The Nicest Thing by Kate Nash

All I know is that you're so nice, 

You're the nicest thing I've seen. 

I wish that we could give it a go, 

See if we could be something. 

I wish I was your favourite girl, 

I wish you thought I was the reason you are in the world. 

I wish my smile was your favourite kind of smile, 

I wish the way that I dressed was your favourite kind of style. 

I wish you couldn't figure me out, 

But you'd always wanna know what I was about. 

I wish you'd hold my hand when I was upset, 

I wish you'd never forget the look on my face when we first met. 

I wish you had a favourite beauty spot that you loved secretly, 

'Cos it was on a hidden bit that nobody else could see. 

Basically, I wish that you loved me, 

I wish that you needed me, 

I wish that you knew when I said two sugars, actually I meant three. 

I wish that without me your heart would break, 

I wish that without me you'd be spending the rest of your nights awake. 

I wish that without me you couldn't eat, 

I wish I was the last thing on your mind before you went to sleep. 

All i know is that you're the nicest thing I've ever seen; 

I wish that we could see if we could be something

"Effect Change"

Well folks, I have decided to grab the bull by the horns and to quote my darling colleague Alan Bear, to "effect change". This little bumble bee is going to move country and change jobs - it's reality but not yet a fact! Which brings me to my next question: What is reality? 

"According to the Copenhagen Interpretation, when a particle is not being observed all we have is a mathematical formula (the wavefunction) representing the knowledge we have of the probability of finding the particle after we take our observation. When we observe the particle, the wavefunction 'collapses' and we perceive a localized particle. But the crucial thing is that this interpretation says nothing about what the particle is doing when we are not observing it." (Andrew Thomas) So in other words reality is our very own interpretation of a moment, a color, love, an argument, someone's opinion, rendering our interpretation of reality unique and consequently unreal (in the eye of another...). So does that mean that there is no universal reality? I would argue that yes, there is no universal reality. 

So why am I saying that that my plans are reality and not yet facts? Realism is momentary - Fact is history. Today my plans and their probability, as they currently stand are a reality to me, based on my current understanding of a bunch of 'particles' I've observed and interpreted through the analysis of past experience and acquired knowledge. Something might happen tomorrow which will alter today's reality. Comprendes o no? 

I'll let you know when I've converted the above mentioned reality to fact. Until then, Adios!

I have been so bizarre this year

I have been so bizarre this year - I am actually not really "feeling": I feel just a little bit sad, a little bit angry, a little bit tired, a little bit happy... This numbness is so mediocre. 

I keep on thinking that this must be the calm before the storm, as if this big massive event in my life was about to fall upon me and hit me, causing me to feel a lot of everything. This 'numbness' is causing me to be so careless and absentminded, if you put me in white room with no possessions telling me that I could stay there as long as I liked, you'd please me. I don't believe this status of mine to be depression, as I can achieve the status of 'a little bit sad' but then what is it? And here, I can say the inquisitiveness ends, why? Cos I'm only 'a little bit inquisitive'. My friend (I care so little that I can't remember who) told me that... ooops, I literally forgot my thought mid-sentence. Oh yes, that I am enjoying living ina state of unknown, so the reason I am not really feeling anything, is to maintain myself in that state of indecision, a state which I'm accustomed to living in, that I relish living in (only 'a little bit').

Another way to explain my immunity (in case you don't really understand what I mean by numbness) is that I don't feel, just remember the way I should feel when a certain situation arises, the way I would have felt in the past. For example, when I lost my camera, which I remember loving greatly, I just shrugged my shoulders and thought "oh well", but I SHOULD have been upset, or pissed off, and I thought of how I would have reacted a few months ago - I would have been well pissed off, telling the world, imagining all the situations in which I would need that camera, picturing all the locations the camera had travelled to and so forth, not a shrug and an 'oh well'! Another example, a situation which just occurred this very instant, I only used on exclamation mark: I am a renowned over-user of the exclamation mark, but just the one took great effort. I am like the girl who burns her hand in the fire and should remember never to put her hand to the flames again, but who does, feeling nothing, just remembering the pain, not feeling it. 

If I was in a horror film or a bad movie, the above are all tell-tale signs that I am actually dead but have realized it yet.

An argument with an old friend...

I had an argument with an old friend on New Year's eve. I hate arguments. I don't get my kicks or highs from arguments, nor do I believe you can gain anything substantial as a result of an argument. I know that there is a thin line between a discussion and an argument, and I know where I myself draw the line; I am sure though, that the line sits in different places for different people which is fair. I draw the line at disrespect, especially if the purpose of the discussion is not intellectual advancement. I am a supporter of the "live and let live" school of thought, I believe that you cannot impose a belief/opinion upon someone, especially if you are discussing a personal experience (as I was with said friend on New Year's eve) that they have been through, for that is demeaning and I take no pleasure in belittling anyone, friend or foe. However emphatic you believe yourself to be, you cannot truly understand nor put yourself in the shoes of the person you are contradicting. So live and let me live. 

This brings me back to the philosophy of existentialism. Existentialism rejects reason as a source of meaning. Disagree? Then tell me one thought/belief/truth that is universally acknowledged in EVERY culture, by EVERYONE on the face of the earth, and only then I will agree that reason can be used as a source of meaning. Kierkegaard saw rationality as a mechanism us humans use to counter their existential anxiety, their fear of being in the world. We live in a world that is irrational and in which there is no order to the madness; as much as we aim to create a sense of order in our daily lives, in our governments and our countries, we are intrinsically different and unique from one another, as much as cultures bring groups of people together with their similarities, their differences eventually pull them apart. 

So, do you think that my friend will see that her persistent need (verbalized in an argumentative way on New Year's eve) to rationalize, in her own terms, the decision I made at the the age of 12 to longer see my father is in fact just her her own existential anxiety manifesting itself? 

Indifference

"If man, as the existentialist conceives him, is indefinable, it is because at first he is nothing. Only afterward will he be something, and he himself will have made what he will be." 

Jean-Paul Sartre.

I have never been more confused but less affected by my confusion than I am now. I have absolutely no idea what I want from the world and I am at a complete loss on what to do next. I am surprised that I am remaining so calm. As of Sunday, I have not arranged anywhere to sleep (my options for couch-surfing are becoming sparse) and I don't care. I am nearly entirely indifferent to my existence, I am incapable of making a decision at present, time just keeps on floating by me and taking me with it; I have no will. I always knew I'd one day become Meursault, the narrator of L'Etranger by Albert Camus, unable to attach myself to anything, unable to react to anything, where words are just words, empty and devoid of any real sentiment. I am stubborn.

When I was younger, in my early teens when after years of abuse, I stopped talking to my father, I was seeing a therapist; she inherently told me that the cure to hatred and love was indifference. I meditated on indifference for hours on end, finding it everywhere, especially in the actions of the adults (as indifference is an adult attribute) around me but also in the novels I became obsessed with reading, L'Etranger by Albert Camus being one of them. I stood in awe in front of these protagonists who unlike me, were not affected by anything, felt no pain, considering that all I felt was pain, I was drowned in pain, drugged by pain, swimming in the shit. Fuck anti-heroes, they WERE my heroes. 

Another enticing aspect of existentialism was the lack of control the protagonists had on their lives: to suppress our feelings of anxiety and dread, we confine ourselves within everyday experience, thereby relinquishing our freedom and acquiescing to being possessed in one form or another by "the look" of "the other".  My childhood was so contrived, controlled - my mother didn't do the controlling, I happily did it all myself, but of course with great "help" from my fascist father and with a little assistance from the institutions I was enrolled in at the time. I spent my childhood until my teens full of fear and inhibitions, all barricaded-up in a world which I despised (reason being so as to protect myself from the father and at times, from my grand-father also), so to me, these protagonists were experiencing the freedom, liberty and independence I so thoroughly desired.

Moderato Cantabile by Marguerite Duras heightened my lust for a carefree and fearless existence. In this book, the protagonist Anne Desbaresdes is attracted to danger like a moth to a flame, with no care in the world, no consideration of the consequences of her actions. I craved then and still crave today, the danger as did Anne. The need to be naughty, non-conformist, inconsiderate, selfish, full of emotions, passions and most of all, fearless. That is what I dreamt of. Nowadays, I believe to have reached a more equal medium of the two (fear and danger) but I am not quite there yet. I remember this man " Le Bois" I started fantasizing about when I was 19, just because he told me that he tried bunjee jumping and loved it so much that he jumped three times in a row. How sexy is that??? I couldn't even bunjee jump metaphorically let alone in reality! I still can't.

Let me just point out that all of the above is in reference to my personal life, not my work/social life - I excel at those. It's in the depths of my psyche and my subconscious that the fight for freedom battles on. Only 2 years ago, I managed for the first time in my life to tell somebody that I had feelings for them - yes, at the ripe age of 27. I actually only did it because I knew that the affair wouldn't go anywhere, so my precious independence was safe. God forbid I'd have to tell someone that I do, really love them. Now that is the bunjee jump of a lifetime! I have to date not uttered the infamous words: I Love You. I have screamed them in my head a thousand times, but never dared take the first jump. There is a man now that I think I can love, but I haven't let myself love. He epitomizes all that I wish to be, he completes me. But I have paths to take to get to him and at this rate, considering I am stuck in an emotionless phase, I don't know when or how I will reach his heart. A story to be continued... 

The question is, am I making a mess of myself? Am I letting my life pass me by and will I miss my whole life as a cause of this weighing indifference? Or is this just "life"? 

I haven't had a fixed home since...

I haven't had a fixed home since August. The reason I haven't had a fixed home is because I was planning to move back to the mainland, so I moved out of my home and put all my belongings into storage, hoping that this would jump-start my move. I haven't moved back to the mainland yet because I haven't really been looking for jobs or applying for any jobs and that's because I have been procrastinating on completing my CV. I have been procrastinating on writing my CV because I don't know where I want to live nor what type of jobs I should go for. 

Please tell me that you identify with the above...? Some advice please.

PS: the reason I want to move back to the mainland is because I am currently living in London and I hate the place. I'm looking to move to either Switzerland (where I grew-up), France (am half-French), Spain (I lived there for 4yrs and am fluent in Spanish), or Italy (I am learning the language and it would be nice to become fluent).

PPS: the crazy girl in me is considering a move to Asia or Latin America.

The Guy That Runs My Corner Shop!

The guy that runs my corner shop, he’s the type of guy who always likes to talk and doesn’t expect a response; if you try to say anything, he’ll talk over you! So as a result, you know that when he starts talking to you it’s gonna be a monologue, a one way discourse on his terms; the monologue will end when he choses it to and your only role in this “act” is to nod and look like you’re listening. I don’t mind doing this from time to time but when I pop in on the way home from work to buy my Evian, Soya yoghurts and fruit, it’s a bit more ‘pesante’ if you get my drift! Anyways, he choses tonight, the night I went to see Pedro Almodovar’s movie “Volver”, to embark on one of the dreaded monologues, informing me of his ability to foresee the deaths of his customers in his dreams!!!

 

Ok, “Volver” in a way is about the emotions between the women in a family, but it also covers the superstitions that are often relished in “L’Espana Profunda”, one being that the dead coming back to haunt the living... So when the guy that runs my corner shop starts going on about predicting the deaths of his clients in his dreams I must say, I felt slightly freaked out and I believed everything he said... Four times he has predicted the death of someone and every single time, “God” (or Gilgamesh) is in his dreams, forcing him to be a witness to the deaths. In his dreams, he’s confused as his first thought is that it is his own death he is witnessing. But that is impossible, humans cannot dream of their own deaths.

 

Anyways, I asked him to please let me know if I ever appeared in his dreams!

On the topic of paranoia and other mental ailments...

I’d like to touch on the subject of insanity. I sometimes think about mental illnesses and whether there are any tell-tale signs that in the end (or God forbid, earlier than "the end"), I’ll end-up dribbling in a mad house.

 

My curiosity on this subject and the prediction of its intent, is I guess linked to my need to believe that I can predict my own future - that there is no destiny. That is because I like to think that I am in control of my life, which is a hoax I know, but it makes me feel safe. Coincidentally, I also am a fan of the idea that there are loads of surprises ahead which I have no control over (Schizophrenia anyone??). This duality is seen in so many of my beliefs and therefore makes it often very hard for me to make a decision; I’m always in limbo, on the tight-rope thinking “Do I go left, do I go right, will I fall?” and wasting my time. I have no idea whether this is a sign of my “impending mental illness” or is it because I don’t understand the concept of “faith”, but I’ll leave the latter theory for a whole other blog.

 

I once read that people who took a lot of X & Charlie were more susceptible to illnesses such as Alzheimers; that people who smoked too much weed can develop paranoid tendencies, phobias, OCD, etc... Hence my paranoia about mental illnesses... It’s MAD I tell ya!! muahahahaha!!!

The “I” of “Moi”

I guess there’s a time when you realise you’ve lost touch with a parent, when they buy you something that is for a child they had ten years earlier and they truly believe that yes, this is this perfect gift. 

What sparked this blog subject? My mother giving me a book. The book is titled “Le Dico Des Filles 2007” it has glitters and stars and has “No Boys!” bannered all over it - “100% Filles” it claims! She’s done this to me before: when I was 18/19, she knew I was sleeping with my then boyfriend, but she thought it appropriate to buy me the biggest beige knickers she could find - how did she work that one out??? I gave them straight back at her telling them that she should keep them for when she turned 60, they might come in handy then, or otherwise she could use them as cloths to clean the windows! Alright, I was a shitty adolescent who felt insulted by the scarily large beige knickers, so large they could have easily covered the hole in the Ozone Layer!!

 

Her thoughts behind the book/gift are good and endearing but to me, this book represents my feeling of failure right now. It represents me living with my mother because since I moved back home at the age of 25, I have not been able to afford to move out; it represents how far I have yet to go to achieve my dreams, my goals; it represents my fear of being an adult - that fucking book. Inside, it says to the young 17 year old girl who this fucking book is intended for, it tells her “Say no to Pornography”!!! I mean what the fuck! Yes i’ve watched pornography before and yes I’ve watched it with a lover and yes I fucking enjoyed it!! It refers to marriage being “the most beautiful day of your life”, marriage infront of God! PLEASE! There are sections on Puberty and First Kiss. I need to know “how to deal with your 40yr old lover” NOT FUCKING “PUBERTY”!! I mean what was she thinking?! Books like this should be burnt. Yes that is what I am going to do with it! Burn it! This type of crap should not be published. So yes, my mother thinks of her nearly 30yr old daughter as I child. Oh I need out. When I feel as suffocated as I do now, I dream of reaching transcendence in a tropical forest in India, where all around me is peaceful, lush, wet, green, where I am alone for miles and miles, where my escape is unthreatened by anyone and no one.

 

With my bastard of a father I chose the distance, I chose the void, the precipice... otherwise, I have no doubt, I’d be dead right now. I would have hated who I’d ‘ve become so much that I would have killed myself by the age of 20. That is the honest truth. I know that because I tried to kill myself at 12 - doing that and realising that although I did not understand my state of mind (I had no hindsight), I had to put a stop to this pain, otherwise I would never find the happiness that every life is given the possibility of experiencing. So I cut my father out - I cut him out of my present and my future, but for obvious reasons, I was not capable of cutting him out of my past, I could not change the fact that he was involved in my life, that he was a part of my “formative” years. So I still reap the seeds he sowed - I still somewhat hate that encrusted part of myself, but I no longer know which part it is, since it’s so deep in my core. I’m like a tree, with every passing year, adding on a new layer, distancing myself from the pain which was once me, the pain which once consumed me. But I fight it - I fight it by being myself, by being true to myself, by never submitting to the will of another, by never allowing someone to truly break me that way again, I fight it by making sure that I am not misunderstood or taken for granted. At least I try.

 

I am at a point right now, where I am starting to know what I want. Assessing what I have, I can see that it is far from what I want. I am trying to be an adult, to make conscious and thoroughly thought decisions. I want a husband and a family. I want a home that I can call my own. I need to give, I need to love, I need to trust, I need devotion and to feel devoted, I need to belong and not to roam the earth anymore. I am trying hard to make the steps that will lead me to my goals. I swear I am trying hard. So I don’t mind being reminded of my core, because I know that since then, each new layer represents my choice to live my life. I was given this life wether I wanted it or not, but I chose to live it. So all I can say is this: BRING IT ON!!!!

To the man whose shoulder I have come to dream of...

He tries to look through her... Instantly, he forces himself not to. He’s scared of what he might see, of his reflection in her eyes. He feels intrusive as he steals her thoughts.

 

He perceives his love as a curse on whomever it choses to bestow itself upon! That’s what he thinks of himself: he’s not good enough for anyone, he believes he does not deserve her respect, her admiration, her trust, hers or whomever’s actually.

 

If only he could truly see how much she cares, if only he wasn’t blinded by his own perception of himself! In her eyes, he is magnificent! She loves the way she catches him looking at her; she sees it as affection, almost as an older brother would look at a younger sibling. This is not the love she wants from him, her lover; no, she wishes for the passionate, soulful kind, the goose-bump kind. Her only deep rooted fear is of letting him down!

 

Again, if only he could see himself through her eyes, if only he could release all his anxiety, setting himself free and consequently embracing her love, wholeheartedly; her heart is his if he so wishes. She’s concerned that if she tells him this, he won’t understand, since for too long, he hasn’t believed that someone could love him, that someone could chose him, could pick him out of a crowd.

 

He is his own worst enemy she fears, and in a way, he becomes hers... She will love him nonetheless.

Grey hair?! Bollocks to that!! White hair’s more like it!!!!!!

This is not good... Today I found my second grey hair (the first was found on Friday morning!)! Who am I kidding, it wasn’t grey, IT WAS WHITE!!! I am 27 bloody years old and I am getting grey hair?! Wat Da F**k?! And oh no, my first grey hair would not chose to join his darker friends on my head at the back of my neck, no no no, it chose its star entry at the front of my head, right on top of my forehead!! Show-off!

I told my dearest mother this and she kindly informed me that yes, “It runs in the family darling!” and that I’d have to start dying my hair pretty soon... Aiii que miseria Dios!!!!!

I was telling my friend Claire that a lot of the events in my life this year, I felt, were dragging me kicking and screaming into adulthood (a fact of life I have chosen to consciously ignore up until now) well this is the icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned! Old age is imminent!!!!

You can learn a lot about a country by what they sell in their vending machines... It’s true I swear!!!

You can learn a lot about a country by what they sell in their vending machines (“VM”)... It’s true I swear!!!

 

For example, here in London, at the Fulham Broadway Tube station, they have an “umbrella” VM! Yes, that is because in England, it rains a lot! You’ll wake-up in the morning, it’s hot and sunny, you’ll take the tube to work in your t-shirt, by the time you’re out of the station on the other side of your 30min journey, it’s freezing and pissing down with rain! And guess what? It hadn’t occurred to you to bring your umbrella with you today! So you go to the VM and buy yourself one - I think it costs £2!

 

Or in Barcelona, I once saw a VM in the Placa Catalunya Metro that sold books! While living in Barca, I once read that Spanish children under 16 read more books that any other children under 16 in the whole of Europe! So in a way, it seems logical that the Spaniards feel the need to supply books in their VMs!

 

Now, I save the best for last... In Japan, they sell Asahi beers in their VMs! Yes, alcohol my friends! As you can see in the picture above, my eager buddies were buying themselves some beer! Now, the VM doesn’t ask you how old you are... I mean if we had those vending machines in Switzerland when we were growing up, I can assure you we’d have been alcoholics by the ripe age of 11! It’s completely mad! But what does it tell you? Probably that children in Japan aspire to better things than getting drunk and therefore can be trusted not to go and acquire themselves a VM drinking habit...

 

So, dya see what I mean about VMs telling you a lot about the society of a nation? Please let me know if you’ve encountered any obscure VM products on your travels...

The Existential Dilemma of a Foetus

I am an egg

Ready to hatch

I have no home

Nowhere to run off to

No one wants me

I am the ugly ducklin’

I don’t believe to have a swan in me.

I am incomplete

I know

Premature, I guess

Yet extremely sensible

On the verge of boring

Ouch

That hurt

Be true to myself

Or just continue being me

Avoiding chance

It’s safer that way

But I won’t be happier

If that means anything

To you

I assume not

I desperately am in need of…

Something

What I am not

What I don’t have

Hatch or not Hatch

That is the question

The Young Girl Assassin

You’re the Assassin!

You killed me more than once.

I survived and moved on,

Leaving you behind

In your home-made prison.

This cage of yours,

It’s made of glass.

There’s no air

And you’re suffocating slowly,

Melting away.

You see my reflection

On all the panes,

Reminding you

Of all your crimes,

Taunting you.

I hope you know that I mock you,

That I am the stronger one now,

That you cannot reach me no more,

That I am untouchable,

By you at least.

You might have murdered me,

My innocence, my trust, my youth,

But I have faith in me:

I am ME!