On the very sunny day in Cardiff- which yes, some of you may say is a rariety; but it's not as rare as you might think. Anyway, as I sit in my Uni room gazing out lovingly at the sun in front of my laptop putting off working I wonder to myself where the hell has time gone. Just under 7 months ago, I started University and now after being my own person for that amount of time; I realise that my first year at Cardiff Uni is coming to an end and although my heart longs to be back in London, I am saddened by the thought that of my 3 year long experience, one year has already slipped through my fingers. I couldn't tell you where the time has gone because it has gone way too fast. I was sat talking about this with my friend yesterday; and we were saying how time goes faster as you get older, and it is then that I realise I'm going to be 19 soon, which for those who have already turned I now understand the big deal about it.
On another note; I thought I'd give you another taster of what I've been writing in case any of you are following or trying to follow my jumbled up mess of postings.
Happy sunbathing, stay safe; smile and enjoy the rare summerness of the UK. (or wherever you may be)
Post again soon,
Nicole xxx
Once again I stare at the reflection in the mirror as I unscrew the toothpaste lid and squeeze an ample amount onto my toothbrush. It’s not that I am majorly unattractive, granted I wasn’t anywhere close to be classified as attractive or pretty but I wasn’t ugly, or at least I didn’t so anyway. I have that kid look, with hair that I haven’t yet managed to find a style with, straightening takes too long; I’m not one of those girls who can do it in 2 seconds flat- my coordination between looking in the mirror, and placing the hair in-between the plates isn’t great. I always go too far forward or backwards that I miss to clamp the hair in the straighteners, which baffles me in how I can be so retarded sometimes. Anyway, instead it is scrapped back into the bog-standard ponytail, my brown hair has nothing special about it; probably, in fact the dullest shade of brown on the spectrum, which sums me up. The only things I really like about myself are my eyes, the fact that they are blue-green with sunflowers round the pupils. Clearly the only amount of detail added to me when I was born was my eyes with the slight unusualness from the standard blue/brown eye colours.
I continue to brush my teeth whilst looking at myself in the mirror, tilting my head this way and that trying to find something different about myself; something that I had never noticed before but changes everything about me. I have no luck and spit out the toothpaste remains, washing my mouth out after with cold water. I pat the towel across my mouth and take one final look in the mirror with a sigh. When will I ever be beautiful? I walk out of the bathroom and into my bedroom with little hope of the day ahead of me.
Despite the fact that it is Saturday, I have no plans along with the fact that I have no friends to have any plans with; I am still up at an early’ish time of 9 with the prospect of having nothing to do all day except work. I take a seat at my desk, start up my computer and watch out the window at the sun shining through the clouds trying to take control and be the centre of attention for the day. Opening up the word document that is always on my screen, I relax into the chair and smile knowing that this is my rightful place in the world.
I can have no friends, nobody who loves me and yet still be one of the happiest people alive because I know that no matter what Lucy and Sam will never leave me. Books and stories always made me happy in the past because I wasn’t myself, I was someone else whose world had their ups and downs but in the end the up prevailed and everything was happy. They took me away from the sadness that filled my world and my heart and gave me a chance to feel love; even if it wasn’t real and never going to be that way for me; it gave me hope. Although after a while, reading other people’s stories lost the thrill for me. I didn’t want to have to read about someone else’s thoughts and feelings. I wanted to write about how I would feel, what I would want from life and from a partner.
And, so after I while I plucked up the courage to start writing about how I would want my life to be if I could choose it. I wrote about how I wanted to look, how I wanted others to see me and how I wanted my friends to be like. It excited me to be able to become a different person for a while and it made me happy. I even created a family for my character or perhaps even alter-ego. It was until I realised that my story had heartache that I felt from being lonely and not feeling good enough that I could change all that. I didn’t have to make my character feel the way I was feeling at all. I could make her happy with taps of my keyboard and I did. I created “Sam” who was the guy that entered my dreams every night and made me smile as I wrote what I wanted him to say.
For a while I lost the Hannah in me as I craved to be Lucy, and I believed that for a moment I could be. I didn’t have to be this person that I was born to be; I could be someone else for a while. I grew up a little bit and realised that although I could feel happy about writing from a different perspective it would never be reality. It took the thrill away for a while but I learned to accept that I am who I am, whether people like it or not. And in time I generally believed that there was someone out there, my real Sam, who would like me and accept me for who I am; perhaps even love me. I relied less on Lucy and Sam but still enjoyed writing about them as if they were my friends rather than me being them.
I begin to tap on the keyboard writing from where I left off. I rarely think about what I am writing when I write, but rather just have a single thought and roll with it. The words generally come to me with little effort and I can write for an hour straight without realising what I have been writing. I think that’s the most magical part of writing, when I can reread what I’ve written and not remember that I had added certain parts in and be amazed that the words were written by me and not some best-selling author. That’s my dream. To see my name on a hardback book placed on the shelf of a book store knowing that I can bring happiness to someone else like previous authors gave to me.
The buzzing on the desk beside me takes me attention away from writing and I get annoyed at the distraction when I have just gotten into my stride and was currently writing about a tender moment between the couple in my story. I snatch up my phone and illuminate the screen with a push of the button. There indicates 2 messages on the screen. My heart flutters with hope and I try and squash it before I have a chance to be heartbroken, and yet the feeling stubbornly remains. I see that both are from Daniel and I open the one sent first and then the second one straight after.
