Luke.

I want someone to wrap their arms around me when I say "no honestly, I'm fine" even though I'm not. I want someone to kiss my forehead when they hold me and never ever want to let me go. I want someone who finishes my sentences, giggles with me and makes me a happier version of myself. Who playfully shouts at me and is the only one I'd ever let tickle me and not punch in the face. I want someone who loves and appreciates me and never makes me feel anything less than worthy. 

And I have all that with you. 

We learn to compromise.

Sometimes you have to be the one who apologises first, even if you swore you wouldn't. Sometimes you need to forgive and forget, even the worst things. Sometimes, it's important to compromise. 

We all do it. We all have one time or another compromised. Settled. Made do. When your food comes at a restaurant and it's slightly cold, you haven't complained. When it's raining outside and you were planning on wearing sandals, you change to boots -it's more sensible. When you're arguing with someone you love, sometimes in the midst of your point, you have to give in, submit defeat, back down. Knowing when to speak up and when to stay silent is a good lesson I should attempt to learn. There's nothing wrong with biting your tongue sometimes. 

There's really nothing too bad about lukewarm food at a restaurant when it's busy, or a late bus in the freeezing cold, or the fact someone picked a fight and you held back. If like me, you're happy, surrounded by people you love and who love you in return, then none of it matters. The little things you can sacrifice if the big things are in place. 

Compromise isn't a bad thing, it's an adult thing. Everyone does it. Everyone accepts things. Everyone makes do with the best hand they've been dealt. As long as you're happy doing it, does it really make a difference? 

Kindness goes a long way.

It's 2014. It's the 21st century. The age of iPads and space shuttles and a potential treatment for Ebola. Everything is advancing. It's a good time to be alive. Well, correction, for some people it is. I've been brought up in a safe place, with a home, a strong family and a support system around me. I had a good childhood, a decent education and a healthy upbringing. I was told I could do anything I wanted and be anything I wanted, if I worked hard enough for it. I could achieve anything I put my mind to. I had the opportunity to go to a good school, achieve better than average qualifications and have a wide range of prospects at my disposal. I had a good group of friends. I was never bullied, broken down or left to feel like I had no one to talk to. I never went without. I never had to go through my parents' divorcing. I wasn't a child who had to wonder when the electric meter would cut out, or where my next meal would come from. In summary, I was lucky. 

Most people would read this and think, so what? We weren't a well-off family. We still aren't. My parents work full time at normal jobs to fund their family, and for that I'm eternally grateful. My mam and dad made sure I never went without if possible. I don't live in an area that is considered particularly wealthy, but nor have I ever been on the other spectrum entirely. 

While you're all planning Christmas surrounded by over-indulgent, extravagant presents, copious amounts of food and drink, spare a thought for those who won't wake up on December 25th like that. For those who won't wake up with a roof over their heads on Christmas Day. Those who won't receive a single present, because money isn't there. For those individuals who aren't in safe, cosy homes surrounded by family and friends. The harsh reality is, in an age of development, discovery and a recovery from the recession, there are thousands of people who slip under the radar every day. In 2014, in my opinion, nobody should still be homeless or living in poverty. I guiltily look down at my feet and stare at a pair of well recognised, branded, Australian fur boots that are worth more than some people will have in an entire year to live on. It upsets and angers me no end that this isn't more of a problem to people. I've seen people give someone homeless a wide birth, walk past and not even smile, instead grimace, and this is nothing short of disgusting. I know I'd hate to think if I was in the same position, someone would judge me solely on my appearance, not my character. Nobody is homeless or poor out of choice. This is why I've chosen to donate to charities who support those individuals who may be spending Christmas on the streets, and make sure they get a safe place to stay, and a hot meal surrounded by others during the Christmas period. Charities like Shelter, the Salvation Army and Crisis. Just a small sum of money could make someone's Christmas. A drop in the ocean for some people's finances. I proudly support homeless charities and will be comforted to know that their work over Christmas will help people less fortunate than myself have a chance at a good Christmas. 

If like me, you don't believe homelessness should be a problem in the UK, in 2014, please donate. Whether it's a one-off sum, or a year-round donation, every little bit of money helps. 

Shelter: 

Www.shelter.org.uk

 

Salvation Army: www.salvationarmyappeals.org.uk

Crisis: 

www.crisis.org.uk 

Busy.

I'm content and disorganised and excited and numb and ready to celebrate Christmas surrounded by the best people I know. My blog is being understandably neglected, but hey, life just gets too eventful to sit in front of laptop all day. 💁 

Once again.

This time last year, I was determined that 2014 would be the best year yet. In good old fashioned, clichéd style, my eyes were full of optimism and motivation. The blood pumping through my veins was buzzing with excitement. The new year countdown would be the best yet. Everyone would be smiling, merry and singing to auld lang syne with tequila slammers at hand. 

This was a world away from how I saw in 2014. In fact, I can't even remember half of it. I spent around two hours in the pub, after spending four getting ready, and countless more in prep and organisation. What started out as a casual, sociable night with friends soon turned into me doing a dissapearing act. I then ended up at a then friend's house, totally off my face on 60% proof white rum (wray & nephew shots will make you hate yourself the very second it passes your lips.) 

I had a numb face and barely any control of my legs, but luckily I had someone to make sure I was okay. Giggly, embarrassingly drunk and a total mess, I end up at my *friend's* house and end up meeting his family, in my drunk stupor. Luckily, everyone was numbed by alcohol which made the event a bit less awkward. More drinks, more laughter, and more celebrations. I woke up beside him with a banging headache, a raging hangover and the biggest smile on my face. 

The friend in question has now been my boyfriend for the last 11 months and I couldn't be happier or luckier. A new start doesn't always come hand in hand with a new year, but maybe instead of the completion of an old one. There's nothing to say you can't change something any day. New starts aren't just for January 1st, even if mine was.

Therapeutic ramblings.

Writing is therapeutic. I've just wrote about 300 words in my iPhone's 'Notes' section sounding off about my moany day, when it hits me, maybe I just need to write my thoughts down. Maybe the so-called writer myself needs to just get things out of my head to get a smile settling on my face. I feel a lot happier already. In a matter of minutes. It's relief. It's more than that though. Writing is innate to me. I was dreaming up stories before I was old enough to write them down. I've always wanted to write. Whether it was doodling my name multiple times in my notebook, compulsive list making or even just a document of my feelings, I've always had a notebook with me. Admittedly, I've never wrote a novel or a collection of poetry. At 21, I've not accomplished anything official writing-wise, but I think that's okay. It's the industry. I love picking up a book in Waterstones and smelling the fresh paper and examining the first page of printed ink. I love buying a book on my kindle and watching the money get debited from my account and then waiting while it appears magically on my screen. I love reading book reviews; gushing or scathing, appreciatory or negative. I love the bit where a writer dedicates their work to a specific person, a time or a place, a memory, a quote or something close to their heart. I love the words on a page and how they resonate with something I've felt, or experienced, or even just said aloud. Sometimes there's nothing more therapeutic than writing.