Join me, elsewhere…

It’s been one day shy of 8 months since I last posted on this blog.

Have I given up with blogging? No. Have I given up with writing? No.

Infact, I am still at it…no, unfortunately not “at it” …but I am still blogging just under a different alias and on a different blog.

As this blog has died a death as it were, I would love to welcome and invite you to my new home.

Please have a nosey around of what I have been up to and, I would be hugely grateful if you followed me and I promise you faithfully that I will follow you back…

A little shameless self promotion, goes a long way!



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Filed under Blogging, Change, Internet, Time, Uncategorized, Writing

R.I.P Margaret Thatcher.

News that Margaret Thatcher, former Conservative Prime Minister of the UK, had died of a stroke covered television news and various Social Networking newsfeeds.

Political views aside; she was the first and only female Prime Minister of the UK. A strong, powerful and inspirational woman in her own right. Naturally, as a woman myself, this news saddened me.

But what saddened me most on this day; 8th April 2013- was humanity

I apologise on their behalf that this clouded the sad day of your passing, Margaret Thatcher.

Endless tweets, facebook posts and jokes invaded my newsfeeds; jokes about the typo made in a newspaper about the Iron Lady dying of a “strike” rather than a “stroke.” Exclamations of hope that she burn in hell. Street Parties broadcast from all across the country.

It’s sickening, no doubt about that.

Did you murder anybody? No. Did you rape anybody? No. But here you are, the response to your death- like that of a criminal. I’m sorry Margaret Thatcher.

An 87 year old lady dying of dementia and ultimately beaten by a stroke. HOW DISGUSTING can a country a be? Towns hosting street parties to celebrate somebody’s death?!?

This is 2013 for Christ’s sake- we’re supposed to be living in a civilised society. Chilon of Sparta coined the phrase De mortuis nihil nisi bonum” (Do not speak ill of the dead) in 600 BC. Have we really not moved forward since then?

Now- she may have made some, arguably, ill informed decisions, she may have taken drastic movements- but Margaret Thatcher for all intents and purposes was a great leader. Inspirational for being a woman. She held the role of Prime Minister at a time when the UK was in a shambles- she did some remarkable things.

Politics, have, and always will, be divisive. The whole nation didn’t love Thatcher, in the same way we didn’t all love Tony Blair and don’t all love David Cameron. All recent politicians can be criticised for their inability to stick to their word- that cannot be levied against Margaret Thatcher. She did what she set out to do. Isn’t that the role of a leader?

But, regardless of political opinion, doesn’t your role as a human being come into play on the death of a hugely influential and important leader? Even if you disagree with Margaret Thatcher, are you truly able to raise a pint and cheer for her death?

What does it say about our country that (at the time of writing) “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead,” bu Judy Garland is number 2 in the music charts?!? WHAT HAVE WE BECOME?

As unpopular as Barack Obama and George W Bush may be or have been- I would bet my last penny that such a state affairs would not arise in America. And why? A simple thing called respect. 

I’m not saying that we should erase history. I’m not saying that we should pretend that Thatcher was a saint. I’m not saying we should warp the influential decisions she made and the negative consequences that some of them had. (Let us not forget, however, that she was equally loved by many and re-elected into office.)

What I am saying is that there is a time and a place for such discussions. And, quite frankly, the day of her death is not one of them. Are we not human enough to wait until her grave is cold before we discuss her legacy?!

I love being British- but yesterday I was ashamed of our “high society.” How adults were unable to put their political aggrievances aside for 24 hours and be respectful for Margaret Thatcher’s death. Nobody need preach something that they don’t believe in; but sometimes, silence really is golden. As children we were taught the idiom; if you don’t have anything nice to say, then say nothing at all, but yesterday this was all too easily forgotten. 

R.I.P Margaret Thatcher; I’m sorry that on the day you died, so many citizens were unable to live up to the big name of our Great Britain.

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Filed under Death, Emotions, Experience, Internet, Life, Politics, Society, Twitter, Uncategorized

The unattainable beauty.

I am sick of society. Nobody is perfect- not you, not me, not Angelina Jolie.

What even is beautiful anymore?

If you are a size zero you’re too skinny. Practically an anorexic. What if you’re a size fourteen? Then you’re too fat. Above a size sixteen? …Obese.

What if you’re a blonde girl? Are you flirty, sexy and fun? Or are you plain dumb?

How about if you wear glasses? Sexy school teacher-esque? Or a nerd?

NOBODY can win.

Magazines depicting beautifully photoshopped celebrities and models- perfectly formed figures, NO wrinkles, blemish free skin and every limb toned to perfection.

This is bad enough- but, no. That isn’t enough- then there are the magazines that snap celebrities on the beach- or, heaven forbid! Makeup-less on their way to Tesco- with huge black circles highlighting slightly wrinkled armpit skin, a slight touch of thigh cellulite or boney knees. HOW do we win? “Fat” enough to have cellulite- QUEL DOMMAGE! Or “skinny” enough that our knees are “too” boney?- WHAT A CRIME?

For months years celebrities have said that these faux images and messages permeating society are wrong. But what has been done about it? Nothing.

One month celebrities shout out about how they hate the message that magazines give to young girls. The next month they’re on super strict diets to shed their non-existent extra pounds and modelling for magazines that sculpt their already PRISTINE bodies to ensure that not a single pore is visible.

As I type this blog on the right hand side of my screen is a photo of an attractive woman who is apparently hated by dermatologists- because at 50 she has found a “home secret” to get rid of her wrinkles. Then there are the adverts depicting the mother who has angered dentists with her supposed teeth whitening formula. What about the ads on adult sites telling men how to enlarge their penises?! (Even men aren’t exempt from this madness!)

In an age of political correctness- things haven’t changed much- they’re just concealed more. WHICH IS WORSE. As a six year old- I knew that my Barbie was fake. Today, I’m not sure that an eleven year old girl knows that the singer that she idolises- actually has acne, cellulite and blackheads.

It’s dangerous.

We are the age of make-up, fake tan, false nails, false eyelashes, hair extensions, entire body waxes and photoshop. We are a nation of FAKE people.

I’m not some alien outsider- we all have to keep up. Dying my hair, applying make-up, shaving my body until I have the body of a little child. Forever counting calories- and buying an extortionate gym membership.

Ofcourse I am dying to see celebs at their worst. NOT because I’m some sicko that thinks it’s a crime- but because I need to be reminded that they are not perfect. That I am not perfect- that I never will be.

I think it’s time that we sort this mess out once and for all. Be healthy- I’d never advocate anything different. Ofcourse we need to exercise and eat well. BUT let’s be HEALTHY. 

Healthy in our outlook. Healthy in our obsessions. NOT too thin or too fat- just normal. Let’s give the young girls of 2013 a chance.

I cannot wait for the day when I can buy a magazine with a beautiful woman on the front of it. A woman who is beautiful because she is natural.

H x

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Filed under Beauty, Health, Life, Society, Uncategorized

I miss you.

It’s been 3 months. Three months since you left this world.

I’ve known death before- seen loved ones pass but this time it was different. This time it affected me in a way that I have never experienced.

You’re in my dreams- lots of them. Sometimes they’re nice, sometimes they’re horrible but when I wake up- it’s the same. Pain. The realisation that you’re not here hits me again and again.

Like rain pounding on a window- relentless.

My mood is dampened for the day, I’ve even woken up crying before now.

I cannot let go.

I hate to think back to the day you passed. I hate to think back to your funeral. It cuts me. So I pretend that I almost don’t know- that it isn’t real.

Strange really- I’m prolonging the pain, I know that. Somehow it seems to help.

I suppose you’re laughing at me. If you can see me now, you probably think I’m crazy. I know you want me to happy.

I am.

I promise that I am. It’s just this. Every now and again I remember.

Bittersweet. Thinking of you makes me happy, I love you. But it reminds me of my loss and that you’re gone.

I just want you to know that I miss you. I feel like telling you this is throwing pebbles into the sea or talking to the sky. I hope you know. I hope you hear me.

Oh, how I miss you.

I never got to say goodbye, not properly. It kills me, do you know that? I wish I had kissed you, or hugged you or told you that I love you. I hope you know.

I wish I could hold your hand once more or make you laugh again.

I cannot.

I’m scared- scared that I won’t remember. That time will make it fade. I wan’t to remember how you smell, I want to remember the sound of your voice and the softness of your hair. Your facial expressions are implanted in my mind- will they be forever? I’m scared that memories will slip away. I cannot preserve them all- not even in writing.

This is torture. I’m praying that you know all of this.

I hope you’re safe, I hope that you’re at peace. I hope that one day I can find peace in this tragedy too.

I love you and I miss you, always.

H x

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Filed under Death, Emotions, Experience, Family, Friendship, Life, Losing, Loss, Love, Mourning, Relationships, Time, Uncategorized


With Valentine’s Day looming fast- it’s all I can think about. Actually, no, that was a lie. It’s something I think about every single day.

I think I have convinced myself that I want to be desperately in love.

Society is telling me that I need to be in love-To validate who am.To be happy. To have a life that others would envy. Virtually every film that I watch reminds me of my ever failing love life. Whether it be an intentionally soppy love film or one that pretends to be on my level (like Bridget Jones) but equally ends with a love story that stamps all over anything I’ve ever slightly experienced.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m unlucky in love. No- no, I refuse to believe that. I mean, yes I am but why is the problem me? What if I want to be single for a while or at any rate don’t want to find the man of my dreams and settle down at 21? Why is this goal the supposed ideal? The be all and end all. I feel that in 2013, it’s been imposed on me through literature, music, film, facebook and my closest friendship circle. I cannot get away from it. Least of all in February as Valentine’s Day draws closer.

Don’t get me started on Valentine’s Day.

I swear that if I was in a relationship at this time (I never actually have been) that I would hate this faux celebration. Let’s face it- it’s naff. Chocolates covered in the words “I LOVE YOU,” tacky flowers that I know have been picked up as an afterthought from a petrol station and gross little teddy bears holding velvety red hearts. No thank you. Future boyfriend, save your money.

Who needs to be told to be all loved up on the 14th of February? It’s being imposed on us.

As is the “love” ideal. I mean, doesn’t it defeat the very purpose of love? Shouldn’t love be spontaneous and unexpected?

Doesn’t it also give a very warped view of the relationships ahead? From my (very little) experience- it isn’t the love that Jane Austen and every other novelist since portrays. Maybe I really am unlucky. I had the inarticulate guy who as much as he tried to express nice feelings towards me used to text and write messages to me calling me sweet but spelling it “sweat.” (Maybe he was more intelligent than I thought and just hinting though?) Then there was the guy who’s idea of “wit” involved farting in bed and then holding my head under the bedcovers (needless to say that ended very swiftly.) And then there was the nice guy who was truly lovely but so honest in an “I don’t need to know” type way. Like the time he kissed me in the morning and then immediately asked if I had brushed my teeth. (really not portraying my hygiene in a good way in this blog post!) Or the time he took it upon himself to tell my best friend that her roots were showing.

What about sex? Films showing sexy perfect sex scenes which make my experiences in the bedroom look ridiculous. What about noises? The awkward fumbling- getting ready to do the deed process? The mess!?

I’m sick of being sold an ideal that I will never experience because it isn’t real. A gorgeous stranger declaring undying love for me? A man who would do ANYTHING to see me smile. A poet, or a doctor or just a damn right lovely person? Where are the Colin Firths of the world?

So as February 14th looms- again, I am left wondering why I don’t have a male to share my Ben & Jerry’s with or somebody to make romantic plans with…-perhaps it’s because I’m bitter cynic. So until my love life sorts itself out, I’ll pretend that I don’t want it and console myself with The Notebook…

H x


Filed under Experience, Life, Love, Relationships, Sex, Single, Uncategorized, Valentines

Letter to my lover’s wife

Dear Megan,

I didn’t plan it, I promise. Neither did he. It just happened.

I know you hate me (I don’t blame you) but hear me out.

I know he is your husband, I always knew.

Yes, the affair that ensued was wrong but it isn’t as black and white as that. I am not an evil person- I didn’t want to hurt him and I didn’t want to hurt you either, Megan.

Don’t I have a right to be happy too?! Your husband is amazing- we both know that. So sensitive, so loving, so intelligent. I wanted to keep him, if only for a short time. Nobody compared. Nobody does compare.

We both tried to stop it. I told him it was immoral. I dated other men to move on, to forget. Oliver: he was charming, handsome and lovely but, well, he wasn’t all too smart. Daniel: perfect on paper- too keen in reality. Andrew: kind and generous- perfect husband material-just boring. Time and time again it boiled down to the same thing- that you had the perfect man. Why couldn’t I too?

Did you ever know how lucky you were? One morning you fought with him and told him how you wished you’d married your childhood sweetheart when he proposed to you at 18, rather than your amazing husband. He told me that. I hated you Megan, hated that you had everything that I wanted and yet could be so ungrateful. You have no idea.

Christmas- he was yours. Valentine’s day- he was yours. His birthday- he was yours. You are so lucky Megan and you never saw it. Don’t hate me, pity me.

You had it all, always did.

Do I feel bad about what happened? No. I was with your husband and yes it was wrong but I would never have hurt you. I never asked him to leave you, not once. I never rang or texted him first I played the role of the perfect mistress.

I didn’t want you to find out- not to protect my own back- I had nothing to lose. Your perfect husband wasn’t mine. I knew that if you found out- it would hurt him and it would hurt you and I never wanted that.

I know nothing about you Megan- I never wanted to know anything. Are you blonde or brunette? I have no idea. Do you laugh when your husband tells you the jokes that you have heard time and time before or do you sigh, Megan? I laughed; each and every time. Not because they’re funny- sure as hell they weren’t for the tenth time- but I laughed because I was happy, so content when I am with him. Have I walked passed you in the street Megan? Do we shop in the same shops? Or like the same things?

It hasn’t been easy for me.

The first time he rang me. The first time we kissed. The first time I lay beside him.


In those moments- however transient- he was mine. It was heaven- hearing him breathe, knowing he was there, with me. But at the back of my mind i was plagued- plagued by you Megan. Have you read the book “Rebecca”? Because that is what I was dealing with.

The constant torment that I was doing wrong.

Do I prioritise what I want? Or what some lady who I have never met has?!- well for once- I chose me. Does that make me evil?! Is it wrong that I wanted to look out for myself- once. I didn’t even truly want to do that- I never tried to steal your man- I merely borrowed him.

I took nothing- I didn’t steal his heart. I didn’t steal your marriage. I didn’t steal your time together. Everything I had was temporary. It meant the world to me and nothing to him. Can you imagine that Megan? You may think you’re the victim but you had what I have always wanted. You still do and you always will have. You’re the winner in all of this. I don’t even want to compete.

I’m happy being second best, Megan. I am. I would take whatever I could get. I can deal with hours days of silence. I can deal with the whispered phonecalls and the abrupt endings because you’re coming. I can deal with seeing him in the street and not only not being able to hold his hand but having to ignore him altogether. Can you imagine that? It wasn’t my hell. It was my heaven. It was the best that I could get and I seized it.

Every simple thing that you can do- walk side by side in public, dine at a restaurant for two, meet his family and introduce him to yours, wake up with him every morning, go to bed with him every night. That was your life- the mundane things. Those are the things that I envied. That I would give the world for.

Maybe you are the victim. Perhaps I am an evil bitch. Just don’t forget that you have it all.

I don’t have your husband…I never did.

Your husband’s Mistress,

H x

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Filed under Adultery, Affair, Emotions, Experience, Life, Love, Relationships, Sex, Single, Uncategorized

Do we ever truly know anybody?

Recently, my friends and I have been having to deal with an unfortunate situation. One of our mutual friends with whom we lived in our first couple of years at university has managed to steal from us a sum totaling more than one thousand pounds.

As a group of girls who are all ordinarily quite up for a gossip- this debacle has fueled numerous conversations among the friendship group. “I cannot believe it!”one friend keeps exclaiming; “if you had told me one of us was stealing from the group she is the last person that I would have guessed,” another declared.

We are all reeling in shock.

This whole situation has made me think- do we ever truly know anybody?

My own father managed to conceal his love affair with another woman from my mother (his then wife of thirteen years) and from his two young children. Is there anybody that you could ever rely on more than your parents or the man you choose to spend your life with? Yet he lived a lie- we never truly knew him.

What about children; the daughters who sleep around, who smoke a dozen cigarettes a day and are “in with the wrong crowd.” Some mothers remain oblivious to the antics of their children. How is that? The very human beings that we bring into the world, whose values and morals we shape- become individuals who we may never truly even know.

It’s a sad and hugely cynical thought that the people we love, trust and devout our lives to- may very well be nothing more than strangers. Can we trust anybody in this world? I suppose I ought not to have trusted this “friend” of ours, or my father…and I am sure that any reader of this blog can add their own list of people who have let them down and failed to be the person that we believed they were. But, what are we supposed to do? Trust nobody but ourselves? Or maybe resign ourselves to the fact that we cannot ever truly know everything about anyone? Perhaps, at best, we can hope that we never discover the truth…?

H x

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Filed under Emotions, Experience, Family, Friendship, Life, Love, Relationships, Trust

Raise a glass to falling out of love.

Falling in a love is a beautiful feeling; no doubt about that.

People have been talking about it since the beginning of time; art, film, literature, music, facebook…it’s everywhere- it’s discussed on a daily basis and dealt with in numerous forms by people from all walks of life.

Falling out of love simply doesn’t get the same press.

I do not know why. Yes, maybe it’s a little less romantic, a little less fun and lacking somewhat in optimism. But it’s just as important. In some weird, screwed up way- I love the feeling of falling out of love.

Maybe I am a- glass half empty- kind of girl. Maybe this isn’t the kind of topic that people want to hear or read about it- but I think it’s due a mention.

Break-ups are one thing; everybody hates them. Nobody likes change. It’s probable that both parties to a relationship are sad; whether you’re the person doing the breaking up “the breaker upper” or the person being broken up with “the break upee.” It sucks for everyone. If you have been cheated on or want the relationship to end- it’s still a tough time- if only because it makes you remember why you liked the other person, what has changed and what is now missing.

Perhaps at this point- you haven’t reached the amazing feeling of falling out of love. Or atleast it’s not likely that you both have.

It might be a matter of days before the revelation hits you, weeks, months or even years. But when it does, boy does it feel great!

I should know, I have experienced it today.

After breaking up with my last boyfriend- we’ll call him “Mr X” it was left on okay terms. We broke up because of circumstance rather than anything else. It wasn’t hugely painful- no cheating, we didn’t screw each other, just a mutual and amicable split.

But then it went wrong. We’d text each other in moments of boredom, intrigue or loneliness. Ofcourse when he wanted to text me- I didn’t want to hear from him. I’d be out with my friends, madly working to meet a deadline or having dinner with my family and he would receive (to put it nicely) an icy response. Equally, when I wanted to speak to him- he would be equally as busy and equally as uninterested and I would then face the less than enthused reply.

This out of sync process went on for weeks. We grew more agitated and more annoyed with one another. But underneath each arsey reply of mine- I still knew that I loved him.

I’m a tough cookie- ask anyone who knows me if I’m over him and they’ll laughingly tell you that I am. But I wasn’t completely. I’ve never been the kind of girl to sit and cry over a boy, I’m not about to put on an “I hate men” and am toying with lesbianism front either. I just come across as impartial- and largely I was.

Butlate at night- I’d fantasise about being held in the depths of his arms and pulled closed to his chest- as he used to do to me when I was scared. Late at night, I’d remember something that had made us laugh so hard for hours and I’d smile. Late at night I’d remember the tiny details- the little things he had done to make me smile.

It hurt.

Every time I heard from him, my heart would skip a beat. Whenever something reminded me of him I’d feel a little bit sick inside- but today, well today- nothing.

I realised that it was done. That I was done.

I don’t love the man anymore, I don’t hate him either- I’m simply impartial. If I saw him in the street I’d nod in recognition but barely give it a second thought.

For a split second it saddened me- that the energy, the time, the money, the effort that I had put into him- was rendered useless.

But that second was a transient one.

I was free. Free in a way that you’re not by solely regaining single status. I was truly free this time. I wasn’t hooked up on hearing from him- thinking that he must still think of me, why else would he text? I genuinely just didn’t care. It didn’t even irritate me.

When I was single I was stuck in a rut. Yes I could sleep with anyone that I wanted to (not that I exercised this, but nonetheless) yes, I could go out  and do what I wanted without being accountable to anyone, yes, I could spend time with my friends and family- which I’d compromised on whilst being with Mr X. But I wasn’t free. Not truly single- because my heart was, in part, still caught up on him.

I’d hear a song on the radio and wonder if he would like it. I’d hear a joke and wonder if he would laugh at it. I’d wear a new dress and wonder if he’d admire me in it. And man- it used to irritate me- because, I’d lost the ability to think for myself. Why did I care? All that should matter was whether I liked the damn song, if I found the joke funny or I felt attractive in the dress- but at that point, it didn’t.

On today’s gem of a discovery- I feel that I am myself. That the Beyonce in me can be unleashed again.

I can think for myself and I can be myself without Mr X even being a distant consideration.

Falling out of love is an amazing feeling. So empowering. I feel like playing my Spice Girls CD on repeat and telling the world that “I don’t need a man.” I don’t. I have always known that. But now I feel like I actually believe it.

When you fall for someone it’s indescribable- but undoubtedly, you lose a part of yourself. Your autonomy, your guard drops and your heart belongs to someone else (excuse the cliché.) When you fall out of love- you suddenly become whole again, you can reclaim yourself.

What better feeling in the world is there than that? The world becomes unstable, but exciting. Suddenly opportunities open up- I can have fun with my single friends, unashamedly dance on tables, get rip roaringly drunk. I can wait on tenterhooks, excitedly texting numerous guys, I can leave the house without my phone and let one plan turn into another and then a third without having to “check in” with anybody. I can go to bed at whatever hour I want, sit up and read a book with the light on and sleep in for the entirety of the next day because I don’t have to consider anybody else.

It’s brilliant.

It’s a fresh start.

I love falling out of love. I love the fact that my heart has made this decision on it’s own terms, quite unexpectedly. Yes, falling out of love with someone might be ideal the first time that they hit you, the second you discover their infidelity or the moment when they dump you out of the blue. But it doesn’t work like that. It comes when it’s ready to- and trust me, when it does, it’s worth the wait.

When I go to sleep tonight, I’ll be starfishing across my huge empty double bed- I shall embrace life and rather than wishing I was in the arms of my Mr X- I shall be fantasising about my unknown, exciting future and about sipping cocktails with my best friends until the small hours. Hello, to the independent, empowered and free me.


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Is hedging your beats, cheating?

“What religion are you?” This is a question that people are asked a lot in society- by other people, when applying for jobs and even on signing up to Facebook.

My response is, and always has been, that I am a Catholic.

If asked in person, friends of mine almost always go on to ask if I go to Church every Sunday- to which I tell them that I do not. “Do you believe in God?” They sometimes inquire and in all honesty I tell them that “I do not know.”

“Well, you’re not a Catholic then!” A close friend of mine once joked.

She has a point. My “faith” is suddenly flawed- if I don’t know if I believe in its very focus. Yet, still I consider myself a Catholic; I have been baptised, had my First Holy Communion, been confirmed, attended a Catholic school and shall no doubt raise my children as Catholics.

But, is this cheating? Am I hedging my bets- just incase does God exist? Part of me thinks so. I’m no athiest- but I could be described as an agnostic.

A Catholic and an Agnostic.

The two do not go hand-in-hand.

Am I cheating the system, for fear of not putting all of my eggs into one basket? Except- not really cheating the system because IF God does exist than ofcourse he shall know of my doubts. Maybe it isn’t even a win win situation- perhaps my “faux” faith is in vain- as it will be known that I did not truly believe and so it is rendered redundant.

At any rate, this is what one of my friends declared to me- and, if nothing else, her reasoning seems logical.

I’d like to disagree. (I would though if I’m hedging my bets and don’t want to be found out) I am twenty one years old- surely I cannot and do not know my faith? Although does anyone know? Who is to say that Nuns, Rabbis and Preachers don’t have their doubts about their faiths last thing at night before they sleep? Or maybe they genuinely don’t?

Perhaps faith is something that comes to you in later life. Once you have faced a number of trials and tribulations in your life. Once you are well read, less ignorant and wiser. Or maybe some people just have it, just “get it” and others simply do not? I’d like to think that the former is true. That one day in the future, I will embrace my Catholic roots wholly, or find an alternative Belief System to follow, or perhaps reject religion altogether- but will choose a path according to my perceived certainty at that time.

Religion is a deeply personal concept. It is abstract, a belief, an all encompassing emotion- how can it ever be treated as fact?

Surely by it’s very nature- Religion asks to be queried. Religion wants to be denied. Religion wants to be lost. Because only when queried can it be clarified. Only when denied can it be affirmed. Only when lost, can it be found. Surely that is how finding one’s belief has to work?

Or do the truly religious just know, just accept it unquestioningly?

I consider myself fairly intelligent and a thinker. I have never truly embraced nor rejected religion; any religion for that matter. But I am truly intrigued by it. I always have been. Maybe this is because I see its innate flaws- because, at heart, I am an atheist and am intrigued so that I can prove it wrong. To illustrate this idea, I imagine I am watching a skilled magician- it fascinates me. Not because I believe what he is doing to be magic but because I am forever studying him to work him out- to discover his tricks and find his flaw. Is that where my preoccupation with religion comes from?

Except, I think of atheists as people who not only do not believe in religion, but would go far enough as to say that they hate it. This, then cannot be me because I do not hate religion. Or is this perception wrong?

Is my querying of religion confirmation of  the fact that I wan’t to believe- in God, in anything. I do not hate it and I do not reject it- maybe I am just looking for something to make a little more sense before I commit?

Or maybe, I am just a thinker- weighing up the options and hedging my bets?

H x

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Filed under Faith, God, Life, Relationships, Religion, Uncategorized

New Year’s Resolution

1) Lose weight (the annual aspiration).
2) Make a conscientious effort to stay in touch with old friends.
3) Save money!!
4) Get better grades/be generally successful.

My New Years resolutions.

I hate the hype of New Years Eve but what I hate even more is the notion of New Years resolutions.

It’s a recognition of our past failings. It’s faux hope for the new year that in a matter of months, if not weeks days will become redundant when, again we resort back to our old ways.

It loses something when 80% of my resolutions are the same as they were in 2012, 2011 and actually 2010 now that I think of it. One by one each fails in turn.

It’s soul destroying. Spending January the 1st nursing a hangover, texting all of my old friends, eating a selection of carrots and unsalted nuts and doing an hour of lighthearted premature revision. By the 2nd, half of these good habits have fallen by the wayside. As for the 31st, the permanent feeling of guilt and a vague memory of a desire to eat healthily are all that remain.

It’s not good for the soul to be plagued by the feeling of failure.

If anyone truly wants to become a gym bunny, really wants to eat healthily and strives to read more-then they will do so on their own terms. If the desire strikes us on the 17th of February then that’s as good a day as any to start. We don’t need a new year to implement change.

People don’t even like change. Surely the fact that I’ve forked out an unjustifiable amount of money on new Filofax refills is enough? Added to the challenge of remembering to write a new date, how much more change do we need?

Why do we then impose additional life goals on ourselves? Don’t get me wrong- it’s good to check ourselves every now and again. We should aim to improve and to rectify things we dislike about ourselves but it is essentially flawed.

Self improvement and change are highly personal things. Yet, there is nothing personal about every individual in the country resolving to do something differently. Not because we have reached rock bottom, not because we are doing it for charity but because its January the first.

To me, New Years resolutions tap into the culture of improvement and perfection. The societal desire to be a size zero, to earn more money than we could have the need for and to have a love life to rival that of a rom-com. Resolutions serve to remind us of our past failings and flaws and come to haunt us bit by bit as new resolutions are broken.

Yes, there are people who succeed at their resolutions but these are the sort of people who, lets face it, don’t need them in the first place. The driven, strong willed and successful individuals amongst us are already winning at life whether it be the first of January of the thirty first of December.

It’s us other mere mortals- for whom the New Years resolution was invented- who fail and thus endure the inevitable self hatred and depression that results. We are the people who can’t eat 500 calories a day if our lives depended upon it. We are the people who can’t drag ourselves to the local gyms day in, day out. We are the people who couldn’t orchestrate our own love lives if we were paid to. If we could we wouldn’t need such resolutions. But they are more of a hindrance than a help.

Somebody, somewhere decided that the start of a new year calls for change. I think it’s absolute rubbish…but, just incase- I’ll attempt to implement them nonetheless. As and when I do fail each of my four goals, I will keep you posted if I can tear myself away from a family sized Galaxy bar a box of Kleenex.

In the mean time; Happy New Year! Have a fabulous 2013.

H x

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Filed under Competition, Failure, Life, New Year, Success