Life is what you make it. I recently moved from a quiet town in the country to chase my big city dreams. Nothing ever goes smoothly, nothing is ever what it seems, but everyday I am getting closer. I am yet another slightly less-than-average girl trying to find her way in London, and in life.

Thursday, 18 August 2011

A lovely, happy hello =]

About 10 years too late, I've jumped on the blogging bandwagon (and I call myself a journalism student - I should know better). Shameful, yes, like joining a party half way through when all the decent food has gone, the bar’s dried up and the music's getting ever-more cheesy. I'm not sure why it has taken me so long, probably laziness and lack of motivation. That's pretty much my excuse for everything, along with mourning the loss of my teenage years. Yes I'm 21 now, but I'm still not over it and I don't know if I ever will be. There's one memory that plagues my mind every so often, that of myself, maybe 11 or 12, flicking through a trashy young girls magazine probably Mizz or Sugar or some other ingeniously named publication that defying all odds and void of any logic or sense (that’s probably why I liked it so much) actually managed to sell to easily persuaded young girls like myself. Upon reading a pitiful Agony Aunt extract written from a desperate 18 year old, my young self thought 'My God, she's so old!'

That memory haunts me still. 3 years on, I don't feel old at all, but I know my bratty, bitchy pre-teen self would be disgusted with how practically ancient I am. There's no point living if you're not young anymore. Isn't that the most pathetic thing you've ever heard? I'm ashamed to admit I thought like that at all, though honestly I think most kids do that, but more ashamed to admit that it actually still bothers me. And I’ve clung onto that thought, probably as an excuse to pity myself, and used it as a reason to cry at night thinking about all the years gone by that my young self would hate. Back in the days where it was good to dream, that fantasies weren’t an escape from the every day monotony of life but a perfectly acceptable way of mapping out a future for yourself that was guaranteed to happen, I knew, was positively, absolutely sure of the fact that I would be rich and famous and world-travelled by 18. Now I’m older and wiser and can say that only 2 out of 3 interest me now, but 0 out of 3 have been even slightly accomplished. Well, if you take into account the student loan, I’m in minus figures. I’m poorer now than I was when I was 12. And that is such a depressing thought for me, that my annual few hundred pound wage slip that I work my ass off for, is of less benefit to me than the pound that my nan used to give me out of the trolley after I carried her shopping bags to the car.

Journalism isn’t exactly the best plan to make money, going in to arguably the most competitive, cut-throat industry in the world isn’t the most brilliant plan when you really think about it. Though, I guess when I’m just about to go into my final year, it’s a bit late to actually sit up and smell those proverbial roses that my young self is trying desperately hard to grab my attention with. When I was younger (yes, another annoying, pointless memory for you to roll your eyes at) someone fed me the joke “What’s black, white and red all over?” and I never, ever understood the answer “a newspaper”. I always assumed that it meant newspapers were evil, angry and generally a bunch of bad stuff. Since coming into this industry, even barely at the level I’m at now, it seems I was always much cleverer than I gave myself credit for, and I had been pretty much spot on. Though somehow, despite thinking of newspapers and journalists as the work of the devil, it didn’t stop me from wedging my foot in the door and trying with all my might to become a part of that world. Weird that.

Acting is what I was destined for, I was certain of it. Though due to an extreme lack of confidence, I stopped what I actually thought I was good at at the age of about 14 and haven’t had the balls to take it up since, despite the unsettling desire in the pit of my stomach that is trying, with all its might, to get me to look back, realise what I’m missing, think ‘fuck you all’ and barge back into acting class head-first.

Realising now that this isn’t exactly the positive, uplifting, inspirational start that I wanted for my blog, I’ll force myself to stop my rambling and just be quiet. It’s what I’m told by most people on a regular basis, and maybe, for the sake of your sanity and mine, I should start listening. But then, where’s the fun in that? If I can’t fill my life with incoherent ramblings that don’t make much sense at all, what else will I do to pass the time that I should be using to make my millions/get famous/purchase a flight to some far-off exotic land? I might actually have to get off my arse and do something about it. And given that this is my first blog, we really can’t have that. I haven’t annoyed you all anywhere near enough yet.

Have fun beautiful people, I should really get and do some work.

1 comment:

  1. fantabulous blog! enjoyed reading every one of your posts. love the runway photos, and i enjoyed the vids. new follower.... hope to visit again. cheers!