New Age Teenager

Hey, it's been a while since I last spoke of my then-increasing delight over my birthday, hasn't it? Just a few days ago, not even an oh-so-boring evening dedicated to Premier League football could have possibly made a gut-wrenching dent in my happiness, which felt sweeter than a heavenly spoonful of my mum's homemade apple pie; in other words, I'd caught an infectious bout of birthday fever which, unlike a recent horrible spell under the weather (thanks to idiots somehow 'forgetting' to cover their snotty noses and bacteria-riddled mouths), had lifted my spirits and cheered me onto the path of celebrating my upcoming birthday last Saturday, leaving a trail of presents and half-sliced chocolate fudge cake behind in its wake. 

I, for one, have always loved birthdays and, unlike viewing a near-catastrophic episode of the revamped Simpsons (sorry guys, the humour no longer hits my funny bone like my brother can punch his way to my biscuit-packed stomach during a playful fight), have never had any trouble with finding numerous positives about these occasions because they are generally fun, or so I find. Of course, you may think twice about bothering to acknowledge the life-changing date of your birth whilst struggling to find anything worth celebrating for (until a purchase of Lorde's Pure Heroine came along, I had unfortunately found myself in the same frustrating situation), but by the time that your birthday has arrived in its silver candle-lit glory, don't you simply feel happy about being faced with a day which can be completely controlled by no other than yourself? 

Some may struggle to comprehend this spellbinding power which typically comes into place on highly prestigious occasions - and however much a kid may beg to an inch of his or her life, anybody with a brain half the size of Einstein's would hand over permission to stick their heads in a bag of teeth-rotting sweets on Halloween or any other occasion involving such sweet delicacies, for that matter - but all of us surely gain a nicely-sized chunk of it at one point or another during our lives, most probably on birthdays when others put aside their needs and wants (so my polite self chooses to believe) to make room for those concerned to do frankly whatever they like. Although stuffing oneself with cool-as-cucumber green and flavoursome red peppers in preparation for a home-cooked stir fry may not automatically spring to mind as a chosen task on a birthday, I nonetheless gained the maximum amount of pleasure by performing the commendable job, which also enabled me to spend some time with my family and newly welcomed kittens (who, of course, gazed at me contently whilst I literally got my hands dirty by chopping some meat into cat-friendly slices). But cooking a meal wasn't all that I did on my birthday two days ago - did you honestly believe that I would forego an extended slumber in the comforting warm of my own bed to stuff myself with baby sweetcorn at nine in the eerily sunny morning? 

Moving on from the topic of dedicating a birthday to oneself (giving in to one's selfish needs isn't all too bad once a year, me thinks), a day and an age seems to have passed whilst my excitement over discussing my oh-so-special birthday has grown faster than my brother's endlessly long legs - without needing to declare it to the entire world (or digital universe, come to think of it), I had a wonderful time as I grew a year older within the space of a restful night, waving a long farewell to my old age which has suddenly become as dated and uninteresting as Gangnam Style, though obviously to a less unknown state. Yeah, not a single part of myself could deny the amount of lessons I learnt and fun in which I happily immersed myself during my first few years as a teenager, but now that I feel more settled within my mind and slightly spotty skin, this new year - and new age - will signify the fresh beginnings of an aim to better myself whilst pushing my hormone-related hassles to one side. To a certain extent, I guess that this counts as a sort of birthday present because keeping control of my emotions would offer me a massive help, just like receiving a set of eyeliners which glide on perfectly and revitalize my laid-back, yet chic look to a whole new level - still, peace of mind can never be entirely contained within a wrapped box, can it? 

Aside from settling into my new age like a beloved pair of shoes or dab of pores-reducing witch hazel, I have plenty to feel happy about because I got a wonderful collection of gifts, all of which couldn't possibly be compared due to their stark differences - as last year's theme mainly focused on hygiene and beauty products (a hairy epilator, any one?), I made a drastic change from following a particular sort of theme by choosing whatever caught my eye, most of which I'd forgotten about until I ripped open the beige-coloured paper on the morning itself! 

Amongst the colourful set of creamy, self-sharpening eyeliners, I added yet another collection of earrings - this time in the form of various coloured pearl studs, which gleamed as brightly as a scrubbed marble floor - to my ever-expanding compilation, confirming long-hidden beliefs regarding my passion for jewellery! I broke with an unofficial tradition by getting three CDs (perhaps I have not moved into the New Age by remaining firmly in the old one with physical albums and DVDs) for the first time in several years, all of which were by three award-winning female artists. From teenage Lorde to BRIT-winning Emeli Sande to soulful Laura Mvula, I love all of these fantastic singers because they add something special to the music industry - without resorting to Miley Cyrus' twerking antics or promoting provocative messages through the all-too-influential power of performing. 

Staying true to my bookworm roots (don't worry, my apple-scented scalp is absolutely worm-free!), I couldn't resist falling head over heels for a cookery book solely dedicated to cocoa, which has already given me a couple of ideas as to what I ought to produce within the oven-ready haven of the kitchen. One of the greatest things which I've learnt within the past year is sharing the joy of baking and studying from the aptly-titled Chococo book would propel me to levels of mastery skills I never knew were possible to reach - if I extend beyond the heavenly realms of truffle-making! And when I've been left utterly exhausted from baking to my heart's content, a guide to writing teen fiction is all I'll need on the path towards becoming a successful teenage author; although I purposefully avoided producing a list of New Year's Resolutions, I cannot fight the temptation to write a story aimed at my age group and strengthen my writing skills beyond what I ever believed of which I was capable. 

So, a cookery book and writing guide are all very nice and useful towards my upcoming success within both sectors, but shouldn't I also be looking for something more... relaxing? No problem, a chapter of Karl's Pilkington's latest non-fiction book, The Moaning of Life (just perfect for a self-confessed moaner like myself), will get me rolling onto the rock-solid floor within no time! I loved watching the TV series several months ago, which saw Karl visit countries across the world to grasp foreign culture towards the five important roles in life - happiness, marriage, children, money and death - so purchasing this book to accompany the show was ideal, especially as Karl expresses his feelings through the art of communication, much to the amusement of those who listen! 

Still here as I hoped? Sorry to have got carried away with my mini commentary on the presents I received for my birthday, but I simply had to express my love for every single one of them. From a young age, I have always felt compelled to give descriptions as long as a computer manual for the most silliest things and it hasn't changed one bit as I've gotten older, despite trying to finding a probable way of explaining something in less than five or so sentences. Perhaps that is a habit which I ought to break harder than a hollow Easter egg in my new age, though I could always use that rarely seen power to my own advantage?

Anyway, I feel like I'm stating a list of New Year's Resolutions, despite 2014 officially beginning more than four weeks ago, but who cares? I hope to gain more knowledge, be nicer (except my brother if he has had one too many turns on the TV all day) and find an extraordinary cure to acne within the next 363 or so days until I hit a newer age - one of which I may reveal to you in the nearish future. 

New Age Teenager, here I am!

Dreaming of Birthdays

Several days since I made an explosive statement regarding my decreased presence upon this blog, deep down I knew that I would quickly run back towards my writing-mad roots within a short space of time - on such a horribly damp day like this, how could I prevent myself from lifting my spirits beyond stormy, whipped-cream-they-ain't clouds whilst typing at a million mph on a site purely dedicated to living Life as a Modern Teen? 

Anyway, I probably wouldn't have been able to get through this week without jotting down my thoughts as I'm now counting down the hours (obviously I give myself a break at lunchtime at midday; sticking my salt-coated fingers into a bag of Doritos can last as long as my heart desires, so I constantly remind myself) until my birthday arrives in the spectacular form of presents, balloons and bowls upon bowls of bean sprouts, which are central towards my annual feast of Chinese-inspired food - what better way to celebrate becoming a year wiser than feeling cheerful about maintaining a healthy diet instead of poking one's head into a container of Danish butter cookies? Well, I suppose that all of us have varying ideas as to how we may get into a jolly mood during our birthdays and pigging out on baby sweetcorn seems to be one of my mine, therefore I can't help but openly express my excitement over turning a new leaf and hitting a newer, more respected age - there will be plenty of birthdays to go until I get tired of growing older, so why should I deny myself the opportunity to appreciate the joys of becoming maturer and further away from the perils commonly found within adolescence? 

As I'm in quite a sunny mood at the moment (which, if you had been blessed with the powers above to look outside my bedroom window, you would find it virtually impossible to catch a welcome glimpse of yellow rays), I needn't dwell upon yellow-headed spots, greasy locks and legs a hundred times hairier than an overgrown field because birthday fever has all but created a soothing light within the darkness covering most of the house, unveiling my inner welcoming nature towards the celebrations being prepared for this upcoming weekend which will undoubtedly feature plenty of fun and form new memories to be remembered for years' to come. 

Having experienced an outstanding amount of emotions and being forced to deal with issues within the past year, reaching a new milestone within my life has left me feeling nostalgic to what had previously been associated to me, which is potentially what can signify the meaning of celebration for various people. 

This time last year, I hadn't the faintest clue that my first furry brothers (no, I have not coined an affectionate name for my two, far-from-unshaven legs!), singing soprano Tom and loyal companion Jerry, were to pass away and even now it brings home how much it still pains me that their presence is no longer within our family, especially as my birthday was the last celebration that Tom - who only made his way to Kitty Heaven nearly two months later on what was ironically Good Friday - was destined to see, along with Jerry who was reunited with his brother six months later. Sure, I shouldn't open up formerly closed wounds over my losses because Tom and Jerry only represented love, cuddles and smelly fish-scented breath (courtesy of their powerful passions for meals) and since December I've been able to regain a sense of happiness by adopting two oh-so-beautiful kittens, as you will obviously know are called Bart and Benny. 

For as long as I can remember, I've always felt curious with regard to whether cats and indeed kittens are aware of various events, such as Christmas and birthdays as it is currently the case - even a month after the festivities were celebrated over a plate piled high with roasted turkey and servings of luxurious treats, Benny the Hissy Kitty has recently developed a penchant for the Italian fruit bread known as panettone, much to the amusement of my family. Alas, my question relating to cats' senses of holidays has not yet been answered, but I'm wondering whether offering the kittens' a small bowl of the soon-to-be-made chocolate birthday cake could make them realize that I am commemorating a highly special occasion in my life - unfortunately, I'm unwilling to take any chances on what I have deemed to be my cake!

Perhaps what I feel the proudest about myself is that, along with gaining piles load of knowledge and harning skills within numerous categories (completing a novel, instructing my brother how to destroy a hard drive, progressing in French, all to name a few), I've morphed into a better and wiser person within a year by letting go of a childish nature and settling into my own skin as a teenager, which has opened so many doors to finding a form of happiness catered towards my needs. I've learnt, I've grown (or so my shoulder-length hair has, casting more doubt over the length of my sameish legs) and I feel settled within my mind, taking control of my actions and allowing confidence to flow through my body as it rightfully should. 

Of course, would I honestly be staying true to human nature by being entirely immune to falling prey to moments of weakness and indulging in one too many chocolate digestives? I'll admit my faults and give way to guilt clouding judgement over making foolish mistakes, but nothing can prevent me from getting back onto my feet, which somehow feel ten times stronger whilst donning my beloved high heels! Besides getting dressed to the nines by being clad in a red laced dress specially worn for special occasions and receiving compliments upon compliments over getting a year older, I've discovered that birthdays hold a higher message which goes beyond pearl earrings, books and Lorde's fantastic Pure Heroine, all of which count as my super-duper gifts this year. Until now, pride as heartfelt as this has never surged through me, which has ignited an unignorable desire to make the most of leading a happy, if not dazzling life as a modern day teenager. I've wised up to the numerous downfalls of adolescence and often fall back into annoying habits of moaning about them, but haven't I achieved the most of a potentially self-destroying situation by using spot-related complaints to my own advantage through the art of writing? So yeah, this blog could pretty much be my safe haven and land of wild dreams, producing tales and offering inspiration at the times when I need it most!

Almost an hour since I sat down at my desk and the rain is still falling, as the clouds remain darker and more sad-looking than ever before. My difficult age - which I may reveal to you one day when the timing feels perfectly right - can only be used as a source of inspiration whilst my child-like imagination remains intact and my upcoming birthday solely represents the never-ending joys of living life (and eating cake!) to the full. If you are celebrating your birthday or simply dream of indulging in self-need for a day similar to your birthday, I hope you have a great one because all of us, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, deserve it. 

Now, how will I maintain self-control until I get my hands onto the presents?

Note From The Blogger (Serious Mode!)

Hmm, it seems rather strange that, for the very first time since I created this blog and set out my motives whilst displaying a subtle hint of my writing style, I feel the desperate, unavoidable need to declare my thoughts and opinions regarding this blog via an editor-style note.

Don't fly into panic mode and worry that, having reached an amount of zero readers within the three months or so of setting up this website, I'm going to shut it down and lose all of my inspirational work within a single, highly dreaded click of a 'delete' button! I couldn't be further away right now from deciding to give blogging up for good because I enjoy it so intensely when I'm swimming in full flow and gaining experience, which is far too valuable to put into heartfelt words.

So, let's get down to business and declare my innermost thoughts, otherwise I'll probably be spending the next twenty-four hours chatting about something very likely to bore you half to death (as if that is one of my highly prioritized intentions!). As I usually try to upload a new entry every two to three days, there typically comes a time when I cannot think straight or develop any fresh-as-an-apple ideas which inspire me to write about them for around an hour or more, and recently I've been struggling against my increasingly-growing frustration due to being unable to discover any much-needed inspiration.

In more simple words, I seem to be coming down with writer's block (and a sore throat, if the numerous amounts of vitamin-rich orange lozenges are enough to go by) and I feel too exhausted to fight against it with admirable bravery like I usually would. so ditto those dreaded groans of annoyment and head banging onto the rock solid wall - just what I would classify as whole-hearted fun, right?

On those beloved occasions where I couldn't possibly imagine feeling happier and everything is falling in place beautifully, pounding up the stairs à la a big-footed huffellump (as constantly reminded by my family) and switching on my laptop to jot down my views and spread the uplifting joys of inspiration through the internet morphs into the most joyous activities which I could ever do. Yet it is oh-so-easy to lose sight of the euphoria spreading through my veins and beliefs of treating myself to squares of dark chocolate when my mind goes as blank as a TV without any satellite signal (which could only signify the beginning of my brother's very worst nightmare on the Sunday afternoon in which his football team's match is being aired) - and unfortunately, I've been forced to make an unwanted decision to throw my cocoa butter-scented hands into the air (and no, I'm not going to start a sing-along to a Florence + and The Machine anthem, regardless of however tempting it is to hum tunelessly to You've Got the Love) and giving up on my hopes of posting a new entry today, which disappoints me greatly.

Perhaps you figured this out ages ago when I seemingly took a turn for the worse by dedicating a whole entry to chocolate (of which I've been getting the startling impression has been mentioned far too many times in recent posts), but I'm running out of ideas in relation to what I could talk about - come on, do I honestly share a resemblance to a cash machine where there is never any doubt as to whether I'm constantly loaded with the valued goods? Like a sharp-toothed vampire draining its victim of its livelihood and, um, blood (right now, the sight of red-coloured gore needn't be discussed too often whilst my porridge-themed breakfast shifts uncomfortably within me), making myself write on days when I can't remember the correct pronunciation of the French alphabet, let alone feel optimistically ready to switch into wannabe writer-mode, is sucking all of the enjoyment and fun that I used to gain out of running this blog - and now I've reached a drastic point where enough is enough.

In case your eyes only chose to skim over several lines instead of reading the whole piece, let me classify what I meant: after completing over forty-five articles to which I dedicated my whole time and valued attention, I'm waving goodbye to the undying need of forcing myself to complete an entry for the pure sake of it. I love to write and it entertains me more heavily than a re-run of The Simpsons at times, but shouldn't it return to its original state of being regarded as a sweetly-flavoured treat which would provoke a squeal of excitement (obviously one unassociated with a seal's form of communication) to escape my pink-tinted lips, instead of a lifeless, dull-as-Breaking Dawn sigh chilling the atmosphere? In hindsight, I ought to have thrown the towel in weeks ago but I carried on as part of myself wanted to remain occupied, particularly during the Christmas holidays when a frangipane-coated mince pie kept calling my name (or my cake-loving heart continued to send messages towards it, more like). It appears that, on the eve of my birthday next weekend, I'm listening to my heart's desires and following a path more catered towards my own - couldn't that potentially be the greatest gift of growing a year wiser?

On the subject of my birthday, I'm looking forward to spending the next few days placing my thoughts about what I intend to wear and how I'm ever going to survive another moment without my highly cherished present, which consists of a ten-piece eyeliner collection, being clutched with my fingers - let the good times roll! Currently, my intention is to write on here as of when the mood takes me or perhaps once a week, which I think will be a good idea to aspire towards on a baking-free Saturday mornings!

Every day, my life continues to change and bring surprises - some of which are suddenly announced without a moment's warning - so I have to move with the flow like everybody else, growing up into an ever-expanding society. At the moment, studying hard for life-changing exams and surviving through the unsurprising stress which typically comes with brain-racking revision are all but of a high importance for myself, alongside dealing with circumstances within life itself. I'm a teenager who is learning so many things that my head sometimes threatens to spin manically, yet I get up from my chair and stand tall amongst everybody else - running this blog is counted as one of my most appreciated achievements, so I don't see why I ought to come to an abrupt stop at this time, despite growing frustrated in relation to my lack of ideas of late.

So, let's see what happens next, OK? If you were to ask me right now, I have absolutely no idea when I will write here next, though I'll make an effort to return to the red-coloured laptop by next weekend or even the day before my birthday on Friday - how could it be possible to run out of inspiration like endlessly consumed cans of Pepsi on the eve of celebrating an exciting milestone?

See you soon,

LikeATeen

Inspirational Women: One Teenager's Views

Come on, have you ever given a single thought as to how the world carries on like one would receive a sugar-fuelled high from a large can of caffeinated Red Bull? Whether it is purely based on the admirable effort which workers place into their jobs or life as it meant to be, I'm not entirely sure yet it couldn't be argued that inspiration keeps our minds as vivid and bright as a recently installed light bulb; and as the title of today's entry suggests, women are the key to being encouraged to reach the same heights (in a six-inch pair of Jimmy Choos, needless to say) and achievements as men, which makes me stand tall - obviously as much as one possibly can in a pair of Converse-wannabe trainers - and feel immensely proud of my gender.

Although it needn't be a cause for wide-eyed concern, I'm not going to start a heated rant about inequality and offensive gender differences because I rolled out of my pink Hello Kitty duvet (ditto a stereotypical tendency, as is the colour pink) a few hours ago, so I hardly feel capable of preventing my eyes from dropping à la one lifeless flower and setting a new-age trend via a discussion on the Huffington Post website. In fact, today I wish to present my views and opinions regarding women whom I admire and feel inspired by, all of which are for numerous and rather varied reasons - as I figured out whilst scrubbing my flakier-than-a-chocolate-flake scalp in the bathroom a while ago, why wait until National Women's Day in March to compile and present a list of women who deserve to receive recognition for their positions in society? And as I'm only a teenager and have yet to morph into a women within the space of a single night in a few years' time, I immerse myself in grand forms of pleasure by exploring my views in relation to women who you may not automatically believe would hold such an influence upon a girl leading the current generation of iPhone-using, tracksuit-clad (as if I'd ever be caught dead picking up such an ugly ensemble in Sports Direct!) teenagers. So, read ahead and be amazed as I'm taught valuable lessons by the greatest and most inspirational women who have paved and are still leading the way for our gender today... 

Audrey Hepburn: Perhaps my love for all of her films from both the highly memorable 50s and swinging 60s instantly granted her a mention on my list, but nonetheless I'm still blown away by Audrey Hepburn whenever I watch any of her films which are always just as enjoyable and exciting as ever. Renowned for her dainty and delicate beauty, Audrey quickly became an icon and was propelled to stardom after picking up her first and only Oscar for her outstanding role in Sabrina, which was unbelievably released sixty years ago. What I love so much about Audrey - whose actual birth name was Edda, after having been born in the Netherlands - is that, as much of a star she was in the glare of the spotlight, she remained down-to-earth and used her famous name to goodwill by lending a helping hand to numerous charities, including working for and becoming an ambassador for UNICEF towards the end of her life, which was sadly cut short after passing away from cancer at the age of 63 in 1993. As she started to step away from her acting career, Audrey made it her mission to helping children across the poorest nations in the world, which is as much remembered as her extraordinary acting career to this very day. 

OK, not only do I immensely admire her caring nature and good deeds towards charities, but it would be nearly impossible to not feel a tiny bit inspired by her style portrayed in her most famous movies, such as Paris When It Sizzles, Charade and, as almost everybody knows, Breakfast at Tiffany's, which is my joint-favourite film with French assassin-themed thriller Nikita. Although it isn't entirely easy to come across a black dress which looks entirely like the one she wore in Breakfast at Tiffany's, nonetheless I still try to dress a bit like Audrey because I fell head over heels when I first caught sight of her pearls and simply-styled clothes, which interest and influence me more strongly than any wild-themed collections showcased during London Fashion Week on any day. 

So, you see - not only can you dress up to the nines, but you will still have enough room in your heart to offer help and bring joy to those greatly in need, which counts as one of the many things I wish to do when I grow older and feel more inspired than ever by this greatly remembered woman. 

Jennifer Lawrence: Without a single doubt, I do speak for today's generation that Jennifer Lawrence, with her hilarious nature and ease at her Oscar-winning skills, is a modern-day icon and a woman whom we look up to, if her live on-air gaff with Jack Nicholson at the Oscar's after-party last year was anything to go by. 

At around the time that the first Hunger Games film was released (which, unlike the recently released instalment, Catching Fire, was simply called The Hunger Games; there was no need to add a colon this time round), I began to become familiar with Jennifer's pleasant and wonderfully natural attitude as she popped up more often in magazines and participated in interviews, which only highlighted how great she truly is.

Basically, I love Jennifer because she behaves exactly the same as I would if I happened to be jetting off to Hawaii to film some kickass scenes for Catching Fire and having my photograph taken on countless red carpets (which, to my disappointment, are just as red as my current spotty breakout) whilst wearing the most spoken-about dress in town! In hindsight, I hadn't realized how bored I had grown of hearing the same boring expressions and statements being declared by self-titled 'pretty' Hollywood stars, many of whom have only got their lucky stars to thank for their applaudable success because owning and honing a supposed skill played absolutely no role in magically shooting up the careers ladder, and like trying out a new healthier brownie recipe (believe me, no recipe featuring chocolate stands any chance of being classified as safe for your log-shaped thighs), Jennifer is a breath of pure sweet air because she doesn't allow her status to prevent her from hitting out against critics and standing up for what she rightfully believes in.
Alongside agreeing entirely with her opinions related to body shapes (hers, I must admit, is one which I'm glad to admire - womanly curves all the way!) and staying true to herself, I do take the time to watch several of Jennifer's films from time to time, which my brother strangely appears to enjoy as well. For months, my brother and I have been chatting nineteen to a dozen about going to the cinema to see the new X-Men film, Days of Future Past, in which the fabulous Jennifer dons a bluer-than-a-Chelsea-kit skin whilst portraying the younger version of my favourite villain, red-haired Mystique, and I proudly count Silver Linings Playbook as one of my prestigiously top films - needless to say, I almost tripped up the stairs in excitement when I heard the news that Jennifer had picked up the 'Best Actress' gong for her terrific portrayal of young widow Tiffany in the film!
As her career continues to go from strength to strength, I feel certain that Jennifer will remain honest and admirably frank as she now is whilst keeping millions of us glued to the screen as Katniss Everdeen prepares to commence battle against the evil President Snow in the next Hunger Games film. Without needing to declare it, I will be amongst them.

Tavi Gevinson: Having felt inspired to set up my blog because of undertaking a long, yet thrilling journey towards adulthood, it doesn't take too much to give an out-pour of admiration towards a fellow teen, who happens to be seventeen year old Tavi Gevinson, best known for creating fashion-themed blog, Style Rookie, at the age of twelve. Come on, how many twelve year olds would you expect to know how to construct articles and discuss fashion in a similar manner to the glossies flooding the magazine aisle at the supermarket? Plus, Tavi still remains true to her writing roots by later founding online magazine/blog, simply titled Rookie, where numerous contributors discuss various topics and interests, all of which are associated with its target audience: teenagers who want their voices to be heard and get a whole lot more than picking up a boring-as-hell copy of a typical teen mag.
For teens like ourselves, we don't want to be part of the mainstream and follow the same crowd as almost everybody else does - as soon as I clicked onto an article written about jazz legend Sade, who is definitely one of my favourite singers ever, I knew that I'd found a new home. Well, a virtual home, if you wish for me to be more specific. And who do I have to thank? A teenager who speaks for so many of us and has created something greater than I ever allowed myself to hope for. Tavi, I (and whoever else is reading) salute you!

And (as I always save the best until last!)... 

My mum: From the moment, I began to write this entry, part of myself instinctively knew that my beloved mum would be the recipient of a very special mention, which would undoubtedly remind her of the royal status she holds within my family. And aren't all women inspired by their own mothers, whether that very honest fact occurs to them or not? Regardless of whatever I choose to do, I always have my own mum to encourage me to try my hardest and bring me back to earth during those thankfully rare occasions when I fly into an sleep-deprived panic over my lack of shut-eye. For that, despite my reluctance to admit my moaning tendencies, I have my mum to thank for keeping an eye on me and teaching me almost everything (apart from football-related knowledge, for which I bear the burden of listening to my brother chat all day) I know!
From learning how to bake a cake (and beat the ingredients with more vigor than a boxer's jaw-shattering punch) to applying eyeliner in a manner which doesn't make me receive unfortunate comparisons to an angry ghost, my mum has handed over so much knowledge to me that I don't know where to begin my praises for her! Obviously, I'm proud to call my mum an inspiration because she means so much to me and gives me a reason to stand up tall because of my gender - in my opinion, mums will always remain a valued source of inspiration as they are whom we base our gender upon and offer priceless advices whenever we shall need it.
With my mum by my side, I couldn't feel happier about being a girl - and eventually a woman - because she is the very best example that I could ever have!

And so, there you have it: several women - or girls or whoever, depending on how you wish to call them - who I find inspirational and are, in many ways, role models who I strongly admire. All of us ought to have inspirations or muses of some sort because they play a more important role in our lives than you may realize - and long may we continue to be inspired!

Aww! Picture Time with the Kittens

After growing increasingly dog-tired with spending absolutely ages conjuring paragraphs upon paragraphs on almost all of my blog entries, I recently had a light-bulb moment (as one does during an extravagant feast of homemade blueberry muffins) about going back to oh-so-welcome basics and describing a vital part of my life in my well-known frank detail.

Well, how could I be more upfront and eye-poppingly honest by posting a couple of pictures featuring my two newest stars, Bart and Benny? OK, kittens may not be entitled to sharing similar titles with famous Hollywood stars, but in my eyes, affectionate Bart and motherly Benny deserve to receive their own stars on a footpath in the middle of Oxford Street or somewhere equally pleasant - just writing about them is more than enough to make me swell up with intensely felt pride! And as I'm educated at home, the kittens are usually only a few footsteps away from entering their semi-permanent home based in the kitchen - which currently reeks of strongly scented onions thanks to preparing tonight's meal consisting of pasta (with a little bit of help from an extremely intrigued Bart, whose golden-coloured eyes resembled saucers whilst I chopped the smelly vegetable into kitten-friendly pieces) - so I spend almost all my time with the two precious guys on those all-too-rare occasions when even my fascinating Law book cannot keep me glued to the section describing various forms of assaults. Well, I do like that kind of thing, though I ought to avoid getting off topic whilst immersing myself in inspirational mid-flow - kittens are obviously on agenda!

Unless you have been unfortunate enough to miss out on my previous blog entries where I gave a near-graphic description of Bart and Benny's background, I'll dedicate a couple of sentences (all of which seem extend around the ten-mile long mark, in case you haven't noticed) to the subject, which partly explains my passionate love for the close brothers today.

Around September time last year, the BBs (without a reference to the Beauty Balm product, if I've somewhat confused your inner skincare guru) were born outside along with their other two brothers - resulting in a litter of four kittens - to a mother who had assumedly led a domesticated life beforehand, yet had somehow been living in an outdoors environment and was thought to have no longer had an owner. At around two or three weeks of age, Bart and Benny and their two other brothers were found in somebody's garden without their mother in sight, which later resulted in their being taken to a nearby animal centre where they resided for several months until my family and I adopted them. From the onset, Bart has always been the most confident of the two and is treated as the cute-faced, sweet-hearted baby he naturally is, though it quickly became clear that Benny had assumed a sort of motherly role towards his brother which explained his reluctance to open himself up freely and, well, behave like a kitten - even now, despite a noticeable lack in bloody scratches and wild-sounding hisses, Benny still allows his timidness to prevent him from enjoying the attention which his brother receives, but anything is better than catching a glimpse of an expression highly detailed in terror, right?

So, my family brought the kittens home a couple of weeks before Christmas and we slowly set to work on encouraging the kittens to glow as brightly as a plum-scented Yankee Candle - well, I meant in confidence because I always have to keep an eye on a cheekily behaved Bart whilst a candle is burning in the kitchen. Within days, Bart grew to love being stroked by an adoring audience and revelled in the attention he got whilst taking an evening nap on top of my old dressing gown (could you believe that I used to wear pink like there was no tomorrow?) and basket, which had previously belonged to my old furry-purries, Tom and Jerry - although I felt a little bit stung that Benny would seem to make a massive effort to avoid all contact with us, it would've been nearly impossible to keep my excitement regarding Bart's friendliness under wraps for any longer. Having had next to none information about semi-feral kittens, I had been expecting numerous boxes of plasters to have been emptied within a few days because almost nothing on the internet offered any accurate suggestions to semi-feral kittens' behaviour - needless to say, relief flooded through me like a creamy ice cream sundae when I only managed to get away fairly unscathed with a mere tiny scratch or two on my hands!

Anyway, fast forward six or so weeks and I couldn't feel any happier about my two new brothers (when will I get a furry sister?), both of whom have easily adjusted to living in a happy and welcoming household far quicker than any of my family anticipated; sure, we may have been slightly unlucky as to being unable to put on a pair of Santa hats onto the kittens' heads at Christmas (unless we counted one of Benny's legendary hisses as a jolly festive carol), but I think that every kitten - whether born in a household or outdoors - has the right to express their natures differently and my furry pals are growing more confident as each day passes in a fur-blinding blur. I don't care about the amount of mess they intentionally create whilst messing around in the bed-like comfort of the litter tray (a.k.a the unofficial social hub) and the litter-stained white paws which fly towards my jumper each time I stroke a wild-eyed Bart before mealtime - perhaps the love I feel so intensely now had already been born the day my family brought them home in their Kermit the Frog-green basket, but they already feel and officially are cherished members of our family!

And oh, I almost forgot my original purposes which included uploading a couple of pictures of the darling two, showcasing their already-perfected poses - when will Elite Model Management start chasing me to take them to a luxurious photo shoot?

As you would expect with energetic kittens, there comes a time when sleeping is all they ever wish to do! On the left is Bart, whose patterns have become more noticeably defined within recent weeks, and Benny, of course, is lying asleep on the right, his tortoiseshell coat shining in its silky soft glory!

Taken earlier today, grey-coloured Bart has recently formed a habit of sitting - and as you can see in this picture, standing tall in such a royal manner! - on a stool near the television in the kitchen, so he can spend a couple of hours catching up with the latest affairs and keeping everybody else in the know! And, as seen behind him, Bart is never more than a sniff away from being able to sense what is cooking in the oven, though he is out of luck today because dinner is set to be cooked on the hob!

Is he obsessed with himself or what?! I seriously was not joking when I declared that Bart loved lying on my old dressing gown, so you really can poke fun at my old fashion sense! And also say 'aww!' under your breath at the adorable sight of a kitten attempting get some shut eye on New Year's Eve!

Finally, a solo picture featuring the one and only Hissy Kitty! Unlike Bart, Benny's fur is miles darker and remarkably resembles a mixture of my old cats' glorious coats, which makes me feel rather nostalgic whenever I look at him. At long last, Benny leapt onto the stool during an all-too-rare moment when Bart happened to not vacate it, so if you look extra closely, you can see the slightly smug look on his elegantly-sized face! Ah, too fight over sitting on a stool seems far more exciting than listening to my brother's constant discussions over Minecraft...

And how could I not leave the very best until last? Here, the kitties are sitting next to their toys, two of which are grey cats whilst the other two are a very grizzly pair of tigers, so they always feel right at home with a few beanies to punch and bite whenever they are in a very contented mood. Despite the flash suggesting otherwise, both Bart and Benny have golden/green eyes, though I'm not entirely sure whether they are likely to change in the near future - so far, only Bart's fur has developed rather noticeably, whilst Benny, except for his ever-lengthening body and tall form, has remained the same. Together, I couldn't imagine Bart and Benny feeling any happier, and I hope that their two other brothers experience the same feelings, who happily received a new home shortly before Christmas.

What with my life being jam-packed with constantly taking pictures and hanging out with my beloved furry friends, it is a wonder that I still find time to write all about them here, but that's kittens for you!

Claiming a Slice of Happiness: The Things which Place a Smile on My Face

As a teenager who was literally born 'to moan' (thanks to my more-irritating-than-possible brother's statements, which have unfortunately been permanently inscribed into my head) and is quicker than an Olympic athlete to complain about whatever my problems may be - running out of oh-so-perfect red apples at the weekend probably wouldn't count as a full-on disaster in the majority of people's eyes, yet that fact still doesn't prevent me from flying into panic mode whilst clad in kitten-patterned pyjamas - you would possibly burst out laughing and allow saltier-than-sea tears to stream down your face at the thought of my claiming a cake-sized slice of happiness all for myself since I don't particularly make it easy to appreciate, uh, constant downpours of misery-inducing rain and the eighteen bars of Ivory Coast dark chocolate which my mum bought for me during a supermarket promotion, one of which is already being eyed up by my unnormally greedy brother.

Yes, letting a square of pure indulgence melt inside my mouth provokes a hint of pleasure to spread around my body when I've switched to relax mode and flicking through fashion magazines which come free with the newspaper on Sunday afternoons is welcomed with outstretched arms after dedicating more than an hour to moisturizing my drier-than-desert feet which sadly have a tendency to reek of smelly cheese - a food which I forcibly avoid at all costs unless a scrunched-up face and a pale complexion quickly turning the colour green is your rather sick idea of entertainment - but, as with many things in the ever-so-complicated means of living which we iTunes-listening humans refer to as life, there will always be certain aspects and interests which will grab our attention quicker than another dreaded re-run of the aged Carry On films.

OK, you needn't guess which activities hold my concentration for a longer period than an hour spent studying the best method of creaming a waist-expanding cake - writing on paper, typing on an oh-too-slow laptop, threatening to lose my sanity when football is all but discussed and watched during the whole weekend, etc - but I've come to realize that hobbies are definitely not the end- and be-all of what unleashes the largest amount of happiness into our lives: from applying a layer of liquid eyeliner as thick as whipped cream in a style which would somehow receive a seal of approval from my semi-make-up artist, semi-baker mum to my lucky stars granting my wishes of stroking a particularly jolly Benny (a.k.a Hissy Kitty, who retreats into the comfort of his beloved monkey toy after a long day spent in the sausage-scented kitchen), I could lose count of the countless things which place a crooked, yet joyful smile on my lips! And it is only when I sit down in my chair (the fake leather covers of which are starting to get ripped, though in quite a startling manner like my torrentous mood) that I can immerse myself in an ocean of appreciation for everything which brings me joy during those harder-than-ever times in my life, so today I have constructed a list of all things (well, what I am able to remember at around nine thirty on a cloudy Saturday morning) which play seemingly insignificant, yet deeply meaningful roles in the manic eyes of a half-asleep teenager.

Everyone, as I have probably declared for the one hundredth or so time, is different and so my ideas of happiness may strike you as unintelligibly bizarre, but I've grown used to standing out of the crowd for steering clear of donning bubblegum pink Crocs and endorsing my passion for cut-price boxes of blackberries as I see a member of the local Weightwatchers club seek pleasure from the container of a spicy-flavoured Pot Noodle in the corner of my watchful eye: why should circumstances change for my views of engaging in Jelly Babies-infused excitement and expressing profound gratitude in return for being the recipient of law-themed novel? Anyway, here goes:

1. Playing with over-excited kittens: Before the thought even dares to cross your mind, my two five-month old kitten, affection-seeking Bart (who has remarkably mastered the skill of curving his pouting lips into a half-smirk, half-cheeky smile, which is reminiscent of my former 'Jelly Belly' pal, Jerry) and timid Benny - who, unlike his slightly chunkier brother, has been draped in numerous layers of admirable beauty, most noticeably with his silkier-than-silk (sorry if that hardly makes any sense!) fur coat - have not developed a worrying addiction to sugary cans of Red Bull, despite their remarkable levels of endless energy. From the moment they are carried down the stairs in their Leapfrog green basket to their second home (in other words, the glorious land of food awaits in the form of an ordinary kitchen) to the time they return to their initially tidy bedroom, Bart and Benny are bursting with excitement whenever they participate in energetic games around the rooms, which usually results in giving me a headache as I'm always unable to keep up with the playful pair!
Out of the two, Bart definitely plays up to his role of attention-seeker because of his overwhelming confidence, which sometimes has a tendency to overflow into the disliked form of cockiness if he fails to behave as calmly as his quieter brother, Benny. At the moment, Bart particularly enjoys racing around the kitchen in a frantic search for a small red ball (no, no, I'm not referring to the giantiac spot getting ready to burst on my inflamed chin!) and even Benny gets a massive sense of enjoyment from joining his brother from time to time, so I feel immensely pleased that the pair have blossomed right in front of my eyes - and also magically transformed into larger and more sociable creatures - within the space of six or so weeks since my family adopted them from an animal rescue centre.
Watching my two new babies play and enjoy the attention they constantly receive from myself makes me just about want to explode with happiness because it means the entire world to me - who cares about recording the latest episode of juicier-than-ever Revenge if two fun-loving kittens represent a wonderful sense of euphoria in my life? Well, I would hope that I could grab my hands onto both because I do need a small break from handling a kitten more excitable than an One Direction fan claiming tickets for a concert from time to time. And stop draining my parents' bank account to buy numerous boxes of plasters when Benny chooses to take a swipe at my already-cut hand.


2. Watching a beautiful sunset: Yeah, this one will probably strike you as the most boring representation of obtaining happiness, but what better way to drain my Canon camera of battery than to snap up countless pictures of a glorious sunset?
Like many things, falling in love with the wonderful sight of a setting sun may only interest girls, but I just can't help sighing happily as I see a long, sunny day slip away in the most beautiful of endings: skies resembling colourful scoops of raspberry ice cream and orange clouds as fluffy as sundaes topped with whipped cream provoke a stream of happiness to spread through my veins and ignite a peacefully burning fire to warm my whole body, which comes to an abrupt stop whilst gazing outside a half-open window.
I somewhat prefer the sight of the sun during the winter - obviously when I'm not sitting in the front seat of the car and run the risk of being blinded by overly bright sunshine - because it's beauty is more subdued, yet it still tells a more remarkable story and captivates my attention completely. In twenty or so years' time, I hope that part of myself still appreciates poking my head out of a window - along with running the risk of catching a chill from the ice cold temperatures - and being astounded by a sunset as though I had never set eyes upon one in my entire life. And oh, maybe I could be madly in love with an oh-so-handsome boyfriend by then who would take his eyes off the football results on his phone for a moment or two to enjoy the jubilant end of the day with me. So I can hope.

3. Hearing my dad hum tunelessly. Part of myself feels torn over this one - do I really love the over-played tune which my dad always hums whilst I'm trying to concentrate on finishing a Sudoku puzzle or does it push me over the oh-too-dangerous edge due its powerful tendency to annoy? I don't know, but I think that my dad has been humming for so many years that I have somewhat grown immune to being inflicted by its powers to irritate me immensely; bearing in mind that being forced to watch football or clean the kittens' litter tray are my main two options on a Sunday afternoon, listening to Dad's tune is pretty much a gift from the miserable grey sky, despite its lack of potential popularity on YouTube. If Dad knows what that website is.

And as my wrists are beginning to ache intensely after dedicating ninety minutes to my frustratingly slow laptop, I'll finish it off at number 4 - enjoy!

4. Chocolate: Only one perfect word had to declare my passion for raw cocoa beans and smooth, delicious texture: without chocolate, how would I feel inspired to unleash my hidden devilish side and steal a blackcurrant Jelly Baby from my brother's bag of sweets? Chocolate, without a doubt, is an inspiration and a potential muse, though it possibly don't quite fit the bill like a Texan supermodel or painfully gorgeous actress. Three paragraphs needn't be used to express my love for the tasty treat because only a few sentences can describe how much I enjoy every single mouthful without boring my readers to a cocoa-induced death! Forget swimming with dolphins or bobbing my head along to a piano solo on the Minecraft game: chocolate, alongside revisiting childhood films as a spot-faced teen and kicking my brother in the leg with a strength I never knew existed, creates a happier atmosphere and secures my elation like a long-desired purchase of a Prada handbag.

And as I claim my hands upon a larger-than-imaginable slice of chocolate cake (in my dreams for now until my birthday in a fortnights' time), a pint-sized amount of happiness has been enjoyed: what will you do with yours?

Escaping Life Through TV

Although you may not instantly realize it to look at my fluffy jumper-clad form (purchased during a terrific online sale in the smallest, yet snuggliest size, natch) and take notice of my remarkable habits which also includes a feverish delight in being taken away by a captivating book and drawling at the oh-so-heavenly sight of the birthday cake I intend to make at the end of the month, watching television doesn't particularly stand out as a large and highly important part of my life.

The reason why, you innocently ask, as you struggle to get out off the sofa in a red-faced, sweat-trickling rush? What with my natural preferences to receive maximum enjoyment through spending numerous hours in front of another screen - it needn't take two to tango in order to realize the desktop-sized screen which I'm talking about - why should I count away the time through sitting down once again to be drawn into a fictional world (the only exception tends to be documentaries based in a near-riotous secondary schools, a show of which I'm bursting with impatience to return to our screens) when I could be doing something more meaningful and achievable with my ever-so-precious time? Perhaps mentioning my excitable passion for a school-themed programme has broken the previously magical spell which I had cast to represent a different part to my novel-addicted personality, but I guess that the truth ought to be told in front of my adoring fans (if any do exist): as soon as the sun has firmly disappeared behind numerous dark-as-my-mood (only during my thankfully rare moments of pure teenage fury) clouds and a glimpse of the moon can be seen through my window, I race to the living room and grab the TV remote to catch up with my favourite programmes, being instantly taken for an exciting ride to an universe similar in appearance to my own, yet entirely free of factory-produced Cornish pasties and sale-purchased Adidas tracksuits threatening to ruin my unveiled enjoyment.

Yes, yes, I know that I may sound a little overly dramatic with my descriptions and could appear dangerously far-fetched when I tell of my stories related to hissing kittens (one of which already seems to share a similar personality to my own, which, in hindsight, is quite a startling thought) and fights over who dominates The Sofa for the duration of the evening, but who am I to avoid the honest fact that I do immerse myself in heartfelt pleasure over the prospect of hiding away from razor-sharp claws and discussions over Jose Mourinho (courtesy of my brother being a loud and intensely proud Chelsea supporter) for a couple of hours per evening, typically in the comforting form of remaining glued to a 32-inch television?

Of course, my mood-lifting joy rapidly transforms into a moody sulk whenever I'm faced with the unfortunate problem of having absolutely nothing to view, whether it is regarding a film or a lack of interesting programmes being aired on TV, but I suppose that everybody is prone to getting caught up in such a frustrating moment when it comes to either discovering that none of your clothes are suitable for a date or the food lying around your fridge simply cannot be used together in a meal together, though I wouldn't put it past mad food scientist Heston Blumenthal (well, I'm not entirely sure whether he studied science at school or university, but you don't create slimy snail porridge for no reason, do you?) to come up with some wacky ideas which would make your eyes pop out of your head. Besides, when I couldn't imagine feeling happier and my dark brown hair happens to shine more prominently than Hissy Benny's silky-as-milk-chocolate fur coat, hardly a single obstacle - maybe except the sturdy wooden gate guarding my kittens from a prison-inspired escape in the Land of Food, a.k.a the kitchen - can stand in my way of being transported to another scenario and forgetting about the dry skin which I somehow never bother to scrub away on my size seven feet. Well, let's commence with my love of television, OK?

Since I was a young and pink-lipped child (without resorting to sticking on a dark shade of magenta lipstick, though I barely knew anything about cosmetics at the tender age of three), television has been present in my life and I've grown up watching countless programmes about yellow dress-donning puppets, computer-generated half-dressed dolls and even a large, imposing bear whose orange-coloured coat failed to co-ordinate with his 'big blue house' - but who cares about these childhood favourites when they are no longer on my expanded radar? Nowadays, I cannot prevent myself from being drawn to fantasy-themed shows where pale-skinned vampires (I was going to say 'creatures' instead, but I might as well use the V word for once and for all) rule the town and modern-day witches with cleavage as heavily exposed as a Playboy bunny save the day because I also share a love for those stories in the physical form of a book - some passions die hard, right?

In all honesty, I'm incapable of mustering up a logical answer for which I'm interested in myths, most of which are represented in today's culture, but perhaps it plays an important part in my desire to escape from the hassles of daily life; unless the myths are proven to be true, I'd have to be sleep-walking through town or trapped in a seemingly realistic dream to imagine that blood-sucking vampires, hairier-than-my-unshaven-legs werewolves or broom-flying witches would be trawling through the street through the dead of an all-too-rare quiet night. Mythological creatures could not be possibly further from my remarkably frank reality of keeping my head glued to the Algebra section in my maths book and peeling (and eating, if my mum's head isn't peeking in my direction) carrots in preparation of a Sunday roast, which explains my reasons for which I fall head over two-inch heels for characters wonderfully unique to people whom I regard whilst walking around town.

Alongside a soft spot for programmes such as the legendary Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which kicked off my long-running interest in sci-fi at the age of ten) and sister-oriented Charmed, I couldn't have bitten into a juicier apple than the soap-inspired Desperate Housewives, which has remained a favourite of my equally engaged family almost ever since it first aired on our screens. From the moment my brother and I pressed 'Play' on the remote, it didn't take a single heartbeat to fall in love with the housewives - all of which I grew to like in their separate ways - and the idyllic-looking street where they reside, heavenly Wisteria Lane. Even to this day, I still dream of moving to an area as beautiful and perfect as Fairview because its appearance reminds me of my life-long want to live amongst a society as close and caring as what is depicted on the show, though I quickly learnt that you cannot instantly form an unchangeable opinion on the basis of presentation - who, if one was aware of countless affairs, problems and even murders taking place underneath their noses, would yearn to remain in a place which is not as sticky sweet as the name and pleasant image suggests? Still, none of the spectacular, yet horrifying storylines provoked me to switch the TV off because I never failed to enjoy what I now call my favourite programme, standing aside many others which have come and gone through my TV set over the past few years!

And undoubtedly, age matures you in so many ways that it doesn't necessarily dawn upon you until a particular occasion arises, which, in this case, relates to television programmes - had you been a couple of years younger, would you have been able to stay gripped on the edge of your seat during an episode of CSI like you may be now? Certain subjects may be enough to send us into a restful doze if we are incapable of appreciating the hidden message lying beneath the glossy outfits and catchy theme tune; if I'd had my own way (and kept control of the remote, which had this time been held in the hands of my father), I would've put on another re-run of The Simpsons whilst watching Revenge for the very first time because I couldn't exactly figure out the plot or grow accustomed to its suspicious characters. Three seasons on, I eagerly look forward to catching up with Emily/Amanda (it takes ages until you get used to the story and characters) once a week, which also enables me to spend some quality time with my dad whilst enjoying reliable and entertaining American TV.

OK, the last way I wish to portray myself is to brag about my interests - including ones involving a screen as wide as Weightwatcher's very worst nightmare - and the shows which captivate me the most strongly may not generate the same amount of fascination for another person, so I have no desire to shove my opinions down anybody's throat in order to promote programmes which I enjoy immensely. TV is not for everybody and hey, I'm not entirely bothered about using it as the sole source of entertainment all the time - give a laptop (with internet access, of course) and the password to my Blogger account to write about TV instead of watching it any day!

Whatever happens, I'm just going to carry on escaping my life - which I do enjoy living when spots aren't dominating my T-zone and I occasionally forget the meaning of erratic hormones - through sitting on my leather sofa and catching up with my favourite shows. And who knows which programmes will grab my attention in the near future?