Pretending it’s 2015

Contrary to popular belief, 2015 was, in fact, five years ago. I was hit with this sudden realisation about a week ago. I’ve been listening to old episodes of Time Crisis, a radio show hosted by Ezra Koenig, lead singer of Vampire Weekend. I always intended to listen back through these old episodes – it’s another thing that I’ve suddenly recently found the time to do.

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Lockdown, two months on

On 17th March 2020, two months ago, I wrote:

“But I’m hopeful. Things will stabilise and get better, because they have to. I’m trying not to think too much about the details of how we’ll get there.”

Grappling with uncertainty

Just under a week later, on 23rd March, the UK would enter lockdown. And here I am, two months on.

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The Glass Hotel by Emily St. John Mandel

Book Review

The Glass Hotel is the latest novel by Emily St. John Mandel, author of my all-time favourite and award-winning novel, Station Eleven. In essence, it’s a story about white-collar crime: a Ponzi scheme that blows up and obliterates the structure of many lives in the process. More than this, though, The Glass Hotel is about belonging, about identity and growth, secrets and ghosts, and (in true Mandel fashion) how lives intersect, impact and influence one another.

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Learning to live with migraines

I started experiencing migraines when I was around 10 years old, which means I’ve been experiencing them for about a decade now. There has been very little conclusive research into why migraines form, and so they are notoriously difficult – and subjective – to treat. I want to share some of the ways I went from daily tortured migraine sufferer to sporadic migraine withstander.

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Periods, contraception, the implant, and me

In January 2020, I got the contraceptive implant. This was a big move for me, and it took a lot of deliberating to finally decide that I would try this form of contraception. There are some incredibly useful sources of information online that I used, as well as myriad opinions on and experiences of different methods of contraception. I wanted to add to that with my experience of contraception and periods.

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Sex in Sally Rooney’s Normal People

I read (and watched) Sally Rooney’s Normal People in under 48 hours.

Now, I’m not one for savouring things, even normally. Books and TV shows, though split into parts, are wholes – and I always have a niggling fear that, if I consume them too slowly, I’ll have forgotten the beginning by the time I’ve made it to the end. I’m fearful that I’ll miss something – whether it’s a clever cyclical moment, a key part of the plot or merely who a character is after rushing over them.

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Making up with make up

I love experimenting with make up – with eye shadows and eye liners and lipsticks. I delight in matching my makeup to my clothes, my eye liner to my earrings, my lip gloss to my shoes. I like exploring the colours that make my green eyes pop – copper, gold, orange, pink.

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Ishiguro, Chandler, Adichie

What I’ve been reading

Recently, as I’m sure you’re aware, time has been a little more free. I’m taking the opportunity to reignite my love for reading, something that – with an English degree equating reading with work – often fades. I’m reuniting with favourite authors, picking up books I bought and never got around to reading, and reading books I always meant to. Today, I want to talk about three authors I’ve recently read.

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Finding my purpose[lessness]

With the recent sunshine beaming down on the UK, I’ve been finding myself outside a lot: reading, writing, lounging, listening to music. I cover myself in lightweight clothing, and head into the garden. I watch the breeze brush through the bushes, the blossom drop in a puddle around the trees. I get to wear the summer tops – my favourite tops – that I haven’t worn since August. And cardigans and summer scarves and hats and sunglasses. I coat any skin peeking through in sun cream. (Being pale has turned me into a sun burn hypochondriac.) The smell reminds me of childhood beach days, and the sheen on my skin reminds me of last summer and my perpetual, sun cream-induced shine as I travelled through Europe. I like the way the sun hits my cheeks – it reminds me of the highlighter I normally wear.

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I’m still in love with you, Lorde

Lorde
WikiCommons

It’s the summer of 2013, and we are all obsessed with that song, ‘Royals’. I’m sat in my bedroom in a house we just moved into. It’s a nice room, but I can’t help but think of my old one, my childhood one, that’s been left behind.

I’m 13 (still in the midst of childhood, but of the unshakeable belief that I’m at the height of maturity), and I’m starting to feel the weight of the words that Lorde sings – about how, as much as we dream about it, ‘we’ll never be royals’ and I’ll probably also never see ‘a diamond in the flesh’. It’s a weird moment of realisation, and a young point at which to be plunged into ennui as I listen to the sung words of a seventeen-year-old girl from New Zealand – also, in the grand scheme of things, too young to be bored of the world.

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