We’d escape into the evening in just our pyjamas, climbing over the broken gate to the neighbours yard where she’d stand in her doorway clutching her tea. Our parents would wander out soon to investigate as we jumped through twilight skies to catch fireflies. They’d of course slip through our fingers and twirl away in the moonlight. In my mind they were tinkering a laugh and playing along with us. They were trickster fairies delighting in our young hearts. Maybe none of it was in my head. “Don’t hurt them, dance with them. Be friends.” She’d say, a kind smile on her aged face.
In the morning we’d stretch out bronzed limbs in the same garden, weeding flower beds and following her lead as she tells us to encourage the flowers to bloom with kind words and gentle hands. As a teenager she would stroll passed me in the square, my vulgar hands ripping at the leaves of a bush. “Remember kind words, encourage them to grow. No one likes a bully.” I smile and it isn’t taunting, it’s reminiscent of golden days and soft hours chasing magic in every corner of her yard. Now the summers are long and lonely, cinema dates with friends and afternoons with my head buried in books.
Today I pass a garden over run in natural bliss, somewhere in New Zealand, magic manifested in colours and blossoms that I can’t identify and I smile and whisper “You’re beautiful, keep blooming.” As I hurry on past. It’s spoken spontaneously, barely a thought before it’s a phrase but it loops around me for the rest of the day. If a kind word can encourage the plants to grow, imagine what it could do for a human.
I’m such a visual person and I’m constantly making these daft little moodboards, I lot of it has to do with me living on a backpackers budget and having limited space for clothes. I love style but have to do what I can with a handful of pieces. This is my way of indulging in that side of my interests. I’ve included a wee mixtape too. There are a lotta old tunes on it, I’m not much into listening to new releases right now but instead I’m taking comfort in the familiar tracks I can belt out in the shower. Maybe you’ll find a few gems in there anyways or maybe rediscover an old favourite.
P.s. The new MGMT album though. Still not fully convinced but there are some refreshing as hell, interesting, sounds in there. Not that I’d expect anything less. Opinions? Anything I should be listening too?
All the love, N x
The bleak lighting highlights the bags beneath my eyes and the access skin above them. Tired and hooded, a dull state. My skin takes on a vulgar orange tint, the nooks and crannies obvious under the scrutiny. My long hair curtains around my round face and protects it all from analysis. My long hair is about to be taken from me. It’s vanity, it’s severe conditioning from an anonymous source, or, rather, from unlimited sources. Years of clutching to thinning strands, scared of the scissors and laying it all bare. Years of hoping for mermaid hair, princess hair, pretty hair. Acting like hair is the single defining element that makes me a woman. How misguided?
My lovely hairdresser Emma double checks the new length, a length I asked for, and I nod a little numb, my stomach flipping. I lower my head as instructed, the only evidence of the action is the snipping of the scissors. The sound had never haunted me quite so deeply. It’s so strange to have such fear of losing a thing that renews itself everyday, takes barely any time to grow. It’s so bizarre to think my femininity lies in the length of it, in the style, the texture and colour. It’s sickening the amount of money I pay to maintain it. My confidence is at stake in those five minutes sat in a chair, paying for my security to be stripped away from me. But it’s part of my internal revolution. Part of my rebellion against who I’m supposed to be. In the end it’s liberating. I look so different, so I can act so very differently too.
The shards of my armour scatter the marble floors but the sight doesn’t effect me, I just stand up and brush off the remnants, thank Emma and even leave her a tip. Instead of heading straight home as planned, I amble around town, peeking at my reflection at any given chance. Girls with curtains of light satin locks and others with waving dark tresses don’t spark any regret or envy in me. My new bob bounces when I walk, my head feels lighter and there’s something very delicate about the shape of it. Something maybe even a little more feminine than all that matted length.
Embrace a moment of courage and take the risk. You’re more than your physical vessel.
Positive vibes, always. N x