tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43327264433474607552024-02-20T04:02:48.338+02:00Lois Lennon Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-20291131193839580062021-02-24T10:54:00.003+02:002021-02-24T11:02:37.187+02:00The Time Machine<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy2aATK8EXjgBXBj9lXSj80XvwIwQO-Uj8PD6RlbUr4BUPRd5h7hct8VI1Jpn4lCSO0MAeqBfv8epJ24wqQgGrwBYiCmP2su7FBLgItweKdOJzHausoptnA5sC5tbfYfao6__5lFWEw/s2048/IMG_20210224_104654.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy2aATK8EXjgBXBj9lXSj80XvwIwQO-Uj8PD6RlbUr4BUPRd5h7hct8VI1Jpn4lCSO0MAeqBfv8epJ24wqQgGrwBYiCmP2su7FBLgItweKdOJzHausoptnA5sC5tbfYfao6__5lFWEw/w480-h640/IMG_20210224_104654.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p></p><p><i><span style="color: #444444;">“There are really four dimensions, three which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time.”</span></i></p><p style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #444444;">― H.G. Wells, The Time Machine</span></b></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Time is a peculiar notion. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It is tumultuous and taunting. It mocks us as we frantically attempt to define it, restrain it. All the while it continues, relentless and unyielding in its suffocating pursuit. Hungrily consuming the air from our lungs and darkening our thoughts.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The passage of time is truly daunting and deplorable. Its icy, unsympathetic, bony hands wound forcefully around my neck. Its spindly fingers creeping down my throat, choking me while it laughs uproariously in my face, its rancid breath blistering the skin on my cheeks. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Where did the years go? </p><p style="text-align: justify;">What have they given us? </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Often it appears little more than the lingering stench of remorse, defeat, anguish and utter despair.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Yet here we are. Human beings barreling towards an indiscernible and imaginary finish line. What do we hope to achieve? What is the purpose of all our running? What are we even running towards? Isn’t it time to take a step back? To reflect? To take a deep breath and observe the world around us? </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Take it all in. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Breathe.</i> </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Allow ourselves to become submerged in the here and now. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Just breathe in.</i> </p><p style="text-align: justify;"><i>Breathe out.</i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">How facile it is to be sucked into and suffocated by the banality of our existences. Going through the motions, pages blowing off the proverbial calendar without us so much as batting an eye. The years go on and we grow weary. </p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">And so we must force ourselves to exhale. For so often it seems like we are constantly holding our breath.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">- M xx</p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-70633613087405093872021-01-12T14:02:00.001+02:002021-01-12T14:05:47.624+02:00Love in the Time of Corona<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yCahDhDxxVED8PcKsPbezS6AQxTOr6ZcFnDq0djU0lD9IeFNwzAUAB05pQaItsd3ytgm5kqWeejrs9umOE47qu9XTAJWMJkHb8H20K9tACxdNnna4zZ1hyphenhyphen6NAAe4-HkJMbhYVTNEtg/s2048/IMG_20210112_135855.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yCahDhDxxVED8PcKsPbezS6AQxTOr6ZcFnDq0djU0lD9IeFNwzAUAB05pQaItsd3ytgm5kqWeejrs9umOE47qu9XTAJWMJkHb8H20K9tACxdNnna4zZ1hyphenhyphen6NAAe4-HkJMbhYVTNEtg/w640-h480/IMG_20210112_135855.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i>“It was the year they fell into devastating love. Neither one could do anything except think about the other, dream about the other, and wait for letters with the same impatience they felt when they answered them.”</i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;"><i style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: right;">- Gabriel García Márquez, </span><span style="text-align: right;"><b>Love in the Time of Cholera</b></span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have grown unreservedly weary of the notion that if <i>it’s too good to be true it probably is</i>. Have we become so jaded that we no longer believe that we are entitled to pleasure? I, for one, reject that premise entirely. If we can grasp even the slightest moment of contentment in this absurd and irrational realm with every damn nigh apocalyptic occurrence currently transpiring <i>ad nauseum</i> why fucking shouldn’t we? I am confidently apathetic as to whether or not it fits others’ anticipations of how happiness should appear and am unaffectedly indifferent apropos of the antiquated conventions it is expected to meet. To finally be truly gratified, fulfilled and secure amidst the dumpster fire burning furiously around us? I will undoubtedly sink my teeth into that shit and not a fuck am I relinquishing my grip. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It is, to some extent, bewildering that all it can take is a singular, profoundly incredible human being to illustrate that you have exhausted 32 years of your existence utterly delusional <i>vis-à-vis</i> the conventions of romantic love. All of the calamity, the waterworks, self-loathing, cross-examination, torment, self-harm and substance abuse. The ostensible ardent melancholy; the aspirant, unambitious originators with their deep-rooted misery and unrelenting malaise. That cloying fairy-tale can remain buried within the pages of angsty dark romance novels where the tired trope of the tortured artist belongs.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Those who persistently weighed you down, made you feel less-than, imbibed your verve and <i>joie de vivre</i> with the ferocity of a ravenous succubus. Those that made you feel insignificant so that they might feel extraordinary, superior. Unswervingly placing you on trial and condemning you for their own inadequacies and failures and disenchantments. Those whose voices were deafening all the while refusing to hear. Those who floundered in their darkness and expected you to do the same, simultaneously dragging you into their very own personal circle of hell. Those who held you responsible for their misfires, incompetence and undoubtedly their own repentances, negating any accountability for the circumstances of their own creation. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">No. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">That is not love. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Love, as I have recently come to comprehend and conceivably clandestinely yearned for, can best be described as the quintessence of euphoria. Love, to quote Kundera, “causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights,” filled with unadulterated elation and pure nirvana. Love is veneration, growing together, motivating each other, albeit through the trivial and inconsequential absurdities of everyday life. A love that is rooted in conviction and fortified by a sense of humour. Rather than wallowing in pain and disappointments, love should be supporting one another, having each other’s backs. Making that person, your person, feel remarkable, adored, and validated every goddamn day. To wake up exultant and at ease, to truly not let anything or anyone have the power to bring you down. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">That, my friends, is what fucking love should be all about.</p><div>M xx</div>Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-17316903191333356282020-12-07T14:05:00.005+02:002020-12-07T14:09:45.585+02:00Home<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYClKXsvXD8B-WiaH-s-_x7YbsDuvX1DvCIS-uICgae751867ek9l8R4aPiKiGJ1c_bu8_jY1NlIyfEdwAPZQB-cZ0T5iXhKcKffW6DWjoeyCvJBDLfJ9IcutTz6eJRUzqZDEfJqkj7g/s2048/IMG_20201201_171931.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYClKXsvXD8B-WiaH-s-_x7YbsDuvX1DvCIS-uICgae751867ek9l8R4aPiKiGJ1c_bu8_jY1NlIyfEdwAPZQB-cZ0T5iXhKcKffW6DWjoeyCvJBDLfJ9IcutTz6eJRUzqZDEfJqkj7g/w300-h400/IMG_20201201_171931.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOHR6H5zPrMyNNJ5ohgNEF7_38Iyx-fREwmAhl0o5JhyH4QKBNAwFc8Qho5POxuWskAfB4LQ-aa6wADXfpGg3zK6xBDRQMOEEQm1fgYbAP_b0RHMzdMxmAOfTsoJRZ-LeLxNeotXDcw/s2048/IMG_20201203_181320.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOHR6H5zPrMyNNJ5ohgNEF7_38Iyx-fREwmAhl0o5JhyH4QKBNAwFc8Qho5POxuWskAfB4LQ-aa6wADXfpGg3zK6xBDRQMOEEQm1fgYbAP_b0RHMzdMxmAOfTsoJRZ-LeLxNeotXDcw/w300-h400/IMG_20201203_181320.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-vxhKeGxtWdzS5zf9ufME9EUfkEN4HI7VkI1oK_hJ3Uvr3_hTqPRoQnK9p0TrQezamnt2X3DyjUko8tP8tyLty0KWNmZodkVS_OOfTNcQNtsdo_sB5euHKvp9DdyjxWIe52huDe9Rtg/s2048/IMG_20201203_181330.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-vxhKeGxtWdzS5zf9ufME9EUfkEN4HI7VkI1oK_hJ3Uvr3_hTqPRoQnK9p0TrQezamnt2X3DyjUko8tP8tyLty0KWNmZodkVS_OOfTNcQNtsdo_sB5euHKvp9DdyjxWIe52huDe9Rtg/s320/IMG_20201203_181330.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">"For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree."</span></i></p><p style="text-align: right;"><i><b><span style="color: #444444;">- Herman Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte</span></b></i></p><p>It is a somewhat peculiar albeit nostalgic excursion to return to one’s childhood home. No matter how long one is away for, or how frequently one returns, what remains unchanged with each visit is the distinct awareness of the familiar which is somehow entirely disconcerting at the same time. Perhaps this is because the nucleus of it all is fundamentally identical to the home you grew up in, spent your formative years, as it were, yet wholly dissimilar in a deeply unsettling and unnerving fashion.</p><p>You enter your bedroom and gone are the brightly coloured posters of long-departed performers adorning the walls; the sycophantic tributes to famous writers scribbled in marker long-since washed from the remaining furniture; the writing desk, once littered with curious knick-knacks, long ago relocated. What remains is a mere shell of the clutter and character that once breathed life into these four, now bare, walls. Where once hung an obscenely large, framed print of The Beatles ambling across Abbey Road now hangs a modest sketch of a wild cat, framed in respectable gold against a verdant backdrop.</p><p>You step outside onto the top of the stairs leading into the vast, capricious garden that lies beyond the cracked masonry of the dividing wall and perch on the edge of the peeling paint and overgrown ivy. This is the wall you broke your elbow jumping off of at age 7. Although decades have elapsed since then you can still recall the crack as your shoulder pulled back and twisted your arm beneath the weight of your body. The cast your classmates signed. The struggle of attempting to scribe with your non-dominant hand.</p><p>Your gaze is then drawn to the Mulberry tree, in all its splendour, because, oh, the secrets it houses between its ample branches. You recall the whispered giggles of sisters playing pretend. The tree not a tree at all, but rather an enchanted castle with never-ending, opulent rooms, occupied by day-dreams long since forgotten. Silkworms and tire-swings and purple-stained feet and sticky, ice-cream-stained fingers. You smile inwardly, taking in the tree, because it has certainly not lost any of its magic. The branches and leaves almost reaching out toward the house and kissing the grass beneath its shade, creating a curtain that secrets away the veiled fairy hideaway that lies beyond. </p><p>These residual reminiscences sway across the lawn and cobblestone like exultant hauntings before your eyes. Constructing dance routines with your cousins to <i>Patricia the Stripper</i>; rehearsing <i>Waiting for Godot</i> with your best friend for drama class in high school; first kisses stolen under a blanket of stars; playing catch with your childhood dog; shooting your sister with a BB gun; drunken conversations laid bare across the old trampoline; birthday parties; holidays; endless joy, laughter, tears and even grief. From the broken bones and the buried rodents to the jumping castles and rusted dinky toys in the sand.</p><p>And the palm tree, once still slight enough for you to hurdle over as a child, now more than twice your height. All this beautiful, glorious foliage, once mere saplings, now stretching their branches high into the sky, reaching for the sun. It is a rather disquieting epiphany that tends to strike at the most inopportune moments, as most have the tendency to do. That terrifying realization of the unyielding and unrelenting passage of time. Of how much time has passed. Of what has been achieved, of all your disappointments and repentances over the years.</p><p>Yet, somehow, simultaneously, through the ache of melancholy and nostalgia, that garden, those trees, the memories, like a seedling piercing through the soil, a bud of hope.</p><p>- M xx</p>Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-42975892525566507682020-10-23T19:31:00.000+02:002020-10-23T19:31:09.482+02:00Somewhere Between Delinquency & Conformity<div style="text-align: center;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeGc8lESdMK2at3r9t0UKdrdRza0hJqPCgCy6qh_UMSoRcn3yU5szrhV-vhmJLLitmza4BLxekMG0a7HiQSKfmBRyd2JON9-PsUfoQHBPkP-_xxc_vwU5GoinyxOqVphgPeUqPlrK2w/s2048/IMG_20201023_192622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAeGc8lESdMK2at3r9t0UKdrdRza0hJqPCgCy6qh_UMSoRcn3yU5szrhV-vhmJLLitmza4BLxekMG0a7HiQSKfmBRyd2JON9-PsUfoQHBPkP-_xxc_vwU5GoinyxOqVphgPeUqPlrK2w/w400-h300/IMG_20201023_192622.jpg" width="400" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">"It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream."</span></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">- Edgar Allen Poe</span></i></span></div><p>Another day barrels rapidly towards nightfall. Another day squandered. As unforgettable as those that precede it. Yet I yearn for those midnight hours, the devil's hours, that time of night when sleep beckons, even so I resist. Calm in those precious moments. The howling wind well-nigh serene in its ferocity.</p><p>I fear my countenance is slipping into the abyss. Trepidation gripping its arctic fingers around my heart and compressing the last inkling of vigor out of me. This dreadful suspicion that I have become a ghost wandering the halls of my own life is entirely debilitating. No longer able to recognize whether I am dead or alive.</p><p>Gripped by the paralyzing fear that I am somehow running out of time. Unable to stop the incessant ticking of the proverbial clock. Tortured endlessly by my own self-doubt and self-loathing. </p><p>I am drowning, gasping for air. Reaching out for help. But there is no-one reaching back to seize me and raise me from perdition. All I see is some twisted-faced, grotesque version of myself. A wicked doppelgänger. Gazing down at me. A malicious grin mocking me from above. Watching me slip further beneath the surface.</p><p>Is all of this, this existence, this reality, this <i>mise-en-scène,</i> little more than an exercise in futility?</p><p>- M xx</p>Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-31479762020800817512020-04-29T13:33:00.000+02:002020-04-29T13:33:55.958+02:00The Haunting<div 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<i><span style="color: #444444;">"Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart."</span></i></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="color: #444444;">- Pablo Neruda, <b>Don't Go Far Off</b></span></i></span></div>
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Fear, in my experience, is as powerful a motivator as love. The pair are but two sides of a single coin. Intertwined and interchangeable. There cannot be one without the other. That thing, that despairingly soul-crushing <i>angst</i> that what you have is nothing more than a <i>fugacious</i> moment in time, dissipating into the ether. That loss is inescapable and ineluctable. It is a suffocating realization. A haunting inevitability that chokes you, weighs you down, torments you through every moment of happiness, every ephemeral juncture of elation or euphoria.<br />
<br />
The unavoidable terror of the thought of losing the person, or people, that mean the most, are closest to you can smother you, snatch your breath away. Razor-edged, piercing agony rips through your entire body, and you are paralyzed. Adrift in a sea of despair, self-loathing and deep-running, soul-destroying terror. Paranoia that plagues your every waking moment. An unwelcome nightmarish visitor in the fits of restless sleep. Taunting your subconscious, always there, just under the surface, jeering, teasing, mocking you endlessly, relentlessly.<br />
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Until you are nothing more than a shell of the person you once were, left contemplating who this person is that you have become. Utterly impotent in the face of heart-wrenching despair. An unconditionally terrifying and overwhelming experience<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- M xx</span></div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-51197556687788985662020-04-23T16:24:00.001+02:002020-04-23T16:24:43.235+02:00Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_QMIUZI2fumwmyKrQSbcgbfuh-9vX6EUwSCnMwBAJy1CAx1LtYLBgaeENUIJ8gUBbw1-y6wyCfpLlEjTby-WxmcG3SRFSXoXM_jo3CxI_JIE_4DgT4LUNMKlltYnAkpZWiYAZ77zuw/s1600/2020-03-13+09.22.26+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH_QMIUZI2fumwmyKrQSbcgbfuh-9vX6EUwSCnMwBAJy1CAx1LtYLBgaeENUIJ8gUBbw1-y6wyCfpLlEjTby-WxmcG3SRFSXoXM_jo3CxI_JIE_4DgT4LUNMKlltYnAkpZWiYAZ77zuw/s640/2020-03-13+09.22.26+1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="color: #444444;">“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.”</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-<i> Hunter S. Thompson, <b>Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</b></i></div>
<br />
These people's lives are dull and repetitive. Cyclical, really. Repeating the same thing day in and day out, <i>ad nauseam</i>, expecting varying conclusions. The definition of insanity. It was unequivocally depressing. It had the innate ability to suck the life right out of you. Leave you empty, a shell of your former self. These dreary individual's joyless existences inexorably intertwined within the fabric of your own life. Leaving you to question your own mortality and the sheer transience of it all. The impermanency of jouissance, as it were. Any former glory they once might have possessed reduced to little more than a fading memory, recaptured fleetingly through the obscure haze of whiskey-coloured glasses. Their sadness dripping off the bar counter, hanging about in the air like stale cigarette smoke.<br />
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Fake laughter and feigned interest. Sickeningly saccharine honeysuckle little more than a cloying veil for antipathy and despair.<br />
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This place.<br />
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The air is feverish, thick and suffocating. The hum of the fridges, their garish neon lights taunting me, drilling through my skull. Jeering smirks, off-colour comments flung like knives. The cool, moist bottles forgiving against my sweaty palms. The throb in my ankle, the knot in my stomach. The desperation for my imminent escape palpable. Lurid, twisted faces like reflections in a fun house mirror. Contorted, deformed, terrifyingly human.<br />
<br />
M xxMelissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-53080576479096079182019-06-27T12:57:00.000+02:002019-06-27T12:57:00.572+02:00And Her Arms Were Branches Dancing With the Breeze...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #666666;"><i>"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming, or tedious." </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #666666;"><i>- Oscar Wilde</i></span></div>
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I wander through the halls of my life, my eyes glazed over and my mind numb. The various passages seem unfamiliar to me. I am in autopilot, smiling when necessary, revealing little of my true state. </div>
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When I close my eyes I am in limbo, my naked body floating in a sea of blackness. My head is underwater and all I can hear is the dull thudding, reminding me that my heart is still beating. </div>
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Somewhere else, in a cage, I am screaming with such force that my cheeks are ripping open and my gums are bleeding. I am falling down a never-ending rabbit hole. My body aches to be caught, to be held, to be squeezed. </div>
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My life is simulacra and I am nothing but a vessel.</div>
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M xxMelissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-80931874562985519812015-10-14T16:47:00.000+02:002015-10-14T16:48:43.621+02:00Do not go gentle into that good night<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<i>"Old age should burn and rave at close of day;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Rage, rage against the dying of the light."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- Dylan Thomas, <i>Do not go gentle into that good night</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Human beings are bizarre and anomalous creatures. We desire change at an inherent and perhaps even primal level, yet we simultaneously abhor and rebuff the very thing we crave.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Perhaps this is because, at our essence, we prefer to embrace comfort in the face of the unknown. We would rather avert our gaze than stare down, way beyond the precipice, into the endless void below.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have always regarded myself as the type of person who constantly asks, "Do I dare disturb the universe?", and without hesitating, replies emphatically with a resounding "But of course".</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Yet, is it really so despicable to turn toward comfort rather than espouse uncharted territories, particularly in our weakest moments, those of fear? Or is that the time in which we are required to delve into those unexplored depths with the most reckless abandon?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That is the unwavering, and likely unsolvable problem, I suppose. That is, the impenetrable question of the human essence, of how to define it, of how to negotiate it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is no definitive answer. The human condition is fluid and constantly manipulated by forces both exterior and interior to it. We can only decide how we wish to navigate our existence.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The rest is just ashes in the wind.</div>
<br />
Love & light,<br />
M xxMelissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-26451296000791295262015-10-04T17:25:00.000+02:002015-10-04T17:26:08.686+02:00Night Film<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>“Mortal fear is as crucial a thing to our lives as love. It cuts to the core of our being and shows us what we are. Will you step back and cover your eyes? Or will you have the strength to walk to the precipice and look out?” </i></div>
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<i>― </i>Marisha Pessl<i>, Night Film</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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I felt my life was mostly the live action epitome of existentialism - existentialism incarnate - with fragmented bursts of normalcy. My reality a single extended exhalation. I felt frustrated, angry, anxious, confused, but mostly, sad.</div>
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After a fitful night spent thrashing around between the suffocating sheets unable to embrace the solace of sleep, I finally managed to fall into a disturbed and restless slumber long after the sun had risen. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I awoke less than an hour later, unsettled, an aching sense of discontent lingering like stale smoke around my shoulders and collar bones. These nightmares are frequent and unyielding.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Love & light,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
M xx</div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-23232688663541158692015-09-22T16:32:00.000+02:002015-09-22T16:55:41.726+02:00Waiting for Godot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i>“Estragon: I can't go on like this.</i></div>
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<i>Vladimir: That's what you think.” </i></div>
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<i>- </i>Samuel Beckett, <i>Waiting for Godot</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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Over the past year and a half I have written sporadically. Wine soaked proclamations of love. Hopeless pleas of regret, sorrow, and irreversible anguish. Wallowing in misanthropic delusions my only solace. Tiny self-indulgent scriptures reserved only for me, to desperately clutch onto in self-inflicted moments of turmoil. Yet little of worth has been spilt from my quill.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Being creatively stifled has had an inherently crippling effect on me. I move through the world in a subdued state. Life passes me by in a swirl of muted colours that mirrors my jaundiced perception of reality. I have been completely stunted, entirely incapable of creative expression. A hollow shell of a human being trying to make sense of a nonsensical paradigm. Grappling for the energy to merely carry out the motions.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I fear I have become inexorably maudlin. Like a sad clown on the worst kind of summers day. Balmy and suffocating. The Great Pagliacci. Past his prime. Melted soft serve dripping down his pudgy fingers and wrists onto his chubby lap. Jaded and alone on the isolating path to self-destruction. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To be entirely truthful, I have no idea where I am going. I am not where I expected to be at this point in my life. But really, who can predict these things. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I tried picking up Bukowski but he only served to reaffirm my melancholy. The truth is, I am not entirely sure that we are ever capable of truly figuring it out. So we sit, drinking our cheap Scotch and sucking on our Marlboros, hoping for some inkling of enlightenment. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But honestly, enlightenment is a lot like Godot. We can sit and wait and wax lyrical about our own conceptions of what it might be, but, like Godot, it repeatedly fails to arrive. The play ends, the house lights turn off and we are left in the dark, alone, no closer to to enlightenment than we were before. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To prophesize that it is all doom and gloom, though, would be an insult to the truth. What other point to life is there than to grab onto the fragments of happiness that are flung our way and hold onto them with the utmost vehemence? Like a child unwilling to part with its favourite toy.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It only takes one person to alter our perceptions of reality, to banish the darkness and expose the cracks of light beyond the abyss, albeit in rare and infrequent effusions. If you happen to stumble across this person, do not let them go. You might not find another like them again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Love & light,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
M xx</div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-80012309365425610562014-03-17T11:41:00.003+02:002014-03-17T12:06:54.688+02:00there will be no trace that one was once two after I fade into you <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was once
told that I am a tragic romantic, to which I protested with the utmost
vehemence, utterly and inherently adverse to any and all articulations of
myself as any version of an amorous fool. Yet, perhaps, as I twirl through the violent wind
at that time of the night when a blanket of deathly silence covers the earth
during the depth of a balmy and unrelenting summer, imploring him to follow me,
chase me, consume me, I cannot help but wonder if the aforementioned
description of me is entirely untrue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The whiskey
has muddled my mind and all I remember is uttering "Until we meet
again" as I pull the door closed behind me, upholding the promise we made
to never say "goodbye". Sitting alone in the uninhabitable dark after
he has delivered me at home, the warmth of the golden liquid coursing through
my veins, I am haunted by the feeling of his lips pressing against mine. The
cool concrete of the long-forgotten basketball court against my skin, the faded
graffiti etching itself into my back. Desperate caresses stolen under a cloak
of inquisitive stars.
The culmination of months of forbidden longing and illicit fantasies. The
inevitable air of uncertainty looming ominously over our heads like a
cartoon storm cloud, because we both know that our time together will be
both tumultuous and
fleeting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Have
we inadvertently become the cliche we both detest with such loathing?" He
asks me as we spin around on the aging, maudlin Round-a-Bout, the only
reminder that this overgrown patch of grass was ever a play park. Presently
it is haunted by the echoes of forgotten promises and sticky ice-cream stained
fingers on a tranquil summer afternoon. The shrill cries of the laughter of
children are nothing more than a faint residual memory filtering through the
too-long blades of grass. We had spent the night flirting despairingly with a warm bottle of
Jack Daniels he had secreted away in a hidden compartment in the dashboard of
his car, expressing our malaise and unbridled abhorrence toward those prosaic and
mediocre people who are shackled by the most banal characteristics of the
platitudinous commercialized ideas of romantic love, vowing never to resemble
them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I jump off
the still moving Round-a-Bout and seize the cool metal with both hands to draw the ride to a halt as
soon as he was close enough to face me. I remember the way the wind whipped
through my hair as I held his face in my hands, afraid to let go, terrified at
the thought of holding on. I tell him that it doesn't matter because in that
moment we are limitless, cosmic, paraphrasing a line I had once read in a
novel. All at once, in a most fortuitous and prodigious manner, I have the
distinct impression that I am a character passing through an airport terminal
and meeting eyes with a devastatingly alluring stranger in a Tolstoy novel. It
feels a lot like serendipity. When I tell him this much he simply smiles and,
cradling my face in his hands, kisses me. And suddenly, I am afraid that all we
have left is borrowed time and stolen embraces. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I told him that one day I would write
about him, and now I suppose I have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Love & light, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">M xx </span></span></div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-91447067540383712162013-09-06T11:44:00.001+02:002013-09-06T11:48:08.373+02:00Special Topics in Calamity Physics <div style="text-align: justify;">
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<i><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">"And I feel like I'm dippin' and divin'. </span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">My sky shoes are spiked with lead heels. </span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">I'm lost in this star car I'm drivin'. </span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">But my air sole keeps pushin' big wheels. </span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">My world is a constant confusion.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">My mind is prepared to attack.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">My past, a persuasive illusion.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">I'm watchin' the future it's black.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">What do you know? </span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">You know just what you perceive.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">What can you show?</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">Nothing of what you believe.</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">And as you grow, each thread of life that you leave</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">Will spin around your deeds and dictate your needs</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">As you sell your soul and you sow your seeds</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">And you wound yourself and your loved ones bleed</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">And your habits grow, and your conscience feeds</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">On all that you thought you should be</span><br style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;">I never thought this could happen to me." </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 21.328125px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;"><i>- </i>Don McLean</span><i><span style="color: #999999; font-family: inherit;">, Dreidel</span><span style="color: #676767; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span></i></span></div>
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An imperceptible sigh. That is how I categorize my existence now. The slow and steady release of breath symbolizing my inability to hold on to the will to live. My perpetual decent into the various <i>circles of hell</i>. Dante's <i>Inferno</i> beckons me, with whispers that feel like thistles on my eardrums, blood trickling down the side of my face, the metallic aroma prickling my nostrils. I always thought of myself as a <i>writer</i>, yet I am barely grasping my ability to formulate the narrative, the lyrical dialogue, the <i>intro, body and conclusion</i>, as it were. I have lost the plot, a thoroughly <i>post-modern</i> dilemma, some might say. Is it ethical to call myself a writer if I am hardly wont to label myself <i>human</i>? Are the two really indissociable? My perception is warped, not unlike fun-house mirrors, distorting reality, drawing one into what lies beyond the twisted glass. A world of fear, loathing and disillusionment.<br />
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Love & light,<br />
M xx </div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-2232036699140079302013-07-15T14:07:00.001+02:002013-07-15T14:08:59.689+02:00Happiness Is...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The relative guilt I feel for abandoning my blog for such an extended period of time is increasingly overshadowed by my adoration for what can only be described as the most gorgeous creature ever to exist. My love for animals and my unrelenting persistence in begging my father for a puppy finally paid off. Despite my previous disdain for those people who Tweet, Facebook and Instagram countless pictures of their animals with silly captions, I have unwittingly become one of them, and the amount of fucks I give is less than none. Pepper is undoubtedly the most beautiful thing that has ever walked the earth. And our love for one another is unconditional. </div>
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So I apologize for my abandonment of all of you two-legged followers out there, I have been rather consumed with the four-legged enigma who has stolen my heart. </div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M xx </div>
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P.S. Stay tuned, more fashion-related and pseudo-intellectual (i.e. me being pretentious with my extensive vocabulary) posts to follow. </div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-12773495516475766772013-06-10T10:31:00.003+02:002013-06-10T10:37:33.622+02:00The Unbearable Lightness of Being<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">“But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid? The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground. But in the love poetry of every age, the woman longs to be weighed down by the man’s body. The heaviest of burdens is therefore simultaneously the image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”</i><br />
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<span style="color: #666666; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"><i>- Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being</i></span></div>
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Milan Kundera is one of my 'all-time' favorite authors. At the risk of sounding like a pretentious sycophant claiming to be enlightened by the power of literature, I can honestly say that reading <i>The Unbearable Lightness of Being</i> altered my very essence. Please do not mistake my intellectual epiphany for some frivolous <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i>-type journey of so-called self-discovery, which is actually little more than a thinly veiled romance novel masquerading as a proclamation of empowerment. No. Reading <i>The Unbearable Lightness of Being</i> was not that kind of experience. The war-torn political wasteland of the 1968 Prague Spring seemed to serve as a metaphor for my eternal neurosis. Yet, what has haunted me most since opening the cover and absorbing the words for the first time, is the unshakable realization that I am, and probably will always be, a heavy person. Despite my constant efforts to let lightness into my life, I am continually weighed down by my perpetual anxiety. I am beginning to accept that I will always be more like Tereza than Sabina - endlessly heavy, freed only fleetingly by a chance encounter with a bowler hat and the unconditional love of a dog named Karenin. </div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">♥</span> xx </div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-21615434722703663142013-05-29T10:58:00.000+02:002013-05-29T10:59:59.116+02:00A Portrait of a Woman as a Young Girl <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last night I dreamed that I was running through a forest. I looked down and realized that I was naked. I was confused by the serenity of my surroundings because my heart was pounding with fear. I had the feeling I was being chased. I glanced behind me and noticed an ominous shadow in my wake. I ran until I reached the bank of a rapidly flowing river. I spun around to face my shadowy opponent but I was only surrounded by trees and flowers and the soothing sound of the animated water below me. The distinctive aroma of cherry blossom suddenly occupied my olfactory senses. I looked across the river and saw a tall, pregnant woman staring back at me. "Am I dead?" I screamed, but the words caught in my throat and I was acutely aware that I could no longer speak. The woman smiled at me and dived into the water. I awoke expecting to find her beside me but I was alone. </div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M xx </div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-43959164488399565862013-05-22T10:05:00.001+02:002013-05-22T10:08:29.982+02:00I Lost Myself on a Cool Damp Night<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes I feel like my life is nothing more than a vague imitation of a badly written postmodern novel. Disjointed. Fragmented. Unfinished. I am floating around in a sea of grey, waiting for the epilogue that never comes. Some cliched indie film about a young ingenue suffering through an existential crisis. The not-so-enigmatic anti-heroine. A supporting character in her own narrative. A tragic victim of my neurosis. A thinly veiled portrayal of my poorly disguised desperation for a happy ending that is as tangible as a wisp of smoke.<br />
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Long hours spent on the dance floor tying to re-live my misspent youth. Is this what passes for music nowadays? Or is my repulsion just an indication that I have become jaded? These people are like the undead, wafting past one another, looking but not really seeing, speaking but not really listening, silently judging as they repeat their carefully constructed swaying ad nauseum. I have the gnawing suspicion that I should feel excited to be here but I am incapable of summoning the appropriate level of joie de vivre. I surrender and let the chaotic amalgam encircle me. I close my eyes and let the vibrations carry me. <br />
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The morning after the night before. Smudged mascara and the stench of stale cigarette smoke linger on my hair and under my fingernails. Re-watching old reruns of That 70's Show and pretending I don't exist. The canned laughter is my own. Stolen embraces in deserted stairwells. Juvenile wishes made under touching tree branches. I am anxious that all I will leave behind when I'm gone is the vague scent of Very Cherry lip balm and regret.<br />
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Love & light,<br />
M xxMelissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-69416442592470946972013-05-13T18:51:00.000+02:002013-05-13T18:53:39.153+02:00With a Wink and a Smile and a Vial of Meth, I Took his Hand and we Walked through the Shadow of Death...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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More and more frequently I am beginning to think of myself as a lump of clay. Never fundamentally one thing except something that can be moulded into every possible shape or form. Perhaps this means that I am like the water, constantly flowing, moving, changing. I have grown weary of the constant desire to please everyone around me. Fear is a powerful motivator. Taunting. Teasing. Always second guessing. Too scared that what I say will be the wrong thing. Surely I can't always be the only one making an effort. Yet I am. It is impossible to live up to the unrealistic expectations that are unceremoniously thrust upon me. My troubled mind is so clouded by the desperate need to hold together that which is rapidly slipping through my fingers that I can barely keep my head from toppling off my shoulders.This is a dangerous place to be in. I can feel it. I can sense myself tip-toeing closer to the edge of the abyss but there is nothing I can do to stop my perpetual descent.<br />
<br />
There are fleeting moments of blissful oblivion. A poorly lit, smokey room filled with strangers. The smell of whiskey and stale cigarettes. The familiarity of my friends' faces, their infectious laughter. The heady seduction of the warm, golden liquid sliding down my throat and embracing my insides. The unbridled excitement of tasting his lips for the first time. I am ashamed to admit that this is my favorite part of being with someone. That shiver of anticipation at the temptation of the unknown, that which has not yet been conquered. The fear that the inevitable boredom will descend and spread until it consumes me will only come later.<br />
<br />
Sex has become shrouded in shame. Done behind closed doors, in the dark, naked but unexposed. Leaving the scent of guilt lingering until it is scrubbed off under scalding water. Yet, the idea of another person's flesh against my own thrills me. A warm body to thaw the impenetrable facade.<br />
<br />
And still here I sit. Constantly reapplying lip ice as if it will make a difference. My mind is a whirlpool of various streams of consciousness. I struggle to arrive at any semblance of coherence. If I have an essence I have yet to discover it.<br />
<br />
Love & light,<br />
M xxMelissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-32782990576444946862013-05-01T12:56:00.000+02:002013-05-01T12:59:38.373+02:00Jumping Jack Flash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are a lot of really crappy things that come with being an insomniac - the long hours spent angry and frustrated, tired but unable to sleep, and defeat - finally giving up and watching crappy late night TV - like a zombie, not really taking anything in. But there is one thing that, I, as a sleep-deprived neurotic, am privy to that most (well-rested) people aren't. 4am is the best time of the day. Just before the sun rises, when the world is still asleep and everything is completely still. There is a sort of eerie calm that washes over the world at this hour. It is almost like being suspended in a perfect moment in time that is completely unaware of past, future or even itself. And then you get to watch and hear the world wake up - which in the moment feels so magical that you almost can't believe it happens every 24 hours. First, the birds start to chirp, stretch their wings and shake their feathers. Second, the sky starts to lighten, so slowly at first that, unless you are really paying attention, you don't even notice it happening. Then begins the gentle hum of traffic in the distance, front doors swinging open and the voices of people starting their day. And just like that, it is as if that perfect moment of solitude never existed. That's why 4am is my favorite time of the day. <br />
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Love & light,<br />
M xx<br />
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P.S.: Lovely photographs courtesy of my lovely dad :)Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-39158993176235278612013-04-26T12:11:00.002+02:002013-04-26T12:13:28.327+02:00The Graduate <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the build up to Graduation Day I was haunted by mental images of me tripping and falling while walking across the stage. I could just picture myself sprawled in front of the Vice Chancellor and all the deans with my dress over my head. Now, this wasn't my first rodeo and my undergraduate graduation last year went by without a hitch, BUT my fears were completely validated because my track record for embarrassing myself at important events is pretty impressive. Allow me to illustrate with three stand out examples.<br />
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1.) When I was in primary school I sang in the choir. I was tall for my age (although I seem to have stopped growing since) and I was in the top row on the choir stand. We were singing at some celebration of excellence of some sort and there were a lot of teachers, parents and students as witnesses. I really don't know how it happened because you are supposed to be standing still, but somehow I fell off the choir stand. The choir had to stop singing and wait for me to climb back up onto the stand. I swear these things only happen to me.<br />
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2.) In junior school I played the recorder. Okay, so it's not the most bad ass instrument but I was very good at it and eventually redeemed myself by moving on to the piano which is much cooler. (And also, Jethro Tull are really awesome and their music is all about the flute, which is basically an upgrade of the recorder, so there). Anyway, because I was very talented at playing the recorder, my music teacher arranged for me to play a solo at yet another celebration of excellence or prize-giving or some event where everyone was serious, dressed smartly and there were a lot of witnesses. So there I was, one of the shyest, nerdiest kids you could ever imagine, playing a solo piece in front of this massive (well, it probably wasn't that big, but in my mind it was the size of the Super Bowl) audience. And then a gust of wind (which I have no idea where it came from because we were indoors) blew my sheet music off the stand and onto the floor. I had to stop playing mid-song and retrieve my book off the floor, relocate the page the song was on, and start again. Floor swallow me up now.<br />
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3.) I decided to join the ballroom dancing society in high school. It was a lot of fun and every year, all the schools in town that offered ballroom dancing got together to plan a Ballroom Ball. It was all very exciting. We dressed up in these big ball gowns, had our hair and make up professionally done and slipped our feet into the most gorgeous heels (the girls, not the boys). Anyway, it was a very glamorous and elegant affair. One year the ball was held at one of the other schools which had a massive foyer with a considerable sized flight of stairs leading into the hall. So when we entered the hall we had to walk down these stairs in front of everyone else either entering or milling around the foyer. And let me tell you, it was packed when I walked in. There I am, entering the foyer and walking down the stairs in my beautiful puffy dress, and then I slip. And slide, yes slide, down the remaining stairs. My dress?? Over my head. And so I'm lying at the bottom of the stairs with my dress over my head and everyone is completely silent and staring at me. I have two options. I can either laugh, or cry. I decided to laugh, at which point I think I heard an audible sigh of relief from the on lookers and someone came over to help me up. Inside I was crying with humiliation.<br />
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So, as you can see, I had perfectly good reason for being nervous about walking across the stage at Honours Graduation. And the shoes I wore didn't exactly help because they are pretty high and very uncomfortable (by the time it was turn to be capped I couldn't feel my toes anymore) but they were the only ones I could find to match my beautiful vintage dress so I sucked it up. But, to my pleasant surprise, everything proceeded without a hitch and it was an amazing feeling to hear them call my name. I guess hard work does pay off after all and I now have my Honours degree. Now just to get through Masters...and then try to change the world :)<br />
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What is your proudest achievement?? :)<br />
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Love & light,<br />
M xx<br />
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P.S. Lovely photos of my friends and I taken by my equally lovely dad :)Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-28488433449693186652013-04-16T16:42:00.003+02:002013-04-16T17:11:24.677+02:00Shop My Closet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know, I know. I have been super quiet on the blogging front of late but I have been extremely busy. Life is totez cray cray at the moment. I am so sleep deprived I actually just used the phrase "totez cray cray". In other news, I have my Honours graduation on Thursday, which is very exciting. I will share my graduation outfit here once all the pictures have been taken of me, in my cap and gown, with a cheesy grin plastered on my face, hoping and praying that I don't fall flat on my face while walking across the stage. Additionally, things will (hopefully) start returning to some semblance of normality so I will (probably) be able to start posting regularly again :) </div>
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In the meantime, as a result of my ever expanding and overflowing wardrobe, I am selling some of the clothing I don't wear anymore on Facebook. You can find the album <span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Clothing-for-Sale/128619157324999" target="_blank"><span style="color: #cc0000;">HERE</span></a>. </span></div>
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I am willing to post anywhere to anywhere in South Africa for an added postage fee. If you are anywhere else in the world and you see something you really want to buy I'm sure I can arrange shipping but I can imagine that it would become quiet pricey. </div>
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Again, I apologize for my prolonged absence from blogging but you have my word that I am back with a vengeance :) And am currently in the process of responding to all the comments by visitng all your blogs too :)</div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M xx </div>
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P. S. The DIY post I promised is still coming soon and I still have a backlog of outfit posts so check regularly! :) </div>
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Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-12712632720064661732013-04-04T12:42:00.000+02:002013-04-04T12:46:57.960+02:00With Flowers in Her Hair <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love how the world looks just after it has rained. Everything seems brighter and greener - a vibrant shade that seems to light up any surroundings. And then the first rays of sun begin to gently pierce through the grey, ominous expanse of storm clouds and every tree and building seems new and fresh. Swallows and starlings cautiously creep out of their hiding places and begin to sing with delight. The sun hits the wet roads and the streets are suddenly paved with gold. I'm Dorothy, skipping down the Yellow Brick Road. I think that this is my favourite part of the rain. Those magical moments just after it stops, when everything is still and anything seems possible. I guess the point of this poetic tangent is that things aren't perfect all the time. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it storms but there are these fleeting moments of joy, of pure unadulterated bliss that we should savor, because they make the difficult parts fade into oblivion, if only for a minute. </div>
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Anyway, my philosophical ramblings aside, I just want to give a shout out to everyone who reads my blog - I can't put into words how grateful I am that people actually take the time to read what I have to say. As a writer, it is difficult to put yourself out there and hope that you are well received. </div>
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Also, thank you to everyone who leaves such lovely comments on my blog, I love reading through them and I will always respond by visiting your blog and returning the courtesy. I've been so busy lately (I'm house/cat sitting at the moment) and I haven't had time to respond lately, but <b>I promise I will get to it as soon as I can</b>! </div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M xx </div>
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P. S. Lovely photos courtesy of Pat Sydie :) </div>
Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-82185903315325022192013-04-02T11:45:00.000+02:002013-04-02T11:45:34.519+02:00Gimme Some Blog Lovin' Baby!!! Okay, so I'm pretty sure most of us have heard the rumors that GFC (Google Friend Connect) will no longer be operational from June. I don't know much about it, or how true it is, or the how and whys of the situation, BUT what I do know is that GFC closing down means that a whole community of bloggers will become separated from one another. UNLESS, we all make use of a wonderful little thing called <a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Blog Lovin'</span></a>.<br />
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I would really love for all my followers and all the blogs I follow to be able to stay in touch if GFC does close it's doors on us bloggers, SO please follow my blog on <a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/4805559" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Blog Lovin'</span></a>?? Pretty please with a cherry on top?? :) You can do so by clicking the handy link below! :) And I will return the courtesy :)<br />
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<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/en/blog/4805559" title="Follow Lois Lennon on Bloglovin"><img alt="Follow on Bloglovin" border="0" height="400" src="http://www.bloglovin.com/widget/bilder/widget_watkins.gif?id=4805559" width="266" /></a><br />
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You can also transfer your reading list in Google Reader across to Blog Lovin' by following these steps!!! :)<br />
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Love & light,<br />
M xx<br />
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<b>P.S.: You can also find me on: </b></div>
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Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-35881330060812347392013-03-28T16:43:00.004+02:002013-03-28T16:50:08.616+02:00The Scarlet LetterSo I just watched <b>Easy A</b> for about the billionth time (I REALLY like this movie, okay) and I decided to share one of my favorite quotes with ya'll. (There are so many, this character is 50 shades of amazeballs). <div>
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Here it is: </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">"Whatever happened to chivalry? Does it only exist in 80's movies?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">I wanna ride off on a lawn mower with Patrick Dempsey.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist into the air because he knows he got me.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">Just once, I want my life to be like an 80's movies.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">Preferably one with a really awesome musical number for no apparent reason.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 0px; outline: none 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">But no. No. John Hughes did not direct my life." </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; line-height: 19px;">Olive Penderghast, you are my hero. </span></span></div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M xx </div>
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P. S.: Emma Stone is awesome. I have a serious girl-crush on her. </div>
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Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-21164505719419406292013-03-27T10:34:00.000+02:002013-03-27T10:34:52.685+02:00Just Call Me Jessica Rabbit <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So I'm officially a red head. I actually have been one for over a week now but I guess I'm only posting about the change now. I get bored with my hair colour pretty quickly, so I like to change things up quite often. I have had brown hair, black hair, blonde hair, purple hair, green hair and now red hair. It's not the first time I've had red hair. My natural hair colour is browny auburn, but I haven't seen it since I was about thirteen. A few years ago when my hair was super long, like grazing my butt long, I dyed it red for a while. And now it's red again, and I have to say, I really like it! </div>
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Anyway, the text portion of this post is pretty superficial and uninteresting but I don't really feel like talking about what is going on in my life at the moment and I think I have shared enough personal information in my previous couple of posts. All I can really share today is that change is inevitable. </div>
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Love & light, </div>
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M xx </div>
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P. S.: Photographs courtesy of my lovely dad, Pat Sydie :) </div>
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Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4332726443347460755.post-63685636940609982482013-03-25T11:07:00.002+02:002013-03-25T11:09:25.699+02:00Whaddup, Liebster Award!!! So, as I mentioned in my previous post, I was nominated for both the Versatile Blogger Award and the <b>Liebster Award</b> - which I will be posting about today!!! :) <b>A HUGE thank you to Stephanie from <a href="http://vidathings.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">VidathingS</span></a> for nominating my blog for the Liebster Award!!!</b> Please check out her blog, like <b>immediately</b>, because it is all kinds of awesome!!! :) To have been nominated for this award and the Versatile Blogger Award, especially when my blog is still so new, is such an amazing honor and it really inspires me to continue growing and nurturing my blog. :)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">THESE ARE LE RULES</span></b></div>
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<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Share 11 things about yourself</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Answer the 11 questions that your tagger gave you</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Choose 11 fellow blogs to nominate. The nominees must have less than 200 Google Friend Connect Followers and be told via comment on their blog</span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Think of 11 questions to ask the bloggers that were nominated </span></li>
<li style="margin: 0px 0px 0.25em; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank the person that nominated you and link back their blog</span></li>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">11 THINGS ABOUT MYSELF</span></b></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">My family is literally the most important thing in the world to me.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">I love being outdoors. I believe that too often we forget that we are a part of nature and inherently connected to it. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">I hate technology but don't know how to live without it. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">I am my biggest critic and my own worst enemy.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">Even though I think it's a good thing, I don't adapt easily to change. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">I am obsessed with horror movies. Especially old, black and white vampire movies, like Nosferatu, and classic zombie movies a la George Romero. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">One of my most pressing dreams is to see the world and have amazing, life-changing experiences. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">Sometimes I wish my life was a little bit more like a John Hughes movie. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">For a large part of my life all I wanted to do was be a classical musician. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 16px;">I feel like my experience of high school poisoned me against things that are actually valuable in life. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">I want to be a blues singer in a dark smokey club lounge. </span></li>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">STEPHANIE'S 11 QUESTIONS</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"><b> </b>1. <b>How you love spending your time? </b>The best way to spend my time is with my family. </span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">I am house-sitting </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> at the moment and experiencing severe separation anxiety! I also love getting lost in the world of literature </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> and music. </span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">2. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">Two clothing items that you can't live without? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">At the moment I would have to say my high-waisted </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> shorts and crop tops (this will probably change soon, with winter drawing closer and all that)</span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">3. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">What can people learn from your blog? Or what do you want them to? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">Of course this is primarily a </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> fashion blog, so I hope to inspire others with my style (I feel quite narcissistic writing this). But my blog </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> isn't only about fashion. It's also about contemplating life and daily frustrations, so I hope my readers are </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> able to take something useful from my ramblings. </span></div>
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<b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">4. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">If you could pack your bags right now and move to another city, which one would it be? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">I'd </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> probably choose somewhere in Greece or Turkey, because I'm really fascinated by the culture at the </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> moment. </span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">5. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">If you could meet one famous person, who would you choose? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">Hmm, this is a tough one, there are </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> so many inspiring figures. Can I choose someone who is dead?? Because I would love to be able to have</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> a conversation with Michel Foucault or John Lennon. </span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">6. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">A sunny day at the beach or a cold, snowy day at the mountains? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">A sunny day at the beach wins </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> every time. </span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">7.</span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> Most amazing thing, memory or day of your life? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">This is such a difficult question to answer. I guess </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> the memory, or actually memories that stand out the most in my mind are those days in my childhood, </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> when everything was simple and life was full of promise. I remember days spent playing in the garden with</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> my sister, building puzzles with my mom on rainy days, and getting piggy-back rides from my dad. It is </span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> these moments that I cherish the most. </span></div>
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<b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">8. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">Favourite scent?</b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> The smell of bread baking is truly amazing. </span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">9. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">Describe your style in 3 words.</b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> Eclectic, retro, colourful. </span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">10. </span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">What is the motto of your life? </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">"See everything, and ourselves in everything, healed and whole, forever".</span><br /><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">11.</span><b style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> What is your favourite beauty product?</b><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> Probably mascara...I have really pathetic eyelashes. </span><br /><ol>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;"><b>MY 11 QUESTIONS</b></span></span></div>
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1. <b style="font-weight: bold;">Who is your style icon??</b></div>
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2.<b style="font-weight: bold;"> What are two of your worst habits?? </b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"> </b>3. <b style="font-weight: bold;">Are you a morning person or a night owl??</b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"> </b>4.<b style="font-weight: bold;"> What is your favourite song at the moment?? </b></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"><b> </b>5. <b>What do you do if you are having a really bad day?? What calms you down?? </b></span></span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"> </b>6.<b style="font-weight: bold;"> If you could only wear one outfit for the rest of your life, what would it be??</b></div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"> </b>7. <b style="font-weight: bold;">What would your superhero name be?? </b></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"><b> </b>8. <b>What is your favourite accessory?? </b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"><b> </b>9. <b>What inspired you to start blogging?? </b></span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: bold;"> </b>10.<b style="font-weight: bold;"> All time favourite movie?? </b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">11.<b style="font-weight: bold;"> If you were stranded on a desert island and could take 3 things with you (excluding human </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: bold;"> beings), </b><b>what would you choose to take?? </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;"><b>MY 11 LOVELY NOMINEES!</b></span></span></div>
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<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><span style="color: #222222;">Galia from </span><a href="http://fashionarted.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Fashionarted</span></a></b></span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;">Smiley Clara from </span><span style="color: #e06666;"><a href="http://ditsysprinkles.blogspot.co.uk/" style="line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Ditsy Sprinkles</span></a><span style="line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"> </span></span></span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 18px; white-space: nowrap;"><b><span style="color: #222222;">Blythe from </span><a href="http://tulip-agate.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Blue Roses</span></a></b></span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bianca from <a href="http://www.xoxololita.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">XOXO Lolita</span></a> </span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">JKal from <a href="http://www.jkvintageaffair.blogspot.ca/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Jkal's Vintage Affair</span></a> </span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kaitlyn and Lotte from <a href="http://moonmagiczine.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Moon Magic</span></a> </span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ashley from <a href="http://thelittledaintysailor.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">The Little Dainty Sailor</span></a></span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lauren from <a href="http://creativityisblisss.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Creativity is Blisss</span></a></span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna from <a href="http://the-annagram.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Annagram</span></a></span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fiona and Jenny from <a href="http://thescarletribbonblog.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">The Scarlet Ribbon</span></a> </span></b></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mia from <a href="http://miafashionablylate.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Fashionably Late</span></a> </span></b></li>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">These are some of the blogs that I have stumbled across recently and really enjoy reading, so please check </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">them out - they are all so amazing!!! :) </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="white-space: nowrap;">To all the nominees, please comment with a link to your Liebster Award post so I can read your answers!!! <3 </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;"><span style="color: #222222;">A </span><b style="color: #222222;">huge</b><span style="color: #222222;"> thank you again to Stephanie from </span><a href="http://vidathings.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">VidathingS</span></b></a><span style="color: #222222;"> for nominating me for this award!!! :) </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="white-space: nowrap;">Love & light, </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">M xx </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: inherit; white-space: nowrap;">P. S. Tomorrow I will post a new outfit (with my new hair *wink* Ooh la la!!!) </span></span></div>
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Melissa Sydiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12748632751270496907noreply@blogger.com16