Mirror gem

My heart hurts just a little bit extra lately. My homesickness is very real. And I feel trapped. I feel trapped in a place where I don’t feel at home and that disconnect feels more and more apparent.

I used to think I’d be content anywhere as long as it wasn’t where I grew up. But I’m starting to think that’s not the case. My heart needs a cup of tea (milk, no sugar) and a Sunday roast. It needs a night out by the sea and a ride in a black taxi. It needs to be woken up by the squawking of the seagulls in the morning and needs to be put to sleep by the hum of the city at night.

Watching other people being effortlessly handed the life that I want when they blatantly don’t deserve it is hard. Knowing that getting that life involves so many more obstacles for me is even harder. And I can blame my ache on so many things – envy, bitterness, being an awful human. But I think it just boils down to a single, naked truth.

lapis

 

 

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If

If I were a month, I’d be July.
If I were a day of the week, I’d be Friday.
If I were a god or a goddess, I’d be Hera – Greek queen goddess and a ruthless bitch (I love everything about Hera).
If I were a verb, I’d be voyager (French for to travel).
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a mermaid. Does that count? If not, angelfish.
If I were an object in a living room, I’d be the pretentious coffee table book about Paris.
If I were a gemstone, I’d be lapis lazuli.
If I were a flower, I’d be a poppy or a forget-me-not.
If I were a kind of weather I’d be summer rain.
If I were a colour, I’d be lavender or rose gold.
If I were an adjective, I’d be agité (French for restless).
If I were a fruit, I’d be a peach.
If I were a sound, I’d be the hum of a pitch pipe.
If I were a hogwarts house, I’d be Ravenclaw.
If I were an element, I’d be fire.
If I were a word, I’d be wanderlust.
If I were a taste, I’d be peach.
If I were a scent, I’d be gardenia, lily of the valley and candy floss.
If I were an object, I’d be a bath bomb.
If I were a body part, I’d be the lungs.
If I were a song, I’d be She Moves In Her Own Way.

Wistful.

You feel so out of my reach, so beyond out of my reach that you don’t even feel fathomable or possible.

I see people that I know, people that I grew up with, people who are younger than I am getting to be with people like you, or waiting for someone like you – fully aware when this will happen – and my throat closes. I am not green with envy, but white-hot with it. It fills my body, tightens my stomach, and I become more convinced that my dreams of you will remain simply that – dreams. I want you here now, with me, tangible and real, instead of existing as a concept that frankly sounds like being caught up on an episode of a television show that I missed. I am invested in the characters, but very aware that they are not real.

I want to know what your skin feels like against my cheek, and what your hair smells like, and what it feels like to watch my heart grow outside of my body because that is truly what you are – an extension of my heart.

But I’ll wait. I will wait, and I will wait, and I will wait. Because we both know on some level that you’re coming. And after your arrival, just in case you’re ever concerned about being a disappointment, not living up to expectations, or not making a good impression? Oh, sweetheart. We already love you.

Whatever the weather

I only miss you when it rains. When the clouds spit a light mist or when they drop buckets and buckets of water, bringing back memories of rainy walks to a train station after saying goodbye to you. When nothing was better than listening to the soft rain whilst drinking tea in a dirty kitchen, desperately trying to ignore the fire that burned in your stare. I don’t miss you all the time. I only miss you when it rains.

I only miss you when it snows. When the sound of my boots in the slush recalls a slippery trek down a slope and a stolen kiss by a doorway, cold brick digging into my back. The only sound I could hear was that eerie silence that comes with fallen snow. When the sky is a hushed steel colour and the lights cast warm yellow glows. I don’t miss you all the time. I only miss you when it snows.

I only miss you when it’s sunny. When the sky is the same colour as your eyes, with a smattering of clouds like the freckles on your cheeks. Waves crash in my ears and pebbles crunch under my boots, your lips are on mine as the sun shines over the sea. When a cold late October breeze only hints at the coming winter, only children are getting ice cream cones because adults have more sense, and the sun starts to set at 5pm. I don’t miss you all the time. I only miss you when it’s sunny.

I only miss you when it’s warm. When the temperature outside is the same as being encircled in your arms on a Sunday morning. A night spent in a beer garden surrounded by screaming fans in red, black and yellow, vuvuzelas buzzing. A gossamer sheet between us, a hot pink satin bathrobe puddled on a hotel room floor. My tan skin making the two of us look like Neopolitan ice cream. When we are glued together by a sheen of sweat, but neither of us mind because we still aren’t physically close enough. I don’t miss you all the time. I only miss you when it’s warm.

I only miss you when it’s cold. When lips leave behind a stinging bite. My feet turn white and cause you to shriek when I unexpectedly place them on your thighs. We spend all night under the duvet, with you making sure I am under it at all times. When nothing is better than being in your arms, my own personal space heater. Night walks along the sea when our breath puffs out in white clouds. When the leaves have fallen and we stand on a frigid stoop, kissing like 14-year-olds at the cinema who have evaded their parents for what they call a date. I don’t miss you all the time. I only miss you when it’s cold.

I only miss you in the winter – December, January, February. I only miss you in the spring – March, April, May. I only miss you in the summer – June, July, August. I only miss you in the autumn – September, October, November. I only miss you on days that end in Y. I only miss you during the day; I only miss you at night. I only miss you in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the evening.

But don’t worry, my darling. I don’t miss you all the time.

 

7quad, 5 years on

Five years ago today, I arrived in Brighton for my term abroad. While I wouldn’t move into my flat until the following day, my journey did technically begin on this date. I’m going to take the time to gush about all of my incredible people because without them, I would not be who I am today.

B – you were the first one I officially met. And there’s not much I can say to you that I haven’t already. I haven’t given up on you yet, okay? JTM.

B – my prison wife. Sometimes I am really glad your ex used me as an emotional dumping ground because I feel like that made us even tighter. I had the best time when you came to visit me last year, and I can’t wait for round 2. Thank you for constantly being willing to be my support when I need it and even when I don’t. *insert penguin noises*

H – despite the fact that soon after we met you were shunned by my flat, eye still love you to the moon and back. I’m so proud of you for taking your next steps and starting from the beginning. I also had the best time when you came to visit me last year. Come back soon.

E – you. You are an incredible human being and I am so proud of you. I love that we don’t have to talk every day for that love to exist. We got real close real quick, and while that closeness from living together has faded, I know that if I ever really needed you, you’d be there.  Also, I’m sorry for my incessant need to tell you how much I love you after I’ve been drinking.

S – mate, you are harder to get ahold of than any celebrity, but that makes the times we do get to catch up even more special. You’ve been by my side for some of the hardest things I’ve ever had to deal with and managed to distract me whilst making it easier to cope. Cannot wait for our waffle tour and I can’t wait until we can sit in Wetherspoon’s, drinking pitchers of cocktails, instead of drinking in Leicester Square.

P – first of all, I love that we can talk about hard things, have differing opinions, and still be as close as we are. I also love how you are always there when I need you and how our five days in Amsterdam have made us even closer. You know what to say to make me feel better and no one takes up my cause better than you do. I said it to you this morning – you are the petrol that keeps my car going and everything seems a little more bearable knowing that you are on my side.

And as for the rest of you – M, S, E, D, H – even though we aren’t in contact as frequently as I am with the others, know that the love still exists. It will always exist. We are bonded through drinking in a minging kitchen, and through late night chips on a lurching bus, and through cups of tea on a snowy morning.

Our friendship can technically be in primary school (where have these five years gone?) and I love each and every one of you so very much.

A voyage home

I found inspiration for this post in an episode of Dance Moms, of all things.

The girls are assigned to do a group dance involving crossing a border. And as Abby tries to explain the concept to the mothers, one of the mothers (Holly, I’m pretty sure – she’s the least crazy for sure) brings up a point – she is confused because how does one immigrate “home?”

It’s actually quite easy. The concept isn’t that confusing.

Fall in love with a country that is different to the one you were born in. Fall head over heels with the culture, the food, the history and the people. Find your niche there, meeting people who welcome you into their circle with open arms and a warm embrace. Fall in love with a person there who makes you want to unlock yourself to show them that it isn’t impossible to strip off the armour you put around yourself. Find another group of people who slide you into their lives seamlessly. Build a strong support system. Become acclimated. Start using the slang, gain an inflexion in your speaking voice. Start building a life there. Get told you have to leave and can’t come back for a certain amount of time. Struggle to keep that support system alive, but manage. Settle for a second choice even though it is breaking you in half.

Spend your time fighting hard to get home. Spend your time looking for ways to cross that border and immigrate home.

That’s how you do it, Holly. That’s how.

Copping out with a list

This is massively cheating, but I love to talk about myself and I also have a major case of writer’s block. But I need to write something, my fingers are itching, so here it is – Mere summarised.

Favorites:

Food: cheese. Anything involving cheese. I could live off of cheese. My relationship with my friend Nicole revolves around our mutual love for cheese. All we do is eat cheese, or talk about cheese.

Drink: Citrus Mint green tea from Starbucks, a proper cup of Yorkshire, Evian, JuicyWater Raspberries and Apples (which I think they discontinued and my heart is hurting. It tastes like studying abroad. A quick Google has confirmed this and it is now Raspberries & Blackcurrants. Excuse me whilst I mourn this loss), whiskey gingers and Purple Rain.

Book: This is a horrible question. I read books like I devour popcorn. I love A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and The Bell Jar, and Fight Club. And I love The Water Babies, and Harry Potter, and Jane Eyre. Don’t make me choose. I will write this entire post and it will just be a list of books that I love.

Song: This is a really hard question – I can’t pick just one song. It’s like books. It depends on my mood. It depends on the occasion and what I’ve associated that song with.

Movie: Anything directed by Tarantino.

Band: Again, I can’t pick just one. Lately, I’ve been listening to a lot of Honeyblood and Bright Eyes.

Solo Artist: Lana Del Rey. Hands down.

Place: London. Brighton. I can’t think of any other places in the world that make my heart and soul sing the way that they do. I could be living in a box in London and be the happiest. And Brighton obviously holds very dear memories for me. It’s where I met my people, where I fell in love, and where I started to become who I was meant to be.

Subject: Like to talk about? Or in school. I don’t understand the question and I won’t respond to it (10 points if you know what show that is from).

Sport: I used to play tennis. I also really like watching figure skating.

Male actor: this is hard. Right now, I’m all about Chris Pratt. Even in the early seasons of Parks and Rec. So cute. So so so cute.

Female actor: Emilia Clarke. She is so down to earth and absolutely adorable. Plus, the way that she and Jason Momoa still geek out over each other via Instagram is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Life:

Schooling: I just got my masters degree. I can’t believe I have one.

BF: So I have more than one best friend. They are all incredible people. The one I will mention here is my friend Phoebe, who was my flatmate when I studied abroad. She and I have remained super close, brought closer by visits to each other and the ability to have really hard conversations without it being awkward. She sent me a card to keep me going the other day, and I would be very lost without her. She is so great.

Political ideology: I am anti-hate. I am pro-human. I am pro-human rights. So yeah, I’m not conservative.

Religion: Right now, I don’t think I’m at a point in my life where religion is important. I was baptised Presbyterian. In the last two years, I’ve gotten very into reiki, which is more spiritual than religious. That’s what I focus on right now. One day, maybe after I have a family or desperately need something to believe in, religion will become a priority. I don’t not believe, I just don’t think about it.

Tattoos: Not at liberty to discuss.

Piercings: I have two piercings on each earlobe. Pretty standard, but I’ve never loved needles and I also had my nose fixed so am under oath (from my mum) to not pierce it.

Languages: I speak French, a little Spanish, and I know some words in High Valyrian. Yes, that’s one of the languages on Game of Thrones. No, I don’t care that now you know I’m a nerd.

Reason behind your blog’s name: It’s about to get worse. So, my friends call me Mere. If you spend enough time with me, you will end up calling me Mere. I speak French. And I also happen to love the film Titanic (one of my friends from undergrad and I are weirdly obsessed with Rose’s maid – I don’t know why). The massive blue diamond in Titanic is called Le Cœur de la Mer – The Heart of the Ocean. And this is the place where I unburden my heart – and yes, I do know that mère in French means mother, but I don’t care.

Why you blog: I blog to make things make sense, to put my words out into the universe and to maybe have someone see what I have to say and be able to relate. The world is a big place, and one comforting voice can make it a little smaller.