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

Day Two

Good afternoon, my wonderful readers. I was overwhelmed by the response to yesterday's post and I doubt I will be able to repeat the achievement. Today has been as bland as tea which has been brewed in a hurry. I hate myself for it, but when I have somewhere to be and i'm desperate for a mug of the blissful stuff, i'll remove the tea bag only seconds after pouring in the boiling water. Bland tea. It's a disgrace to this country, but I continue to do it. 


When not in a hurry I like to watch the deep flavour seep from the bag and swirl into the steaming water, curling around itself before fading into a community of fellow mahogany swirls dancing around it. Brewing a cup of tea isn't just a part of your daily routine, it's an art which can only be perfected by practice and not by the hurried swoop of a teaspoon into the mug to retrieve the tea bag before its time is up. 


In case you hadn't already realised, I am a tea addict.


Again, I have stumbled away from my track of thought onto a completely new path. I apologise, reader, I am not used to blogging and this is likely to occur often.


As you now can tell, my day has been the definition of bland. The heat is stifling, the sort of heat which makes the air seem thick and sticky and each breath is like breathing in treacle. I spent the majority of my day sat on a small sofa at the far corner of my living room on my laptop with Microsoft Word open; the feeling of a cursor blinking back at you from a blank word document is unnerving and I have not enjoyed it in the slightest. My novel is going nowhere. I've currently written:

“Lizzy.”

“Dad, call me Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth.”

Awful, isn't it?

That isn't the beginning, middle, nor end of my novel. I did not start at the beginning, I did not dare skip pointless introductions and dive in at the deep end and I did not want to bury a story which has only just blossomed in my mind. Therefore, those lines are floating somewhere in the maybe of my novel and do not yet have a place to call home.

For some reason, however, I have grown attached to those three line. Why, you may ask? There's something about how normal those lines are which make them so complex. Why is Elizabeth, evidently the daughter in this situation, telling her dad to call her Elizabeth rather than a shortened name he has decided to use for her? Is it because she is uncomfortable with it, or is it something deeper? Additionally, why was her line an order and not a question.

"Dad, could you call me Elizabeth instead?"

Not as powerful, is it? See, only I know why she has asked him to do so. You may read this and guess a thousand possibilities but there is only one, and only the writer knows it thus far. That's what is so beautiful about those lines. They could mean anything.

Other than fret over my ridiculously bad start to my novel, i've done not much else but eat and breathe. Eating and breathing are nice things to do though so i'm not complaining. Tomorrow will provide me with a lot more to blog about as I am meeting up with my favourite girls to exchange hugs, kind words and smiles. Oh and to eat more. Food is necessary in every human's life, however in mine it seems to mean a lot more than just a necessity.

On the subject of smiles, I have not yet experienced my true smile today. I almost did earlier whilst I was lay on the carpet of my room (it is a lot cooler down there, don't judge me) cuddling my favourite stuffed animal (again, please don't judge me, Hamish is the most comforting object I own) and I was feeling rather alone. I have these 'lonely spells' within which I like to cry a lot or mumble to myself. As I was having one of these, I lay sideways on my carpet and realised how odd and different everything I was used to about my bedroom looked from that angle. I almost had a true smile at that. I just found it slightly uncomfortable yet strangely exciting to see somewhere I am so used to from a different persepective.

I realise I have rambled on now for an extraordinarily long amount of time. I know, I should really post a blog post in the evening or at night after I have given a full day the chance to present itself with something exciting, however I am bored and this will relieve me from my boredom.

Enjoy the rest of your afternoon and evening,

Ayesha x

P.S. I've been listening to this song non-stop today and something about it, whilst being calming and soothing, works me up slightly and makes me frightened. That is why I love it so much. Give it a listen.

Day One

I would first like to wish you good evening, dear reader. Although I am most likely talking to myself, it's nice to be wished so, and this evening definitely falls under the category of good. I'm sat beside the back door, the cool summer breeze is brushing past my cheek and I can see the glowing sunshine's evening glaze reflecting into my laptop screen. In front of me is a vase of flowers, the closest flower leaning towards the sunshine, begging to be released into the summer heat. It's almost spilling over the edge of the vase in excitement, as you see, today is the sunniest day we have had in a while and it seems everyone (including the vegetation) is flustered.

Today I have decided to start a blog. You see, due to my exams and it being the end of my final year at compulsive secondary school, I have already had almost a month of summer holidays. However, in that month I have done nothing but relish in my freedom by staring at my laptop screen and allowing my eyeballs scream in pain as I sit and watch more television shows than are necessary. 

It doesn't matter, I deserved a break, but now i'm ready for my real summer to start. I am going to begin writing that impatient novel which has been scratching and scrabbling at the back of my mind for so long. I am going to do one thing each day to make me truly smile. You know those true smiles? When you look to the sky at night and notice the stars, how they do not 'twinkle' as the old nursery rhyme says, but instead seem to almost sing to you from the millions upon millions of miles away they are. They sing to your eyes, a song that can only be heard through sight. Each star has their own melody. Then you turn to the ground and the earth and the people below and brandish a true smile because you know you were the only one in that moment to see the stars sing.

I want one true smile each day.

My true smile today was probably the smile I felt creep from my mouth and curl up into my cheeks when I was reading the script for Third Star. Third Star, a movie which I have only seen once, happens to have the most beautiful script I have ever read in my life; the quality of this script is what I one day hope to achieve in a script of my own. My true smile burst from me at the line "I can’t help but see myself...like the dust dancing in the flickerlight of a projector at the cinema."


How beautiful can a line get? Isn't that just spectacular?


I digress, I was explaining why I am now starting to write a blog. As you can see, I do love to talk a lot. Most of the time things like this are whispered to myself under my breath. I wish to have a cat to whisper these things to some day, but for now, my thoughts can be collected in a blog.


I am going to resign now to perhaps begin to write my novel, or maybe continue to read the script of Third Star. Either or, i'll be back to blog again tomorrow. Until then, dear reader, I hope you have a very good evening and find your true smile.


Ayesha x