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
Monday 27 August 2012
Friday 17 August 2012
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
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
Tuesday 14 August 2012
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
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
Monday 13 August 2012
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
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
Saturday 11 August 2012
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
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
Tuesday 7 August 2012
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.
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
Friday 3 August 2012
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
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
Wednesday 1 August 2012
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
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