#48 Pantalaimon

I often wonder what adult form my dæmon would choose, in the conditions provided from Pullman’s His Dark Materials and should such things be actual tangible characters. I talk about it as an ‘actual character’, in reference to a real world representation of the being, if we’re honest a companion who’s a manifestation of your own soul probably already presently exists as your working mind. The place you cast your thoughts, paint your daydreams and throw ideas around at your own volition. The twin you always wanted without the identity crisis.

I can see how having a physical manifestation of yourself conscious and by your side would alter the course of your life irrevocably. Would loneliness be quite so lonely? If a problem shared is a problem halved, would having a dæmon enable us to take on more? Or would having someone so intrinsically close to your heart, in tune with all your hopes and dreams, negate the need to keep close friends?

I suppose the latter depends on the definition of close friends. I’ve always tried to keep friends that balance me out, laid back where i would be highly strung and serious where i lack motivation. I feel that the function of a friend is fully utilised when expressed in that way. There’s a sense of ‘value added’ and a mutual potential positive gain that can be produced from the union.

But, where that is sensible, i can’t pretend that i haven’t or don’t currently have friends who i feel are very much like me in many ways, to the point of finishing sentences and claiming plagiarism on thoughts shared, and i find those friendships to be volatile, when they’re good they’re exhilarating, they can leave you tingling to the touch, but when they fall, they accelerate under a gravity that would cause a feather to weigh a tonne.

I suppose the best friendships are made up of a mixture of the two. The type where, from the outside the individuals appear as vague undefined forms of one entity, but from the inside are two strong clear individuals with, admittedly, a lot of mutual thoughts, ideas, beliefs and feelings, but each also bring to the tables most of what the other lacks with enough wiggle room to allow the pair to grow together whilst maintaining and sharing their own individual flair and perspectives. Surely the need for such companionship wouldn’t be negated by the existence of dæmons, but enriched by it, as the interaction between your dæmon and theirs would add a new dimension to the experience gained and memories made.

Philosophies aside, the best approximation i could make from taking many, many online spirit animal quizzes is that at this junction of my life my soul aligns to that of a wolf, whether this is pleasing or not, it’s subject to change, it’s not as if at any point we stop growing as people, so perhaps, the real-world approximation of a dæmon wouldn’t posses one true form at all, just a handful of frequent favourites. We’ve all at one point or another spent a day as a rat and another as an eagle, afterall. Or, i could just be a child waiting for things to finally fall into place.

#47 Jolanta

I recently bought a used copy of Isabel Allende’s ‘The House of The Spirits’. Inside there was a tiny card for Jolanta, the card simply reads: ‘Dear Jolanta, Happy (belated) Birthday. This is the book that I was telling you about. I hope you enjoy it! With love from Jane x’

I don’t know who Jolanta is, but, i hope she enjoyed the book too and i’m just writing to tell her that i now have it, safe and ready to read, and i also hope to enjoy it.

As for Jane: thank you for giving this beautiful gift to two people.

#46 swirly pop

The humble swirly pop. A pinwheel colours so engaging and so magnificent that i can’t help but always expect about a million tastes from them, combinations that aren’t achievable and have questionable suitability: a cinnamon laced strawberry, vanilla-ry, blue raspberry-ish, sour apple concoction, a wonka’s everlasting gobstopper in lollipop format. This expectation manages to kill all the excitement of the swirly pop as soon as i start to eat it and i realise it’s just sugar, sugar flavoured sugar, slowly rotting my teeth and throwing my insulin levels out of whack, which, to a child, isn’t unpleasant, but for me, just wasn’t what i expected

The first time i tried one, i could hardly believe that something so wonderful looking and wholly inanimate could lie to me so convincingly, i took it back out of my mouth and just looked at it in disbelief, and as if mirroring my disbelief the fantastical colours of my swirly pop had start to run and stripped the lollipop of all it’s status. It made me long for a whether’s original or murray mint out of my dad’s coat pocket, and so i traded it with my brother for a rolo.

I think i misunderstood the nature of the lollipop i had before me, the purpose of the swirly pop isn’t to taste as magnificent as it looks, its a gesture, it divulges your imagination and teases you senses with it’s sweet, yet surprising, taste. The swirly pop fandango of ’96 was probably one of my first memorable examples of things that aren’t always what they seem to be, and what came as a shock to me then now serves as a comforting thought and allows to step back and appreciate the swirly pop, and things in general, for what they are.

Although i still expect a swirly pop to taste like magic, whenever i buy a swirly pop now it’s purely for decorative purposes, a girl just can’t take that sort of disappointment over and over again. if i want something strawberry flavoured, i’ll eat a strawberry.

#45 birthmarks

i love pretending to misunderstand what people mean when they ask me about where i’m from. ’London, only the greatest city on planet Earth.’ I’ll say nonchalantly, matching their gaze whilst they hover and stall, the fear of offence lingering in the air.
‘Of course.’ they’ll nod whilst they come up with another way to word their intended question all the while desperately trying not to cross the line to outward racism. meanwhile, we’ll talk about other things and put the issue on the back burner, the weather, the current political situation in Greece, art, literature and even tennis, but inevitably, they’ll uncomfortably stir up the conversation again, ‘but, how about your parents, where are they from?’ they stammer ’they also live in London’ i say, still feigning ignorance, wide eyed, sweet, naive, as if i somehow believe there’s no difference between the rest of society and whatever it is i am. even though i play along, this is far from just a little game to me, i’d like to think that by not giving into their fascination i give off an vibe that makes them think that it isn’t right for them to care where i’m from. after all, it’s none of their business anyway.

i’d never deny my ethnicity, i’m not ashamed of it. on the contrary, i feel it identifies as part of my true, personal, innate nature, it’s part of what makes me who i am.  i don’t see how it’s relevant to everyday conversation. i don’t see why i should feel pressured to tell someone about it, i mean, it’s like asking someone you’ve just met whether or not they had any concealed birthmarks, sure, you could ask them that, but why? that’s personal and intimate information about their body and their being. it’s part of who they are, but, it doesn’t concern you.

my ethnicity is mine to cherish and to share at my will and convenience, not yours.

#44 Michel Roux, I get a kick out of you

I watch an obscene amount of cooking shows. I don’t really know why, I mean, I like cooking and I like baking even more, but, that’s it, really. I like it. I don’t love it, it’s not the Alpha and the Omega of my life.

I mean, Don’t get me wrong, I can get passionate about a tart au citron, and I’ve been known to throw whisks across kitchens should my meringues not go exactly to plan, but, I don’t think this really quantifies the amount of cooking shows and cooking books that I go through. I would go so far as to say my interest in cooking borders obsessive.

Now, you may think that introduction massively contradicts itself, and in a way, it does, but, you see, although the channel for my obsession is cooking, the reasoning behind it isn’t my inherent desire to become the world’s most prestigious Michelin starred chef. Cooking, for me, is simply time not spent thinking about Physics, or getting a paid job over summer, or the fact that I might never be half the woman Billie Holiday was. Cooking is one of the many harmless escapisms, I use to make it through the weeks, months and years of the age where nothing fits.

I feel this is the point in the post when I should get all self righteous about cooking and tell you that it isn’t easy and it isn’t all fun and games, that there’s a lot of blood, sweat and tears that goes into it. But, the thing about telling you something like that, is that it would be completely fruitless in more than one way.

Firstly, I’m sure you’ve heard that same old boring lecture about how cooking will change the world for centuries to come, and how technically involved it is ,and how scientifically rigourous it is, and how it’s so desperately overlooked it is in terms of achievement, over and over again.

I’m not even going to pretend to think I’m the only person in the world who’s ever taken a fancy in cooking, infact, i’d say it’s probably an incredibly popular hobby, escapism and career, so I’ll spare you the self-righteous twoddle, because I am certain that if you haven’t already encountered it, you will one day, and it’ll make you want to smash your laptop, throw you tv out of the window or rip up the magazine you’re reading.

And secondly, and I must admit, this largely supports the basis for my stance on Firstly, I don’t consider cooking a science. Baking, is slightly more tricky, but I still wouldn’t describe it as highly technical. The ‘damage’ of a hair’s weight difference in egg white whilst preparing a soufflé isn’t equivalent to the damage of a hair’s weight difference that turns a vaccine into a lethal dosage.

Cooking and baking ARE fun and games. They’re highly pleasurable! (I mean, have you ever kneaded bread before? It’s wonderfully therapeutic!) The pressure of cooking only crops up when you apply it. If you have ten covers to prepare in twenty minutes, that because you chose to turn cooking into a job, it’s not because cooking, all of sudden and without warning, got twenty times more difficult. That doesn’t mean to say that all techniques present in cooking and baking are easy, the appreciation for cooking and baking crop up from the fact that although, with practice the average layman could probably prepare a perfect duck a l’orange, the chances that he or she is willing to do so is significantly lower.

The satisfaction you get from preparing a flawless creme brulee can be equated with that of completing a particularly challenging cryptic crossword, in my mind.

In my opinion, both are internally appreciated by your soul in the same way and with this approach I see cooking and baking as nourishment for the soul, I adopt the idea that no knowledge is useless and spend my spare time wondering precisely how long do I cream the butter and sugar together in order to get the most perfectly fluffy sponges. Through exercising thought in stiff peaks of egg white, i allow my subconscious to roam free across the terrain of my mind, and help to solve the problems most troubling to me, whether through a perspective I’d not previously considered or with a new school of thought altogether. In turn, this allows that half hour, or so, of my day to not be a troubled tale of a girl dealing with the woes of life. No, for a while, at least, i’m the protagonist in a story of a woman and her spatula. And that, my friends, is a fine romance.

#41 sophia loren

if i can’t find a man who’ll love me in spite of my love handles and ethnic ambiguity, then i don’t want a man.

everything you see i owe to spaghetti.

Favourite and least favourite name?

You mean out of the names people call me? Easy.
Favourite: Mayme; my name.
Least favourite: Naomi; not my name.

call my bluff (;

#40 wednesday afternoons

Dear Miscellaneous Sports Players of Royal Holloway University of London,

Thanks for playing sports outside my window on Wednesday afternoons. Don’t know why but it makes life feel a whole lot less lonely whilst I’m sitting in my room and working.

Yours,

.M

#39 sunshine and m&m’s

to whomever it may concern:

if you find my sunny disposition unbearable, i think it’s important that you bare in a few things in mind:

• you don’t have to speak to me if you don’t want to, no one does, i’m perfectly happy to sip my coffee, do my mathematics and have my own conversations.

• after you’ve spent time with me, you get to go home and not spend time with me. i, on the other hand, have to be around myself all the time. so, please don’t make me feel guilty for being happy. i find it incredibly unfair.

on the other hand, you could persist and, in time, make me deeply unhappy. in which case, you ‘win’, and to me the world would exist as if someone had removed every single m&m from it. and, well, when someone puts it like that, are they really any winners at all?

You get to be a superhero with ABSURD superpower. What superpower do you have?

That amnesia kiss that Superman gives Lois Lane in Superman II.
The more you think about it, the weirder that super power is.

call my bluff (;