My Time to Shine

Today was really something spectacular.

I’ve just come home from a holiday at my brothers place – not far from here, but a short plane ride away. It was a well-needed time off but along with any family gatherings, there’s of course irritations and annoyances. Either way, I can honestly say that I was taken care of for a solid ten days and I was very grateful for that.

Whilst on the train home from the airport –  I sat and I smiled. Perhaps I should give you the backstory to this smile. I recently applied for a writing position as I have been in and out of work at different high schools around England and this profession is turning me into a bitter woman who hates every minute of her job. That’s not why I moved here. In fact, I moved her almost for the sole reason to find a job that I love. Anyway, as I was applying for different teaching roles, I thought – why the hell couldn’t I be applying for a writing position? I have a degree in English and tons of writing experience, albeit non-professional, but still. I sent out my CV to some companies, thinking not much of it. I was asked in for an interview for a well-known company in London. I went for the interview almost two weeks ago, after which I was asked to write a few pieces for one of their less popular websites – sort of a trial/test. Yesterday, I was given back amazing feedback by a few members of the company and was offered the job.

I thought about how all of this began – not this being my job application, but me turning into a passionate person. I’ve always loved to write – but for a good few years, the light inside me was out and I stopped caring about things. It was only in 2012, when I started this blog, that I re-realised my passion for writing. Thinking back, what was it that re-lit that fire within me? That made me sit down and actually write and keep up the writing, to start my book and to then further my passions into photography and film? Well, and as oddly as this sounds – I feel as though I owe all of this to that one douche bag who I dated in 2012 that made me so heartbroken that I actually started this blog. I wonder if I would of ever sat down to start it under any other circumstances? And although I still feel fucked up and bad and weird feelings for that guy – I am here now, over three years of blogging, an almost complete book and a career in the industry that I love. I also felt as though I owed some of this success to my weight. As I am coining in and talking about my experience of being overweight and the humour – I almost feel as though my body is something to be proud of. It’s one of the reasons I am sitting with something to show for my life. And thirdly, I owe it to Korea. For changing and moulding me into a brand new, spirit-awakened person.

Thank you, universe. It’s my time to shine.

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My Two Cents (And Merry Christmas)

Last night, I thought about what I wanted to achieve in 2016. It didn’t take me long to reach the conclusion that I should skip all the bullshit of my not wanting to go out sometimes and not wanting to do something or meet someone because traveling and planning left with me anxiety but more so, I’ve just become stubborn in that, I don’t know how I’ll feel on the day, hence my lack of planning. It’s probably fair to say that I have missed many opportunities to meet people because of this.

Today, however, I feel as though I couldn’t be assed to change in that manner. I hate doing things that I hate doing and that’s just it. So, I won’t.

That’s my two cents. Merry Christmas. xx

Stories I’ll Remember.

I’m sure you’ve visited my blog thinking that it was going to be a bit of a laugh? How embarrassing! I have been complaining for about twenty-thousand consecutive years now. Re-reading some of my writing has been cringe-worthy to say the least. So then, let me sum up my life for the last seven months in England, using a different perspective – humour and light-hearted ridiculousness.

Seems I’m not really cut out for teaching that special breed that is English school children as they are rather cuntish but as I look back on the last few months having literally sat on the side of the road with my luggage, in Birmingham of all places, to getting very drunk outside a train station in London by myself on a Sunday with the occasional wee in the local Indian restaurant and friends popping over to say hi – I guess you could say that I am pretty much winning at life. And although I’ve mellowed out considerably, going from “I can’t believe I’m still alive!” to only letting my ex boyfriend finger bang me, these are the stories I’ll remember one day.

Life is a Catch 22.

Sitting at my newly assembled desk from Amazon, that an ex helped me build two days ago (I say helped, I didn’t really do much at all) listening to my “writing music”. The music I used to put on and listen to through my headphones in Korea when the world seemed like a chaotic mess of people talking a language I didn’t understand. Somehow, it annoyed me. I hated hearing the different intonations. I hated that I understood some of it and for that reason, couldn’t block it out but instead trying to configure what they were saying all of the time. I though the world would be much better surrounded by a language you did understand.

The desk is bare holding only a few items. My MacBook, a pencil case, a notebook, a can of Coke and my packet of anti-depressants. I wonder if life has actually changed that much at all? I spent a few moments before attempting this post, something that I hope turns out at least half decent as I am desperately trying to get out of the teaching industry and into something more artistic, making my list in my little book and popping my pills to make me feel better. I don’t feel better, though. My life seems like a catch 22. There is always something that makes me feel horrible in the place that I am in. In Korea, I craved the ability to form relationships with students but it was hard because of the language barrier. I thought the grass was greener on the other side, but I am afraid to admit that I don’t think green grass does at all exist.

Growing up I was often silenced and made to feel insignificant. It was a feeling, sometimes literal, that I would scream and no one would notice. I feel that way here. I’m not given any respect from the students in this country. For once, I want to be in a place where I am heard. A place physically, emotionally, mentally – where ever. I am sinking in this job and after doing so well every where else, I hate to admit that I feel as though I am sinking.