The Mind of Me

I overthink everything.

A Beautiful Song

 

This was in my drafts folder since October of last year and thought I’d share it with you all since my sentiments are still the same.

Last year I discovered the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard in all my years of existence. It’s Hozier’s ‘Cherry Wine’.

The lone instrument, an acoustic guitar, makes the vocals the star of the show as it addresses your soul and takes you on a journey that reverberates through every part of your body before striking your heart. It isn’t a shallow song that sounds good only a handful of times, which then you will tire of once you’ve overplayed it. It’s the type of song that, the more you listen to it, the more you fall in love with it and appreciate how it caresses your heart so lovingly despite the sad nature of the lyrics.

The whole album, called ‘Hozier’, was my favourite release of 2014 despite other wonderful albums being released (Sam Smith & Ed Sheeran).

After hearing the first thirty seconds of ‘Take Me To Church’ I knew I had to get the album.

The entire album is emotional, sensual, and heartfelt. It’s as though I can feel every song physically, like I am experiencing it firsthand.

Every song has a different story that is carefully crafted and produced. The lyrics are a real piece of poetry, but the one outstanding feature is his voice; a magnificent tool that is smooth, sweet and powerful. It’s like velvety, melted chocolate. You simply can’t get enough of it.

New Goals

I will write more in 2015.

There isn’t anything quite like flexing those creative muscles and letting the words flow from your mind through to your fingertips.

This year was creatively adequate in the sense that I’ve finished my first novel (after almost five years) and am in the process of editing it, for the umpteenth time mind you. However, I feel that it was quite lacking.

In the past few months I’ve rediscovered one of my former flames: poetry. It’s hard for me to write without inspiration. I used to hand write little love poems every other day when I was seventeen and smitten with the green-eyed, brown-haired boy with the cutest smile on the bus. Those forty-five minute bus rides were everything to me. I recently moved and re-read my journal from that time as I was boxing up my life. It made me feel giddy. Every word hit nostalgia right in the stomach.

I saw him last year. Let’s just say I will only remember him as the boy that stole my breath away and made my heart soar every time I saw him.

When my grandfather was admitted to the hospital in July my mother broke down. She knew that winter’s icy touch was nearing and she flew with my brother to be with him. Her reaction, visceral, raw, gut-wrenching, reignited my love for writing as I felt a surge of emotions flow through me. I wrote him a poem that I hoped my brother could read to him but it was too late. Each time I read it, my vision blurs and I put it away.

It is when my emotions are scattered and unpredictable that I am able to fully immerse myself in writing. It is then that I am able to give voice to the internal workings of my over emotional self.

So for the coming year, these are my goals:

  • Write more
  • Read more
  • Pitch my novel to publishing houses

Quite easy in theory, but time escapes me.

Feeling Young Again

Lately I’ve been feeling nostalgic.

It’s the first time that a wave of this magnitude has overcome my mind, which has forced me to revisit memories from when I was sixteen.

Sixteen was when I thought I knew what I wanted to do, who I wanted to be. I thought I would have the same friends I did right then and we’d never change, like we’d be stuck in a perennial bubble where time ceased to exist and all we’d talk about is the new boy we liked and how school was stressful.

Sixteen seemed like a whole lifetime ago. It wasn’t though, it was seven years ago.

Sixteen was when I thought I understood everything and I was mature.

I listened to a band I was obsessed with at that age recently. It wasn’t an unhealthy obsession, it was an all-consuming love for these people that I’d never met whose music seemed to resonate with my teenaged self even if they spoke in metaphors and anecdotes.

The first thing that happened when I heard the music was I smiled.

There was a familiar happiness that made me remember how simple it all was back then. No stresses, apart from how to make that cute guy on the bus notice me and schoolwork. I felt like I had travelled back in time and a flood of memories tucked away for seven years suddenly played endlessly in my mind. I felt as though I had experienced them yesterday.

A lot has happened in seven years and no doubt in another seven years I’ll feel like age 23 was a million miles away when I’m listening to a song from this time.

When I was sixteen I thought my life would be sorted at 23. I would have a stable job, a career perhaps, doing what I love, a stable relationship (ha!) and maybe even moved out of the family home. I’m not listing this to feel sorry about myself, in fact it’s made me realise how many detours I’ve taken and how many winding roads I’ve travelled on to get to where I am now.

It’s made me appreciate how easy it is to change anything; a thought, a life, me.

I’m still a shy girl, there’s no way I’d approach a guy first, I have palpitations just thinking about it, I’m still naive and still dreaming that somehow everything will change in an instant when in reality I know it won’t.

I’m constantly at war with myself, the dreamer thinks of all the things I can, and should, do, while the pragmatist says ‘no, do one thing, stick with it and be realistic’.

I’m a fickle creature.

Are we beautiful enough?

Ever since I can recall there was always something to complain about regarding my vanity; eyes too small, lips too big, just ‘big’, big feet, big hands, too tan, too light among a host of many, many other things.

I’m afraid as I’ve gotten older, and passed through the awkward and self-loathing seas of puberty, it hasn’t gotten much better. As an adult there are various, easy outlets to ‘correct’ whatever flaws we think we have. Boobs too small? Get a boob job. Nose too big? Get a nose job. Thighs too big? Liposuction.

This post comes at a time when I’ve observed people on various social media outlets flaunting whatever changes they’ve paid for  made to their body, most of them were boob jobs. I’m not judging, well, maybe a little, but why is it that the media has misconstrued our vision of what beauty is? Why is it that there is only one look to being beautiful?

There’s this constant need for women to always look perfected. From their makeup, grooming, clothes and their hair. On many magazines available today many of them offer articles on how to lose weight, how to get bikini body ready or which celebrity has the best body. What if some of us don’t want to have a bikini body or we don’t want to be an Australian size 8? Is it so hard for the media to just accept that the vast majority of the female population don’t look like female celebrities? I don’t think I’ll ever fit into a size 8 and I’m fine with that.

However, I wish I had this attitude when I was a teenager. I was constantly harsh on myself for how I looked because a lot of people, mainly extended family, would discretely tell my mum that all her kids were too big and that we all needed to lose weight. We weren’t even fat. We were taller than them and by default had a bit more meat on our bones as a result. Sure the only exercise I did was walking to, from and around school but that was more than enough, the school was huge and the walks to and from were fifteen minutes each way.

Young girls and teenagers are very impressionable. They will follow what their idols or favourite celebrities do so they can achieve that same disillusioned view of ‘beauty’ which is wrong. It starts with the home; if the mum isn’t happy with herself then her daughter will follow because that’s the first contact of influence she will receive. So to my future daughter/s, when I have you sometime in the distant future, I promise to teach you to love who you are and that you’re perfect for who you are. I’ll start now to love myself so that you’ll love you.

Having small eyes was and perhaps will always be something I’m weary of. Without my glasses they’re quite small, they’re not so small you can’t see them, but, there is a noticeable difference when I don’t wear my frames. I never used to be conscious about them. It was when I was in year 9; I was in my photography class and I took off my glasses to clean the dirty, finger print laden lenses when this girl who I thought was my friend exclaimed rather loudly, “you’re eyes are so small!” Sure it was probably harmless but when you’re fourteen that’s not what you want to hear. I was never even aware of how small they were until she made it newsworthy. I was upset and borderline angry at her because of how much it affected me throughout my late teenage and adult life.

To be completely honest, there were many late nights I had coming up with retorts to her statement like ‘you’re too short’ or ‘your nose is huge’ but what’s the point? I am guilty of being just as bad as women who sit around judging others. Who am I to judge what beauty is when I’m barely comfortable in my own skin?

Women need to stop judging and start empowering and encouraging each other. It’s so hard though with the habits we’ve grown up with and upheld during our adult lives. Change is always hard but ultimately it’s up to the individual.

I constantly wish I had bigger eyes, a less flat nose, a flatter stomach and less man-like hands. It’s so easy for women to focus on what they hate about themselves that it overshadows that we love about ourselves. So here’s what I love about myself: i’m taller than the average Australian woman, I have nice lips (finally accepted it!), I like my skin colour and I’d like to think that I’m a nice human being. On top of that I am surrounded with family and friends that love me for who I am, not what they want me to be.

I know it’s very superficial to love physical aspects of myself but when you judge yourself day after day about the same things, isn’t being confident in how you look the first step in changing your mindset about beauty? This will hopefully teach me to be comfortable with myself and therefore not care what other people say which extends to not judging people because of my insecurities.

I’m going to be a better human being and a better woman. I’m not going to try because then I’ve already given up; trying means a chance of failing. I don’t want to fail. I will be less judgmental and not harsh on myself.

So to all the women: let’s be friends, let’s tell each other we’re beautiful and let’s not be those gossiping ladies that are insecure about themselves.

If we believe we’re beautiful then everyone else will start believing it too.