It's you again.

Maybe she's old-fashioned,  but she'd say she was traditional. 

I never was one of those little girls who dreamt about being rescued and marrying their sweetheart. Never. Not once. I didn't have a string of on-off romances through my teens, a whirlwind love affair at any point, and yet something in me changed. I can't even recall when I first felt like this, but I can just say that now, at the age of 21, I'm very much a romantic. 

There was a time I'd scoff at my friends receiving cheesy, gushing Valentine's Day cards and teddies  holding heart-shaped cushions. When I'd see a couple kissing in the street and avert my eyes, sighing. I'd come to associate romance with a sickly feeling in the back of my throat, a fakeness to it, a childishness. And then, I met someone. 

I've never ever imagined a future with anyone until I met you. I'd never even entertained a marriage, never mind anything more than that. Overtime, I've become someone my old self wouldn't even recognise, and yet I welcome the changes. I'm a happier person because of you. The romantic side of me has flourished, and not before time. You're the person I now cannot picture my life without. You're part of me, and I'll walk over broken glass before I let you go. 

You've changed me, and I welcome those changes. I'm a happier, healthier person. You've made me proud to be who I really am. The romantic side of me is truly alight. Because, why not?! 

There's nothing better than flowers just because they're pretty and he thought she'd like them. A little surprise is cute and thoughtful, and that beats expense hands down. Sometimes, all she want is for him to wake her up and say "I'm taking you out for breakfast" just for the hell of it. She sees a future with him, as he holds the door open for her, grabs the bill, does the chivalrous thing extremely well when he can. She has a lot of admiration for a man who isn't afraid to compliment his girl and show her off. She's always waiting to be whisked off her feet at a moments notice, even if that's for a coffee and some cake. She'll hold your hand like her life depends upon it, smile at you like you're her entire world, and wake up every morning with you dancing in her thoughts. She already knows she will hold on to you before she ever says it aloud. She will make you work for it. She will test you. She will push you to your limits if she thinks you may be the one for her. She'll tell you what she wants, what she loves and what she hates. She'll tell you what she expects from you, even if she never has to say it out loud. She wants to be wooed, she wants to be spoiled, but most of all, she wants to feel loved. 

the big 100.

"I ACTUALLY DID IT!"

I say to myself with a grin the size of China sprawled so effortlessly across my face. This, believe it or not, is my 100th blog post. A sign of my hard work, a signal of my determination, proof that, in fact, I can do anything I set my mind to. I'm big on achieving. I don't mean in the literal, 'here's-your-certificate' kind of thing, but the feeling of achieving something. There's nothing else like it. A sense of pride. Accomplishment. Knowing that hard work does pay off, and luck hasn't really got much, if anything, to do with it. It took me many attempts before I actually started up a blog successfully, but when I did it, I finally found that it was everything I wanted it to be, as well as so much more. It's a gateway to other writers, a place to share my inner-most thoughts and feelings without being judged, chastised or shot a hasty glance. It's a place to let off steam, or express my creativity, or just have a little bit of a laugh. To write a memoir, a list or a play. Anything I can think of. Well, it took me just shy of six months, but here it is. The big 100. The centenary of my writing, as it were. The milestone worth celebrating, getting out of my seat and shouting about. The number I never thought I'd get to. Countless hours, many, many late nights, various different ways of writing down my initial thoughts, but the ones that made it here, are truly, the ones that count.

I've been through an awful lot over the last six months, while writing this blog. As you read it from 7th March onwards, you can almost sense it. You can tell if I'm feeling high, or feeling low, or just feeling everything under the sun. My good days, my bad days, and the days I just wanted to forget, bury deep into the corners of my mind and wish with all my might that they never happened, are all documented here. Love, loss and laughter. My darkest times are reflected in some of my most bitter creative pieces, and my happiest times required me to write gushingly over and over and over again until the smile on my face cause my jaw to ache. 

Looking through the last six months in text messages, photographs, tweets, posts and Facebook statuses, I realise how much has happened. I started blogging in March, which saw my cousin Sophie celebrate her 16th birthday and me get some of my first uni results. April saw a lot of loss and heartbreak in my life, and a lot of others I know. It was a hard month. May was busy. It saw me prep, cram and stress before completing my first ever (eek!) uni exams, then celebrate like crazy when my little sister turned the big, legal 1-8. We certainly partied hard, and that's when my crazy weekends truly began. Also, late May bank holiday we added a new addition to our family, a shih-tsu/bichon frise puppy cross, Heidi. June saw happy, sunny days arrive out in full force and more alcohol was flowing than ever. Bad decisions were blamed on vodka and upset, and put down to experience. Two of my cousins celebrated their proms and I began to feel old. July was anticipated for a while, as it signalled something me and my two best friends were eagerly awaiting, a week in Ibiza. A wonderful, hilarious, drunk week was had by all. Note: I discovered absinthe and began a tumultuous love affair with sambuca. Returning from Ibiza saw the flow of alcohol return with more vigour and liveliness than ever before. My friendship group widened, my drinking partners doubled and my drinks trebled. My shopping habits got out of hand. My decisions got worse instead of better, but  all with good intentions. My (love) life [I just laughed at this] well, I best not comment. It's definitely an eyebrow-raiser. So, August has been waved goodbye to, sadly, fondly, and rainy, disgusting September is making its way unwelcomingly into my life (and everyone else's.) One hundred posts, six months, 180-ish days, lots of bad singing, too much binge-drinking, like, 12 birthday celebrations, hundreds of nail varnish applications, too many "fuck"s screamed,  hundreds of shots, 500+ photos, 20-something ASOS orders. Lots of smiles, too many tears but all-in-all, a wonderful half a year. 

Of course, there are things I would change, looking back, but mostly, I'm happy with what the last six months has had to offer. Despite the rain pouring down like there's no tomorrow, I'm smiling. Now to make sure the next six months are as good, if not better, than the last. Only time, and blog post #200 will tell. 

Kisses 

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