Sailing away

This post is the last thing I’ll write in my home before I move for summer. Between yesterday and today, my three housemates have packed up their things and left and yes. . . .there was a lot of tears. I’m to follow tomorrow, after a whole day of strenuous packing. Who knew my whole college life “only” fitted into eight bin bags, two suitcases and three backpacks. It’s a sad goodbye this time, because we’ll never live together again, because of the structure of our courses. Erasumus, placement, project and final year all don’t really cross paths too much. But it’s more of a bitter sweet goodbye. I’m incredibly happy to see not only my housemates, but the majority of my friends follow their passions and increase their work drive. However, here I am. And here I’m going to be when September comes.

I’m not sad that I didn’t opt for another year, that was 100% my decision and I know it.
I’m not sad that my friends are leaving because I know I’ll keep in touch with every single one of them with group chats, Skype calls and journeys to each other.
I’m not sad that I’m leaving my home with so many good memories because I’ll always have them, and there’s no point sticking around on my own.
I’m not sad I’m moving back with my parents this summer as I have a really good relationship with them and don’t feel trapped because I have so many incredible friends and family to catch up with and keep me entertained.

No, I’m not sad.
I’m scared.
I’m scared because I have to do it all over again.

The friendships I’ve formed and solidified over the past two years are not going to be here when I return. I’m being dropped into a year group who have come back from abroad, along with some from my original year who I never knew. I have to make friends again, just like those terrifying few months at the beginning of first year. I had brilliant friends at home, but it was hard finding some who even slightly lived up to them. But I did it, and I have to do it all over again which is incredibly hard. I won’t have my comfort blanket of people whose habits I’ve gotten used to on nights out and days in. I’ll have all these relationships within typing distance, but I’m on my own again. I know I do have friends left here, but they’re on entirely different schedules to me so I don’t know exactly how much I’ll see of them. There’s only a handful in my subjects that I’d chat to, with an even lesser amount of people who I love to spend time with, or rather who would want to spend time with me.

But I know I’ve done it before. I have my incredible friends from first year. I have made friends from my first week in first year with people I still keep in touch with, but that was in an atmosphere where first years wanted to meet new friends and had the time to do it. I’m stepping into my final year with serious students who already have their friends.

Not to mention it takes a while for me to open up. That’s a huge flaw on my behalf, which I acknowledge. It doesn’t stop me from freezing up from embarrassing stories, or the terror I feel if anyone mentions this blog or why I do certain things or why I don’t like hugs or watching movies. My progress of this has ceased and I have to start that again. My one step forward took two steps back and now I don’t know where I even stand.

So yes. I’m happy for my friends moving away, I’m happy for my friends who are staying, I’m happy for my future and I’m happy for summer to begin and I know once September begins I’ll have the fresh excitement of the endless possibilities of meeting new friends and catching up with the beloved ones I already knew and stayed in my house and experienced me.
For now I’m sad and scared and I don’t feel like cheering myself up today. But I will leave these doors with happy tears instead of sad from memories of birthdays, not birthdays, craft sessions, pre drinks, pancakes, and absolutely everything and everyone who ever stepped foot in the house has given me good memories, even if they didn’t live here (all the time).
I’m okay being sad, because I know the incredible people I shared this year with are reading this, and to answer your message you’ll more than likely send me;
“Thank you for your concern, but of course this is just a blog post.”
Despite my real answer wanting to be;
“Thank you for always supporting me, and these words don’t do my heart justice for just how amazing this year has been with each and every one of you. I’m not scared of losing you, because of the simple reason that you’re even reading my blog post and I feel comfortable with that.”

Here is me and all my emotions,
Love from EimzPink of The High Seas.

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I’ve always been fascinated with dreams.

My mother remembers me each morning after I woke up with a dream the night before. My words would run as fast off my tongue with small gasps for breath and no punctuation even crossing my mind. I had to get absolutely everything out so I wouldn’t forget it. Ever.

As I got older, I was able to write these dreams down in a journal. This journal has been lost and found frequently constantly throughout my life. The hand writing ranges from “bed head sleepy morning” scribbles to somewhat legible words. It was one of the few times I could ever write without having to edit, or thinking while  writing. My stories would write themselves.

When I got even older, I lost the habit of a pen and paper and replaced it with the notes app on my phone. Even though the letters are easy to read, I still only write buzz words that I can remember.One buzz word would wake my mind up to remember what I dreamt of and I can still practically recall each dream like it actually happened. I downloaded a dream journal app. It was quite useless but very entertaining and let my mind explore the dream world.

However, instead of listening to this app, I always had the conclusion of my own dreams in my head. It was the “things I didn’t think about thinking about” …. if that makes any sense. A sudden trail of thought or a quick word in passing that never got time to process before vanishing away again and resulted in being merged together to try and find logic in it all. I had a “eureka” moment when I thought this through. I had cracked my dream code. However, when I thought about thinking about the things I don’t think about….I didn’t have many dreams.

I still love my dream world. I can’t remember the last time I had a nightmare or feared going to sleep. When I was younger I sometimes wished for bad things to happen in my dreams. Just so I could deal with it without actually having to deal with it. Experience without consequences. Possibly the same reason why I love writing. The possibilities are endless.
My dreams have always been strong. Never hazy or incomplete – unless I’ve been woken up. If I’m ever in a bad mood in the morning, it’s because I had a really good dream and can’t remember it. I never lose control of my emotions, but this is one thing that would frustrate me relentlessly. But then suddenly something small would trigger throughout the day and I need to grab the nearest thing I can save my thoughts with.

I’ve never had the same dream twice and I’ve only lucid ‘dream-ed’ twice before and I only ever not dream when I’m overtired. The first lucid dream was when I was on some sort of preoccupied task and I saw a celebrity and had to stop my running to awe at. I felt like I had stumbled on set of a movie and everyone had to restart their jobs. It was a weird feeling.

The only reoccurring theme in my dreams is that I’m almost always on a mission of some sort. There always seems to be a “mansion” too, but I’m pretty sure the cause of this one is simple. I’m lazy and save most of my dreams on my phone- since I’ve never labeled the file it labeled itself by its first sentence. My first dream I recorded digitally was “big mansion running” and so on. Therefore any morning I go to type a new dream, this is what I first see. So this is what I’m constantly exposed to and processing.

For my 19th birthday, my housemates got me a giant unicorn dream catcher. I have a small portable one given to me from a lovely friend, and I have a smaller one which was a present. I don’t know if I believe in dream catchers, but they’re pretty and if they make people calm and secure then I definitely believe they’re a success!

“You have to dream before your dreams can come true”
-A. P. J. Abdul Kalam

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Spectrum Spy

Red was never a violent colour to me
Filled with flashing banners or streamers
Rather passion and love and noise

Orange was always my sisters favourite colour
Due to her fiery hair
She never failed to wear it, even in her ‘rebel’ phase

Yellow fills my heart with joy
It reminds me of sun and my mother
All the things that brighten my day

Green stands for pride
For a county which will always be a part of me
Freshness and cleanliness

Blue is the colour of calm
Soothing seas with fluffy skies
Comfortable and always safe

Indigo was always the in between colour
Who no one really remembers
Which makes it kind of relatable

Violet bends most at the end of the spectrum
Shining through droplets of rain
The stuff I was fascinated with in Science class

I can see a rainbow
But you can see me

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The Stand – by Cathy Lee

The moon rises earlier each night
That’s a sight I can see and be certain of its reality.
Something unlike this.

The time ticks past and is somehow semi-permanent
As I sit waiting.
With the sense of regret and neglect hanging like the low moon of the early evening.

An evening was all that was planned, of duration time, all dated and set.
Something to represent the desire, of relaxation and little regret.

A fixation I wanted fixed.
A friendship formed, gradual and continuous
Something new started, sudden and ambitious.

I sit and wait some more and hope for the knock.
Look to the the door, the clock, the floor.

Out the window the moon rises, earlier each night.
At the sight, I know it’s time.

I turned out the lights.

***
Hi Friends! So due to so many essays and assignments this week I fell a bit behind on my blogging. However, I decided to embrace the fact I live with writers and feature the lovely Cathy Lee this week. ❤

Inspired by the Red Door

I never lived in a cold house
The rooms were always vibrant
The walls was never bare
Each spot held a different memory

My mother wanted a silver kitchen
So she painted over the oak wood
On a weekend dad was working
My neighbours stood horrified at the door
My father stood with disbelief at first
But couldn’t help but laugh
And decided to change our kitchen

I always liked the wood
And fond yellow memories remind me of it
But I was old enough to remember the process of building a new kitchen
And celebrating my dads birthday in the dogs room
Instead of the room that was under construction

To match the walls came a bright red door
Did I say match?
Sorry, no
It matched nothing
It still matches nothing
It’s been eleven years

I remember at age six thinking she was insane
All my clothes had to match in colour scheme
I was never seen without a handbag to match my shoes
My nails also had a dash of the colour I was wearing
So why on earth would she want a red door?
But that was not the start nor the end of random objects

Also in the kitchen was a giant silver whale
Hung on the wall almost two meters wide
Never really questioned by anyone
The story of how my parents were so broke
But mum wanted the whale
Well… we all know how the red door happened
This isn’t much different

But my home isn’t just filled with things
It’s filled with memories

Pots of flowers my aunt grew on the window sill
Buddah powered by the sun that my sister bought
The postcard wall from cousins, friends, family
Fake bonsai tree
Crystal whisky set unused
Yellow sunshine quotes
Birthday cards
Always a radio

I never thought these items had much effect on me
Until I reflected on my own home
With bunting
Birthday Decorations
Postcards
Handmade crafts
And a radio

In my own house today
With three friends I adore
I still believe I’m inspired
By the quirky fire red door

 

Welcome

Welcome to my body
It has freckles and scars and lumps and bumps
My hair is a bit frizzy and probably too long
I’ve have stretch marks since I can remember
And my ears are a bit wonky
But… It’s still my body

Welcome to my face
I like my nose
And the colour of my eyes
Even if I don’t like the shape of them
My hairline isn’t perfect
My forehead could be smaller
Freckles sprawl out next to my nose
With one in particular I don’t like
But…. It’s still my face

Welcome to my personality
I’m harsh I’m logical I’m stubborn
I’m kinda lazy and put things off
I like things to go my way
Because that’s the right way
But I like making people happy
Letting them know I appreciate them
Because I really do
And I won’t give up if I think there’s any chance of survival

Welcome to … me
I hope you can accept you
Just like I learned how to accept me

Blooming Cycle

Gardens are envied when they are lush and grow tall
Completed with colours and smells and noises
But not everyone can maintain a garden so great
Sometimes there’s no choice
Maybe I’m not a garden

Trees keeps growing once they start
No need for bugs or bees to make it greater just like flowers do
Trees stay green throughout the winter
If leaves are lost they’ll grow back
Not stronger than ever
Just as frail to continue the cycle
Even if the fruits stop blooming
Maybe I’m not a tree

Dandelions shine a bright yellow
Given an awful nickname
Associated with the lower hierarchy of flowers
But bloom into something completely unique
That bursts and disperses
Keeping the life going
Maybe I’m not a dandelion

Then again
Not all gardens are maintained to bloom
Sometimes trees grow differently
Occasionally dandelions are picked still yellow

It doesn’t mean they never existed
Maybe I am one of these

The Poisoning

I’m sick of battling the poison inside my body
Everything in me wants to give up
Just so I don’t have to feel the pain
any more
Once I wanted it to mend me
But now I need to mend myself

The war zone I’m living in is caving in
But it’s well known that wars cannot be won
Rather, two sides are broken down
For what cause?
A moment of triumph? A moment of glory?
Or just a moment

I don’t mind sacrificing that moment
It means nothing when all I feel is cold
The toxin I’ve been fighting has always been there
Even if I didn’t want to acknowledge the uphill battle
Icy venom I’ve been trying to ignore
As I thought I needed it

I never wanted to admit it made me feel bad
Contaminating my brain since I was exposed
A hidden fear in the back of my mind
Infecting all the good thoughts I wanted to have
My safety net
My safety net hurt me the most

I have to take responsibility for my actions
A different kind of pressure was put upon me
I let the poison have a power over me
Even when I was told not to
Disregarding the ones I loved most
For the one I loved most

You’ll always be the one

You’ll always be the one

The one I never gave a chance to
The one who I never struggle in a conversation for
Always laughing
Always easy
I can’t describe my feelings
I can’t put into words us
We are best friends
We are nothing more
I think I’m okay with that
I think of more sometimes
We will never evolve
We will never think of each other that way

I think

I feel a stab of jealously when you mention her
I feel like she’s perfect for you
That’s what you are to her
That’s what you aren’t to me
You are laugher and grins
You are imperfections which compliment mine
No worries
No regrets
But I know it’s nothing more
But I know it can’t be

I think

Others words have contradicted ours
Others only see one aim
Unthinkable to us
Unthinkable to her
I don’t know if I’m rational
I don’t know what I’m feeling
To me you are my sunshine
To me you are one of my reasons
However you’re not them all
However I’ve never thought of this before
Sometimes my mind wanders
Sometimes my heart beats a bit quicker

I think

January

I never thought my heart could be broken
As when I imagine that I imagine a horrendous love affair
With the Universe in control
Contributed to by multiple people
That consumed my life
That consumes your life

No one ever told me heartbreak could come in multiple forms
Or multiple people
“The ‘one’ has the power” they always told me
Even if you never felt you did
Neither one of us thought we could hurt the other
Neither one of us wanted to

You never broke my heart
We had timeless adventures
Good memories
Fun memories
Swearing my bike was faster than yours
But you claiming to be a faster swimmer
Running our own make believe “shop” outside my bungalow
Running an actual shop for the community

Your hearty red bike turned into a glassy blue car
Which took us on journeys
Where we talked about spaceships and stars
Followed by the night looking for them
I really hope that you don’t want to forget those days
That they’ll be cherished
Put away in a box with our grinning photos
From fond memories
From the toothless days

Reminiscing causes a pain in my chest
Which I thought was once heartbreak
Even though we were a clean cut end
Mutual decision
Mutual dejection

The little blue eyed boy broke my heart when I saw him
Not you
He signified so much
Yet he will never know a life with me
Or how his mother played out my life
I will never crumple at the sight of you
Congratulating her on her first bump
Congratulating you on the life you always wanted

My heart aches for her
Even though she hardly knows me
How she will never know the truth behind
Why your grandfather can’t remember her name over mine
Or why you never visit the bungalow anymore
I sure hope to God it’s kept that way
To her it doesn’t exist
To her we never existed

The blue eyed boy will never know me
For more than a distant friend of his fathers
Who saw me at my worst because he put me there
And will forever remain distant
There’s only so many times you can look someone in the face
After they offer a life option to you and you refuse
My first love moved on to someone else because I wasn’t ready
Now they have a bright blue eyed son
And I have my own life to figure out