When I first moved down from Sheffield to Ashtead in March 2017, I was in a frustrating time in my life. I was feeling stale in Sheffield, working a job I hated and made me feel stressed and upset every single day. All of my job applications were being rejected left, right and centre. I was living nearly 200 miles away from my boyfriend at the time. And though I had a close-knit group of friends (the only thing keeping me in Sheffield), I still somehow felt disconnected from them. Oh, and I was, like, SUPER depressed.
So I took action. I knew I wouldn’t be able to grow in Sheffield anymore, so I knew I had to move. I had been saying since uni that I wanted to move to Manchester one day, and that seemed like the next logical step. A bigger city, more opportunities, and the added benefit of having friends there, too. But, there was a complication that my boyfriend lived in Surrey. We had already been doing long-distance for a year and a half, and the thought of staying long-distance for an undetermined amount of time didn’t feel right.
On his Hinge profile, F wrote: ‘I’m convinced that Chicken Katsu Curry is the reason I will never be a vegetarian.” I wrote back, with the ever predictable, “The vegan and vegetarian katsus at Wagamama are pretty good though!” You know, like the typical (almost) vegan I am, pushing my vegan propaganda at people (but seriously, I’ve had all versions of the katsu and the vegan one tastes pretty much exactly the same as the chicken one).
“Thanks for the info! You may have just saved the lives of literally hundreds of chickens,” he replied.
“I live to serve my chicken people,” I said.
(Look, I like flirting but I never said I was good at it, alright?)
I’ve been thinking a lot about my race lately, namely, what it means to be mixed.
I’ve always been aware that I’ve been ‘other’ to my mostly white friends. My olive complexion always being remarked on, what a “lovely colouring I have” and how I “must get a great tan.” Before people even read my last name, they tilt their heads at me and I can see the cogs turning in their heads as they try and figure out the most sensitive way of asking where I’m (or my parents are) from.
Greetings, all. I thought I’d share this piece that I wrote last year, originally posted on a health and wellness website called The Olive Fox, which is now sadly defunct. I didn’t want this post to go to waste, so I thought: what better place to rehome it than my ol’ faithful blog? It’s quite apt really, since this post is about mental health and meditation, and as of late, I’ve started incorporating meditation (and yoga) back into my routine to overcome another bad spell of mental heath. I hope you enjoy.
All artwork featured in this post is by Ayqa Khan. Follow her work here.
Let’s talk about facial hair; in particular, let’s talk about facial hair on women.
Over the weekend, I posted a selfie to Instagram. I was having a good day, trying out some new makeup, and was feeling myself. It occurred to me, after taking a few shots, that my upper lip hair looked more pronounced than usual. Which is not uncommon in the winter months, as that’s generally when I tend to notice my upper lip hair, as there’s not as much sun around to do its natural bleaching.