the sea is boiling water and the sand is sugar

Yesterday we lost my granddad, my mum's father, to cancer. This blog post isn't going to be about him, or about loss or mourning. I just wanted to let my beautiful readers know, as I have mentioned the situation previously and I didn't want to leave it as a mystery. I need to stop thinking about the cashew nuts he used to love so much, and how much he adored condensed milk, how he used to say 'you smell lovely', which sounds a lot prettier in his language. How he used to call me his 'number one' as I was the first grandchild born, or how he smelt, or how he used to sit in a corner and engross himself in crosswords. I need to stop, but I can't. Okay, maybe I lied, I've given you a slice of my grief and mourning and I apologise. I won't do it again.

Today I needed a prompt for my blog because once an emotion has consumed you completely, sometimes it becomes your only inspiration and I don't want to sit here complaining about how upset I am. I'd rather not upset you all too. My prompt for today is a picture, which I shall write a small story about. I hope you enjoy it, dear reader. I am coming up to 3000 hits on this blog and I cannot believe those of you who have stuck with me through it all so far. Although you may believe I haven't shared a lot in the twenty or so posts I have written, I have shared more with you than any other person alive today, and I hope you understand how much thought I put into each post. So here goes, another picture prompt. 

If you are new to my blog and enjoy the picture prompt for today, there was a picture prompt used in an older blog post here.

~~~x~~~

The higher up I am, the happier I am. Down on the ground I am surrounded by giants; people are taller than me and more important, buildings tower over me and the sea seems to be a vast emptiness I am afraid of. Everything seems to press me down further into dirt and grit, pushing and pushing until I am completely submerged in the earth and not even the top of my head can be seen. I suffocate, down on the ground. I am nobody, just another speck of dust floating in the sunlight, blown away with the slightest, silent sigh.

When i'm sat up high on the rocky hills which not many are brave enough to trek up, the world is suddenly mine. I can grasp at building and boats, or delete them from existence by covering them with my hand. People are like ants, the sea can be poured mug of tea; the sky is the only thing which goes on forever however it is so clear and calming that I almost want to jump up and join the few lonely birds, flying so high the ground no longer exists.

You should see it at night. The buildings become stars, glittering and flickering as young children turn on their bedside lights and begin to read fairy tales. The stars in the sky become jealous, and they battle it out for hours until the buildings give up and go dark again. But, whilst they are ablaze, the sea sparkles and you can just about make out the waves, still drifting towards the shore, tickling it gently, then drifting back to repeat the process.

The best bit is they can't see me. Nobody can. Not my family, nor my friends, nor the buildings or the sea or anything but the birds which promise to fly with me someday. The ground may consume me on occasion, but I will always make it out and I will one day touch that crystal clear sky above my head. For now, I shall pour myself a cup of tea, using the sea as my water, and pick up the people by their collars and use them as spoons to stir my drink. The sand can be the sugar which dissolves so quickly it was almost as if it was never there. And after a few thousand mugs of tea, the ground below will be empty. I will have consumed it all and all that will be left for me is the sky.

~~~x~~~

That was quite possibly the weirdest thing I have ever written, but I hope in some odd way you have enjoyed it and can perhaps see the message behind my story. Though a simple one, it fits in with my life right now. No matter how hard life gets, or how much you feel swallowed up my the ground below, there will always be the sky to look up to and aim for and there will always be a way out.

Ayesha x

The Autumn Tree

I would start this blog post with a meandering, endless list of reasons why I haven't been here but 'lack of inspiration', 'on holiday', and 'just started sixth form' would be the ones reoccurring the most. Apologies to my readers for not updating for so long. Whilst I was in Cornwall, I was over inspired. Each tickle of the sea breeze on my cheeks and handful of ripe, oozingly juicy strawberries I stuffed into my mouth was inspiration. Each corner I turned, the sight took my breath away. Cornwall is my childhood holiday destination and even the smell of my grandparents' house brings tears to my eyes and conjures a lump in my throat.

Moving on from Cornwall, I want to talk to you about Autumn. Yes, my darlings, that beautiful season which I cherish more than any other time of the year. For some, Autumn arrives when it is announced. When the month of September begins, people begin to greet Autumn with the shake of a hand and a turn of the page of their calenders . For others, Autumn begins when the weather forecast begins to announce cold weather and rain, and they greet Autumn with a frown and the purchase of a new jacket. For me, Autumn begins when I notice a tree with its juicy green leaves brushed at the edges with a hint of red, and I greet Autumn with a skip in my step and a search for conkers.

Yesterday, I saw 'The Autumn Tree'. I was on the train on my way home on a scorchingly hot day. You could almost hear the beads of sweat dripping off people's noses and the waves of hot air attempting to circulate around the carriage gave up their pathetic attempts so the air hung thick and incredibly sticky. It seemed like Summer. Mid-Summer. Then, glancing out of the window, 'The Autumn Tree' caught my eye and a sudden chill shuddered through my body. Autumn had arrived.

This specific tree had the most glaringly bright green leaves it was almost impossible to imagine that Autumn was on its way, however just tickling the tips of these leaves were speckles of crimson. A burst of red on the edges that made the leaves seem as if they had just caught fire. I stared at this spectacular blaze until the train passed 'The Autumn Tree', dreams of playing conkers, devouring toffee apples, purchasing a beautiful knitted scarf all engulfed my brain and Summer began to go fuzzy around the edges. It was over, I declared. Autumn was beginning.

For me, Autumn always has been about beginnings. They say, people, that is, that Spring is all about new beginnings because new life springs up around us. Hence why it is called Spring. Ridiculous, in my opinion. Autumn is all about new beginnings. Each year, in the first days of September, bleary eyed children in over-sized uniform, clutching their bags and yawning as they make their way down the street, have a new beginning. Each year in Autumn, children begin again. They are wound up and recharged and are set off on a new adventure.

Then there are the trees, the ones which make Autumn as beautiful as it is. Trees begin the beginning of the end, if that makes sense? They burst into flames, each one of them, going from blood red, to golden, then curling into a chocolatey brown before falling off. The beginning of the end, the preparation for death, although morbid they prepare so beautifully that you're almost grateful they are about leave the earth for good because they will soon return, crisp and gentle and green, ready to go through the process again.

Autumn is my favourite season. It gives me the chance for another adventure, it smothers me in colours so bright that I wonder why darkened, tinted glasses are only used as sunglasses and not 'leafglasses' too. Perhaps someone should invent those, although why would you ever want to cover up what nature has offered to send you on your way to work and school with a beaming smile on your face? Autumn is cinnamon. Isn't it just? It tastes like cinnamon, smells like it, looks like it. Autumn should just be known as cinnamon, it is just that delicious.

I hope you all enjoy your Autumn and look out for the beauty it has to offer. Mother nature is being kind, softening the blow which is the death of all things around us. But then, once death arrives, it is coated in layers of sparkling snow and concealed behind the joys of Christmas trees and crackling fireplaces. Each season will give you something to smile about, you just have to look out for it.

Until next time which hopefully won't be too far away, dear reader,

Ayesha x

early mornings and long car journeys

Good evening my dear reader. I feel like I should explain my lack of blog posts but I am unable to. It was an odd mix of negative feelings and lack of inspiration but after waking up at the crack of dawn this morning to fly down the motorway to Cornwall, many things came to mind which I thought I might share.

The first is the journey itself. I awoke at 4:30am, yawning and stretching and blinking away the remains of my dreams which pretended to have shook me awake however it was in fact the sharp tone of the alarm clock which grasped me from a deep sleep and threw me out into the morning. I slipped on my brand new glasses (beautiful, they are, I can see things now which I would never have noticed before; the sky itself is suddenly so much clearer) and shuffled to the window where the sight which greeted me allowed a smile to spread itself across my face.

The sky was magnificent; the usual blue sky barely visible as streaks of golden yellow, pink and purple were painted over it like the swirls in the painting Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh. Just as breathtaking. Opening the window and allowing the cool, early morning air to flow in I noticed how silent it was. A flutter and twitter of birds serenaded the glorious sky as they flew up towards it, attempting to taste the colours so beautifully curling around the clouds. Then silence settled in again, shrouding the street in a blanket of tranquility which I had never before witnessed.

The journey began slowly, time scattered and stretched as the minutes seemed to last hours and the hours a lifetime. The roads were as peaceful as my street had been, only the whirring of the car and faint classical music playing could be heard. Again, I witnessed the beauty of cars and how magnificent they are to watch going about their short lifetimes which are relived with each journey (see previous blog post if confused). Once closer to Cornwall, the clouds which thanks to my new glasses I had only just made an acquaintanceship with, were suddenly surrounding the car. Engulfing it in misty wisps and causing an odd shudder to rattle through my body. As we passed over hill and valley I noticed the sheep scattering the fields and how they looked so much like white sprinkles on a fluffy green ice cream, so insignificant to a passer by yet so wonderfully placed that if you bothered to watch them it was all rather wonderful.

Although extraordinarily grey and bleak to the eye of a human who is just passing through, a rainy Cornwall is a beautiful Cornwall. Its beaches may seem unusable but in fact the sea is even more breathtaking than it usually is. The waves crash against the rocks as the rain batters the sea creating a tremendous crescendo which sounds a lot like the whistling you hear when you press your ear against a shell, only multiplied until it echoes along the coastline.

I'm extremely exhausted after the long journey and the early wake up but I have discovered in that short amount of time more beauty than I have seen in weeks. Tomorrow I am off for a bicycle ride along the coast and therefore will probably have yet more to describe to you. I hope you have enjoyed today after my being away for so long.

Ayesha x

let's waste time, chasing cars, around our heads

I know I haven't blogged in a little while but I haven't had anything to write about. Today's sudden burst of inspiration hit me on a hazily warm car journey, the sort where the windows are rolled down but the air surging into the window is not any cooler than that inside the car. That treacly sort of warm car journey. I watched the cars drive side by side and realised that roads work so beautifully. 

They represent our world. The start of the journey begins with a turn of the keys in the engine, just as life begins similarly. The car begins slowly, life just about entering its metal shell. It crawls down its first road, attempting to find its feat. Thousands of cars then weave in between one another, sometimes greeting each other with a beep of the horn or a hand signal is revealed within to thank them. People greet one another just as cars greet one another. On car journeys, the car beside you is your neighbour. The cars in front and behind and the people who have followed you on your journey.

On motorways, everything runs so fast. Cars storm ahead, overtaking and competing. This is the natural competition of life. This is each of us heading for our dreams. Some fall behind, yet are still moving. Their dreams are halted but they still lie ahead where the grassy hills continue into the distance. Some move faster than the others, their destination in sight, their wheels turning so fast they needn't look back. The rear view mirror ignored.

Then, there are those sparkling, shining moments in which cars all work together. Moments of togetherness, moments which exist in our reality. An ambulance rushes towards the cars, a warning, a disaster is on its way. Do we all continue on and ignore it? No, we all stop. We all halt and curve out of the way to let the ambulance through. Each and every car does its part. Just as we do when there is a disaster, or a charity needs our help. We all give our little bit to help out and everyone comes together so wonderfully. 

The car then nears its destination, the wheels still rolling but slowing down all the same. What seemed like a road so long and tedious to take has suddenly found its end. The weaving of the cars, greeting others, the togetherness of the occupants of the road, it's all over. The wheels stop turning, the engine switches off, the car becomes silent as its metal shell cools down. The journey is over, its time for the people to step out and begin their adventure. The next car journey is a new life.

I realise now I have just rambled on about cars and lives and the togetherness that ambulance passing through brings and I can't believe I have spoken such nonsense. I apologise so much. I promise that I will think of something better next time.

Until then, my dear sweet reader.

Ayesha x

and it was all yellow

Yellow.

It's not just a colour, it's a taste, it's a feeling. It's the first gentle brush of sunlight on dew-ridden grass, twinkling stars scattered across the ground as dew is illuminated in the glow of the morning. It's the melted butter oozing out of a crumpet as it is squeezed between your teeth, engulfing your taste buds with pleasure. It's the warmth which floods your body when a loved one hugs you, that feeling of safety, protection, the knowledge that whilst you're embraced by them nothing can harm you.

There is a house close to where I live, which I noticed with the biggest grin on my face when I was around seven, called 'Custard Cottage'. It's a small house which would be perceived as normal if it wasn't a bright, beautiful yellow colour. The colour of custard, surprisingly enough. Imagine living in a yellow house? Imagine capturing the smiles of every passenger in passing cars because the house is yellow. The colour of smiles. Imagine leaving the house and turning back and the house is cheerily watching you go, slightly sad to see you leave but glad that they have the promise of a return, for who could ever leave a yellow house for good? Would you ever leave 'Custard Cottage' if you lived there?

Stars are yellow. No, they're not just yellow, they're golden. Golden is yellow just with a little sprinkle of magic, and stars are dusted with the colour golden. I was in France quite a few years ago, cuddled in a creaky bed in the attic of a mansion. The smell of moth balls is returning to me now as I reminisce. My mum shook me awake and in a sleepy daze I stumbled out of bed and downstairs. She opened the door and the cool night air rushed around me, awakening me and drawing my attention to the sky.

I was in shock. Never before had I seen stars so close up and golden. Glittering like nothing I had seen before. Swirls of a far away galaxy suddenly an arms reach away. I held my hand out to the sky, attempting to grasp a handful of stars, yet grasping stars is like grasping a ocean made of fire. Scorching hot, it doesn't stay, and you're left with burning disappointment. However, you peer back up at these golden wonders and realise you don't need your own handful, as there they are smiling at you, and you're smiling back, and a memory is all you need.

Today, as you can tell, my prompt was to write something about the colour yellow. I have just rambled yet more nonsense, however I hope you enjoyed it and can now see just how cheery all things yellow are.

Ayesha x

Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times

I've been really struggling recently to find inspiration for these blog posts. I've been stuck around the house or have wandered around areas I have walked through so many times; my ideas are running completely dry. Additionally, as you know, there is a lot going on in my life right now. Things are getting worse at home, and the worse they get the harder I try to keep smiling, which means my mind is completely filled with the words of a wonderful friend of mine who told me that no matter how things get i'm still allowed to smile. So i'll keep smiling, i'll keep writing, i'll stay strong.

Today I will have to apologise to you as I really am running dry on ideas. Some lovely people have sent me recommendations but I've tried writing them all and as soon as I get to around a paragraph, I delete the entire thing in frustration. Nothing sounds right any more. It's as if as my heart is breaking, my ability to write is breaking too. Sentences disintegrate into lone letters which crawl weakly back to their places on the keyboard.

Without my ability to write, I have nothing. I am empty.

Today, due to my horribly mixed emotions right now which mean that tears are almost constantly running down my face either out of joy or out of sorrow, I want to tell you, my dear reader, one thing which makes me sad and one which makes me happy. Perhaps you may share the emotions I have, and can relate to this, or maybe you will read this with a blank expression and move on with your life. Either way, I will be able to look back at this post when I feel like smiling or crying and be able to do either.


Happy.

Watching people makes me happy. I love to watch people. I love to sit somewhere busy, on board a train or a tube is usually best. Somewhere where I am engulfed in clouds of other people's thoughts and can almost taste them on my tongue. Someone sat opposite me is wondering whether they should have hot or cold custard with their apple pie, and I can taste the apple pie they are imagining, sweet and cinnamon-y, tickling my taste buds. I love to watch people smile, especially when they don't realise they are doing it.

Sometimes someone's lips will curl upwards, their eyes watching the scenery roll past the window will haze over in thought, and I wonder what they are thinking of. A lover who they will open the door to and fold into their arms and hold close as they breathe in the smell of home? A book they have recently completed and are still floating in the depths of the world it contains, never wanting to leave? Whatever it is, I love to see that unexpected, accidental smile. Perhaps I am the only person who ever witnesses that moment in which the person is inexplicably happy? It's beautiful.

Sad.

I wanted to write what makes me sad here but I then realised that what makes me sad is what makes everyone sad. Losing someone, seeing people you love upset. Things which make people sad are usually similar, it's what makes you happy which makes you unique. Therefore, i'm only going to highlight what makes me happy, and hope that you already understand what makes me sad and that you don't ever have to feel that way. 

I'm shattered and my writing is no longer making any sense so i'm going off to bed. I hope you sleep incredibly well.

Ayesha x

Let's begin again

Hello, darling reader. I haven't been able to post recently for a number of reasons, many of which make me sad to think about and i'd rather avoid the subject entirely however I feel like I owe you an explanation. I've been rather busy with various things such as my grandparents being over and my friend coming to stay but I've also received some horrid news about my granddad who lives in Singapore and it's just really not good. I'm finding it hard to deal with, mainly because I've never lost anyone before and I didn't realise just how awful that feeling in the pit of your stomach is, but i'm coping and so is my family. 

I'll move away from the sad news now. I feel really out of touch with this blog, as if before it was a best friend who I could confide in and share my deepest feelings with but now is an old friend, disconnected as the strings of similarities have been cut away with the sharpest of scissors. I have nothing to blog about, whatsoever, and my blog has no real comfort to me. However, I wish to amend this.

A twitter friend (Christina who can be found at @takealookattime) recommended that I wrote about things which inspire me. I've decided to do as she has suggested and rather enjoy the idea of filling in peoples requests until ideas begin to flow again. Perhaps you could email me with suggestions on what you would like to see in my blog? My email is rossybowties@gmail.com if you want to give it a go.

So, the question for today is 'What inspires me?'. The beautiful thing about this question is that it is so open. Should I write about what or who inspires me in day to day life, or what inspires me to write? I choose to write about what inspires me to write, seeing as it is the reason why I am continuing with this blog. That plus my readership is wonderful and I love every single person who reads my rambling nonsense.

What inspired me to write from the age of around seven was the fact that I had no other talents. Whilst my friends were plastered in ballet shoes and tutus and shoved onto a stage, lights blaring down at them as they twirled about like wonderful sparkling faeries; I watched from the audience with a frown on my face and a heavy heart. I couldn't dance. Whilst my friends were plastered in football boots and football shirts and scurried across a field, chasing a ball as a cat would chase a mouse; I watched from the sidelines with a frown on my face and a heavy heart. I couldn't play football. You see, my childhood was filled with being proud of others, yet rarely feeling proud of myself. 

Then I picked up a pencil.

A magical invention, from which words which had trickled from the corners of my mind and swirled through my veins down to the tips of my fingers could flow onto the page, drowning notebooks in stories and poems. Although I was not a talented writer as a child, I enjoyed it thoroughly and I can recall now a notebook I had which was decorated with Disney princesses and which held within it dozens of fairy tale worlds that I had created. What inspired me to write was the fact that my notebooks would listen to me, and appreciate my writing more than anyone else did.

As I grew older, I was inspired by authors who poured beautiful words, laced together into even more beautiful sentences, into books which I enjoyed so much. I was enchanted by Enid Blyton's Faraway Tree and swept away to Hogwarts by J.K Rowling. I dived head first into these stunning books and still haven't emerged from the worlds within them.

Nowadays, i'm inspired by the beauty of the earth around me. I'm inspired by the noise grass makes as it ripples in a cool summer breeze, the leaves of the trees rustling and the twigs tapping together; an natural orchestra of wondrous sounds usually ignored by the ears of humans. I'm inspired by the first light of day as it crawls over the houses in a pink haze, greeting the birds which are already singing their songs to one another and hopping about the trees, tickling the rare few humans who are awake early enough to witness how rosy and rich in colour the sky is. I'm inspired by the smiles of passers by, the curl of their lips upon their faces which prove that a secret is tucked away somewhere inside them just bursting to be revealed to the world so that it can spread the happiness around.

I am inspired by each day, each moment in which I find something beautiful or rare which clutches at my heart and holds on, sending warmth throughout my body. Although things might get tough, for both myself and my readers, I can still be inspired to write, as no matter how hard things get there are still reasons for us all to smile.

I have begun to inspire others, just today a friend has started writing a blog after reading mine, and that seven year old girl who felt like such a failure at such a young age is finally discovering something which makes her feel proud of herself. I'm proud of myself. As, for once in my life, I am beginning to spread the word. I'm making others smile, and then they are trying to make others smile because of their smiles and the smiles are just spreading far and wide - reaching places all over the world. I'm sat in South East England with a smile across my face, and my granddad is sat in a bed in Singapore and he will soon have chunks of my blog in his hands (I've sent him some of my blog posts as a gift, he's very ill and I thought it might cheer him up) and perhaps I can share that smile with him too.

I hope I can inspire more people, I hope you can all inspire others, and I hope that the world around us continues to inspire everyone with its beauty and wonder.

I will leave you with that. Good night, dear reader, and sleep well.

Ayesha x

Day Unknown

I am so sorry for the lack of blog posts over the past few days; my internet has been completely down and I haven't had any contact with the online world. I'm back now, however, I still have nothing new to share and haven't found any source of inspiration. A blog usually contains things that go on in peoples lives but my life is so dull and pointless, I literally don't do anything.

I've been continuing my novel, for those interested, and Elizabeth has not only met a character who will change her life and fill it to the brim with adventure but also has begun to feel a little more alive again. Here is a snippet of a moment in the hospital where Elizabeth's new friend Andrew shows her something so spectacular that she's momentarily stunned.

“Step into my office.” Andy chuckled, opening the glass door which led onto a balcony. I tentatively followed him, the cool night breeze curling around me and making me shiver. I gasped as I realised what he wanted me to see; sunrise was creeping upon the night, the dark sky streaked with gold and dusky pink, the leaves dancing as the world began to wake. I took a seat beside Andy, back against the glass door, watching as birds flew across the sky.

“It’s beautiful. Really beautiful.” I whispered, squeezing Andy’s hand which I hadn’t realised I was holding again. He grinned at me, squeezing my hand back. We didn’t say another word, just watched the sky ablaze with colour as dawn flooded the night and pushed the darkness away. The willow, my willow, brushed at the grass surrounding it in greeting as morning encouraged nature to wake. I realised that I was doing the same, I had found a friend which the light of the early morning had nudged me towards.

I wish my life held moments which Elizabeth gets to witness, there are so many more days filled with beautiful sunrises and hours sat on cliff sides watching the sea crashing against the rocks below. I have had witnessed beautiful things in the past but they are all magnified in Elizabeth's life as these moments are so new and fresh to her. It's like she is grass that has been freshly mown and i'm an overgrown field of weeds. I get tired of sitting under the same sky but she has so much yet to discover and everything seems so crisp.

I'm soon off to Venice in a few weeks and although you won't see me blogging whilst i'm away, i'll be back with stories to tell and a different sky to describe. I'll then be going to Cornwall, my childhood holiday destination and where most of my writing inspiration comes from. Each day I will give you a slice of the seaside or a chunk of a field full of strawberries and hopefully you can smile and join me on my adventures. 

For now, i'm sat upon a lumpy blue sofa, a grey shade coating the sky and making everything seem like it is dormant or sleeping. I feel the same, i'm in a dreamy sort of haze where I feel like I should be taking a nap and dreaming of those strawberry fields and the cool Cornish sea. Perhaps I will do just that.

Again, apologies for the lack of writing. Soon my blog will be bursting with Italian ice cream and Cornish pasties and you may gobble it up until you are full and satisfied.

Ayesha x

Day Thirteen

I really can't apologise enough for missing yesterday's post. I had an awful evening and really was not in the right mindset to write you all a post. Unfortunately, in addition to that, I also have no inspiration left and not much to say. Each life is so unique and beautiful in its own way so pointing things out to you about my life will probably seem immensely boring in comparison to everything in your life which makes you smile.


However, I have not much else to tell you. Today I shall share with you something which happened to me which I believe not many others have experienced, therefore I feel like I am revealing something very private. This post is a whisper, from me to you.


I have horrid eyesight. I'm about to be knighted with permanent glasses, a knighthood which I do not want to receive and and dreading awfully. I wear glasses on occasion when I need to see things in the distance and I find the transformation between not wearing and wearing glasses to be mesmerising. As soon as that thin layer of glass covers my eyes, I blink, and my eyelashes brush the frames ever so slightly as if giving them a nudge to get them to begin their magic. Once I open my eyes from blinking the world explodes before me.


Colours become deep and rich and I can almost taste them on my tongue as my eyes guide my other senses. The usually blurred edges of leaves on the trees become so sharp that I feel that if I reach out to touch them I will cut my finger and blood red will join the crisp green of the leaves in a burst of beautiful colours I wouldn't have been able to see properly before. Nevertheless, there is something which stopped my heart for a moment yesterday and I had never experienced anything more breathtaking in all my life.


I was sat outside on a mild day, relishing the scent of freshly mown grass, and I happened to be wearing my glasses. At one moment, I looked to the sky and gasped. I was terrified at just how new the world suddenly seemed to me. Something you probably all take for granted are clouds. Clouds, thousands upon thousands of them, cross over your heads each day unacknowledged. They float with the wind, so silently that they are rarely noticed unless something else pulls your attention to the sky and you spare a thought for the poor, lonely masses of condensed water vapour.


Yesterday I saw clouds properly for the first time in my life. I've never taken a glance to the sky in my glasses, and I didn't realise until yesterday that I had never seen clouds properly. Tears fogged my eyes, I was that in shock, and I smiled a smile more wide and true than I had in a very long time.


Clouds truly are beautiful. Wisps of a wonderful white colour on the edges which cluster together nearer the centre of the cloud to create something so large and fluffy. They are such friendly things, hugging each passer by who happens to glance up with a feeling of such warmth. The smaller ones, barely making a scratch upon the sky, blow away so quickly i'm almost certain not enough people watch them go. They leave without even saying goodbye. Until yesterday I had never truly seen clouds, I had wasted over sixteen years without them.  I regret that most deeply.


I apologise on boring you with details you already know, for I am sure none of you are as silly as me and have noticed clouds before. I will take much more time acknowledging their beautiful existence now, and perhaps they will appreciate the smiles I will give them and how those smiles are dedicated wholly to the joy they bring me.


My blog is honestly reaching an awful point. I'm describing clouds for goodness sake. I'll try so much harder in the future, sorry.


Ayesha x

Day Eleven

"My dear fellow," said Sherlock Holmes as we sat on either side of the fire in his lodgings at Baker Street, "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent. We would not dare to conceive the things which are really mere commonplaces of existence. If we could fly out of that window hand in hand, hover over this great city, gently remove the roofs, and peep in at the queer things which are going on, the strange coincidences, the plannings, the cross-purposes, the wonderful chains of events, working through generation, and leading to the most outre results, it would make all fiction with its conventionalities and foreseen conclusions most stale and unprofitable."

As you may already tell, the format of this blog post is again a little different to previous ones. I am trying to keep my blog exciting, and I thought that perhaps by discussing this beautiful passage with you I could try and keep you interested. So here I go.

The above passage, as is obvious, was extracted carefully (well, copied and pasted, but we can pretend that I used a scalpel to precisely cut the edges of a page from my book 'The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes' and then gently stuck it down on this blog post using minuscule blobs of super glue) from a short story from a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. This particular snippet was taken from 'A Case of Identity', a rather interesting story. 

If you know me, then you know that I love Sherlock. I love the BBC television show more than I love anything else in the world and therefore decided to turn the first page of A Study in Scarlet with a held breath and delved into the extraordinarily sublime world which envelops Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Rarely do I get so absorbed by a book that when I peer up and over the edge of it my vision is blurry and all I can see are the wonderful characters I have fallen so in love with, but Arthur Conan Doyle's stories of Sherlock Holmes's adventures do just that.

I apologise greatly for that moment in which I just attempted to convince you to read the Sherlock Holmes stories. I hope you now have Amazon up on another tab and are ordering the books right this instant! Back to what I really wanted to talk about. The passage.

I have never read something that portrays human life better, and the realisation of how true Sherlock's words are hit me so fast that I had to sit back and re-read the paragraph, my heart racing and my face flushing with excitement. He's right. If I were able to fly over London (or anywhere for that matter) and use the before mentioned scalpel to gently prise the rooftops from houses I would be able to peer in and see something beyond the imagination of any person.

Life. Real human life. People living, breathing, existing. People brewing tea, taking a shower, reading a newspaper, having arguments, sharing kisses. People doing such normal, everyday things that they go unnoticed to those lost in daydreams. You could imagine the wildest stories, in which knights battle dragons and princesses kiss the princes of their dreams, but reality is so much stranger, so much less cliched, so much richer in adventure. The most bizzare of imaginings cannot in any way be more enthralling than the life of an average human being.

Next time you thing your life is dull, or you sit there and think to yourself 'nothing happens to me', just remember Sherlock's words. Remember that "life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent" and then maybe, just maybe, you can see just how important every life on this earth is. Perhaps then you will see that your life is actually much more complex and intricate than the life of Sherlock Holmes.

I hope this post hasn't made you so bored that you've removed yourself from your computer screen and begun to shoot at the wall in frustration, and has instead given you something to think about.

I hope you are all enjoying the adventures that life has to give. Good night.

Ayesha x

Day Ten

Another day with nothing to say so I thought I would grab a picture (from the prettiest tumblr in the world owned by my lovely friend Charlie) and tell you the story behind it. For some reason this picture grasped my attention because I can imagine the person in it being pensive and it would be nice for my dear readers to know what she is thinking.  

I was shrouded in the scent of old books the second I set foot into the book shop, head ducked, watching my scuffed shoes carry my feet forward for me. In the distance between what was occurring in my head and reality I could hear wisps of the voices of the book shop owners tickling at my mind. I shook them away, the wispy voices crumbling into dust in my head as Mr and Mrs Jones frowned at me and turned back to the piles of books they were sifting through. I picked my way through the stacks of books which were blocking my way; even physical things were closing in on me. I bit back tears.


I reached the coffee shop which was joint to the book shop, the fragrance of strong coffee glazing the scent of old books with another layer of hazy smoke, too sweet, too sickening, I couldn't breathe. Usually those smells would calm me, but I was wrapped up in everything that had happened over the past few days. I was choking on it all.


I ordered a cup of tea; a cup of tea is strong and steady. It is controlled by the person who brews it. Control, exactly what I needed right now. I shakily went about my ritual, brewing the tea for exactly three and a half minutes before removing the tea bag and watching as the swirling flavours crowded the cup; they seemed flustered, confused and lost. I noticed this and hastily stirred the tea until it was calm and quiet once more.


I then gently poured in the milk, the smooth, lulling fluidity of the liquid as it poured into the tea gave me a moment to breathe. The tea was complete, and as I blew away the steam which was pirouetting from it I felt relaxed for the first moment in a long while.


I forgot about my dad, the car crash, my mother's spiraling depression, my uncle's abuse. I covered the bruises on my wrist with my sleeves and kissed them quickly through the fabric. Everything would be okay. I would be fine. I had a long cup of tea to mull things over and I could lose myself in a book or two. Reality slowly flooded away completely and my mind felt like a tranquil place. I'd look after myself now.


I have no idea what that was but there you go, that's the story of the girl in the picture.


I'm tired now, sorry this was left so late and is so awful and short. Good night, sweet reader.


Ayesha x

Day Nine

Today I discovered a place of true tranquility and for the first time in a long while,I felt able to take a deep, shuddering breath and to breathe out all of my problems. I watched them twirl through the wind alongside pollen and grass seeds, a smile spreading up my cheeks then rushing back to the centre of my face to open wide as I sneezed. Pollen and grass seeds are an awful combination, even in a place so peaceful and mellow my body seems to find faults.


This beautiful place I am speaking of is one which is often overlooked by the average passer-by. A place folded into the corner of fields or crouching in long grass or behind fences, attempting to keep out of sight. A place younger generations fail to see behind its stereotype of 'old fashioned' and adults fail to make time for in their busy schedule of a day. Yes, dear reader. I am talking about allotments.


For those who don't know, though I don't doubt your intelligence, an allotment is a small plot of land which can be rented by a wonderful, caring member of the human race and tended for. The owner will create a rainbow, a stunning rainbow of vegetables, flowers, fruits, right inside that allotment. The owner will spend day after day in the rain, sunshine, snow, hail, caring for their plants as they would care for children. 


Allotments are proof that love doesn't have to be limited to just people. Love is universal; it is poured into allotments by its owners as they water their plants, the mixture of affection, hydrogen and oxygen coaxes the crops to turn to the sun with a smile as they grow.


It isn't the care and tenderness owners display as they grow their vegetation which stuns me into silence, it's just how breathtaking the place is. I was stood in the middle of a field of allotments today, my shadow cast over a forgiving row of cabbages who didn't mind my covering of the sun for the moments I was there. I guess even the cabbages could tell how in awe I was. The watery suns rays tickled the plants below and they rustled in the wind in appreciation. I turned on my heel slowly, absorbing the colours of each plant.


The raspberries had a rosy blush to them which made me want to turn away, frightened that they were too shy for my stares. The runner beans were a crisp green, a colour reminding me of sipping cool lemonade at a picnic in the park on a stifling hot day. The dandelions, frowned upon by the allotment owners, and most people for that matter, held the strongest yellow colour which the sun itself seemed jealous of. The dandelions stood out menacingly among the greens, its pretense of fluffy petals and cheery colours not hiding well enough how deadly it was. I mean, even the sun seemed upset. Every time I spared a glance towards the dandelions the sun would hide behind a cloud in annoyance.


I noticed a woman sat on a bench next to her allotment, her hands curled around a small flask, breathing in the scent of tea and compost. She appeared to be almost sleeping, her eyes fluttering between open and closed, butterflies flying past mirroring the motions of her eyelids. Tranquil. In that moment I decided I wanted to be like her. I wanted my own allotment which I could tend to and care for. I wanted to be able to sit beside it, delve deep into a book and look up every few moments to capture the rainbow of colours behind my eyes.


I haven't much else to say today, except that I would really like an allotment, and that tomorrow may just give me better inspiration than I had today. I really hope you are all enjoying my blog, I would love to find out what you think. I am utterly shocked at how quickly I have reached over 1000 views and it means an awful lot to me.


Thank you, and good night.


Ayesha x

Day Eight

I realised just now how dull my blog titles are and I was about to apologise (as I seem to do a lot in my blog posts) however I realised there is something mysterious about the titles of these posts. They are so empty, so without meaning, and therefore are like a wrapped present. The dull wrapping paper coats the present, leaving the gift within unknown, unnamed. Just like my blog posts. Each day, you, the dear reader, has no idea what I have written about and this mystery is kept unanswered until you read the post itself. Perhaps the blog titles aren't as dull as I thought after all, as long as you can see the meaning underneath.


Today has been awfully boring, mostly filled with me watching some of the Olympic sports and writing my novel. I've passed over 1300 words however I don't really want to share all of it with you. Here is the next paragraph after the ones I put in my last blog post.


The willow cascaded down over a small river which flowed around the hospital, its bottommost leaves brushing the rim of the water but not quite emerging themselves in it. The medication I was on seemed to drag me under, deeper than the leaves skittering on the surface of the water, deeper than the roots dug so firmly in the ground.

The sun set in the sky and rosy streaks reflected in the river. Sleep claimed me.

Oh and perhaps I could throw you a few more.

“Lizzy.”

“Dad, call me Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth.”

The word ‘dad’ felt so foreign on my tongue, the man sitting beside me who claimed that title seemed equally as foreign. I didn’t know a thing about him, yet he knew so much about me; I felt like the cover of an open book, exposed to all those around me yet unable to see anything under the shell which I was.

“You’re going to have to co-operate, sweetheart.” He said softly, his eyes crinkling at the corner as he attempted a smile.

There, that's how I fit those three lines in which were the start to my novel originally. The mysterious lines. I've crammed a lot of mystery into this incredibly boring post haven't I? All of my inspiration has gone into my novel, my brain is running dry.I hope you can ignore how little I have to say today and enjoy that snippet of my story I have given you. I'm going out tomorrow  so I should have more to say and will hopefully be inspired.

Apologies, lovely reader, have a good evening.

Ayesha x

Day Seven

I come to the end of my first week of blogging and I just want to thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for commenting or telling me what you think. Thank you for believing in me and being inspired by what I have done. I am ordinary, I am boring, but you, my reader, seem to see past all that and have faith in me. For that I am eternally grateful.


Today's blog post is delayed after a trip to the cinema. I had an idea for it which faded quickly and therefore left me with nothing but a blank space and an annoying, flashing cursor. Nevertheless, I am sat here at nearly midnight with the first few paragraphs of my novel written extraordinary badly in draft on another tab. Well, seeing as I have nothing interesting to say, why don't you give those paragraphs a good old read?

I noticed things more after the accident. Small things, pretty things. I realised this whilst sat upon the hospital bed, the unfamiliar sheets rustling with every yawn or stretch. I was gazing out of the window, my head throbbing and my eyes drooping, watching how the leaves of a willow tree allowed the sun’s golden rays to dance across them as they twirled in the breeze. I’d never observed a willow tree before, but in that moment I discovered something mesmerising.

 A willow tree is like a woman, a troubled woman; the tall, curving trunk is her body, standing proud and beautiful against the sunlight, protecting her real feelings within. The branches reaching out are her arms, grasping for something which is not quite there, perhaps a fellow willow with whom she could share her secrets as the breeze would help carry her whispers. What aided me to understand that a willow was a troubled woman was the way the smaller branches, holding her leaves, would droop over so that the head of the tree was almost touching the ground. The willow, although her trunk stands tall and her roots dig deep and strong into the ground, is woeful and lonely and prays to find a friend.

I, Elizabeth, am the willow. I can stand tall and seem powerful. My legs work well and I am able to walk after the accident, however my head contains my troubles. It hangs low in shame, as the willow’s leaves do, in this case the leaves representing my memories. I am a willow who has lost her memories, her companions, everything which represents her life. Retrograde amnesia, the doctors told me. I remember nothing of my past and have no present. All I can look for is a future, yet, as I said I am a willow. I look to the ground. I have no hope.

Please don't laugh, and ignore what needs editing. This is an idea which came to me in a matter of seconds and I just had to pour it out into a word document. You may believe Elizabeth is like me. She is nothing like me. She is an empty book who I now have to fill with words, and fill with memories. A girl who has lost everything and has so much yet to discover. That's not me.

I'm a girl filled with memories and laughter and sadness and I am most definitely not an empty book. However, I am not a full one. In fact, I think i've only just begun. I am in the prologue of my life, the basic, beginning point. I have not come far and I have so much left to do.

I apologise deeply for the waste of a blog post this is but it is late, I am tired, and I have nothing to say. I hope you have enjoyed this and can salvage some sort of meaning from it. Again, please ignore any mistakes. One day I might actually read over what I write but for now i'll just leave it alone.

Good night, kind reader. Sleep well.

Ayesha x


(P.S. I really do look forward to feedback. I don't expect any, I really never ever do, but when I get some it means the world to me. I really love each and every person who takes time out of their lives to listen to me.)

Day Six

I've been struggling to think of a subject for today's post since the moment I woke up as it seems I have gotten into a cycle of waking up, thinking of a blog post all day, blogging, relaxing, then waking up with the same feeling. Usually the ideas come to me once I begin to type but today I witnessed and took part in something which made me have that 'true smile' which I explained to you in my first post.


Today I witnessed a beautiful and heartwarming 'Random Act of Kindness'. You don't see those often enough any more do you? Everybody is surrounded in their own little cloud of mortgages and fish and chips and facebook and insanely basic everyday things which are then coated in a spread of dust and self pity to form a community of people who don't care at all for the people around them. Especially around the London area, everyone walks so fast and purposefully, not daring to take in their own surroundings, and forgets the people around them.


People forget the homeless, hidden beneath a layer of dirt and sweat and the myth that any money given to them will be invested into alcohol or drugs.  People forget the sick, hidden beneath hospital sheets and pale faces and the loneliness. People forget their own neighbours, not hidden, ignored and unwanted. Lonely. All of them so lonely.


'Random Acts of Kindness' are given by people who find the homeless, pull back the sheet of dirt, sweat and myths and find a person just like themselves. They are given by those who can find the person beneath all of these titles, and are willing to hold out a hand and are not scared to have it taken by the sick, the homeless, the neighbour. Today, I looked on as a woman held out her hand to a man, one of 'the homeless', and he took it and savoured the moment with a smile and a sparkle in his eye that I was almost sure hadn't been there in a very long time.


This man had wandered around where my friend and I were sitting, pleading for someone to give him a pound which he could spend on food. He was 'desperate', he said, 'starving', he said, yet nobody held out that hand. Nobody acknowledged just how lost and scared he was, how fearful he was of facing the world without a penny in his pocket or a person to depend on.


The woman who gave her 'Random Act of Kindness' nodded the instant he asked for a pound, yet, instead of holding out her hand and handing over the small sum of money, she did more than that. She offered her friendship, she offered him a meal at McDonalds and a long discussion to go with it. I watched as she asked him to join her for a meal, and that's when the smile stretched, rusty and unused but still able to appear upon his lips. The sparkle in his eye, the utter joy he felt in that moment, it hit me and it hit me hard.


That man will go to sleep tonight with a full stomach and the knowledge that for a moment in his lonely, repetitive day, somebody cared for him and won his 'true smile'.


Later this evening I was walking home from my local corner shop when a man, 'the neighbour', was frantically scanning the ground for something he had dropped. I walked past him, chatting away to my sister, before stopping and scanning the ground too. He had lost something, and I would help to find it. It turned out it was only one pound, but ironically, that had been what the man, 'the homeless', had asked for earlier. I found it for him, handed it over and received a grateful smile. 


I realise how symbolic a single pound has been in this blog post. The man, hungry and poor, needed someone to give him a pound and received so much more. The man, a neighbour, who had lost his pound, received exactly what he wanted with a helping hand and a smile. 


A value of money or time so small and insignificant to those of us with our heads in our clouds of 'insanely basic everyday things' can really change how society works. If a homeless man needs a pound, lend him a pound and expect nothing in return. If a sick person, or a lonely person, requires a moment of your time to make them smile, dedicate that time to them and again, expect nothing in return. If your neighbour, or a person walking by, needs a helping hand, give them that helping hand and excel at doing something that every human is able to do.


All I am asking is for everybody, no matter how big or small it is, to attempt at giving one 'Random Act of Kindness' after reading my blog. If you don't expect a thing in return you will be surprised by how much you gain out of it. Good evening and good night.


Ayesha x


(P.S again I haven't bothered to correct either spelling or grammar so please ignore any mistakes made. I'm too tired to go back through and edit this now.

Day Five

Good evening, dears. I have nothing beautiful nor inspiring to pass onto you today. In my first two blog posts I almost felt as if I was pouring all the magnificence I had witnessed over this summer from my heart and brain and onto my blog, for it then to be lapped up and digested by my readers. 


However, I feel unable to continue to do this. Although I find such beauty in the world; the way the sun beams through the curtains and the particles of dust you can see floating through the room are like glittering stars watered down so that they can be viewed on earth, or that feeling which floods over you as you wake up on a wonderfully calm day which you know will stretch out and curve like a path before you and offer you so many routes, which when taken, will lead you to so many new and exciting possibilities. 


I would love to continue to describe these, but I am finding it increasingly difficult. You see, there are certain things I wish to keep to myself. I want to explain what deep meanings I gain from observing the reflection of a clear blue sky dotted with clouds in a puddle beneath my feet, however I feel I would be opening myself up too much. I promise to give you a snippet of these thoughts each day, but I don't want to allow you to see too much of me.


I fear I have opened my heart up too willingly to complete strangers, complete strangers who do not even reply to what I write and instead just read it and continue on with their lives (which I love, don't get me wrong) and someday you will see me for who I am entirely, and that scares me so much.


Today my short snippet will be about my train journey today. Without giving away too much about where I live, I was on a train from a town close to my home, journeying towards Windsor. My town isn't the prettiest of places, in fact it is often described as a 'bomb site'. Lovely, I know. As the train slowly glided away from the train station and tucked itself away into the folds of greenery, I was lost in how suddenly the world I was so used to disappeared.


The moment the train had crawled out of the station I felt a sense of adventure tingle through my veins. The tracks are hidden under thick trees and bushes, almost like a tunnel which, once you have passed through, will reveal the secrets of the universe beyond the tiny world of my town that I am so used to.


The moment the train emerged from the green tunnel, leaving pollen fluttering behind it, sparkling in the sunlight, the secrets of the universe dazzled every passenger on the train. The carriage fell silent. The castle, bathed in the blazing midday sun, stood proud among the fields which were such a bright green that I took a moment to wonder if I had ever seen something so evidently alive and crisp and sharp. Beyond the rickety tracks upon the train was moving, not a person was to be seen. Not a living soul other than the trees which, if the windows had been open, I was sure you would have been able to hear whisper to one another in the summer breeze. 


In awe of the sights around me, I let out a breath, which again if the windows had been open would have followed the whispering murmurs of the trees in a quiet, rustling song and nature would harmonize with the humans who have been so dragged away from the origins of their life. Windsor Castle greeted the passengers and posed for pictures as tourists steadied their cameras as they clambered to get a better shot. 


The train soon came to a halt, the doors opened, and noticing we were in the centre of human life: shops, restaurants and pavements, the enchantment and discovery trickled from my mind and I continued on with a normal shopping trip. 


Sometimes I wish moments, like the one I witnessed on the train, could be captured not only in videos and pictures but also within my mind. I don't have the best of memories, and therefore I have illustrated that moment within my blog, so not only myself but others can share the beauty of a journey I have been on. Oddly enough, that journey relates back to what I mentioned earlier, "a wonderfully calm day which you know will stretch out and curve like a path before you and offer you so many routes, which when taken, will lead you to so many new and exciting possibilities". I realise now that that is exactly what the train I was on experienced today. I feel almost sorry for the train as it must observe this beautiful transition from my town to Windsor on such a regular basis that it has become boring and tedious, however I realise the train must relish in watching its passengers grasp and claw at the raw beauty before their eyes.


I think I have far overstayed my welcome on blogger today, and will therefore leave you with that odd little metaphor. I hope you have discovered something as magical as what I discovered today, or if not will do soon. Good night.


Ayesha x


(P.S. This has not been edited and I am too lazy to read through it, so I will do in the morning. My apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes.)

Day Four

I went to start with my usual greeting, but realised at quarter to ten at night I could no longer use 'good evening' and 'good night' sounds like i'm sending you off to brush your teeth get into your pajamas. I think a boring old 'hello' will have to suffice. Then again, 'hello' isn't boring. It's actually rather beautiful. I won't go off on that tangent now but I would love to in some blog post in the future.

I apologise greatly for how short and sweet today's post will be; my inspiration is trapped in the corners of my mind under dusty piles of worries, memories and lyrics that won't stop floating to the surface and forcing their way out of my brain, along my nerves and straight to my mouth. I also apologise if you happen to ever walk past my house whilst i'm in the shower, that's usually when escapee lyrics crawl through the window and invade the ears of my poor neighbours. 

Today wasn't a particularly interesting day, and therefore I have nothing much to tell you. I do, however, want to use this moment in which I have hopefully grasped your attention to direct you towards a quote from Doctor Who which I just rediscovered and it made me smile and think and wonder.

"I love old things, they make me feel sad."

"What's good about sad?"

"It's happy for deep people."

Beautiful, just beautiful. Yet, there is more than beauty to that final phrase. Sad is "happy for deep people". At first I thought I understood that, but now I take a second glance at it I am unsure. Does she (Sally Sparrow - the character) mean that deep people look beyond sadness? I think there is more to it than that. I think she means that sadness contains so much joy. Something which upsets me deeply is losing someone I love. I know that upsets everyone, and obviously effects me horribly too. How could that be happy? Don't you ever just realise how much you love someone, how completely and utterly you care for them, because you know you're going to lose them, or because you do?

That pain, that dreadful stab in your heart which dissipates through your veins until the pain becomes your entire existence, is what you feel when you lose someone. However as this happens, your brain sparkles with memories of them, separate to your heart. It burns brightly with joy and you think of everything you ever loved about that person. Their smiles, their laughter, the way they would turn around as you called their name and give you a look which was so completely them.

"It's happy for deep people."

I guess that she meant 'deep people' were those who would, whilst allowing their heart to destroy them with sadness and pain and grief, search for the joy behind it all, dormant in your brain but ready to burst at one look in its direction. I ask you all, please, become these so called 'deep people' and search for the beauty and the reasons to smile in times which are difficult.

Mentioning smiles, I realise I have not told you of any of my true smiles since the first post on this blog. I believe I found mine yesterday, but it was related to being around some of my most favourite people in the world. Today, my true smile was focused on my younger sister. She's turning thirteen tomorrow and at one point today we were strolling around a park together and breathing in the sweet, hot air, tasting almost like honey due to the vast amount of pollen floating around. 

She turned to me and smiled and in that moment I realised how much she had grown and how much I missed being alone with her. She gave me her true smile today, and I decided to return it. Of all the people I know, she's one of the only ones who deserves my true smile. She has been beside me from the moment she was born, accepting my hand-me-downs with open arms, singing with me on long car journeys, holding my hand when I need her the most. She deserves a true smile from me, and from everyone, as she seems to hand them out so freely and should receive some in return.

I just noticed i've wasted an entire blog post (and a lot of your time) waffling on about one quote which I happened to reblog on tumblr but which engulfed me in thought. I want to apologise once more but I have a feeling you're getting tired of my apologies. I said that this post would be short and sweet but it was anything but. Oh dear.

I'll leave you to actually change into your pajamas, brush your teeth and get a good night's sleep. Therefore, I bid you good night.

Ayesha x

Day Three

{I want to apologise in advance for how awful a blog post this is. I'm tired, if that's a good enough excuse, and the sheer amount of inspiration I have after my trip to London today has actually made it harder to select things to write about)


Before I greet you with my usual 'good evening' or 'good afternoon' I want to begin this post by asking you a question. What is the nicest time of day? Everyone may have a different answer to that question, but my answer is approximately 8:30pm. Okay, that may be biased because I just walked home at approximately 8:30pm and was blown away by what that time of day has to offer, but I do have my reasons.

8:30pm, on a hot day like today, is the time when the Earth is beginning to come to a standstill. I witnessed this from the moment I stumbled from the train onto the platform. Instantly, the sticky remains of the breath of commuters in the air engulfed me and I choked my way out of the station and into an empty car park. Whilst walking down the winding street to my house I noticed how magical 8:30pm is.


The street was bathed in a golden glow. Literally. The windows of houses glittered as I passed each one, the setting sun reflecting in them as if to highlight each individual house and provide them with more beauty than they usually offer to onlookers. As I strolled past each house, I took a deep breath. I was greeted by the scent of the household's dinner.


It surprised me how much these wonderful smells could help to paint a picture of the interior of each house and the family who lived inside. The strong fragrance of samosas cradled one house and gave me the impression that brightly coloured saris were worn by each female family member. That incense burned in the corner of the living room as the family set the table for dinner, muttering to each other in a foreign tongue which would sound so beautiful and mystical to someone who could not speak it, such as myself. 


The next house's scent caused my stomach to rumble and I had to stick out my tongue to moisten my dry lips. Roast dinner. I imagined an old couple living comfortably, the husband sat with his feet up on a plump armchair, the wife batting his feet away and muttering under her breath whilst attempting to carry a dish of roast potatoes onto the table. The husband would grumble and switch off the television programme he was watching, joining his wife for a meal in silence; the silence conjuring thoughts from the two which they would share later as they sat on the sofa together.


As you can tell, my mind wanders too often and I find myself constructing a small world in which these imaginary people live.


8:30pm seemed to stretch on as I continued down the road, admiring the blush forming across the landscape around me as the golden glow sunk into a auburn red, worthy enough to be compared to the magnificently deep colour of rooibos tea (a favourite of mine, also known as red bush tea). The world was preparing to settle down and begin to fall asleep, the streets nearly empty of people except for the rare wanderer like myself, doubting that the world would ever come to life again after witnessing it so still and fragile looking.


I could talk about London now for hours. I haven't even begun to tell you about my trip and yet I have already written more than is necessary for one day. I could ramble on about how nobody notices the tops of the buildings in the city which seem to hold more mystery than the oblivious flurry of people on the streets below. I could lecture you on how delightful it is to receive snippets of conversations from people on the tube and how I try to weave them together to form a story which clashes in a magical cacophony. (Please feel free to google that word, I just discovered it now and am enthralled by how pretty it is.)


You don't need to hear any of that. If you want to experience London the only thing you can do is go there yourself. London is the most appallingly beautiful place I have ever been, and no matter how many times you venture out onto the streets of chaos, you always seem to discover something new.


I will leave it at that. I would like to apologise for how badly written and disorganised this post is, however I am too tired to look over it and would rather sleep it off and wake up tomorrow in horror of what I have written. I hope you all sleep well, my beautiful readers.


Ayesha x