Recently I've realised that as I get older, things become far less black and white. Decisions are harder to make. Things aren't so simple. This is prompted by a Facebook quiz (okay fine, I'm a bit of a loser) in which it asked "what would you do if you found out you were pregnant?". Well, firstly, I'd cry lots, and be in a fair amount of shock, and wonder if I was carrying the next Messiah, but aside from that...I don't know. I know you can never really know how you'll react to such things until they happen, but if you had asked me that question when I was 15, or 17, or indeed 18...I would have said that I would abort it. But now...well, it would hardly be great timing. I'm single. I'm a student. I have no income. But having said all that, I would be better equipped now to look after a child than I was at 16. None of this pondering matters anyway, since (I feel I should point out) I'm not pregnant.
But it's not just this question. So many others become grey and fuzzy and the borders between what is possible and what isn't have changed. Being able to drive has changed a lot of things, because I can take myself places (dependent on the use of Mum's car, dammit), and do things by myself. My expectations of life have changed and I feel more able to do...well, anything. I'm rambling, I know.
Other people have noticed this, right? Getting older makes life, and decisions, more complicated. Nothing is as simple anymore. "Impossible" isn't neccessarily so, anymore.
Friday 30 May 2008
Wednesday 28 May 2008
Ugly Day
I'm having an Ugly Day. This has led to me not feeling like going to see my grandparents, to me snapping at a shop assistant who asked me for ID (fair enough, I probably don't look 21, though I like to think I might look 18), and to me generally feeling annoyed and pissed off.
There are direct correlations between me having an Ugly Day and the following factors...whether or not I've bothered to dry/straighten my hair properly, how much makeup I've got on, and what I'm wearing. Like many girls, I reeeeally can't be arsed to put on full slap in the mornings etc, and this morning I went for a run and when I showered I just wanted to relax, not put on makeup and spend time drying my hair nicely. Plus,. it's raining, so there's not much point anyway!
When I have Ugly Days, people often tell me I look fine, and actually, they're probably being honest. I'm a firm believer that we notice our own flaws far more than anyone else does (which is why only about 2 people know what it is that I hate most about my appearance...if everyone knew, they'd all notice it all the time). But should my appearance really contribute to my mood that much? After all, beauty is only skin deep, right? And I'm not going to magically become Disney-Princess-beautiful just because I put a bit more makeup on or because I straighten my hair. But the point is, it does affect how I feel about myself, and other people, and I can feel very tense and uncomfortable if I feel I look ugly.
Do boys have Ugly Days? Are theirs worse because they generally lack the arsenal of concealer, eyeshadow, powder, mascara, lip gloss, and my new genie-in-a-bottle, Lip Plump (Benefit, go buy, go buy!)? Or does appearance only affect me in this way?!
People are all the same
And we only get judged by what we do
Personality reflects name
And if I'm ugly then
So are you.
There are direct correlations between me having an Ugly Day and the following factors...whether or not I've bothered to dry/straighten my hair properly, how much makeup I've got on, and what I'm wearing. Like many girls, I reeeeally can't be arsed to put on full slap in the mornings etc, and this morning I went for a run and when I showered I just wanted to relax, not put on makeup and spend time drying my hair nicely. Plus,. it's raining, so there's not much point anyway!
When I have Ugly Days, people often tell me I look fine, and actually, they're probably being honest. I'm a firm believer that we notice our own flaws far more than anyone else does (which is why only about 2 people know what it is that I hate most about my appearance...if everyone knew, they'd all notice it all the time). But should my appearance really contribute to my mood that much? After all, beauty is only skin deep, right? And I'm not going to magically become Disney-Princess-beautiful just because I put a bit more makeup on or because I straighten my hair. But the point is, it does affect how I feel about myself, and other people, and I can feel very tense and uncomfortable if I feel I look ugly.
Do boys have Ugly Days? Are theirs worse because they generally lack the arsenal of concealer, eyeshadow, powder, mascara, lip gloss, and my new genie-in-a-bottle, Lip Plump (Benefit, go buy, go buy!)? Or does appearance only affect me in this way?!
People are all the same
And we only get judged by what we do
Personality reflects name
And if I'm ugly then
So are you.
Monday 26 May 2008
Bittersweet
To think I might not see those eyes
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do
Yin/Yang is a chinese concept that there are two opposing and yet complementary aspects to every situation. Essentially, in every light there is a little dark, and in every dark there is a little light.
In one way, this is good. It means that when things seem impossibly dark, there is a little hope left, a tiny part of goodness that keeps us going.
On the other hand, every good thing that happens is tinged with something bad, stopping it from being perfect. I guess, today, I just feel a bit angry that life is like this. Good, but bad. So bittersweet.
Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess
Makes it so hard not to cry
And as we say our long goodbye
I nearly do
Yin/Yang is a chinese concept that there are two opposing and yet complementary aspects to every situation. Essentially, in every light there is a little dark, and in every dark there is a little light.
In one way, this is good. It means that when things seem impossibly dark, there is a little hope left, a tiny part of goodness that keeps us going.
On the other hand, every good thing that happens is tinged with something bad, stopping it from being perfect. I guess, today, I just feel a bit angry that life is like this. Good, but bad. So bittersweet.
Have heart my dear
We're bound to be afraid
Even if it's just for a few days
Making up for all this mess
Friday 23 May 2008
In lieu of packing...
I have been reading.
Ian McEwan: On Chesil Beach. I really, honestly, truly, recommend this. It's short; I read it in one sitting today, but Ian McEwan fits so much emotion and tangibility into a single sentence that it doesn't need to be longer. And, I feel, it teaches a valuable lesson. Read it, and if you've already read it, I hope you loved it as much as I did.
(I also bought Belle De Jour: Secret Diary of a Call Girl as trashy train-reading last weekend, and it was actually really well written, strong and lingering. Read that too, if you don't mind a bit of filth.)
Ian McEwan: On Chesil Beach. I really, honestly, truly, recommend this. It's short; I read it in one sitting today, but Ian McEwan fits so much emotion and tangibility into a single sentence that it doesn't need to be longer. And, I feel, it teaches a valuable lesson. Read it, and if you've already read it, I hope you loved it as much as I did.
(I also bought Belle De Jour: Secret Diary of a Call Girl as trashy train-reading last weekend, and it was actually really well written, strong and lingering. Read that too, if you don't mind a bit of filth.)
Wednesday 21 May 2008
The mysterious life of a student
Yes. That's a red onion. Encapsulated in ice.
Does it need an explanation?
Monday 19 May 2008
Era
Era (n)
How long is an era?
Personally, I've always thought of eras as being lonnnnng periods of time, but thinking about it, there's no need for that definition. It's simply the time when certain things happen, etc. School was an era. College was an era. Uni will be an era.
My friend Helena graduates this year. Assuming she gets a 2:1, she will be going to Edinburgh to do an MSc. I know her through bellringing, and tonight was her last practice night with us. Tonight was also my last practice night before the summer, so there's a lot of people I won't be seeing until late September. Two of them, Peter and Claire, are off to university (Durham and Bristol I think, respectively) so it seems likely I'll never see them again.
It's all a bit sad really.. not really sad, but a bit. I'm feeling pensive and melancholy and, if I admit it, a bit old. It seems like I've lived through so many eras already, so many changing friendships, so much change in my life full stop. I know I'm only 20, and I am looking forward to my life so much, but at the same time part of me wishes things could just pause and I could hold onto them for a little bit longer.
| 1. | a period of time marked by distinctive character, events, etc.: The use of steam for power marked the beginning of an era. |
How long is an era?
Personally, I've always thought of eras as being lonnnnng periods of time, but thinking about it, there's no need for that definition. It's simply the time when certain things happen, etc. School was an era. College was an era. Uni will be an era.
My friend Helena graduates this year. Assuming she gets a 2:1, she will be going to Edinburgh to do an MSc. I know her through bellringing, and tonight was her last practice night with us. Tonight was also my last practice night before the summer, so there's a lot of people I won't be seeing until late September. Two of them, Peter and Claire, are off to university (Durham and Bristol I think, respectively) so it seems likely I'll never see them again.
It's all a bit sad really.. not really sad, but a bit. I'm feeling pensive and melancholy and, if I admit it, a bit old. It seems like I've lived through so many eras already, so many changing friendships, so much change in my life full stop. I know I'm only 20, and I am looking forward to my life so much, but at the same time part of me wishes things could just pause and I could hold onto them for a little bit longer.
Saturday 17 May 2008
Abuse in the name of love
On the train home on Thursday, I was reading Closer magazine. Top-quality literature, I know! There was a story in it entitled "I'm 43st but my man's still feeding me up!"
Basically, this woman is a size 40 and her boyfriend finds her more attractive the bigger she gets. It's such an incredibly fucked up story, really sad. Here are some quotes that I feel are true gems.
"'I hardly ever wear clothes at home', she proudly admits. 'But in the bedroom I dress up in sexy leopard-print lingerie. G-strings are best because they show off my big butt.'"
"'When I got too big for normal scales we started going to a lorry weighing centre to check my progress.'"
And then, joy of joys, they talk in detail about their sex life.
"'Our favourite position is doggy style...I can't be on top anymore because I'd crush [her boyfriend].'"
Hilarity and mild nausea aside, this story just baffles me. The central point of it is that her boyfriend is encouraging her to eat more, to get fatter, for his sexual pleasure. She can barely walk. She has heartburn and struggles to breathe. She gets fungal infections under her rolls of fat. She knows she's going to die; doctors have told her as much time and time again. And yet, she keeps eating. And what is perhaps more shocking than the fact that she's ignoring medical advice is that her boyfriend is encouraging her to do this.
The article ends with these lines:
"Patty and Sketty have agreed she'll stop gaining weight when she reaches 45 stone. 'That'll be the perfect size', says Patty. And naively, Sketty agrees. 'I don't want her to be unhealthily large- I adore her too much'."
What? WHAT?! "I don't want her to be unhealthily large." Honestly, I'm speechless. Assuming the man isn't a complete imbecile and does actually understand what "she's going to die soon" means, that is so messed up. Either his own sexual wants and needs matter more than her health, or he doesn't believe the doctors, or he's confusing love with abuse. Because that's what it is...abuse.
For your reading and viewing pleasure, the article, plus photos, is here.
Basically, this woman is a size 40 and her boyfriend finds her more attractive the bigger she gets. It's such an incredibly fucked up story, really sad. Here are some quotes that I feel are true gems.
"'I hardly ever wear clothes at home', she proudly admits. 'But in the bedroom I dress up in sexy leopard-print lingerie. G-strings are best because they show off my big butt.'"
"'When I got too big for normal scales we started going to a lorry weighing centre to check my progress.'"
And then, joy of joys, they talk in detail about their sex life.
"'Our favourite position is doggy style...I can't be on top anymore because I'd crush [her boyfriend].'"
Hilarity and mild nausea aside, this story just baffles me. The central point of it is that her boyfriend is encouraging her to eat more, to get fatter, for his sexual pleasure. She can barely walk. She has heartburn and struggles to breathe. She gets fungal infections under her rolls of fat. She knows she's going to die; doctors have told her as much time and time again. And yet, she keeps eating. And what is perhaps more shocking than the fact that she's ignoring medical advice is that her boyfriend is encouraging her to do this.
The article ends with these lines:
"Patty and Sketty have agreed she'll stop gaining weight when she reaches 45 stone. 'That'll be the perfect size', says Patty. And naively, Sketty agrees. 'I don't want her to be unhealthily large- I adore her too much'."
What? WHAT?! "I don't want her to be unhealthily large." Honestly, I'm speechless. Assuming the man isn't a complete imbecile and does actually understand what "she's going to die soon" means, that is so messed up. Either his own sexual wants and needs matter more than her health, or he doesn't believe the doctors, or he's confusing love with abuse. Because that's what it is...abuse.
For your reading and viewing pleasure, the article, plus photos, is here.
Tuesday 13 May 2008
Being single
http://xkcd.com/420/
There seem to be so many negative things that come from being single, but recently the combination of this xkcd, and a certain person, have reminded me of the sheer bliss that can come from it.
There is nothing in life that will ever match up to getting to know someone, and knowing that it can go absolutely anywhere, that absolutely anything could come of it. Maybe nothing. Maybe friendship. Maybe more.
It's the sheer possibility that makes me love being young, free and single.
There seem to be so many negative things that come from being single, but recently the combination of this xkcd, and a certain person, have reminded me of the sheer bliss that can come from it.
There is nothing in life that will ever match up to getting to know someone, and knowing that it can go absolutely anywhere, that absolutely anything could come of it. Maybe nothing. Maybe friendship. Maybe more.
It's the sheer possibility that makes me love being young, free and single.
Synonymous
Stu·dent (n)
1. a person formally engaged in learning, esp. one enrolled in a school or college; pupil: a student at Yale.
Synonyms:
Stupid, imbecile, ignoramus
Today we phoned our letting agency to let them know that we have a wasp problem. Every morning this week I've been woken up by one being in my room, whether or not I'd had my window open. They're all through the house, mostly upstairs. And yesterday, we had a Hornet Incident TM.
Now, being a country bumpkin, I'm pretty au fait with insects. My dad keeps honey bees, and having had them crawling all over my hands (the rest of my body was covered with a bee suit), I know what they look like. We get wasp nests at home pretty much every summer. I know what wasps look like. And hornets aren't just queen wasps. They are horrific creatures. I know, too, what hornets look like.
Why, then, did the letting agents phone back to say "we phoned the exterminator guy, he said it can't be wasps because it's not the right season for them yet"?! The conversation then went as follows:
Me: No, they're wasps.
Them: Are you sure they're not bees?
Me: No, they're wasps.
Them: Bees do look a lot like wasps
Me: My dad keeps bees, I know what bees look like. These are wasps.
Them: I don't want bees being killed.
Me: Me neither. But these are wasps.
Them: Some bees look like wasps...with brown and yellow stripes
Me: Yes, true. We have wasps, though, not bees. And hornets, too.
Them: Hornets are unusual...they're not just big wasps.
Me: I know. They're a hell of a lot bigger than queen wasps.
Them: Are you sure it's not a type of bee?
Me: They're wasps! And hornets! It's warmer than normal, tell the exterminator bloke that they are wasps and I want them killed!
Them: *sigh* okay, if you're sure they aren't bees.
Me: They're wasps.
Them: Okay. I'll call you back in a bit.
That's the condensed version.
I may be a student, but I'm not completely stupid.
1. a person formally engaged in learning, esp. one enrolled in a school or college; pupil: a student at Yale.
Synonyms:
Stupid, imbecile, ignoramus
Today we phoned our letting agency to let them know that we have a wasp problem. Every morning this week I've been woken up by one being in my room, whether or not I'd had my window open. They're all through the house, mostly upstairs. And yesterday, we had a Hornet Incident TM.
Now, being a country bumpkin, I'm pretty au fait with insects. My dad keeps honey bees, and having had them crawling all over my hands (the rest of my body was covered with a bee suit), I know what they look like. We get wasp nests at home pretty much every summer. I know what wasps look like. And hornets aren't just queen wasps. They are horrific creatures. I know, too, what hornets look like.
Why, then, did the letting agents phone back to say "we phoned the exterminator guy, he said it can't be wasps because it's not the right season for them yet"?! The conversation then went as follows:
Me: No, they're wasps.
Them: Are you sure they're not bees?
Me: No, they're wasps.
Them: Bees do look a lot like wasps
Me: My dad keeps bees, I know what bees look like. These are wasps.
Them: I don't want bees being killed.
Me: Me neither. But these are wasps.
Them: Some bees look like wasps...with brown and yellow stripes
Me: Yes, true. We have wasps, though, not bees. And hornets, too.
Them: Hornets are unusual...they're not just big wasps.
Me: I know. They're a hell of a lot bigger than queen wasps.
Them: Are you sure it's not a type of bee?
Me: They're wasps! And hornets! It's warmer than normal, tell the exterminator bloke that they are wasps and I want them killed!
Them: *sigh* okay, if you're sure they aren't bees.
Me: They're wasps.
Them: Okay. I'll call you back in a bit.
That's the condensed version.
I may be a student, but I'm not completely stupid.
Saturday 10 May 2008
Exams R Shit
My exam desk today had "EXAMS: UNIVERSITY OF KENT" printed in the top left hand corner. And underneath the 'exams' bit, someone had scrawled "r shit". Not "are shit", even. This really bothered me and I'm not sure why!
Exams are definitely shit. I really really don't enjoy them, especially not this year. I don't actually know anybody who actively enjoys sitting in a room for 2 or 3 solid hours, getting hand cramp and shiny fingers and brain numbness (oh, and I have a blister on my finger from writing so much. Pfft.) while concentrating incredibly hard. But having said that, once I've got into the exam hall and sat down, I sort of switch to a frame of mind whereby I think "I have two hours to prove myself. Two hours to try really bloody hard and do my best. Two hours and it'll be over." And consequently, I get on with it and deal with the shitness. Admittedly, sometimes I leave half an hour or so early, but I've always ensured I've written absolutely everything I could have, no matter how little that is, how little I revised, or how stupid the questions made me feel. I know that if I try really hard, I'll probably not fail.
However, the person who graffitti-ed the above on the desk clearly didn't respond like I do to exams, and decided instead to spend their time constructively damaging uni property, and in bloody text talk, no less!
Having thought about it, that may have been what's annoyed me the most!
4 down. 2 to go.
Exams are definitely shit. I really really don't enjoy them, especially not this year. I don't actually know anybody who actively enjoys sitting in a room for 2 or 3 solid hours, getting hand cramp and shiny fingers and brain numbness (oh, and I have a blister on my finger from writing so much. Pfft.) while concentrating incredibly hard. But having said that, once I've got into the exam hall and sat down, I sort of switch to a frame of mind whereby I think "I have two hours to prove myself. Two hours to try really bloody hard and do my best. Two hours and it'll be over." And consequently, I get on with it and deal with the shitness. Admittedly, sometimes I leave half an hour or so early, but I've always ensured I've written absolutely everything I could have, no matter how little that is, how little I revised, or how stupid the questions made me feel. I know that if I try really hard, I'll probably not fail.
However, the person who graffitti-ed the above on the desk clearly didn't respond like I do to exams, and decided instead to spend their time constructively damaging uni property, and in bloody text talk, no less!
Having thought about it, that may have been what's annoyed me the most!
4 down. 2 to go.
Worrying
This morning, I went downstairs to get breakfast. And the front door was wide open. It's not the first time this has happened, by a long shot...The boys came home around 9pm and I saw them shut the door then, so at a guess I'd say James went out for a cigarette after I'd gone to bed, and didn't bother to actually shut the door.
The boys do have a habit of just shoving the door behind them which doesn't always ensure it shuts.
Now, I know I'm a worrier, and when I'm home alone I freak myself out at dark windows and convince myself I heard footsteps on the stairs, and that I always think about the worst case scenario, but is that so wrong? Clearly the boys don't worry about this sort of thing, or they'd be more careful.
Admittedly, the fact is that it doesn't seem that anything was taken, but I'm really glad I've taken to locking my bedroom door at night. Someone could have walked in and taken anything they wanted, and if my bedroom had been unlocked then they could have walked into my room and attacked me. I mean, there are some seriously unbalanced people in this world. I know nobody did, but they could have!
Maybe I am just paranoid and should learn to chill out more, relax, be more like the boys.
Hm. Maybe not.
The boys do have a habit of just shoving the door behind them which doesn't always ensure it shuts.
Now, I know I'm a worrier, and when I'm home alone I freak myself out at dark windows and convince myself I heard footsteps on the stairs, and that I always think about the worst case scenario, but is that so wrong? Clearly the boys don't worry about this sort of thing, or they'd be more careful.
Admittedly, the fact is that it doesn't seem that anything was taken, but I'm really glad I've taken to locking my bedroom door at night. Someone could have walked in and taken anything they wanted, and if my bedroom had been unlocked then they could have walked into my room and attacked me. I mean, there are some seriously unbalanced people in this world. I know nobody did, but they could have!
Maybe I am just paranoid and should learn to chill out more, relax, be more like the boys.
Hm. Maybe not.
Tuesday 6 May 2008
Pain
Pain is such an odd concept. I wrote a presentation on the subject recently and found it fascinating. Anyway, without getting deeply into my revision, which wouldn't be interesting for anyone...today, I was shown this, and I just love the descriptions!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schmidt_Sting_Pain_Index
It's only pain
It only hurts
I am only down on the floor
Where I have been before
And I'll be here again
Though it hurts to lose you
It's only pain.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schmidt_Sting_Pain_Index
It's only pain
It only hurts
I am only down on the floor
Where I have been before
And I'll be here again
Though it hurts to lose you
It's only pain.
Monday 5 May 2008
Vanishing Acts
Baby I'll call up a storm
Keep you safe from harm
But you only you only disappear
You only you only disappear
But this is all I can say
I have lost my way
But you only you only disappear
You only you only disappear.
Strange what makes us feel safe, isn't it? What we wrap ourselves up in and trust to be unchanging?
Keep you safe from harm
But you only you only disappear
You only you only disappear
But this is all I can say
I have lost my way
But you only you only disappear
You only you only disappear.
Strange what makes us feel safe, isn't it? What we wrap ourselves up in and trust to be unchanging?
Sunday 4 May 2008
Summertime [childhood music]
Summertime, and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich
And your mama's good lookin'
So hush, little baby
Don't you cry...
Whilst lying in the sun today, I remembered this song, and how much I used to love singing it. I then realised it wasn't in my iTunes library, and then bought the whole Glory of Gershwin CD that we have at home. This is what I spent my childhood listening to. Obviously, I did the Spice Girl/B*Witched/A1/Westlife/Boyzone/911 thing too, but this is the stuff I listened to with my parents.
This is the stuff we'd put on the hi-fi in the summer, set the speakers outside, sing along and dance into the evening to. Music in my family was always more of a summer thing, and still is, really!
I know a lot of people who were brought up on Led Zep, Dire Straits, and other assorted cool bands. Maybe the stuff we listened to (The Beatles, ELO, Atlanta Rhythm Section, Santana...) wasn't quite as cool, but damn...they're good songs, and it's the stuff my parents listened to before my sister and I came along, which makes me smile :)
Maybe I shall meet him Sunday
Maybe Monday
Maybe not...
Still I'm sure to meet him one day
Maybe Tuesday
Will be my good news day
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high
Your daddy's rich
And your mama's good lookin'
So hush, little baby
Don't you cry...
Whilst lying in the sun today, I remembered this song, and how much I used to love singing it. I then realised it wasn't in my iTunes library, and then bought the whole Glory of Gershwin CD that we have at home. This is what I spent my childhood listening to. Obviously, I did the Spice Girl/B*Witched/A1/Westlife/Boyzone/911 thing too, but this is the stuff I listened to with my parents.
This is the stuff we'd put on the hi-fi in the summer, set the speakers outside, sing along and dance into the evening to. Music in my family was always more of a summer thing, and still is, really!
I know a lot of people who were brought up on Led Zep, Dire Straits, and other assorted cool bands. Maybe the stuff we listened to (The Beatles, ELO, Atlanta Rhythm Section, Santana...) wasn't quite as cool, but damn...they're good songs, and it's the stuff my parents listened to before my sister and I came along, which makes me smile :)
Maybe I shall meet him Sunday
Maybe Monday
Maybe not...
Still I'm sure to meet him one day
Maybe Tuesday
Will be my good news day
Que Sera, Sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera.
Fate is an interesting concept. Most people; well, most agnostic/atheist people, anyway...would say that they believe they have free will and act according to that. However, it seems common practice to shrug and say "if it's meant to be, it'll happen" or in retrospect; "we were meant to be". Really, that's an odd thing to say. In the case of romance and meeting your future wife/husband...quite often, the chances of actually meeting that person rely on so much; if a single link in the causality chain were removed, the whole thing would crumble. My sister, for instance, applied to Oxford for her BA. She was rejected and went to King's, where she met her long-term boyfriend. If you believe in fate, you'd say that even if she had got in to Oxford, they still would have met. But is that really that likely? I don't think so.
Hannah suggested that she felt foolish for feeling that saying an exam went well might be tempting fate and she would therefore do badly; foolish or not, I feel like that too; I also feel that wearing sunglasses will make the sky cloud over and that going out without an umbrella will lead to rain. I know how illogical this is, and yet I still catch myself thinking in that way and touching wood, or carrying out other superstitious activities (if you've ever seen me catch a glimpse of a single magpie, you'll know what I do).
It seems, then, that however logically we think, and however much we believe in free will, little parts of us cling onto fate and superstition and determinism.
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera.
Fate is an interesting concept. Most people; well, most agnostic/atheist people, anyway...would say that they believe they have free will and act according to that. However, it seems common practice to shrug and say "if it's meant to be, it'll happen" or in retrospect; "we were meant to be". Really, that's an odd thing to say. In the case of romance and meeting your future wife/husband...quite often, the chances of actually meeting that person rely on so much; if a single link in the causality chain were removed, the whole thing would crumble. My sister, for instance, applied to Oxford for her BA. She was rejected and went to King's, where she met her long-term boyfriend. If you believe in fate, you'd say that even if she had got in to Oxford, they still would have met. But is that really that likely? I don't think so.
Hannah suggested that she felt foolish for feeling that saying an exam went well might be tempting fate and she would therefore do badly; foolish or not, I feel like that too; I also feel that wearing sunglasses will make the sky cloud over and that going out without an umbrella will lead to rain. I know how illogical this is, and yet I still catch myself thinking in that way and touching wood, or carrying out other superstitious activities (if you've ever seen me catch a glimpse of a single magpie, you'll know what I do).
It seems, then, that however logically we think, and however much we believe in free will, little parts of us cling onto fate and superstition and determinism.
Thursday 1 May 2008
What's in a voice?
Following on from the recent spate of blogs about the importance of names and handwriting as a part of identity, I got to thinking about voices. Today, results of some research have told us that women's voices are more sexy when they are ovulating, and also, that men find higher-pitched voices more attractive.
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/womens-voices-sound-sexier-during-ovulation-818760.html
Does anyone actually like their own voice? On the whole, I don't think about it; but when I hear a recording of myself speaking, quite often I simply don't recognise myself, and aside from that, I think I sound terrible! The only things people have told me about my voice is that it's quite low-pitched, with a posh accent, and that on my mobile phone answerphone, I sound very sweet and innocent; which is presumably because I recorded it when I was about 12. Oh, and the first time I spoke on the phone to someone who went on to become a good friend, he asked me if I had a cold. I didn't.
I do, however, change my voice according to the company I am in. My best friend was surprised to hear me speaking in a much posher accent than normal when I met her dad (who I was scared of meeting!), and I speak like this around my dad's side of the family too. Around builders, electricians, plumbers etc...I take a lot of the 'posh' edge off of my accent, which is a bit shameful really! My dad does it too, which is utterly hilarious since he's the sort of person who pronounces "shower", "fire", and "flower" as "shah", "fah", and "flahh" respectively.
Your voice is a large part of your identity, I feel. It's this that enables someone to say "it's me" on the phone and for the other person to recognise them. But I'd never really thought about the attractiveness of someone's voice, except that some voices are bloody annoying. The speaking clock ones are nice, but then, they spend a lot of time finding the right person for that job! So, does how you speak affect how people think of you? What is in a voice?
http://www.independent.co.uk/news/science/womens-voices-sound-sexier-during-ovulation-818760.html
Does anyone actually like their own voice? On the whole, I don't think about it; but when I hear a recording of myself speaking, quite often I simply don't recognise myself, and aside from that, I think I sound terrible! The only things people have told me about my voice is that it's quite low-pitched, with a posh accent, and that on my mobile phone answerphone, I sound very sweet and innocent; which is presumably because I recorded it when I was about 12. Oh, and the first time I spoke on the phone to someone who went on to become a good friend, he asked me if I had a cold. I didn't.
I do, however, change my voice according to the company I am in. My best friend was surprised to hear me speaking in a much posher accent than normal when I met her dad (who I was scared of meeting!), and I speak like this around my dad's side of the family too. Around builders, electricians, plumbers etc...I take a lot of the 'posh' edge off of my accent, which is a bit shameful really! My dad does it too, which is utterly hilarious since he's the sort of person who pronounces "shower", "fire", and "flower" as "shah", "fah", and "flahh" respectively.
Your voice is a large part of your identity, I feel. It's this that enables someone to say "it's me" on the phone and for the other person to recognise them. But I'd never really thought about the attractiveness of someone's voice, except that some voices are bloody annoying. The speaking clock ones are nice, but then, they spend a lot of time finding the right person for that job! So, does how you speak affect how people think of you? What is in a voice?
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