Female. British. 18. Petite.
I would like my identity to remain undisclosed, however, you may call me Eliza-Amelia Peyton
- Amélie for short.
I am your classically self-confessed, cliche, "tortured artist" - a violinist, a writer, an artist and a photographer. My past is surreptitious in its nature, I would therefore like to use every subtle nuance of this to influence and inspire others, hopefully, through my writing. Here, you may learn every detail of my disposition. Yet, you will never know my name, my identity, nor will you be privy to the contours of my appearance.
"I said his heaven would be only half alive; and he said mine would be drunk: I said I should fall asleep in his; and he said he could not breathe in mine…"
- Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.
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Theme © Eliza-Amelia PeytonEntitled: "Aide-Mémoire"
The idealization and feeling of home is a strange one. What aspects, what features and what characteristics make home… home? One would image that it’s where your family is, where your parents are, or at least your place of birth. However, this is not always the case. Sometimes home is where you’re happiest, where you’re the most comfortable and the most at peace. Sometimes your family may be far, far away and you may be far, far away from your hometown. So, instead, you find yourself calling somewhere entirely different your home, somewhere were your friends, instead of your family, live.
I personally do not consider my “hometown” home. It is where I grew up, yes, but it’s not home. I am not the person I want to be when I am in my hometown, the person I want to be only exists outside of of my hometown, it exists in Oxford. I also do not consider where my family or my parents are to be home, to me, my friends are my family, where they are is home. I am aware that others may not and probably do not feel the same way as I do, for them, home is in fact where their family is and where they grew up, but not for me.
I will always see my University years as being my home, meaning that I will always see Oxford as being my home, which unfortunately makes the rest of life seem unsatisfying. In the past, my life depended upon the agreement that if things didn’t get better then that was it. Now I feel as though things can’t possibly get better, so why not end it on a high. Apparently, depression doesn’t go away, it is never ending. It simply creeps up upon you in different forms and apparitions. There’s no escape.
(Source: beautifullyirrepressible)
9/11. The day of mass terror which shook the World, that changed life as we know it and so many ways of living along with it. It was the day that took away the World’s innocence, never, to be regained. The day brought doubts, it brought fear and it most certainly brought sorrow. We may never know the true story of what happened that day, of what could have been or what could have been prevented. However, although questions may still linger in the air, the fact remains that this was an unimaginable, incomprehensible act, of pure devastation and evil. It is an event that will not, and should not, be forgotten. This day changed our lives then, and it will carry on changing our lives tomorrow.
And so, the menial and soul bashing task of saying goodbye to good friends begins. It is the penultimate down-side to leaving the nest and flying, perhaps even souring, off to University. Never mind the new life you are about to embark upon, your new beginning is about to take you away from those who you cherish the most - the people who you depend upon the most. The question being, are you about to fight or flight? Walter Bradford Cannon once described that, as animals, when posed with a threat we either fight or flee as our bodies and our minds engage in a fight-or-flight response.
Therefore, for some, University is an opportunity to thrive in the down-poor of independence which is bestowed upon us - these people have chosen to fight. For others, University is an escape, perhaps it is even a way of running away - saying goodbye is not so heart wrenching for these people, as, they have chosen to flee from the unjust chains and shackles they believe they have been caught in all these years.
Having said this, those who fought once, may not fight again and those who fled, may chose to take up arms and fight. Those who fight to go to University may flee when the going gets tough, and, those who once fled, may begin to fight for a bigger and better life for themselves compared to what they once had - or rather, didn’t have. Until we are aware of what threatens us and who may cross our path, it is beneficial for one to value what one already has, as, no one can fight the good fight without an army of followers - or in this case, an army of friends, good friends. As an old and friendly children’s rhyme once sang: “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold.”
(Source: beautifullyirrepressible)
Germany has never been a country that has been high up on my list of places I would thoroughly like to visit during my life. However, if the opportunity ever presented itself, for the pure sake of visiting “Die Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek” …I wouldn’t hesitate for a second! In my opinion, its simplicity, intertwined with its magnificent beauty and craftsmanship is what makes it a truly wondrous sight.
The monumental day of perpetual drama that every 17 to 18 year old, boy and girl, dread with every fiber of their being. I myself awoke bright and early this morning (at an unholy hour) with a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat, ready for the worst. Believe me when I say, I was expecting the absolute worst! After months of solitude, agonizing over every eventuality, the day had finally come.
Breakfast, of course, was not a viable option in my current panic stricken state, and, to add insult to injury, as I attempted to browse Facebook in an effort to calm my nerves, I found myself gazing upon excited status updates. Fellow Facebook friends had started to find out that they had been accepted by their chosen Universities via UCAS. Of course, when I tried to log in however, the darn thing had already crashed! Alas, I had to trek blindly to college in order to uncover my fate. I was the first to arrive at my college and I couldn’t have opened the crisp white envelope that held my future so delicately quick enough! Panic, had turned to blind panic, to the point where I had to seek guidance from one of my English teacher’s as to which column contained my overall grade’s. Astonishment doesn’t even begin to describe the relief that enveloped my whole being at that very moment.
In order to receive an acceptance place at my chosen University, I needed BBC. However, due to a grossly unjust ICT exam that had reduce me to tears months before and a deceptively kind English paper, I was fairly certain that I was going to fail… miserably. But there it was:
A - Information Communication Technology
B - English Language and Literature
B - Media Studies
B - General Studies
The Cheshire Cat’s grin spread rapidly like a forest fire across my face, as disbelief erupted and relief settled in. “Come take a picture, she’s smiling!” said my English teacher to a college, who promptly came over to take my portrait. “Ooo, that’s a nice smile.” I wasn’t the only one who was dumbfounded by my recent success, as, my other English teacher came over to ascertain how I “managed that!?”. Her question was in reference to the A grade I had achieved in my A2 English paper, which, quite frankly was a perplexing 109/120 marks. The only answer I had was that, as a D grade student, I honestly had no idea, and that was the answer my teacher received. In reality, I just couldn’t be bothered to give a damn when she sprang timed essays on us in class. I actually care about real exams though.
I left my English teachers to collect their thoughts as I nipped outside to phone my parents. The happiness and surprise in their voices was utterly unmissable - my mother’s surprise even extended to her repeating over and over again “are you sure? are you sure those are your grades?” I suppose I should have really been offended by these interrogations, but I was too happy to notice.
Shortly afterwards I bumped into one of my ICT teachers as my friend and I, waited for more of our acquaintances to arrive. He walked towards me with a small smile across his face and a slight “I told you so” look in his eyes. “You said you were going to fail, you said you weren’t going to get into University because of that ICT exam.” he said, gloating. I couldn’t help but giggle, he was right. The one exam that I thought I had failed, that I thought I had received 0 marks in, was the exam where, similar to my English, I had gained 106/120 marks. It was my best subject after all, and the only class in which I had ever been ‘star pupil’ - as it were. I am brimming with pride at the fact that Information Communication Technology bares my one and only A grade.
When you’ve spent so many months just waiting, desperately trying to hold on to your sanity by gluing it back together with the monotonous distractions of day-to-day life, success just doesn’t seem real. Somehow, you manage to convince yourself that it must be a mistake, they got the grades mixed up, theses aren’t my grades. Perhaps you may even convince yourself that you don’t deserve these grades, as much as you’ve told yourself over the summer that you tried your best, you know you didn’t, you were just lucky. These are not the guilty thoughts of an ungrateful toerag, these are simply the insecurities of an unfulfilled individual, always striving for more.
… but hey, when your parents reward you with £100 why complain?
(Source: beautifullyirrepressible)
