Link for the New Blog

Hello, a tiny little post telling you that this is my link for the new blog so feel free to check it out: http://alittlekiran.blogspot.co.uk/

Thank you so much.

Kiran xxxx

Self-esteem. A bit of a personal rant.

Hello there, my sweethearts, I know I promised to continue Paris but writing about it and looking over all the pictures is making me pitifully nostalgic if I could beam myself back there I would. In a heartbeat. However, I promise to finish it and all some lovely, atmospheric snaps, cross my heart. In the meantime, I thought I would just fill you in with what is going on in my head today. My mind over the past few days has been preoccupied mostly with envy and body-image.

As you all know I have just started a YouTube channel and it scares the absolute crap out of me, all of my self-esteem issues have suddenly just rushed to the fore and I am scared people will rip me to shreds. It takes a lot of guts to put yourself out there so I admire anyone who can do it with the confidence and grace I have seen from some YouTubers. I look upon you with awe. And envy.

I am sure we all get it, when you're scrolling through your news feed, or passing people by in the street or even when you're having a much-needed catch-up with your friends. At least for me, I am not ashamed to admit that I get a little jealous sometimes, not in a cruel way, but I have constantly been the type of person who sees one good thing in everybody. You name any person on the planet and I would be able to find a good quality or feature that I could ascribe to them and that's not due to being born in a cripplingly polite household (the opposite actually) but simply because I believe it. I might have high standards when it comes to looks but I have never found anybody on the planet, even those few people that I dislike, ugly.

Getting back on topic though, as a psychologist, this envy intrigues me greatly. It baffles me when I realise other people feel it too. For me, because I know my own mind better than anyone else's, I can to an extent pinpoint my issues. I have always been insecure, whether it be because I wear glasses, or am naturally shy, and not nearly as confident as the people I surround myself with I genuinely have no idea. I just know that when I look in the mirror, I don't think there is a single part of me I wouldn't change if I could. I am not talking anything drastic, I would never go under the knife for fear they would muck up irreversibly and I would end up with half a nose or something. Rather, little things, like my elder sister has really big eyes, lovely, bold and brown, and they are the first things you would notice about her. I have always been a little envious of this, and in the same vein my little brother has outrageously long eyelashes which I would love to be the owner of myself. It takes me several coats of Chanel mascara to have the same effect.

You see, they aren't big things and I know it's been reiterated that as humans we are simply programmed to want what we can't have at all times, but I am not buying it. I feel like I have met people who seem perfectly comfortable and at home in their skin and that is a feeling I envy most of all. When you think of all the time wasted wishing you were someone else with clearer skin, bigger eyes, longer lashes and legs, it's actually quite ludicrous. I have no idea how to change it though, whenever I am depressed I seem to dwell on these things and of course I get a little upset until in despair when I come to the realisation over and over again that lamenting it isn't going to change anything I get fed up and declare that I am over it.

This bugs me, this endless cycle, because I know I wasn't always like this, as a child I was as uninterested in looks as my father is in MAC cosmetics, I couldn't have cared less, I thought it was obscene the amount of money people fritter away carelessly on fancy designer garments and high-end cosmetics. Evidently all this has changed and I think it's quite beautiful in a way, the confidence a lipstick or mascara can give you, yes it's superficial but if it makes you feel good and you aren't hurting anyone, what is the harm. No one can begrudge you that happiness, temporary though it may be. I got to the point where I was ruminating over how unexpected my shift in attitude towards appearance altered so drastically and I think I finally pinpointed it.

 One day in class, I was about nine or ten years olds. The teacher asked us to write five things we liked about ourselves, at this time I was already having trouble. I have always been smart, not so much now, but as a kid the simple stuff like fractions and addition, multiplication, reading etc came as easy to me as breathing so I tended to find school quite boring. I wasn't gifted or anything, I just spent a lot of time with my older sister and it seemed to have paid off without either of us noticing. Around this time my Great Grandfather died and although it wasn't utterly unexpected considering his age it knocked me for six, this was the first time I had ever been confronted with mortality and it terrified me. I just wanted to know where he was and I started to get a little anxious and restless at school so I would usually just stay at home or go to my Nan's when I could. This day though I was there, and at first I struggled to complete the assignment, but eventually I wrote down a few things, like my hair and teeth, my eyes were okay but I didn't have good eyesight so I reluctantly put that down as my third thing. And then I was stuck, hopelessly stuck, I just couldn't think of anything, it was pathetic but I was having a serious crisis of confidence. It wasn't just aesthetics, I couldn't name anything I liked about my personality either and it shattered what little self-liking I had.

I know now that's silly, but at the time it felt like a major deal and as soon as I got home I hid under my Dad's arm reassuring myself that it didn't matter if I was unattractive and uninteresting my parents loved me unconditionally. Luckily as I grew up, I started to notice that other people had their own confidence issues, everyone has areas which they are not totally pleased with, that is just life. I can't say I won't ever feel that way again, because as an insomniac I think obsessively when I can't sleep and just start listing things I want to change or improve about myself as a person and on one hand that is good, it pushes me to keep becoming a better person because I know I could do so much more. But on the darker hand, it can sometimes be soul destroying and extinguish any love you have for yourself. It can be positive to be critical but don't over do it.

I have never in my life wholly admitted to someone even the people closest to me in this world about my self esteem issues. Once when I was drunk in the first term of university and upset about something I spoke to a good friend a little about it and she basically told me I was being ridiculous. That was good in the sense it made me snap out of it, I liked her and wanted her to be my friend so I just brushed whatever was bothering me under the carpet I didn't want her to think I was making stuff up for attention or that I was pathetic (which admittedly after reading this post I am starting to feel like it haha). But alternatively, we meet so many people and judge them instantly. Label them as people who have always got what they wanted and have never had anything bad happen to them at all. And that is what is ridiculous, someone tweeted me saying that "The brightest smiles often hold the saddest secrets" which is a more poetic way of saying "Don't judge a book by its cover". Everyone's feelings are valid.

So please, promise me, that if anyone ever confides in you about anything to do with their body-image or self-esteem or really anything personal, just hear them out. Sometimes all anyone needs is someone who will listen and maybe offer up a hug and a hot drink afterwards. It's not hard. And remember that even though maybe you don't like what you have, someone out there will. We are all unique and are tastes are so varied, so in the end everything will be okay and if i have depressed you immensely with my tirade please watch an episode of The Simpsons and just forget I ever said anything. Thank you guys.

Paris Diary ❤

Day Un.

Like all accounts I feel I should start at the very beginning, as in why we even decided to go to Paris in the first place. The idea first came into being during the Easter holidays, my friend Ieva who is a total label-whore but I love her anyway is obsessed with this French designer brand called Lancel that from what I can glean specialise in bags and the like. Ever since she was twelve years old she has pined over this bag and wanted to be its possessor, unfortunately it has always been outrageously expensive. Until, of course, a sale.  So she looked into it and discovered there would be a sale and she could order it online but to have it shipped to Lithuania (her native country) from Paris would cost a small fortune. And coincidentally a small fortune is exactly the same amount of money that would be required for an impromptu holiday. She proposed the idea to me, and instantaneously I concurred. Impulsive decisions are always my undoing, but I have wanted to go to Paris for most of my life and was incredibly excited by the prospect. Although, I couldn’t give a shit about this apparently life-changing, mouth-wateringly beautiful bag that resembles a marshmallow (which is my theory why she has coveted it so much); I do give a shit about going to Paris.

A few weeks before the alleged sale we started planning, we booked three nights at Aloha Hostel online and purchased return megabus tickets from Coventry Canon Park to Paris. It was all surprisingly simple. We planned what we wanted to do there, we found a myriad of things and then being brutal we slashed through some that we wouldn’t have time for. We were very ambitious, trying to fit eighteen things into three days and naturally not all of them were actualised.

On Sunday morning, we were scheduled to leave at quarter past six so we could reach Canon Park in plenty of time before our ten past seven coach. In preparation for this and the twelve hour journey ahead of us we opted to skip sleep and watch movies set in Paris instead. WE watched Pink Panther and practiced our own French accents, we had tea and packed and repacked and then packed again. We got to the coach station stupidly early and already hungry we indulged in some Galaxy cake bars. They were damn tasty, even if it was early.

The coach arrived and we sat together, even though in my experience from travelling to Amsterdam by coach, you should always sit by yourself when you are travelling for longer than a few hours. We arrived at Victoria Coach station in London a couple of hours later and went in search of hot food, we came to a café and had sandwiches. The coach trip to Paris was fairly uneventful, we discussed everything that was going on in our lives and infrequently napped, Ieva listened to her mp3 I gazed dreamily out of the window until we arrived at Dover.

We had missed the ferry. I love ferries, and am always unduly eager to board one, I love the rockiness and the smell of the sea, you just feel so fresh on the deck, utterly rejuvenated.  Instead, we crossed the channel via the Eurotunnel which meant we did not get a chance to stretch our legs at all. It was fine, a total of thirty five minutes so although there wasn’t much to look at, at least it was efficient. When we arrived in France, we looked eagerly at the scenery and all we really saw was a whole lot of green which was nice in its own way and then I shamelessly eavesdropped on the two girls behind us who both led very interesting lives. One girl was talking about how she had ran away to join the circus and that the circus was big in France, she had fallen in love with someone’s cousin and time apart was hard but she was very glad to be seeing him soon. The other girl had just graduated and was going to stay with her friend in Paris, she had an interview so she was only stopping for a few days and was very nervous. It was very entertaining.

Soon, Ieva alerted me to the Eiffel Tower and I forgot all about the girls behind me and concentrated on not squealing in delight like a two year old. We reached Porte Maillot Coach Station at seven in the evening and as we left it started to drizzle but not too much. Ieva had written out directions to our hostel and we planned to walk there even though in hindsight this was a crackpot idea. As we left the coach station in search of a street name we might recognise we came across a tiny, pretty building with gates. It was simple but appealing from the outside, and like dutiful tourists we snapped a few pictures and then I ventured inside to discover it was a chapel. A truly gorgeous chapel with stained glass windows, flickering candles and a marble Jesus on the cross. It was lovely, quiet, peaceful and echoing. I fell in love with this little chapel. A woman was there, praying intently she looked like she was in despair although maybe that was my imagination running amok. I like to think she was earnestly repenting and her piety would soon be rewarded. I am not religious by any means but this chapel made me wish I was.

Eventually after taking dozens of pictures and tiptoeing quietly around we left dragging our suitcases silently behind us. It started to rain and by rain I mean pour, we were being assaulted by the skies and not to put too fine a point on it we were miserably lost so we asked for directions. One woman sent us in the wrong direction so we asked another and she was extremely helpful even though she herself had no clue she would ask others. A guy with an iPhone Google-mapped it for us (Thank you God and Steve Jobbs) and we went traipsing back in the opposite direction at which point we saw the Arc de Triomphe from a distance and “fan-girled” for a couple of minutes.  We saw lots of tall, beautiful champagne and pastel coloured buildings that reminded me a little of Prague so of course we clicked away with our cameras, and by then I was desperate for the toilet so I went to a little café and practiced my limited French. The gentleman was very kind and I took ten minutes to freshen up.

We found the Eiffel Tower in due course and went crazy tourist for a good half an hour, with our suitcases we were easy targets and the dark skinned men with Eiffel Tower replicas on key chains pounced on us, but we just shook our heads and soldiered on even though some of the deals they were spitting out at us were quite tempting, one Indian gentlemen even offered one free as a gift which scared the shit out of me but amused Ieva to no end.  We walked far and then we walked a little more, we got lost a couple of times, we asked people directions, luckily the weather had cleared up nicely and we were fine, enjoying Paris. When we finally reached the street of our hostel we were exultant, we honestly didn’t think we would actually find the hostel it took us a good three hours but we definitely felt like accomplished human beings. Proper adults. It was a heady feeling. I think we were high on a sense of independence.

 At about ten pm we reached our hostel and our feet were dying. The man behind the counter was nice but he was very busy he told us to dump our stuff and go get something to eat so he could check us in when we returned, so we dumped our stuff I changed out of my boots because they were pinching my toes and we met two cute British guys in the storage room. We left and it was dark, we had passed so many places for food on the way we knew we wouldn’t have to walk far, we settled on a small Italian restaurant with red checked table cloths and wine already displayed proudly on the tables. We ordered hesitantly in French, Ieva had ham salad and I had Bolognese and Coke. It was good. We got lost on the way back to the hostel even though it was a mere street away and the sense of independence faltered but we found it in the end.

The man behind the counter had changed but he gave us everything we needed, our key cards, freshly laundered sheets, a few maps, times for breakfast etc. Our room number was 32 and we couldn’t find it so we asked the man again and he informed us it was outside so we went outside and trudged up to the highest floor. Our room was nice, there were two bunk beds, a sink and it was situated right next to the bathroom and shower which was handy. The only problem was it was already occupied by three girls whom we easily made friends with. They were all lovely and one tiny girl called Inka who was actually twenty-seven realised she had been in the wrong room all along.

Eventually, after washing and changing we crashed into bed. Ieva slept on the top bunk and every time it squeaked I had a mini heart attack. We planned to get up at seven in the morning eat our fill and then do some serious sight-seeing. There is no rest for the wicked.  I will upload pictures and videos later. Thank you for reading. Je t’aime beaucoup.

Birthday Time!

Truthfully, I have never really cared for birthdays, they are fun and you get cake and people are nice to you, that's all well and good but essentially you're just a day older than you were the day before and a day younger than you will be the day after. Age, now at least, doesn't seem to mean anything. I have never been fond of being at the centre of attention and I prefer to just slink away quietly in the corner and watch everyone else enjoy the spotlight. That's not about to change. I am 19 years old today and a little part of me is freaking out, it's as if every time I blink I get closer and closer to 20 and I hate it. It's not the ageing process that scares me, it's the fact that the years are just passing by so quickly and as I gain years I don't seem to gain maturity. Your birthday is like New Year's it's a chance to do stuff again, to start over and be a better version of yourself. But each and every time either of these milestones occur I always fail, when I got to university the first thing I wanted to do was reinvent myself, be the person I have always aspired to be, but pretty soon after the first week I felt myself slip back into old habits, it's just difficult to maintain a certain amount of effort at all times. I'm lazy. Might as well just admit it.

I think the predominant issue with this is that whenever I want to be or do something different it's always surface stuff, it involves spending and essentially is just a by-product of low self-esteem. Everyone has days when they feel a little bit low and can't help comparing themselves to their prettier, slimmer, funnier, smarter friends and it's horrible to feel like you are never going to match up. It's quite bold of me to say: I'm done with that, because in all honestly I don't think I'll ever be. I like pretty things and pretty (inside and out, I am not a shallow bitch who chooses her friends purely based on their looks) people, I wouldn't be friends with them if they didn't have great qualities. I have countlessly looked in the mirror and disliked what I saw, nobody is perfect and it seems as though everyone wants what they can't have.

Back to the task in hand though, I'm 19 and my exams are finished. I am still young, single and moderately sexy, and it's time for yet again another reinvention. My fresher's year is coming to an end and I have three weeks of stress-free fun in the sun (fingers crossed) so instead of overhauling my appearance, losing weight, purchasing the newest foundation or any of those other things that I would usually do to make myself feel better. Instead, this time, I am going to change my state of mind, it is time to be fearless and a little bit daring.
One of my close friends has always said to me that if you have the slightest bit of doubt or discomfort about something then don't do it, and I wholeheartedly agree with that. On the other hand, if you want to do something and you get that excited "I shouldn't but I really want to" fluttery feeling that kleptomaniacs get when they lift a nail varnish from Boots then I say go for it. Obviously, I am not talking anything illegal or harmful, I am not going to start dropping acid or going to orgies in the wood, fear not. But I do intend to do one thing every day without caring of the consequences, I want to maximise the amount of fun I have in the next three years because even if I have to retake my first year it won't be the same.

So for the next three weeks I will post an "In Her Shoes" profile, they'll be my shoes and they will probably be in terrible condition and if I can get a decent picture I'll include my outfit. And yes, I got the idea from Ugly Betty, I know it's finished but I am just so obsessed with this show, I could watch it all day, every day.


 In addition to this, I'll blog about my day and my new fearless attitude. Honestly, this will probably only last a week, because I only have so many shoes, but I'll keep you updated anyhow.

So Happy Birthday to me . . . Happy Birthday to me . . . and now for my first post before I have a long hot shower, hot because I am in it. Thank you for reading, if even one person is interested in this it would make my year. Please comment, get in touch, any and all feedback is welcomed.