There are some facts I think it is very important that people realise. There is so much hatred aimed at total strangers, all for such pointless reasons, and I want to address people's issues.
All bodies should be celebrated.
Whether they are fatter, or thinner, or taller, or shorter, or more muscular, or of a different skin colour, or more freckle-y, or disabled, or with bigger hands, or with knobblier knees, everyone's bodies are different.
Do not let your insecurities about your own body manifest itself in judgement of others.
All genders should be celebrated.
Not everyone who is biologically female will identify as a woman, and not everyone who is biologically male will identify as a man. These people probably had about as much control over which gender they found themselves as you did.
Do not let your ignorance of the way the human body and mind works manifest itself in judgement of others.
Everyone's dress sense should be celebrated.
Everyone has a way they like to express themselves. People have favourite colours, and brands, and styles of dress. Some will like to wear less than you do, some will like to wear more. Some people will spend a long time on their appearance, and this will hold no interest for others.
Do not let your fear of expressing yourself the way you wish to manifest itself in judgement of others.
In a modern world where we have the opportunity, and the gift, and the right to freedom of expression, the only enemy we're left fighting against is ourselves. If you label people and assume you know them from their appearance, not only are you potentially hurting those individuals, but you're continuing the idea that it is okay for a few select members of society to dictate what is right and what is wrong, when in reality, these rules are non-existent.
Next time you find yourself looking at someone and making a snap decision about their personality/sexual orientation/health status or any other aspect of that person's personal life, answer me this; "Are that person's life choices hurting anybody in any way?" If the answer's no, then you need to decide something else too. You need to examine why you're judging that person's decisions. Is it because you wish you could express yourself in a way similar to them? Is it because a book or a film has given you a false perception of what's beautiful? Is it just habit? If all humans went around doing the same thing and looking the same, quite frankly, my habit of people-watching would be ruined.
The world is beautiful because of its diversity. A flower garden with just one type of rose would not interest anybody.
Instead of looking at everyone else all the time, why not take a look at yourself? Maybe there's some changes you'd like to make to your own appearance, and it is this insecurity which causes you to be so quick to judge others. I can tell you from experience that the happier you are with yourself, the happier you will be with everyone else.
It all just comes down to this
Peace an' Love
Abby
Wednesday, 29 August 2012
Monday, 27 August 2012
New year, fresh start
More and more mentions are appearing about the new academic year. Everyone knows their results, be it GCSEs, A-Levels, or passing various years of university, and no matter what they were, the waiting is over and the multitudes of students know where they're going next. Everyone who hasn't had Glandular Fever, that is. *Grumble grumble* *Changes wrist bracelet is on*
In my experience, it is impossible not to make some sort of resolution when you start a new school year or even a new institute of education altogether. After all, is there anyone out there who failed to make the first page of every new exercise book exquisitely neat? (I always made an annual promise to faithfully underline everything in a different colour every day. This usually stopped long before I had run out of colours with which to do so).
There is something highly treasured in being offered a fresh start. Officially this offering is January 1st, and I'm sure many people do evaluate their life on this day. However I've always found students choose their own times to do so. At the end of the summer term, when you can review your year, and at the beginning of September, when the dazzling summer holiday obscures any sour memories from view, was always when I looked over certain aspects of my life.
The end of my first year and beginning of my second year at university, I've found, is no different in terms of my evaluation. There are many things I have decided I would like to achieve this term, and here are but a choice few:
- Actually get back into university. (Minor irritation of illness. Exams finally taken. Results on 10th Sept)
- Make my room mine. As previously posted, my room is gorgeous and I have been collecting for its decoration since mid-May.
- Move in! I'm going to be living with some wonderful people this year and I can't wait to be in the Fox House with them and sorting out all our grown-up troubles together.
- Get my hair back. It now seems odd that I first dyed my hair a few short months ago, it feels like I've been doing it forever. This is how the addiction starts, no doubt. But if it's not blue it just doesn't feel right, so this will be rectified.
- Have a wicked Fresher's Week. I'll be helping to try and successfully recruit for Ultimate Frisbee and Jazz, and I'm looking forward to meeting all the people. Also this year I'll know what's going on and should be able to make the most of Fresher's, as I won't be trying to orientate myself at the same time.
- Get a First in something.
- To achieve 6. I must do the reading before every lecture, do the work for every lecture, and type up the notes after every lecture. Without fail.
- Continue to be mildly sporty. Living further away from uni I intend to healthfully cycle to lectures and what-not, and with frisbee proper starting again in a few short weeks, I could not be more excited.
I'm sure that's enough to getting along with. Most of these are fairly short-term, and doubtless I will be making more once uni life really gets going again. Updates will follow with how everything's progressing, and any further resolutions!
Yours, Resolutely
Abby
Wednesday, 22 August 2012
Complaining Bracelet
I love syntax ambiguities. But alas, the Complaining Bracelet is not a Harry Potter-esque gadget which vocalises all my complaints for me, it is an attempt to improve my personality.
The idea is that the wearer of the bracelet must change the wrist it is worn on every time they complain about something. After 21 days of wearing the bracelet on the same wrist, they can take it off. But every time the wrist is changed, the Day Count starts from zero again. The aim is 21 days in a row because supposedly this is how long it takes to break a habit, so if you can go 3 weeks without complaining, you can carry on like this forever! I guess if you complain again after you take the bracelet off you have to do the whole thing again...
I heard about the idea of the Complaining Bracelet a while back, and decided to start it now for a number of reasons. The greatest of these is to do with returning to Winchester Uni, something I am so excited about it cannot be contained in a blog post (although I am certain I will try this later). There was one ridiculous thing I repetitively had negative thoughts about, and this was my new room in my new house. There are a great many things I love about this room, even in its bare and empty state. It has masses of storage space, it is wonderfully light due to windows in two of the walls, it has a sloping ceiling, there is a shelf running continuously across two walls, just below ceiling level, there is a handy windowsill right above the bed, and a large flat roof directly under said window, which opens very wide...
And yet for some reason I was bothered by its tiny size. Now I have always adored small rooms, so at first this was difficult for me to understand. My home room in Kent is also teeny, but I love it. It's so much easier to cram a room full of clutter from your childhood and bright colours and souvenirs and cover the walls in postcards and drawings you did when you were younger when your room is small. No, 'tasteful decor' is not a phrase which ever comes anywhere near somewhere I am inhabiting.
If I'm completely honest, which I hope you will appreciate is difficult to do in a domain as public as a blog, my discontent lay in the comparison between mine and my housemates rooms. Of the six of us, four of them have a double bed, and the bedrooms are at least twice the size of mine, and in most cases more. You see?! STOP THAT, Abigail. This is why I need a Complaining Bracelet. My problem is jealousy, it's nothing to do with actually wanting a bigger room. What I need is a halt to all the negativity, so I can let the positive stuff out. (Anyway, think how many glow-in-the-dark stars you'd need for a giant ceiling).
In reality, I am itching to get into that room and start making it my own, and my big Sis (Starting uni this year! Bless ;D) my mother and I are making that all-important trip to our nearest IKEA this evening, for reasonably priced kitchenware, and MEATBALLS AND CHIPS. If you've never eaten at an IKEA, you must. And soon.
Yours, more positively,
Abby
The idea is that the wearer of the bracelet must change the wrist it is worn on every time they complain about something. After 21 days of wearing the bracelet on the same wrist, they can take it off. But every time the wrist is changed, the Day Count starts from zero again. The aim is 21 days in a row because supposedly this is how long it takes to break a habit, so if you can go 3 weeks without complaining, you can carry on like this forever! I guess if you complain again after you take the bracelet off you have to do the whole thing again...
I heard about the idea of the Complaining Bracelet a while back, and decided to start it now for a number of reasons. The greatest of these is to do with returning to Winchester Uni, something I am so excited about it cannot be contained in a blog post (although I am certain I will try this later). There was one ridiculous thing I repetitively had negative thoughts about, and this was my new room in my new house. There are a great many things I love about this room, even in its bare and empty state. It has masses of storage space, it is wonderfully light due to windows in two of the walls, it has a sloping ceiling, there is a shelf running continuously across two walls, just below ceiling level, there is a handy windowsill right above the bed, and a large flat roof directly under said window, which opens very wide...
And yet for some reason I was bothered by its tiny size. Now I have always adored small rooms, so at first this was difficult for me to understand. My home room in Kent is also teeny, but I love it. It's so much easier to cram a room full of clutter from your childhood and bright colours and souvenirs and cover the walls in postcards and drawings you did when you were younger when your room is small. No, 'tasteful decor' is not a phrase which ever comes anywhere near somewhere I am inhabiting.
If I'm completely honest, which I hope you will appreciate is difficult to do in a domain as public as a blog, my discontent lay in the comparison between mine and my housemates rooms. Of the six of us, four of them have a double bed, and the bedrooms are at least twice the size of mine, and in most cases more. You see?! STOP THAT, Abigail. This is why I need a Complaining Bracelet. My problem is jealousy, it's nothing to do with actually wanting a bigger room. What I need is a halt to all the negativity, so I can let the positive stuff out. (Anyway, think how many glow-in-the-dark stars you'd need for a giant ceiling).
In reality, I am itching to get into that room and start making it my own, and my big Sis (Starting uni this year! Bless ;D) my mother and I are making that all-important trip to our nearest IKEA this evening, for reasonably priced kitchenware, and MEATBALLS AND CHIPS. If you've never eaten at an IKEA, you must. And soon.
Yours, more positively,
Abby
Sunday, 12 August 2012
London 2012: Part 3
And there it is. The London 2012 Olympics, finished.
So I'm finally allowed to tell you what I was doing there! Missing the boat completely on applying to be a volunteer, I applied for a job at the Olympics. So it was that I ended up at 7am on 27th July working at Greenwich Park (Equestrian Arena) in a bright orange uniform, flogging programmes to the horse fans. An experience like no other for me, I learnt that being up and out of the house at 5.30 (especially at the weekend) is like learning about a beautiful secret that no one else knows. The long hours and early starts were punishing, and the weather was well and truly British, with torrential rain and electric storms in the morning and scorching sun in the afternoon. I have a tan line where my lanyard was round my neck, then a small gap of tan before the collar of my T shirt intervened. Proud.
The people that I ended up talking to made it all worthwhile as well. There was the volunteer who showed me how to walk the last part of my commute to work, saving me a daily £2.70. There was the man from Pakistan who I had an hour-long conversation with about Ramadan and marriage and how girls in shorts are like sweets without wrappers. He also gave me a meal voucher, and made me promise not to have sex before marriage. There was the man who gave me a lift out of the park on a mobility buggy, and consequently yelled "Hey, Winchester!" at me every time we met because that was the only detail about me he could remember. There were the numerous spectators who explained to me what on earth was going on every day and managed to get me extremely interested in all of the horsie events. Finally, there was my beautiful, wonderful, programme-selling team. They helped motivate me to make the hour-an-a-half journey every morning, protected me from the scarier customers (chuckle) and created a fantastic send-off in Greenwich Wetherspoons when it was all over.
Seeing us win 3 Golds in the horse riding, and at least another Silver and Bronze, was indescribable. I can't believe I didn't cry any of the times I got to sing the National Anthem with a crowd of thousands, and seeing Kate and Wills wasn't half bad either. I'm so glad I was part of this fantastic event. I'm so proud of Britain, team GB, and every Olympic athlete. And of course, I can't wait to show off to any children/grandchildren that not only were the Olympics hosted here when I was in my prime, I was ACTUALLY THERE.
The Closing Ceremony didn't fail to impress either. As ridiculous as the Opening at the beginning there, and then a celebration of everything that has been achieved in these two weeks. 303 boxes to celebrate 303 Olympic events. Sounds like something we'd come up with. The flashbacks to the moment when a normal person becomes an Olympic Champion were wonderful, and I love the fact that we've brought the whole nation together in an acknowledgement of glorious achievement. To my mind in a ceremony of this kind there simply cannot be too much music, and I was not disappointed. It certainly brought out the secret dancer in old Boris. It's quite difficult to sum up the last section of the closing ceremony, but I think it can be agreed that it was wonderful, and crazy, and what I wish all parties were like, and I know I won't be the only one waking up with Always Look on the Bright Side of Life/Our House/Here Comes the Sun stuck in my head tomorrow morning.
GB, for everything, I salute you.
So I'm finally allowed to tell you what I was doing there! Missing the boat completely on applying to be a volunteer, I applied for a job at the Olympics. So it was that I ended up at 7am on 27th July working at Greenwich Park (Equestrian Arena) in a bright orange uniform, flogging programmes to the horse fans. An experience like no other for me, I learnt that being up and out of the house at 5.30 (especially at the weekend) is like learning about a beautiful secret that no one else knows. The long hours and early starts were punishing, and the weather was well and truly British, with torrential rain and electric storms in the morning and scorching sun in the afternoon. I have a tan line where my lanyard was round my neck, then a small gap of tan before the collar of my T shirt intervened. Proud.
The people that I ended up talking to made it all worthwhile as well. There was the volunteer who showed me how to walk the last part of my commute to work, saving me a daily £2.70. There was the man from Pakistan who I had an hour-long conversation with about Ramadan and marriage and how girls in shorts are like sweets without wrappers. He also gave me a meal voucher, and made me promise not to have sex before marriage. There was the man who gave me a lift out of the park on a mobility buggy, and consequently yelled "Hey, Winchester!" at me every time we met because that was the only detail about me he could remember. There were the numerous spectators who explained to me what on earth was going on every day and managed to get me extremely interested in all of the horsie events. Finally, there was my beautiful, wonderful, programme-selling team. They helped motivate me to make the hour-an-a-half journey every morning, protected me from the scarier customers (chuckle) and created a fantastic send-off in Greenwich Wetherspoons when it was all over.
Seeing us win 3 Golds in the horse riding, and at least another Silver and Bronze, was indescribable. I can't believe I didn't cry any of the times I got to sing the National Anthem with a crowd of thousands, and seeing Kate and Wills wasn't half bad either. I'm so glad I was part of this fantastic event. I'm so proud of Britain, team GB, and every Olympic athlete. And of course, I can't wait to show off to any children/grandchildren that not only were the Olympics hosted here when I was in my prime, I was ACTUALLY THERE.
The Closing Ceremony didn't fail to impress either. As ridiculous as the Opening at the beginning there, and then a celebration of everything that has been achieved in these two weeks. 303 boxes to celebrate 303 Olympic events. Sounds like something we'd come up with. The flashbacks to the moment when a normal person becomes an Olympic Champion were wonderful, and I love the fact that we've brought the whole nation together in an acknowledgement of glorious achievement. To my mind in a ceremony of this kind there simply cannot be too much music, and I was not disappointed. It certainly brought out the secret dancer in old Boris. It's quite difficult to sum up the last section of the closing ceremony, but I think it can be agreed that it was wonderful, and crazy, and what I wish all parties were like, and I know I won't be the only one waking up with Always Look on the Bright Side of Life/Our House/Here Comes the Sun stuck in my head tomorrow morning.
GB, for everything, I salute you.
Tuesday, 7 August 2012
(My) First Night at the Proms
I love London, and have done so for a very long time. Everything is so close, and so easily accessed. Coming from a person who lives in an isolated village with nothing but the odd bus or a death-trap cycle ride to get you anywhere, a city with a fleet of buses passing every ten minutes, endless trains, the tube and if you're in the right place, the DLR or a tram, is nothing short of paradise. And they're necessary, because there are so many places to go.
I'm currently staying in London working at the Olympics, which is tough and seemingly non-stop, although I have so far enjoyed two whole and precious days off. Before I came to stay I was vaguely thinking that I'd use this time to sleep, laze around the house, do some casual revision for a looming exam. I'm not sure why I thought that. Firstly, once you're in the routine of getting up and getting out very early, it's hard to get out of it. Secondly, these are the gorgeous months where I can meet up with my non-uni friends as much as I like, and I wasn't about to waste over two weeks without seeing any of them.
So it was that on Wednesday 1st August 2012, I met up with my wonderful Yuna, London side-streets (and the shops they contain) were explored, the National Gallery was visited (she'd never been!), and our very first prom was attended. For those who don't know, the BBC Proms, or The Henry Wood Promenade Concerts presented by the BBC, is an 8-week season of daily orchestral classical music held in the Royal Albert Hall. They have a different programme each night, and they all last about two and a half hours with an interval. The first Prom was in 1895, and they now stretch to including about 100 concerts each year. Our clarinet teacher had been encouraging us for several years to go to one, and finally we made it.
The proms are great because they're so unrestricted. I'm sure a lot of people read "orchestral classical music" and shuddered, but is it just because you've never really heard any? By that I mean live, in a venue with beautiful acoustics, and a crowd breathless and silent with anticipation. That's how orchestras have to be appreciated. Unless it's an especially popular programme on that night, 'prommers' can just rock up an hour and a bit before the concert's due to start, queue (sit on the wall) outside the Albert Hall, pay a fiver to get in, and stand in the arena listening to music you will either love, or hate, or just appreciate for what it is. And hey, you paid 5 quid, who cares what your reaction is. At least you felt something, right?
Luckily the BBC Symphony Orchestra, joined later by the BBC Proms Youth Choir, affirmed my faith in the beauty of orchestral that night, my favourite being the Adagio by Strings by Samuel Barber (youtube is your friend, it's likely that you'll know it!) The instrumentalists were so disciplined, so in love with the music they were playing, and it makes the whole experience unique. The notes hang in the air, wrap themselves around the welcoming audience, take each and every person to somewhere different in their mind. It's surprisingly difficult to express the captivation the Proms holds, but all I can do is encourage each and every person to give them a try.
The night was ended by bumping into friends not seen for a while and Japanese curry from a take-away by the name of one of my favoured nick-names. Need I add that it was a perfect day? Thank you, London, for being wonderful, and for containing wonderful things. It is certain I will be back. It's unfortunate I can't drag everyone I know to a Prom with me, but there are a certain few I know I shall persuade.
You have until the 8th September! Go, go!
I'm currently staying in London working at the Olympics, which is tough and seemingly non-stop, although I have so far enjoyed two whole and precious days off. Before I came to stay I was vaguely thinking that I'd use this time to sleep, laze around the house, do some casual revision for a looming exam. I'm not sure why I thought that. Firstly, once you're in the routine of getting up and getting out very early, it's hard to get out of it. Secondly, these are the gorgeous months where I can meet up with my non-uni friends as much as I like, and I wasn't about to waste over two weeks without seeing any of them.
So it was that on Wednesday 1st August 2012, I met up with my wonderful Yuna, London side-streets (and the shops they contain) were explored, the National Gallery was visited (she'd never been!), and our very first prom was attended. For those who don't know, the BBC Proms, or The Henry Wood Promenade Concerts presented by the BBC, is an 8-week season of daily orchestral classical music held in the Royal Albert Hall. They have a different programme each night, and they all last about two and a half hours with an interval. The first Prom was in 1895, and they now stretch to including about 100 concerts each year. Our clarinet teacher had been encouraging us for several years to go to one, and finally we made it.
The proms are great because they're so unrestricted. I'm sure a lot of people read "orchestral classical music" and shuddered, but is it just because you've never really heard any? By that I mean live, in a venue with beautiful acoustics, and a crowd breathless and silent with anticipation. That's how orchestras have to be appreciated. Unless it's an especially popular programme on that night, 'prommers' can just rock up an hour and a bit before the concert's due to start, queue (sit on the wall) outside the Albert Hall, pay a fiver to get in, and stand in the arena listening to music you will either love, or hate, or just appreciate for what it is. And hey, you paid 5 quid, who cares what your reaction is. At least you felt something, right?
Luckily the BBC Symphony Orchestra, joined later by the BBC Proms Youth Choir, affirmed my faith in the beauty of orchestral that night, my favourite being the Adagio by Strings by Samuel Barber (youtube is your friend, it's likely that you'll know it!) The instrumentalists were so disciplined, so in love with the music they were playing, and it makes the whole experience unique. The notes hang in the air, wrap themselves around the welcoming audience, take each and every person to somewhere different in their mind. It's surprisingly difficult to express the captivation the Proms holds, but all I can do is encourage each and every person to give them a try.
The night was ended by bumping into friends not seen for a while and Japanese curry from a take-away by the name of one of my favoured nick-names. Need I add that it was a perfect day? Thank you, London, for being wonderful, and for containing wonderful things. It is certain I will be back. It's unfortunate I can't drag everyone I know to a Prom with me, but there are a certain few I know I shall persuade.
You have until the 8th September! Go, go!
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