These Precious Objects of Mine

Throughout life, all of us are bound to become attached to whatever soars our spirits beyond the greatest sunset, giving no second thoughts to preserving and keep it under our care because it holds a sacred meaning to us, its significance forever appreciated and respected. Whether this object or indeed person is in the form of an all-time favourite book, a younger brother whose classic grin ought to be recognized as a national treasure or a childhood place where you felt happiest, humans can never quite escape their need to immerse themselves in joy thanks to their uplifting surroundings. It is truly no wonder that people feel like they're walking on air (or have probably had too much to drink) whenever what they later deem to be a 'magical' place.

Regardless of one's age and ever-changing nature, I believe that everybody never fully unattaches themselves from joyous moments experienced in the long-ago past, whether they acknowledge that fact or not. And, as I'll tell you today, I'm still glued to the hip to several gifts and 'heirlooms' which, although they might not stand much of a chance of appearing at prime time slot on the Antiques Roadshow (otherwise known as an opportunity for well-classed others to rub their oh-so-valuable possessions in the nation's face), mean the world to me and will hold a special meaning for eternity.

Have you already had enough of my exquisite usage of the Oxford Dictionary - the third edition of which is unlikely to be released for another two decades (I knew that 2013's creation of selfie would create a Twitter-like frenzy) - or would you wish to continue reading this extravagant-as-Cats entry as you can never find it in yourself to resist doing so? If anything, I'm sure that you would appreciate seeing a few pictures on my new smartphone, along with the assistance of King Barticles, my eight month old kitten.

Whilst racking my brain in agonizing thought earlier today - conjuring specific themes for these blog entries must be an extraordinary calorie-burner as my cravings for shop-bought carrot sticks have begun half an hour early - I started to think about what means the most to me and symbol the happiness which brings a smile onto my pout-perfected lips every day. The typical ones were initially brought to mind - my loving family, catnip-sniffing kittens' (which would explain their Soho-partying behaviour) and tubs of low-fat vanilla ice cream - then it occurred to me that there is much more to what is the vital source of my well-being and general happiness.

Although I may hardly give a second-long glance or thought to these things in question, it wouldn't take the likes of an Oxford graduate to realize that I would fall apart like a ball of thread if they disappeared from my life at a second's notice. Like the daily need to consume food and gain a restful night's sleep, these things - my actual possessions, all of which hold a story behind their existence and how they fell into my hands - are a part of my every day life and, when I might be experiencing a low moment (one of the few downsides to being a teenager, I know), gradually pull me back to a better state. Hopefully you may share my theory and are in ownership of several treasures which are capable of making yourself experience a wide range of emotions, but never let you down.

Ever wondered why, despite proclaiming that childhood has firmly remained in the past and you couldn't be readier to embrace life as an adult (here's a title for my new blog in several years' time), many of us keep our beloved teddy bears and various memorabilia for years' to come? Childhood is often the greatest time of our lives and, whenever we get a headache from coping with life in adulthood, fishing out a piece of an unforgettable stage in our evolvement can take the edge off various dilemmas and remind us of a time which we will never forget. OK, the powers above me may still classify me as a child/minor, but I still get nostalgic about my way of living as a seven year old from time to time. Besides, who wouldn't fancy giving up acne and earth-shaking tantrums in order to spend just another day as an innocent youngster, whose obsession with Buffy the Vampire Slayer was not destined to begin for a few more years' yet? And these things of mine - both given me as a child or later appreciated in my older years (saying that makes me wonder when my first wrinkle will appear) - represent a part of who I am today: a smiling, smartphone-obsessed and KFC-craving teenager. Well, maybe none of these things played a role in creating my passion for Kentucky Fried Chicken, if that makes sense...

The Baby-Faced Angel (Not to be confused with pre-crime-committing Justin Bieber)

In case you're wondering how this baby/pegasus crossbreed is, this brooch - officially classified as costume jewellery, if you're up to your knees in fashion-themed knowledge - was originally my grandmother's, whose great sense in style and gold jewellery has rubbed off on me since I first took an interest in fashion several years ago. 

Whether I'm wearing a glamorous dress or would fancy nothing better than being clad in a plain-as-undyed-hair t-shirt, this winged baby is always attached to my clothes. Surprisingly, I muster the strength to leave it off when I change into my pyjamas at night, though this is mainly due to my theory that nothing compliments my marshmallow-pink Aristocats hoodie and kitten-patterned trousers. Even the glorious light of this angel would struggle to dispel my oh-so-criminal pyjama habits, but I've yet to see for myself!

When I wear this brooch, an unknown strength comes out of nowhere and is a guiding light - if you can imagine such a thing - for whatever I do, but the fact that this used to belong to my grandmother is the greatest thing of all about it. And what price can you put on love - and an amazing piece of jewellery?

My Dream Perfume

In the past year or so, I've only begun to wear perfume - which, in my opinion, is the most mysterious accessory of all for a woman - on a regular basis, partly due to my beliefs that perfume is associated with a strong and obviously grown-up woman. Considering that I still deem myself to have one foot stuck in the world of childhood and another caught on the path leading to adulthood, I wouldn't necessarily call myself a woman just yet. But if this pint-sized girl - a.k.a. myself - has completely missed out on the 1D phenomenon, haven't I already become a woman? 

So, I originally stuck to one perfume - the classic, yet refreshing Chloé by the eponymous French fashion house - after receiving it as a gift from my aunt, and always looked forward to spraying a small squirt of it onto my neck and wrists every few days. However, my relationship with perfume experienced a revolution when I stumbled across a box which contained this beauty, as pictured above. 

As worn and loved by my grandmother, Youth Dew by Estée Lauder is a timeless perfume which is reminiscent of my mum's favourite scent, Shalimar by Geurlain, but is on a more muted, yet fresher scale. Despite having become attached to the Chloé perfume, I had continued to search for a scent which answered my requests and smelt like I had dreamt of in my wildest fantasies, so I was in seventh heaven when I caught my first whiff of Youth Dew - and from then on, I have cherished that bottle like a crown of precious jewels. 

Not only have I found my favourite perfume, but I discovered another item which was associated with my grandmother, making me feel closer to her than ever before. 

The World's Greatest Sister (yes, it's really me)

For my eighth birthday, my brother supposedly 'bought' this monument for me as a personal gift, one of which obviously displayed his opinion of my being his elder sister. Years later, it suddenly occurred to me that my parents probably bought this hand-sized monument themselves - for all I knew, my brother may not have had an inkling of it until I opened the box on the big day - but I still cherish the fact that my brother appreciates me, whilst I return the gesture in the form of hug/gentle punch. 

As squibbling youngsters, my brother and I had a tendency to lose sight of being the 'perfect two' and would often receive a telling-off from our parents if we pushed our luck too far. Indeed, my brother and I are still as bad as each other as easily irritable teenagers - even adult siblings cannot deny the well-known fact that they morph into their younger, more foolish selves when an opportunity to argue arises - but I forever felt like my brother was on a mission to get on my nerves as a seven year old, resulting in my screaming 'MUUUUUUUMY!' in a deafening shout on a near-daily basis. 

So, when I was midway through the Presents Ceremony and opened a box containing this monument, I was a little taken-aback but genuinely uplifted by my brother's kindness, whose gesture has not been forgotten over seven years on. The brunette-haired little girl - who, if you look deeply at her face, has not heard of one precious thing known as coloured lipstick - now resides on my bedside window, looking out the Wisteria Lane-perfect street and getting a tan from the afternoon sun. 

Even if my brother went along with it in order to grab a slice of my Disney Princess cake, I still love him for it. Really. 

And here's a precious object - or kitten - who had to be included...

Thanks to being a source of inspiration (and bother as I struggled to get my laptop out), Bart made today's entry possible and eagerly looked at a picture of himself as my screensaver before wrecking havoc in my parents' bedroom nearby. Without Bart - and his confident brother, the all-mighty Benny - I wouldn't have uncovered the strength to accept my former cats', Tom and Jerry, deaths last year. 

As Bart and Benny are getting older (they are now precisely eight months old), their antics are becoming wilder and causing plenty of trouble, which is occasionally an amusing spectacle. 

One lesson that my family and I have learnt is this: if the kittens' noses have turned a vivid shade of pink, beware of their trouble-making tendencies!