As frank as I always am with you, I must confess how negligent i have been with my previous Internet corner. And although some would argue I am not obliged to explain myself, I feel explaining will help me understand as well. Does that make sense? I often fear my rambles are just long monologues of stream of consciousness that wiggle to their own desire of direction, rather than circling back to a conclusion. Anyway, I digress. This past year I've hd the opportunity to write as a columnist at my university newspaper, The Strathclyde Telegraph. Which has been un-fucking-believable. And every month I would sit down and write. About anything and everything, forcing myself to think of subjects not relevant to simply me, get out and think about what university students as a whole would be interested to read. Because we always want to read the things that we're pulled towards, an itching in our soul saying 'hey this might help us with X'. So I wrote about body image in winter, the stress of deadlines, the fear of failure among a manner of things. Stuff we individually might knock off or toss aside because we think it's too 'understandable' it therefore lacks in value (spoiler; it doesn't). I wrote in a way I'd want to read it, as the no bullshit friend who straight talks you back to sense after the third breakdown that week. I stopped using the 'I' because I didn't want to talk about me anymore. And I think that's when I started to crumble, just a bit.
You see, around my second column Donald Trump was elected President. And then later, he became President and in this period of two months (how was it only two months?) there were a lot of think pieces and a lot of jokes on SNL and a lot of panic. Nerves were wearing down, and for good reason. And it was sort of like my Twitter feed had erupted like a volcano and there were so many tweets of horror and then later, of sarcasm and then Teen Vogue started to boss it, so hope started to bloom. And the #Womensmarch brought me to tears, because things started to feel very possible again and the power of women blew my mind away. Through all of that, I became overwhelmed with third year university coursework and deadlines, juggling classes on top of a job, on top of a social life, on top of simply having time to b r e a t h e. Not to say I didn't have a social life before, but it's sort of magnified and there are so many more people in my life, who I adore and make me laugh, especially at work where it shouldn't feel like escapism so much, but it does. I took some time out of the headspace of a writer because I needed to just do my thing, take a break from stuff I didn't feel the 'need' to do. Because i never want this to be brought down to a mind-numbing obligation, because if I'm to claim the title of Writer I should be doing it through the want to create, nothing else. And I've adopted this new thing of having fun, for fun sake and only fun, which I'm going to write about because I think now more than ever we've got to get out of our heads and have fun... Have I said the word fun enough?
Anyway. As you can appreciate dear reader, life has been a bit of a whirlwind since I turned 20; I'm not writing to you as a 21 year-old who feels a lot like she's 19 again, in the best way. Third year university has been so many things, I can't think of the words to do the madness justice just yet, and it's not even finished. But what I can say for now is that I have been struggling to decide if my voice is 'enough'. If what I think should be expressed in more than 140 characters and how important it is to get a piece 'right'. How important words are and how conscious I am of everything I say, the gravity it possesses, or lack thereof. I guess you could say that fear people talk about, over doing the ~thing~? I got that, for a while.
But I had also grown out of the space I was occupying. The new #predicaments is a space big enough for everything I want to do and want to say, dare I say it 'worthy' of my words? Well I'm not the person I was when I began blogging, so I think I can have the self-assurance my words have grown in strength the same way my sense of self has. Actually I don't think - I know. And I'm getting (got?) over this budding fear of everything and anything between 'perfect' and 'justified'. Our political and economic climate is a shaky one and the 'woke' celebrity is something increasingly demanded, so this has created a domino effect across all creators, even someone as small as myself. But we're to kid ourselves if we think anyone knows everything. We can't just go and create villains out of everyone, especially ourselves. It's like attempting to find water in the desert, to believe somewhere there are people who have answers and manage to say the most perfect things. We're all just doing whatever we need, and want, to do to keep going. Whatever your religious beliefs, the idea of a deity living among us, able to save us as frankly appealing that sounds, isn't one that will aid us. There's no black and white answer to things, it's all grey. And there will never be one size fits all, for now. But that doesn't mean we have to punish ourselves for not sorting it all out at once. It takes a while to find matching socks after a wash when they all look the same. We can take the time.