Getting organised

I’ve been staring at beautiful bullet journals with green eyes. The motivational side quotes, the habit tracker, memories, blog ideas pages… And I very almost bought my very own but restrained myself just in time. For one thing, I have plenty of empty journals that I just needed to buy that would suffice – even if they’re not dotted. For another, neither my handwriting nor doodling skills are slick enough to give me the gratification I am seeking.

So for now I will keep using my post-it notes and satisfyingly crunching them up once I am done, or towering them up on the side of my laptop.

And as for the lists tracker and quotes I will need to start using my ideas journal. It has some handy squared pages and some speech boxes for my fav quotes. One of my recent additions:

Sometimes your light attracts moths and your warmth attracts parasites. Protect your space and energy – Warsan Shire

And as for journaling, I spent some time this morning rearranging my posts with new categories:

  • Being active: activism, racism, sexism, political think pieces
  • Being creative: short stories, poems and crafting
  • Being thoughtful: reminiscing of the past, personal and emotional pieces
  • Being here: daily or random posts about my daily life or work

Damn that took a while and I’m pretty sure no one cares besides me. But going back to when I started writing, it was a collection of my own thoughts for me so it was worth the time. Reading back was a nice trip down memory lane.

I’ve had this blog for just over a year now. I wrote about my first 10 followers and there are now over 250. Never did I think, with no advertisement, I could achieve that. But here I am. And here I stay.  So thank you to everyone who reads, comments and likes. In a world full of so many we can feel so alone with some thoughts so it’s comforting to know you’re all here.

Memories: lost in the sun 

There are moments on this holiday that I want engraved in memory forever. But without the time to write them in a journal I wonder if I will remember exact joy, smells, heat in a few years or even weeks time.

And if so, I wonder if they will be romantised versions. Hotter? Funnier? Longer? And then whether that is such a bad thing after all.

One story comes to mind in particular. We had just finished spending the day in Splash Jungle Waterpark. My friend had researched a local beach being a short walk away from there. So we set off in the hunt for this beach. Bare in mind: our hotel is on a beach resort, we could have got a shuttle back to the hotel, I am wearing a full black scuba outfit that is still a little damp and very uncomfortable.

After a 10 minute walk we take a right. It looks like a road not walked often but then again most people probably go back to their hotel after the park so that would make sense. The further we walk the more and more sand coveres the road ’till we are walking on just sand. Sand that’s being heated by the rays of peak, midday sun. All of us are wearing sandles and as the sand comes into them the souls of our feet are burning. We couldn’t stop to think because the sand was too hot to stop on. The only viable option was to keep going. Because sand must mean water?

Another half an hour walking in direct heat on torturous sand. At this point we looked like we had just come out of the sea – all covered in sweat. I was sweating from places I didn’t know could sweat!

We end up at the boundary of the airport.  This doesn’t seem too hopeful but at least now weave a gate we can walk alongside. So we keep on.

At this point we are a little delirious. We play music and my friend starts marching commanding us to march behind her. And we do. Marching to “you don’t gotta go to work, work, work, work, work, work, work”. On we marched, too invested to turn around.

Until we came to a dead end. This is after an hour of walking which doesn’t seem like much now but in that environment and in that outfit it might as well been a whole day.

So back we turned. Still marching as it’s the only way we could keep going.

After the painful march back we found someone’s house. I collapsed onto the floor, not even caring about the ants and the dog glaring at me. The owner came out and we asked if he knew the nearest taxi place. But of course he did not understand English and we did know Thai. So on we went again back to the park.

Here we had missed the last shuttle by one minute and had to wait another half an hour before a taxi came by.

Somewhere along that journey I lost my sunglasses and I have no idea where. I also burnt my face and feet – but am thankful I did not have a heatstroke.

We can laugh about it now but I do wonder what would have happened if one of us had fainted or we got attacked or accused of trying to enter the restricted. And I wonder how I will remember this story in a few weeks, months and then years

Sometimes it works 

Sometimes I can write what I mean, how I feel, the way I want. Other times – like today – it is forced and fake.

It’s not working.

Have you tried switching it off and turning it back on again?

On that note, those thinking of upgrading to Windows 10 – I just spent an entire morning bashing my keyboard because it was stuck in some funky mode – and it suddenly started working but I have no idea why or whether it will mess up again. Don’t do it – they’re not ready.

That perfect someone 

Settle down with your perfect someone. That’s the dream we’re taught to wait for – from Disney, from the media and from friends. But I’m 23 and I still don’t know what perfect is to me. 

We dated for seven years. He knows things about me that no one else knows. He is cool, energetic and can make friends with anyone. A bad boy, the type all the girls lusted over. He made me brave and with him I found myself. We almost got married. But he cheated. And he lied. He’s not the perfect someone.

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