The Noisy Blog

I'm eating my breakfast, and my housemates are either at work, sleeping or travelling, so I thought it was high time I wrote a new blog to keep me entertained, whilst trying not to get porridge on my laptop. (Porridge with chocolate spread mixed in, if you're wondering, I usually add raisins too, but I forgot this morning... I don't know why.)

I thought I would make a list of my favourite sounds. I don't know why that, either. It might be useful for my writing one day, but otherwise it's just quite nice to dwell on things that I like. So hooray :)

1. The ping of the microwave, because it means that food is ready

2. The noise my dog makes when he's chasing something in his dream, it makes me laugh

3. The sound of my fingers tapping quickly at my keyboard; it means that I'm either doing some really good writing, doing a great essay or, most likely, writing something completely unimportant but totally exciting on Facebook.

4. The sound of someone knocking on the door when you don't expect it; it either means the postman has a parcel for one of us (hopefully food or films) or you have a surprise visitor. I love this.

5. The sound of rain on the roof of the conservatory at my parents' house. It's just amazing. Especially if I'm snuggled up on the sofa in there with a blanket and a book.

6. The sound of slamming shut a really good book. I just like it.

7. My alarm when it goes off on a day when something really exciting is happening.

8. The noise it makes when you push the lid onto the box of a board game too quickly.

9. The slap of flip flops on the pavement in summer.

10. The noise it makes when you pull a suction pad off of tile... I think that has to be the best noise ever. I'm 21 and I still haven't gotten over how fantastic it is.

Also, note to self: If you run out of milk, go to the shop and buy some more. Porridge made with water is not very nice.

Party!

So, suddenly, after what felt like (and for my Mum actually was) months of preparation, my birthday party is over. I had an amazing evening (well, weekend, actually!) and I feel totally overwhelmed by the love people have shown me. I suppose I will tackle this somewhat chronologically for fear of a snowball of information and emotion.

Beccy was the first to arrive at my house, in true party-loving fashion, more than 24 hours before the party started! I'm going to miss that fabulous lady, as she has now officially moved out of number thirty-seven, and Norwich altogether. We had a catch up, ate too many fajitas, and went to the cinema. We saw Scott Pilgrim vs the World. If you haven't seen it, then do! It was amazingly weird... or maybe weirdly amazing... or maybe both. I can't stop quoting, "I said lesbians, didn't I..." and "You were bi-curious? Well I'm bi-furious!" these are the only two same-sex-attraction references in the film, I don't know why these are the things I remembered most!

Saturday during the day was a whirl of organza and cupcake icing. I want to say a massive thanks to Matthew, who was amazing at decorating everything in sight! Then came the time to go to the hairdressers' and they curled, and sprayed my hair until I looked like a princess, but felt like a cheese grater. Somehow I managed it that most of my friends would arrive at the station during the period I was being primped, so friends and family did relays to train station to pick them all up, while I sat still and painted my nails and such!

After loads of jacket potatoes and chilli and even more makeup, we managed to get to the party venue without TOO many fights for mirrors. And from there the night went in a flash--a sparkly, disco-ball flash. Tons of balloons, millions of cupcakes, a great band and sooo many friends and family made it a truly amazing evening.

I wore some astounding shoes from Kurt Geiger, which are the nicest shoes I've ever worn. Of course, they are one of the most painful pairs also, and combined with the loads of dancing we did, I was in a considerable amount of agony by the time we got into the house, but I didn't give in. I danced with old friends, new friends, and friends that will always be my friends. Those I know so well I think they're a part of me, and those who I'm just starting to get to know.

Sadly, no knight in shining armour on a white horse came to sweep me off my feet, but I felt like a princess in every other way, and every single lady there looked like one too! I reiterate my astonishment at the effort everybody put into everything, from the food and decorations, to dressing up the part--if any of you do read this, then thank you!

Preparations and Transitions

At present I am in the midst of preparations for my birthday party, which is on Saturday... in two days' time. I think I'm in the calm before the storm... although hopefully it will be a fun storm! It's my 21st birthday on the 13th, but I'm having my party on the 4th so that it's not crazy immediately before we all go back to uni.

OK, this is a really boring blog. I felt the need to do so though, perhaps as a way to purge, or maybe just to kill some time.

I've been tidying out my room in order to make room for as many camp beds as possible and I came across a few things that I found interesting, and wasted some time with. First of all I came across the novel that I wrote between the ages of 12-14. I do feel proud of it, because it is a full-length young adult novel, printed out and arranged nicely in a folder, complete with title page and illustrations of characters. It's called 'Forbidden', about a 17-year-old girl vampire, who falls in love with a human boy, despite their love being forbidden. I finished writing this in 2004, so I hold Stephanie Meyer a little in contempt for 'stealing' my idea.

However, I decided to read it, thinking it would be an enjoyable few hours of reminiscing. I couldn't get past the fourth page. This is the phrase that I found so painful that I had to stop reading, "I look into your eyes and I feel like time is frozen and I can let this moment last forever; only it won't last forever, can't lost forever, nothing can last forever, except my undying love for you!" What makes this worse is that the grammar is almost as painful as the cringeworthy sentiment. And yet, it does show how much my writing has improved in the last six years.

I also came across my leavers' book, from when I left sixth form at the age of 18. I went to that school for five years, and most of the comments are people saying 'I didn't really know you,' or words to that effect. Sometimes these were from people I thought I knew quite well. Some of the people didn't actually seem to know who I was. It's all very Mean Girls. Some of the nicest things in there were written by my English teachers, which I think says a lot! One of them even gave me her home phone number! They all seemed to know that I was soon to have a book published, though, and everyone wrote how successful I would be as a writer... so we'll see!

My first boyfriend, Charlie, wrote in it that in ten years he would want my autograph, as I'd be rich and famous... I recently learned that he's actually in the process of filming a, well, a film, like an actual cinema film, and that he has another lined up soon. So, actually, I think he could well be very famous very soon... maybe I can exchange autographs with him? I bet I know which would be worth more money! Maybe I could sell the story of our first kiss to some trashy magazine, though, and pay the rent that I can't pay with a writer's living.

It's strange reading through that book and hearing everyone's wishes for a good time at uni. They all told me to "have fun at uni!" and I disregarded that, pretty sure that it would be three years of grinning and bearing it. I was soooo in love (phrase of the era) with my boyfriend of 2 years, Matt, and I couldn't bear to leave him. I almost didn't go, in fact. Those fears kind of come through when I think about my reactions to everyone's good wishes. How odd, when I compare that to how I feel now.

I'm just about to step into my third, and final, year at uni. And I can't bare to leave! Matt and I broke up before I even went to uni, we didn't even last it through the summer. At the time it felt like the worst thing in the world, and now I see that it was probably the best. I've made so many amazing friends at uni, more than I could possibly have even hoped for, and I know that when I come to leave, none of them will write "I didn't really know you".

So it's been a week of transitions really, trying to transition into thinking of myself as a 21-year-old, i.e. someone who is DEFINITELY an adult (even if a somewhat reluctant one), of trying to get my head around what on earth I'm going to do when I finish uni, how I've changed and (hopefully) improved as a writer, and remembering the strange transition from school to university.

For old time's sake, I'm adding a photo of my leavers' ball from sixth form, just over two years ago.

Mary Poppins, Harry Potter and Jesus

When I scanned through the last post, my eyes focused on the line "play games, sing songs and do crafts," which made me think of Mary Poppins. I guess I've been a lot like Mary Poppins this week, in fact, with my humungous handbag filled with: a plastic sword that blows bubbles, a pink wig, and a cardboard parrot template, to name just a few. The week went so quickly, and I've learned so so much, and I think the kids have too!

It's really struck me (once again) that God always exceeds expectations (which makes me think of the grades that the Harry Potter characters get in their OWLs--geek alert!). But not only does he exceed expectations, but he exceeds them in ways that you wouldn't expect. I guess I'd assumed that God would exceed our expectations by bringing loads of kids along, but in fact (though the numbers were good), he exceeded them in the response that we got from the kids to our teaching, and to our bad jokes!

And God ALWAYS exceeds my expectations in terms of how well he provides for us; even down to the tiniest of details he's there. Whenever you're most flagging (cue semaphore jokes), that's when God refuels you with a load of fresh energy, and whenever you're feeling the most tired and brain-dead, that's when you'll have a really good conversation with a child about Jesus. I guess God does it to remind you that you're not working on your own strength, but on him. I suppose we're all inclined to forget this a lot, but it is when we feel that we can do things on our own that we stop doing them well.

This is not disheartening, in fact it is a great freedom. If we had to rely on our own strength we would be fallible, we would falter, and we would fail (I love alliteration!). But because we know that we cannot do a single thing on our own, we rely more fully on God. I certainly don't rely on God as much as I should or would like to, but it's a start. God has infinite resources of strength, which is freely available for us to tap into when we set aside our self-sufficiency.

I'm reminded, perhaps for the millionth time, of some teaching we had at our new leaders' training weekend, nearly 18 months ago when I first started a year on the committee for the Christian Union at my uni. We had a bunch of talks on 2 Corinthians, and one was particularly inspiring to all of us. 2 Corinthians 4:7 says, "But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us." The treasure referred to is knowledge of Jesus and salvation, which is the greatest thing we could have (see Philippians 3:8, and my previous blog post!), and it is in clay jars (us). Clay jars are fragile and show cracks, but because of this the light of God inside them shines all the more brightly because we can see that the glory is from the treasure, and not from the jars.

Aside from all this, I genuinely had a great week. The awful punchlines and cheesy songs will haunt me for some time, yes, but the friendships that grew and the huge amount that I learned (and hopefully that the kids learned) will last much longer. Although if I hear another fish-based joke, I think I might cry!

Can a tragedy nearly happen?

I'm pretty tired and that seems like a very morbid title, but this really isn't a morbid theme that I want to expand on , just a thoughtful one; if, indeed, it is a theme at all. This may be entirely incoherent. So I'm going to mark this as for my eyes only until tomorrow when I can re-read it.

Today was the first day of Holiday Club at my church at uni (as opposed to the church that I go to when I'm at home--that is, my parents' home). This is a morning activity club that we put on for kids in the area to come and play games, sing songs, do crafts, and most importantly, where they can learn about Jesus. I've been concentrating so much on what God's going to do with these kids that I forgot to think about what God is going to do with me. After any kind of mission I'm always amazed at how much I've learned, when I'd been thinking only of what I can teach others... which really is a very unhumble attitude. (Unhumble is not a word, but bare with me, I'm pretty exhaused, even though it's 10:45pm, not the early hours, even though this is my preferred bedtime--at the age of 20).

So, vague musings that I thought of today, probably unconnected with the Holiday Club, but maybe somewhat useful anyway.

1) Age REALLY isn't important, or anything to worry about at all. I was remembering at how freaked out I was at the prospect of turning 18 a few years ago, as I thought it meant I had to grow up. When, actually, nothing changed. Then I was really freaking out about turning 20 as I wouldn't be a teenager any more and would probably have to grow up and be boring, when actually this has been the most fun year of my life. And as my 21st birthday is only a few weeks away, I realised that turning 21 doesn't bother me, and I thought it probably should do, according to the pattern I've set myself. (I won't even go into what turning 13, 14 or 16 was like! I'll save that angst for another day!)
In a world where 5-year-olds get leukaemia, and 84-year-olds teach me to waltz age doesn't really matter at all.

2) A fair few tragedies have almost happened in my family recently, but life kind of continues anyway. And the tragedies haven't actually occurred like we all (and sometimes only I) assumed they would. Life isn't a film, we aren't oscar-winning actors, and sometimes stuff just doesn't happen. And sometimes it does and we react to it in a totally un-cool way. And sometimes nothing happens and we still react to it in an un-cool way. And the reason we get angry with those we love the most is because we know they love us back. (This is pretty much a direct quote from a film that I just watched with my housemates.) This is cheesy and awful, and kind of on the same awful track as those films that I love and they hate, but maybe that's OK.

3) There's more. There's so much more, and I guess there always will be. I don't think this is even a thing I've learned, but just an observation. I could say more here, but I need my beauty sleep. And I can't wait to see what God is going to teach ME tomorrow!

Just to close, this is our memory verse for the week. The kids have ASTOUNDED me by memorising it already, and I want to put it here (if I can remember it! It'll be shameful if I have to turn to my Bible to look it up!). It is so challenging to me as a 20-year-old, and I expect will be challenging to me as a 25-year-old, 40-year-old, 60-year-old, 80-year-old, and will reach its full glory when I do!

"Nothing is as wonderful as knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. I have given up everything else and count it all as rubbish. All I want is Christ."

(I had to look it up--my memory isn't what it used to be!)

The Turkey Blog

Sun, sea, sand... and slimy men.

So, my friend and I went to Turkey for a week, a resort called Bodrum. It was quite an experience; we went mainly for the beach, and to soak up a bit of the culture, but everything was so Anglicised. There were countless 'British pubs' and karaoke bars, and even a restaurant that proudly proclaimed that it served gravy pies! We did have a great time, lazing on the beach and sipping cocktails and such, but we were hassled constantly by people trying to sell us stuff, and men getting too friendly. Don't get me wrong, they never laid a hand on us, but they seemed determined to become our best friends, and continually talked of 'finding the one' I think we can loosely translate 'the one' as 'an English Visa'.

Here is a piece that I wrote whilst there, on the beach. I was suffering with homesickness quite badly, so it's not the most upbeat prose in the world, but I quite like it... it kind of sums up the contrasting juxtapositions that we were immersed in. I also feel that I should mention that a man offered me fifty camels for my friend Beccy.

Anyway, here goes:

On holiday, one dreams of romance, supposedly. But nothing could be further than that here. Perpetually single, I’m surrounded by unhappy couples and screaming children. And yet there are those couples too wrapped up in each other, sometimes quite literally. A waif of a woman reclines in her sunbed with the leg of her man wrapped around her like a serpent. He keeps readjusting her, as though scratching a part of himself. And then their son, perhaps fifteen, stands up, into my view, from the sunbed behind them, and they shift in my perception.

Bodies become a thing you’re much more aware of: writing or reading over your own stomach, the damp cling of a bikini you wish you’d purchased a size larger. There is a man without a belly button, and I wonder how he was born. My own winks at me, a constant reminder of where I came from, the very fleshiness of it all. The sag or squeeze of a pair of swimming trunks reveal too much of a man’s shape. And I marvel, too, at the many men with hips, as if androgyny is creeping upon us, one saggy male bottom or man breast at a time.

Then there are the children: the little girls with straight, up and down bodies. They’re quite tall, and seem to me like a plank of wood. I wonder how all of their organs can even fit in there, and if they can be truly alive. I guess they’re playing a waiting game, or their mothers are, while they play blissfully unaware in the place where the sea meets the shore, until one day a pair of breasts will spring up and surprise them.

Ladies struggle down the beach in neck-to-ankle bathing suits, baggy, with their heads covered, so as not to offend or arouse. But doesn’t this offend them? It seems, to me, to draw more attention to the issue—but perhaps this is because I’m not used to it. Yet they plunge into the waves gleefully with their children with water guns, and the sea, pulled by the moon, brings out their abundant curves of its own accord as their thin fabric is plastered to them.

This strikes me as such a contrast to the young men, who accost you from outside of bars. ‘Won’t you shake my hand?’ they ask you, after shouting ‘hey girls!’ and calling you like cattle. I wish they could understand the sensibilities of a handshake. They lure us for our money, and yet in some, the younger, the ones who are newly rearing their heads through twenty, there is a glint of something else, a more base greed, as they comment on the whiteness of our skin.

Homesickness sticks like a lump of apple pie somewhere between my bottom ribs and my heart. It’s higher than anxiety, which lingers around my belly button and creeps saltily up my throat. And yet it is not so high as heartache or depression. Though there is something delicious in heartache, a universality, knowing that it strikes all, like the burning sun. It is unavoidable, unlike these other pangs, which may or may not affect an individual. They are wolves, which hunt out the weak and rip at their organs.

Montage

So this failing to blog seems to be a recurring theme. I have a friend who sadly moved to America when we were eight, but we see each other every year, usually, and e-mail frequently; every time we send an e-mail it starts with, 'Sorry it's taken me soooo long to write!' and it seems that blogging might be much the same. Except that nobody is eagerly anticipating my ramblings. Although, suddenly today a lot of people I don't know have added me as friends, and I'm not sure why... can anyone shed some light on this?

One of my housemates always says that when she has a bunch of stuff she wants to fast-forward through she wants a montage, like they do in films when the director wants to cover a period of time quickly. This is what this blog is going to be: a montage of my last week at uni and my first week back at home.

The last week in Norwich was a blur of parties, visits and goodbyes. Monday we had a party in our house to celebrate one housemate's birthday, and to say goodbye to another housemate who, devastatingly, is moving to another uni in September. We made cocktails and danced around the kitchen, then went to Optic, where I'm a little ashamed to say I'd never been to before, whilst spending a considerable amount of time in my first year at Mercy... cringe. It was great dancing with all the single ladies (and the boys), but sadly we had to leave relatively early due to crippling high heels a couple of us were wearing... again, I'd like to remind the reader that I AM five foot two!

Tuesday was a day of pancakes, I believe, and not getting dressed until the late afternoon. We had the youth from church come round in the evening for pizza, and they were asking us questions about what it's like to be Christians at the age of twenty. They had some preconceptions that only old and boring people are Christians, but we soon put them straight. I was hoping they'd catch a glimpse of my tattoo to blow all of their expectations out of the water, but sadly I don't think they noticed it. Then it was LCR time; Wild West theme, so me and all the single ladies changed to all the single cowgirls! Good fun, but appalling music... except they did play that Hoe Down Throw Down song from the Hannah Montana movie, which I secretly (well, not that secretly) LOVE!

Wednesday saw the film Letters to Juliet, which I had been dying to see since I first saw the trailer a few months ago... but sadly it wasn't very good. Well, it was OK. I enjoyed it, but it was VERY predictable (not that that's necessarily a bad thing, I quite like that I know where a film is going, it makes me feel safe.) and the last line ruined the whole thing. She says to the guy, 'Can you move?' and he says 'Nothing but my lips,' and proceeds to kiss her. Ultimately cringeworthy even for the biggest bad-film-lover in the world--me.

Thursday and Friday was mostly catching up on sleep missed the rest of the week, and PACKING... oh my goodness, so much packing. I had to pack everything that I would possibly need for the whole summer into boxes that would fit into my parents' car. My mum was coming to spend the weekend with me, on Friday, before driving me home again on Sunday. She said she had a surprise for me... the surprise was that she brought my grandma with her! So the three of us had a bit of a touristy weekend around Norwich, going to the cathedral and such.

Which, of course, brings me to my time at home. The term 'home' becomes very confusing, because is my home the house that I live in at uni with all my friends, where I spend the majority of the year? Or is it where my parents live, where I lived until I went to uni, and where I go every holiday? I think home at uni is home, and home with my parents is home home.... So, this brings me to my time at home home. This blog has not been much of a montage so far, but I shall make it one now.

The first week at home home has been mostly unpacking, reading, watching telly and doing crafty things. (by which I mean making things... i.e. craft... not doing things that are crafty, like coming up with cunning plans. Sadly I have no need to formulate plans). I finally got caught up on Glee and Gossip Girl, so now have to wait until the next season of both of those comes onto TV. I also indulged myself by starting to watch The Vampire Diaries too... I was literally obsessed with those books when I was thirteen, and was reluctant to watch the TV series because I was sure it couldn't live up to my gothic teen-age (a look I've thankfully long outgrown!). However, it is actually quite good, and I'm enjoying it far too much. It's like Twilight, but better because the girl in it (I forget her name, now) actually reacts to things in a normal way, unlike Bella who just lets her love for Edward blind of everything else, especially common sense. However, I say this a little reluctantly, as I know that if I were in love with Edward Cullen I would literally throw my common sense away and dance in its wake.

I've been reading Dracula, because I'm ashamed to say that I have never read it; I feel a little hypocritical because of this. I've also started reading Jamaica Inn by Daphne De Maurier because a friend of mine told me it would be helpful for the novel that I'm working on now. Talking of which, my novel is coming along well--I've written 14 pages on my laptop now; so that's not too bad I think. I was in town a couple of days ago making some notes for it, and a few youth and a man who was possibly drunk, possibly high, possibly mad (possibly all three), said to me disparagingly, 'what are you doing? Writing a book?' 'Yes.' I replied. 'What's it about?' 'This town, actually, but set in the 1800s.' 'Oh. Can I be in it?' The guy that said this had a mohawk.