of the t.v and do it whilst you watch The Simpsons, if you really want.  Its really quite novel.

Sometimes, when I see these machines in full swing, they remind me of the motion of our minds a little bit.  Sometimes we are forward thinking in the future, other times we are backwards recalling the past, but seldom are we in the centre – the present.

Ahhh, tenses.  Everybody loves to philosophise over the tenses.  You’ve probably heard dozens of infamous sayings about how important it is to live in today rather than yesterday, or tomorrow.  Even one of the best-selling books of all time (Eckhardt Tolle’s ‘The Power of Now’) was about that very idea.  For many, it is seen as the key to being spiritually sound and happy – and that’s an idea that most people would find extremely hard to refute.  I’m not going to refute it either, though I am going to try and figure out whereabouts in the jigsaw the past and the future really belong.

It seems to me, that most of the time we are thinking about things that happened in the past, or speculating over the things that we think may happen in the future.

“I wish I could go back to…”…. “I wish I hadn’t said such and such” … “I wish I’d done that differently” … “I miss a million people and things”… “Do you remember when we…?”

Sound familiar?

Now how about:

“I can’t wait until…” … “I am going to do that!”… “One day, I’d love to…” … “We should go to…”… “I will…”

If you’re anything like me – the above phrases will be most familiar to you.  You probably have a number of different words you could fit instantly fit into the ellipses.  Its fun isn’t it?  Reminiscing the good times and speculating over the exciting times ahead.  It can also be extremely nauseating – regretting over things you may have done or said which you just can’t change, and never will be able to change, or missing things that you can never re-live that pale in comparison to whatever you’re doing now.  Looking forward can be just as nauseating – you can set out many plans and goals but you can’t be certain that you’ll ever be able to enjoy the glory from them.  A lot of time wastefully invested into thinking about something which might not even happen!

Sometime during the third year of University, we were in the middle of a Criminology lecture which was not the most interesting of all.  In fact, it was so boring, that I cannot recall the proper name of the module nor what topic we were learning about that rainy Friday afternoon in the Marcus Merriman lecture theatre, Lancaster University.  I merely remember being sat with my unkempt, spotty, studentified head face down on the desk in despair,  stomach full of Pot Noodle and Snakebite, trying in vain to battle the zzz’s.  That was until our lecturer, Professor Can’tRememberTheName, used an analogy to describe something which really stuck out in my head as describing a habit that most of us have.  The analogy was that of a boat on an open sea that was being manipulated by several different steering wheels, all trying to steer in different directions.  The result?  The boat stood still, and went nowhere.  See yourself as the boat now, sometimes living in one direction (the past), other times living in the other (the future).  The result?  Staying still, going nowhere.  Could you ever contemplate that a boat and an airwalker and even an human mindset could have so much in common?

The present is the only tense that we are ever assured of having.  Therefore, it needs to be the one which we prioritise.  Yesterday is not the present.  If today is Monday, even the soon to arrive Tuesday is not the present.  Now is the present.  Your eyes on this sentence is the present (I must say, you are using your present wisely at this moment), but now that sentence becomes the past and now this current sentence is the present.  So let’s use it.  Let’s do the things we want to do whilst we know we can.

But where does that put the past?  Where does it put the future?  You definitely need those as well.  Just ask Ebenezer Scrooge in Dickens’ ‘Christmas Carol’.  We can only ever put our lives into perspective and make the most of ourselves if we can have visions of all three.  The past is our teacher and Hindsight is that annoying fellow student in class who would start saying the answer to the question just after the teacher had started saying it, and would then pass off the answer as their own with a fraudulent grin.  The past gave us immense pleasure and intolerable pain but still we stand; now with more knowledge, appreciation and wisdom.  The past gave us all of the people we care about and all the qualifications we have.  We would be nowhere without it.  Be careful not to dismiss it.  Though there may be things we don’t like to remember, sometimes it is those things in particular which taught us the most.  Everything we ever did, taught us something, even if it was only trivial like, “don’t hold on too firmly to the escalator handlebar or you’ll spend the rest of the day with traces of hard-to-remove black rubber on your fingers”.   To dismiss any of that just because its not happening right now would make a mockery of everything you ever experienced.

Then too, the future – the one that keeps us facing forwards.  Thinking about the future is what provides us with hope and excitement.  Having a bad day?  TOMORROW WILL BE BETTER.  Though the uncertainty may also scare you, but at least you have the time to try and guide yourself in the direction you want to go in – draw out that map!  Plan your route.  But don’t use it as ‘back-up’ time to fulfil the things in life you really want to fulfil.  There is no tomorrow.  Nobody ever goes there.  Have you ever received a postcard from that golden, heavenly Land known as Tomorrow?

No.

It is today which we have.  Today is all you will ever have.  So let’s really think and understand now that infamous, wise old saying that you might find scrawled in a flowery font on the back of a menu in some kind of new-age, hippy dippy café-bar and lets put our whole heart and souls into it and really…

…Cherish Yesterday

Dream Tomorrow

Live Today…

 There’s no wanting in the present.  There’s no wishing in the present.  There’s no regretting in the present.  There’s only ever living in the present, so let’s not wait any longer to do the things we really want to and lets put the present in its rightful place at centre stage where it cannot be avoided; and the past and the future stored safely and discreetly in the wings for when we need that little bit of perspective or hope.

Song of the Day:   Girl Talk – Down for the Count

Massively under-rated away from the Americas, mash-up D.J Gregg Gillis has been making creating fresh party anthems for masses through ingeniously blending together popular songs in a way that leaves you in a state of absolute awe… Once you’ve stopped dancing, that is.


Technicolour Tears

| sophiekemsley

“Why the tears, little one?”

 

 Red tears of romance, soft like a stream, a bed so deep, a heart so taken,

Orange tears of passion, flaring like a flame, driving towards the dream,

Yellow tears of joy; an appreciation, a relief, a gratitude for the gift,

Green tears of envy, a want that remains wanted; a sight, but not a touch,

Blue tears of sorrow, a loss that leaves you wandering and hollow,

Indigo tears of intrigue, the mystery of the stars ‘neath the moonlit skies,

Violet tears of mirth, a joke so funny, a laughter worth more than money,

…It’s not really clear.  It’s a technicolour tear.



Me Vs The World?

| sophiekemsley

A few weeks ago I published a post about love.  I wrote about how, as humans, our ultimate desire is to find somebody who we can fall in love with, and share the rest of our lives with.  I stand by that sentiment, but now I’d like to focus on the alternative state of being single.  Is it really so bad to be unattached?

Essentially, being single is something we need to learn not to be afraid of.  Unless you’re lucky enough to have met “your one and only” already, then being single is a state you need to embrace, and even learn to like, as unattractive it may seem compared to the beautiful vision of unearthing your soulmate and falling in love.

It’s strange how one of the things we fear most is essentially the one thing we feel as though we have the least control over – being alone.  Nobody likes to feel alone.  That’s why we have families; that’s why we have friends.  We interact with others because we enjoy sharing stories and laughter with others.  We like having people to care for, who will care for us back.  Without this, we can feel lonely.  We each need the occasional personal space to gather our thoughts, but to be in this state for too long can lead to derealisation – we could lose ourselves in our imaginations.

And there will be days when the lack of a partner hits us harder than normal.  For me, it only takes the vision of a pair of teenagers on the street, loved up and arm and arm, to hit that sensitive spot in my tummy and react, like a metal fork touching a filling, and taunt me, “Why haven’t you found that yet, Sophie?”  “You’re getting older now, Sophie” or even just, “Stupid Sophie who nobody wants yet you’re about twice as old as those lovers”.  It can lead me to remember those visions I used to have as a young child, writing out my dreams in class, “Wen I am 25 I want to b living in a house wiv my husband, 2 chilldren and pet cat”, and then I feel as though I’ve let my infant self down.

However, my past paddles into the world of dating and relationships, which clearly all failed, have reminded me of one thing:  Love is something that we cannot force, and we should not actively look for.  Love is something so beautiful that it should come naturally.  We cannot phone up and order it, like a pizza; and much like a distant vision on the horizon, it does not make its way any closer to us just because we use a pair of binoculars (or *cough* a dating website *ashamed cough*).

We simply have to be patient, and wait, and whilst we do so, we need to find that inner peace in ourselves that says, “Hey, single? So what!” and allows us to continue having fun, and not let us feel inferior because nobody has fallen in love with us yet.  Our eventual spouses will be the ones we have decided we love enough to share the remainder of our lives with, but let’s not forget about all the years of our lives that will have preceded that.  Being single is our natural state from birth, and as humans we are an embodiment of a conscience.  Our conscience is the one person we have in our life who we know will never abandon us – similarly, it is the one person that we can never escape from.  Our conscience knows all of our secrets and all of our thoughts.  It knows much more about you than the person you marry ever will.  When you make a mistake it will be your conscience that makes you feel guilty.  When you try your hardest at something, and nobody else seems to realise, your conscience will be the one person guaranteed to give you a proverbial pat on the back and say, “I saw you trying, even if they didn’t”.  It is yourself, that listens to all of your thoughts and will never tell you to shut up, but it will also be the thing that does not need to be polite when telling you all the things that you have done wrong and what you need to change.

With this in mind – why, when we are single, do so many of us, myself included, pre-occupy ourselves with the disdain of not having found a relationship yet, when even a future partner will not be as understanding of ourselves as…. Ourselves!  A relationship with another stands for nothing if you cannot first enjoy the company of yourself.  We can obsess about finding a relationship out of fear of being alone but listen to your heart – can you hear that quiet voice?  That’s the voice that’s going to guide you, and never going to leave you.  Do you still feel alone?

I may wish for a relationship, but I cannot force it, nor would I want to.  Being single should not be viewed as a negative quality in somebody.  Rather, lets just remember the things we have, and not the things we want, and carry on living each day to the full until the time comes when love will find us.

(Disclaimer:  If still single in 10 years, may look into the laws of marrying plants)

Song of the Day:   Janet Jackson – Love Will Never Do Without You

Emily Hutchison, since you asked, this one is for you!

Enough is enough, Cheryl

| sophiekemsley

I’ve always thought Cheryl Cole was cool.  As a fat 16 year old with bad hair and bad dress sense back in 2002, I remember tuning in to ‘Popstars: The Rivals’ every Saturday night and excitedly anticipating that all-important question of who would make it into the group, and who wouldn’t.  Cheryl was one of the contestants, and she was my favourite out of all the girl contestants (my favourite male being the chisel-jawed Mikey Green, who was sadly evicted on one quite heartbreaking weekend).

16 is quite an impressionable age.  You’re aware that very soon, you’re going to be initiated into the culture of dressing up and partying that will stay a part of your adult life for at least the next ten years, if not longer.  The bridge can seem long, and the other side can seem daunting.  It is a period where people often frequent the higher levels of self-consciousness and constantly ask themselves if they’re on the right track, “Is this outfit a good look? Have I got too much make-up on? Should I use a different foundation?”.  I was no different, and found a lot of guidance through looking at these young, female celebrities on the television and seeing what they were wearing.  I remember admiring not only Cheryl’s style, but also her attitude (clearly, this was long before the pantaloon pants and the military jackets).

With this in mind, I can understand why older generations will often refer to an emotional attachment of “having grown up with” older celebrities.  Its perhaps too early to say, but being only two years my senior, Cheryl Cole is one of those celebrities who in sixty years or so, when they’re reading out her obituary on the news, might make me turn around to my grand-children and say, “Ah, Cheryl Cole… she was of my era.  I grew up with her.”  This sentiment can lead to a greater interest in the life of the particular celebrity, and a greater empathy with the milestones they reach in life.

I believe Cheryl Cole is essentially a very sweet, kind person, who has done well to alleviate herself from her troubled background and become a role-model to many young girls across the country.  However, if the news is to be believed and she is to be taking a break from showbiz, I would wholeheartedly agree that the time is right for her to disappear from our television screens and newspapers for a little while, if not longer, and focus on herself.  The strain that comes from being under the spotlight for so long has finally got to her, and I fear that if she’s kept there, like a Bengali-tiger in the media circus, it will become too much.

As celebrity lives go, Cheryl’s has seen it all, and there have been more lows than highs.  Let’s be brief.   In the beginning, it all seemed so perfect.  Girls Aloud were frequently topping the charts, and in 2006 she got married, in the most lavish of ceremonies, to the footballer Ashley Cole.  Everything was perfect until 2008, when Ashley’s affair with various women came to media attention.  The romance was shattered, though against all odds the couple reconciled, only for a repeat occurrence in 2010.  This time Cheryl, who had been gaining mass popularity as a judge on the UK X-Factor, filed for divorce.  A few months later, she caught malaria whilst on holiday in Africa and was within a whisker of death.  She survived and by Winter was back in her role as a judge on the X Factor.  In 2011, after much uncertainty, she was confirmed as a panelist in the U.S series of the show, many citing her friendship with show-owner Simon Cowell as the sole reason for this success.  This was considered a massive boon to Cheryl, and a new opportunity to finally overcome the pain caused by the failure of her marriage and make it in the United States, where she was unknown up to this point. She had only been in the States for a few weeks before it became apparent to X-Factor producers that she wasn’t going to be popular with the American public.  A new-look which consisted of purple flared trousers and an orange top was much maligned in the Atlantic press, and a perceived lack of chemistry between herself and fellow-judge Paula Abdul was considered as the writing on the wall.  Cheryl needed to be axed from the U.S X-Factor before she had even started, or the show would fail.

She returned to the UK with her tail between her legs, but support from the UK public had disintegrated.  She still had a legion of dedicated supporters, but she had also lost a significant amount.  Cheryl had made a fundamental mistake in her quest for bigger things.  Her acceptance as the role of judge on the US X-Factor had culminated in the automatic ejection from the role of judge on the UK version of the show.  This move upset, and ultimately lost her, thousands of her fans.  Don’t forget that it is these same fans who bombarded her with supportive letters after she was cheated on, twice, and who sent her get-well cards when she almost died.  This decision would have gone down better had it seemed to make more sense, but from the very first whisper that she might be offered a role in the U.S, there was always a cloud of doubt.  She was unknown in the U.S, and ran the risk of not being understood by the masses.  A businessman will propose that in accepting the American role, Cheryl was just trying to further her career and maximise her potential.  However, she did so at the risk of losing what she already had, and she did lose.

She’s not a judge on anything anymore, and her self-esteem had descended so much that she is now considering getting back with the ex-husband who broke her heart, twice.

The end result is a far cry from the young Cheryl who I used to think was a bit of a style icon.

The story is reminiscent of something Aesop would have written about.  In life, we are provided with opportunities.  We are constantly seeking to improve and grow.  Its good for us that we take these opportunities, and it is good for us that we are always seeking to improve.  However, this can only work if twinned with the ability of a bit of caution and foresight.  In Cheryl Cole’s instance, she took one step forward and five back.  She took an opportunity which she knew would be a risk, and it almost worked until it backfired horribly for her.  The bottom line is that she took on more than she could achieve and ended up losing more than she had.  I strongly hope she turns it around.  Who knows, she may use the series of misfortune as a catalyst for much bigger things, but the early signs would not suggest so, and I think it is imperative that her life should have a bit of a respite from the nation’s glare.  I hope that she recuperates, strengthens and succeeds again, and I hope that next time she knows she must keep hold of a good thing, rather than throw it away to free her hands for something better that she fails to catch, leaving her empty handed.  Good luck, Cheryl.

Meanwhile, there’s nothing more annoying than:  The television remote suddenly dying just as Kylie Minogue’s ‘Can’t Get You Out of My Head’ comes onto the t.v.  3 hours later, and I’m still very much la-la-la-la-la-la-laaaaaaaaa.

Finally:  Thank you to those of you who have so far read this Blog, and provided me with your feedback.  I haven’t given the link out to many people yet and am still very much in the early stages, but support is so welcome, particularly now, so thank  you, you’re all brilliant x

Song of the Day:  Bright Eyes – Touch

Bright Eyes are one of the most successful American indie-rock bands of recent times.  Frontman Conor Oberst, 31, has the sort of vocals that you can swallow down into your insides, and the following song is one that I feel illustrates this concept well.  Its about heartbreak, losing something you once had that used to bring so much joy, a bit like Cheryl Cole did.  This is the kind of song you listen to if you’re feeling down and just want to indulge in your tears for a few minutes, only to resume life at full speed once it finishes.

“…wishing this could last, knowing that it can’t…”

The Best Cup of Coffee

| sophiekemsley

Date:  Thursday 9th June 2011
Time:  11:30am
Location:  The old Canterbury Buttermarket

I’m sat outside Starbucks with a freshly made caramel macchiato and a notepad at my table.  Its a typical weekday morning in a square which, with its timber-framed buildings and lively  street performers, typifies the historical and cultural aspects of this city of Canterbury.
A rather effeminate American tourist on the table next to me discusses the passers by with somebody who I presume is his boyfriend.  They are laughing.  The tourist came to my aid earlier when he pointed out the chair I was about to sit on was covered in tea, and brought over a new one for me.  “Oh! Don’t sit there! That chair looks a little mankyyyyy, that’s why I didn’t sit on it.  Here, let me getcha noo one”  My heart melted like the froth on my coffee at the voluntary kindliness.
Meanwhile, a man in a trilby hat and a blue t-shirt sits beside the war memorial warbling out his remake of a Neil Diamond song on a guitar which he self-gratifyingly thumps around like a wench.
The song finishes, and the American tourist creates the sole applause and cheers before laughing and remarking to me that, “It’s almost WORSE when only one person claps”
In the background I hear the sound of a plush toy frog with inbuilt giggling sound effects emanating from Hawkins Bazaar gift shop as an excited child looks on and tries to establish where the sound is coming from.
Then there is the ice-cream seller who sits in the middle of the square, leaning against his cart, who is looking pained at the prospect of a rabble of about 20-odd French schoolchildren, shouting above one another in alien tones as they approach him.
Yet, this city is so quintessentially British.
The queue to get into the Cathedral is constant and comprises of faces from all over the globe, all of whom have come here for the same reason – to see the world heritage site up close, feel it’s warmth, and revel in it’s magic.
What I love the most is the variety of languages and voices.  Two young ladies who look like they’re into equestrian sports bustle out of Starbucks with their takeway skinny lattes, talking in upper-class tones about something or other.  Immaculately dressed, the comparison with the overweight, balding man in the tracksuit who sits nearby looking despondently at his ice-cream as his wife whispers something into his ear, is broad.
♪Why why whyyyyy Delilah♪ – I am pleased the busking musician is playing something upbeat but am less satisfied by the arrival of a third delivery lorry, obscuring my view of the Square.  Do they not know that I’m trying to write an observational piece here?!  Yet this is the hustle and bustle of this city’s life, and I love it.
A Starbucks employee is now at the table next to me, on a break, with a blood-red coloured juice drink in front of him as he taps away at his phone.  I wonder who he is messaging, or what he’s saying.  I wonder if he knows that the thing I’m scribbling about on my piece of paper right now, is him.
The musician breaks into a rendition of Let It Be next.
♪There will be an answer, let it be♪
I listen to him warble away to his guitar and feel a moment of awe which is swiftly spoilt by the lady next to me, coughing a loud, rasping cough.
Regardless, I’m still really warming to this musician.  Who knows his circumstances – his name, age or birthplace.  Who knows what brings him to this Square and who knows why he needs to make the cash from busking.  Yet, there is something inspiring about his passion and drive to just keep on singing amidst the cacophony of frog noises, school children, coughing and derogatory remarks from U.S tourists.
In fact, there is passion all around Canterbury.  The huge Cathedral behind me is symbolic of many things, mostly historical and religious, but to me, it is a testament to somebody’s dream, and the faith of many, 1100 years ago, to build something so beautiful without the aid of modern day construction methods and machinery.  Every brick, every panel, every detail of the stained glass windows… so immaculate, so perfect.  Chaucer’s pilgrims, though fictional, symbolise the millions of people who have been driven to Canterbury not by horses, planes and trains alone, but by faith and intrigue.
I begin to feel the continental breeze against my feet, sweeping in from the South-Eastern shoreline.
Two locksmiths return to their van upon completing a job.  In cockney tones, they discuss how to manoeuvre their lorry out of the square, “Should be toight, but I’ll be alroight”.
♪And so, slide away, but don’t look back in anger, I heard you say♪, the musician’s repertoire is one that knows the songs that people like – the anthemic and the timeless, and knows how to juxtapose them against the ongoing movement surrounding him.
A German teenager on a school trip has decided to stand right in front of me and munch loudly on an apple.  I sometimes wonder what these foreign children make of Canterbury.  Are they interested in the religion or culture, or, like most of us when we were teenagers, are they plotting the best way to escape teacher’s attention and sneak off somewhere for a game of pool and can of coke?
♪If I lay here, if I just lay here, will you lie with me and just forget the world♪
A group of pensioners walk together laughing, holding shopping bags containing recent purchases from local craft shops.  I wonder what the city is like through their elderly eyes, how its changed over the years and how pleased they are that it has still managed to retain some degree of it’s charismatic vintage soul throughout the decades.
But by now, my cup is nearly empty and my macchiato nearly finished.  The sun spills out from behind the clouds.  The coughing lady’s Nokia ringtone takes off and I establish that she is German, “So… ja…. und… toll…. ja”.  I love the cosmopolitan atmosphere of this place and feel happy to live here.
I begin to feel like I’m taking up a table someone else might need, so I put away my work, pack up my bags and root around in my purse to find some cash to give the musician.  For the past hour I have been surrounded by people and things who do the things they love, and love the things they do.  This is not the place to find people headlessly pursuing the things they feel they should be doing, but doing the things they want to be doing, and being damn good at it.  It was an inspiration.  It made my heart smile.  It was one of the best cups of coffee ever.

Loves.

Song of the Day: The Avett Brothers – Kick Drum Heart

Another gem discovered from Last.Fm.  An upbeat piece of contemporary pop/folk/bluegrass fresh from North Carolina.   The kind of awesome song that will put you in a great mood within minutes and re-affirm the notion that music is powerful.