Thursday 5 December 2013

What Is Your Greatest Story?

What is your favourite story to tell?

Out of everything you have done and experienced in your life, what would you say is your greatest story that you love to share with people?

This may not perhaps be my greatest, but it is certainly one I am very fond of.

This is what happened when me and a complete stranger on the London Underground decided to take fate into our own hands for just one evening.

Monday 18 November 2013

The 21st Birthday Treasure Hunt

This is the final segment of my 21st birthday, and the greatest and most extraordinary gift I have ever, ever been given.

I'd always lived so in fear of turning 21. To me, that marked the end of my window of opportunity to make something spectacular of my life. If I hadn't started to put wheels into motion by the time I was 21, the next thing I know I' be waking up 40 with a live of sheer dissatisfaction, any potential I once had, irretrievably gone.

Thursday 14 November 2013

A Week of Very Good News

All photographs above taken by me, and can be found on my Instagram. 

After seemingly endless months of slogging away, stressing to within an inch of my life to try and balance my internship, running two blogs and my Uni degree, this past week for me has felt like the first rays of sunshine that push through the clouds after the storm.

Saturday 2 November 2013

The Drowned Man - What Happens On The Inside

So this post is going to be a little different.

For my 21st birthday just passed, Florentine took me on one of the most insane and borderline indescribable adventures I have EVER been on.

It was called Punchdrunk's 'The Drowned Man.' 

For reasons in which will make themselves apparent, we're both going to tell the story, each from our different perspectives.

Disclaimer: This DOES contain SPOILER ALERTS. So if you don't want to know before you go, do not read on unless you're willing to find out what happens there.

Wednesday 30 October 2013

The View From The Shard

One part of the celebrations leading up to my 21st birthday was to travel up The Shard, the tallest building in London.

I was especially excited to do this, because I've been fascinated by the building ever since its creation, it's located at such a poignant spot in the city (the first thing I see when I leave the station to go to my internship every day) and also, it's just the magnificence city of London itself.

Saturday 19 October 2013

Glamping With Silvers

The first wonderful surprise I had leading up to my birthday, was the discovery that I had unexpectedly won a competition that I had drunkenly entered into with JK and the Iron Dwarf at Glastonbury on our crazy Friday bender.

Friday 11 October 2013


The first major event which I'll go back and catch up on, as I appear to have somehow entirely glossed over, is my trip to Dijon and Paris for my Uncle's wedding during Summer.

Ever since I was a child I have dreamed of going to Paris.

Tuesday 8 October 2013


October 7th 2013.

As I looked out at twilit London speeding away beneath my feet, for some reason, I couldn't help but feel inexplicably morose.

Thursday 19 September 2013

A9: S2 - Aesthetics

Strangers are very important to me.

The idea that are countless billions of people, thousands of which that may cross your line of vision on any one day, that have lives, careers, families, hobbies, secrets, pet hates and favourite things, is a head-achingly bombastic thing to contemplate.

The Darkness in Silver - Guest Post #3

by Áine Rose

'I sleepishly discovered Scarphelia one morning via a chance trend on twitter.

Instantly, I was awoken and engrossed, electrified to discover a youthful stranger on the same wave-length as me, albeit inextricably more refined.

There they were, the same infuriating questions about everything; questions I've always had, some I’d even forgotten about, but Scarphelia articulated them so precisely, it was like she helped me clear out overdue cardboard boxes from my mind, leaving me with capacious and ample space for discovery. But there were some things that I held quite different perceptions of.

Thursday 12 September 2013


I guess when it comes down to it, back to the root of it all, the whole point of me starting Scarphelia and this crazy mission was for one reason; To become remarkable.

The idea of turning 21 and never having done all of the things I dreamed of as a kid was absolutely... haunting.

I'd always had such clear and vivid dreams about what my future was going to be like, and it was only hitting 20 that I realised I'd done absolutely, cataclysmically nothing about it.

Friday 30 August 2013

A8: S3 - Chapter's End

"Are you coming with us? We’re leaving now."

I looked up. It was getting late and I knew I had to get up early to move out the next day.

Still, I hesitated.

Thursday 29 August 2013

Silver is Magnetic - Guest post #2

by Lauren Robertson

'Are you my son from the future?'

I typed, 90% joking and 10% serious, stunned by the depth of synchronicity I'd just experienced. For a long moment, the cursor blinked silently.

Monday 26 August 2013

Ambition & Adventure - Guest Post #1

by Kate Snowdon

'There are two things in life that drive me. Ambition and adventure.

It's ambition that gets me up in the morning; that's made me set so many career goals, and that's led to me achieving exactly what I set out to achieve at school, college, uni and (hopefully) thereafter.

Thursday 22 August 2013

A8: S2 - The Silver Grid

Firstly, I'd like to apologise for being away for so long.

If there's one thing which is a fundamental DON'T as a blogger, it's to take a hiatus. But doesn't life have a funny way of panning out? This was never an intentional hiatus, it's just everything has been unbelievably hectic lately, and I haven't had any time to blog, mostly because of this new internship I have started working in the City.

Besides, the more time I'm off having adventures, the more stories I'll have to tell, right?

Tuesday 6 August 2013

Act 8: Scene 1 - AUGUST

I've had three beautiful and startling realisations this week.

Number One: It is August. This means 2013 is two thirds complete. And... that doesn't actually feel wrong.  

Number Two: It's only two months until my 21st birthday, which marks the end of the first project of Scarphelia and the reason I started to blog - to create something remarkable before I turn 21. 

Number Three: All that has happened since I started this mission... has been beyond any realm of what I could've imagined. 

Monday 29 July 2013

A7: S7 - The Magic of Music

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I've always had an odd relationship with music.

I've never been one to be distraught if caught off-guard without my headphones, or spend endless nights weeping because my favourite band will never know I exist, but music is something which I have a very passionate and tempestuous love/hate affair with.

I know, it sounds ridiculous and contradictory coming from a singer, songwriter and (albeit amateur) musician, but hey, I'm pretty much the mistress of hypocrisy.

Wednesday 24 July 2013

A7: S6 - Crushing

Well gosh darn-ding-dang-doodly-damn it.

I'd been doing so well. 

But, *sigh* I've only gone and bloomin' well done it.

I'm C-r-u-s-h-i-n-g. 

Monday 22 July 2013

A7: S5 - The Clarity

Recently, my posts here have been more like a diary rather than the frustrated philosophical and spiritual debates that I once begun with. 

But I have by no means forgotten my rationale behind creating this blog, and lately, my absence in discussing these is due to being caught in a very bizarre place in my own mind, a place that even I find difficult to curate the words for. 

So I guess I'll start at the beginning.

Monday 15 July 2013

A7: S3 - Lovers Visions

Does your mind ever make you see things, or make you notice things which you cannot possibly begin to explain?

Yet inside your own head you can understand and comprehend these things completely, but only when you try and put words to them, only upon voicing them do you realise how clinically insane you sound?

This happens to me a lot.

Sunday 23 June 2013

A6: S6 - Scarphelia Stickers

When I first started my blog back in January, I was curious to find a way in which I could market myself virally in real life, as well as virally online.

I wanted to reach out to a wider audience, and although that was possible on the web through things such as creating a Facebook page and utilising the Better Blogger Network, it just didn't quench my curiosity.

And curiosity is something which has always been one of my highest needs, and I like to believe it is human nature to be curious.

Therefore I came up with the idea of Scarphelia stickers.

Friday 21 June 2013

A6: S5 - No-one Suspects a Wednesday...

I'm not sure whether it was the sunlight streaming through the blinds which woke me this morning, the sledgehammer headache doing its best to beat my eyeballs out of my head, or the swilling dizzy sickness dancing in my stomach... But aside from that, my first thought as I opened my eyes and looked around the room, was of complete and utter confusion.

Tuesday 18 June 2013

A6: S4 - Luck is a Choice

Time is nothing but a series of happenings, one after another.

Your life, the little pocket of time which you rent, is a series of these happenings, which happen to you.


Do you believe that things happen to you... or that you make things happen?

Wednesday 12 June 2013

A6: S3 - To Blog & Not To Blog

As a writer, I have never felt torn between whether or not I should write something.

If it moves me enough to make me want to write about it, then just give me a pen and notepad and I'll be lost for hours.

As a blogger though, there is an entirely new set of rules it seems.

Rules which, until recently, where completely unbeknownst to me.

I guess there are the obvious examples, ie you probably wouldn't blog about how gross your bogies were today or how great it is to steal things and commit bloody murder, but when it comes down to the finer details, where do you have to draw the line between what you want to write, and what you shouldn't write about?

Because it seems there is one fundamental difference between a writer and a blogger; responsibility.

Tuesday 11 June 2013

Happy 50th Post!

Hello my beautiful little darlings,

For my 50th post, I wanted to do something a little special. As this blog has adapted and changed, and readers have joined at various points in the development process, I think the point of it, or really, what this actually is, has gotten a little lost along the way.

Therefore for my 50th post I'm going to do a massive throwback, covering everything which has been said so far, all the adventures I've been on, the lessons I've learnt and all the people I've met along the way! Click on the pink titles to read the posts :)

Tuesday 4 June 2013

Act Six: Scene One - Turning Great Ideas Into Positive Action

So I haven't posted in a while, mostly out of sheer excitement and planning for what is hopefully going to be not only the start of a very promising future for me, but also the end of me being average.

It's time to prove to the world that I can do it. I can be remarkable. And here's the first step.

Here is how I'm going to bag my dream job, just from a cupcake:

Wednesday 29 May 2013

A5: S9 - Pining for the Past Yet So Eager For The Future

I don't really have any clue as to why, but ever since I was younger, I've always had a fascination with melting candles into the top of wine bottles.

It's probably some subconscious thing which wove itself into my mind from watching things like Lady and the Tramp as a child, but I've always thought it to be one of the most beautiful-looking things. Simple, rustic, and the way the light glows behind the green glass as the bottles are stacked in front of one another... it's magical.

I've amassed quite the collection, and my job in an Italian restaurant means I get to collect some spectacular looking ones. I even got given a 1960's Woolworths vodka bottle by a dear friend of mine, which  now sits proudly on my desk.

Tonight, I lit them for the first in a very long time, and even before I caught a whiff of the vanilla fragrance, I knew what it would do to me.

Sunday 26 May 2013

A5: S8 - Lessons From The Moon

The spirit of The Annual Fire Purge was infectious, and tonight, next door invited me over again as they'd acquired quite a bit of firewood and kindling since the festivities of the night before.

I grabbed anything remotely flammable that was left in the house, a few boxes, some old dead flowers that had been in a vase on my windowsill, a Domino's pizza box.

For four hours we watched, again captivated by the fire, until just three of us remained, and we sat back and looked up into the nights sky as the dancing amber embers swirled above us, mingling with the silver pinprick stars.

There was a full moon. We all gazed up into it, silently.

Saturday 25 May 2013

A5: S7 - The Annual Fire Purge

It's a weird time of year.

All classes are finished, and due to the Summer Ball being anything more than lacklustre, with nothing else for them here, 80% of the population have vanished back to their home counties, leaving the place a ghost town.

It's also rapidly approaching the day in which we have to move out.

This means tackling the monumental task of sifting through all the memories, hard work and  paraphernalia that have accumulated over a whole year's worth of living, and deciding what is worth bringing back home, and what just doesn't quite make the cut.

I've always been a hoarder, I suppose.

Because I've always built phases around my life, so as to remember with clarity the things which are important to me, I've always collected things that serve as memory queues. Flyers, napkins, posters, business cards, dried flowers. And anything with any form of associated memory, I've never been able to throw away.

That's why, before I came to University, I promised myself that at the end of every year, I'd have a massive purge, and be ruthless with these decisions. I don't want to be the same person as I was the year before, clutching at memories of long-stale friendships and incredible nights I don't ever want to forget, dragging forward the same problems and troubles. Pardon the melodrama, but I'd rather start over each year with absolutely nothing, and see what I can go forth to create from there.

But just 'throwing away' doesn't feel like a good enough fate for some of the memories. It may seem a little drastic, but the only real catharsis I can get from laying these memories to rest, is to watch them burn.

Thursday 16 May 2013

A5: S5 - Life & Love are the same thing

Love, life, loss, and why we are meant to move on.


Ariella is in full gleaming supernova mode at the moment.

And I can fully understand why.

Ariella, the bright and bold young aspiring actress, has just had some very exciting news, of which, unforunately, I can divulge none of.

Anyway, yesterday Ariella called because she was having a contact lens fitting in Radlett, a town not too far from me at University, and she asked if I was around.  

Saturday 11 May 2013

A5: S4 - Why you should date yourself

So my Mother and sister came up to visit last weekend, and in our usual custom, we went to the glorious St Albans Waffle House, which if you're ever in the Hertfordshire area, you simply MUST visit.

This time, fortunately, they did not come bearing bad news (The Waffle House seems to be our family go-to for emotional crises) and conversation wandered idly between this new diet my sister was trying, and how our cousins are doing. Then it inevitably wondered over to relationships.

Wednesday 8 May 2013

A5: S3 - This American Life

So in my pursuits to start living a more fulfilled and happier life over the summer months, I have, surprisingly, stuck to my resolutions so far. I started one of the books I'd stolen from Marcus and... finished it. In the space of about an hour and a half, I read the entire book, and my sweet god, I think it changed my life.

But just as I was planning a post about this book, something else came out of the blue at me randomly.

Tuesday 7 May 2013

A5: S2 - 10 Things to make time for in May

'With University finished for the year (HALLELUJAH) I can now truly grasp hold of my summer and live the hell out of it!'

*Two days later and all I've done is watch two seasons of That's So Raven in bed with nachos and tea*

So, apparently I have this genuinely rare and amazing talent called 'procrastinating'. It's ridiculous, I've got to a point where I genuinely even procrastinate from doing things that I enjoy doing. A bit like when I force myself not to listen to music I know that I'll like.

So I've decided, to put a stop to my laziness and actually start making the most of this 5 months of freedom, I'm going to pick 10 things which I am going to go out of my way to make time for, in the month of May.

Friday 3 May 2013

Act Five : Scene One - May

It's May already.

....Which means I'm on Month 5/10.

Officially half way there.

That's more than a little bit exciting/terrifying/awesome.

Firstly, apologies for being a bit absent of late - I've been desperately trying to scrounge together and finish my second year at University which I can gladly say I have FINALLY done. Woopee!

I am now free to enjoy the summer, work hard, adventure, and fill my days with endless blogging, writing, dreaming and just being happy. It's strange, I always think I belong to the Winter, right up until the first rays of summer sunshine touch my cheeks and I realise just how wrong I could've been.

Tuesday 23 April 2013

A4: S9 - The Sunshine Perspective

So I'm in the library at University.

I usually love being in here. I find it much more of a constructive environment to work in, and it's bright, airy and spacious with big potted plants dotted everywhere. I don't know why, but there seems to some kind of ongoing association with potted vegetation and working harder.

Anyway, it's four stories high and the main room where I'm sat right now is open to all four of these floors, closed in by one giant quadruple height pure glass wall at the far end. Architecturally, it's pretty damn impressive. But today, I am awfully resentful for it.

Monday 22 April 2013

A4: S8 - Tempting The Future

I've been spending so much time in The City lately.

I feel like it soothes my soul. For some reason I love the sounds of the traffic, the bricks, mortar and pavement, the architecture and buildings, the rush of people and fast pace of everything. I guess it's because The City has purpose. On a daily basis I feel myself reciting Perfect Future in my head, I even went ahead and made a mood board of how I imagine my city apartment to be. 

It's becoming an ever-closer reality.

The other day, before we were set to attend the Cosmopolitan Magazine Social Media Masterclass, Ariella and I decided to go to London and look for flats. Together with Florentine and Monika, a fellow blogger who writes for the same online magazine that I do, we decided that before 2015 we would be living together in The City. Come hell or high water, we knew were we all belonged.

The Actress, The Writer, The Playwright and The Fashion Blogger. It was a match made in heaven.

A4 : S7 - The Boy With the Crossed Palm

He'd caught me off guard.

"What... what are you dong here?" I said, completely astounded at not only his perseverance in tracking me down, but also his courage to just show up out of the blue. Perhaps I'd found a worthy adversary.

"I text you but I wasn't sure if it was the right number..." He said showing me his smudged hand.

"I'll catch up with you later, okay." Florentine said with a knowing grin, before heading off to locate her wandering family.

I looked at Marcus pleadingly. A tiny alarm bell sounded in my head. There's strangerism and then there's just plain dangersim. (Forgive the pun but you know that did sound just a little bit cool) I did not know anything about this boy and to be honest I was a little afraid. There'd been a power shift.

Marcus looked from me, to the boy, to me again, smiled and said,

"Well, I'm off to catch my train. I've got work early tomorrow. See ya."

Damn. I knew exactly what Marcus was thinking. I'd got myself into this, it was I who had to get myself out.

The boy with the crossed palm and I were left alone in the lobby of the theatre.

"Well," I said with a resolve, deciding that I was going to make the most out of the night, regardless. "Shall we?" I motioned toward the door and my fear started to ebb away. As we walked toward the exit, I was filled with a quiet, dancing excitement.

The other side of that door could hold absolutely anything. In a metaphorical sense, clearly. Really, it just held a dingy backstreet and maybe a few bins. But as soon as I put my hand on that door to leave the theatre, the adventure would begin, and I could only dream of what was going to happen. One thing I knew, was that it wasn't going to be normal.

Wednesday 17 April 2013

A4 : S6 - 'Faces' by Florentine

To be honest, I think Florentine and Ariella are the only people I actually miss when I'm at University. Everyone else I can just catch up with here and there, but with them it just never seems to be enough.

Because there's something that the three of us share, something which I have not seen in anyone at University, or really in anyone aside from them .

And this is discontentment.

The frustration, annoyance, irritation and just plain exasperation of being trapped in a mundane and average life, gliding through day by day, without direction or purpose. The absolute earth-shattering need to adventure, escape and break free from the grey, only dulled by the repeated slog of the daily routine.

Saturday 13 April 2013

A4 : S5 - The Wonder Crew

I guess to be able to explain this story, I'll first have to describe my best friend, Pistol.

I'm not even entirely sure as to why I haven't mentioned him before. I think it's partly because I know that the story surrounding him is so complex and inter-linked to bizarre connections here and there, that I've been putting off trying to explain it. Also partly because I don't want to give him the smug gratification of him knowing I blogged about him.

Because the thing is, Pistol and I have a friendship that next to no-one understands. 

Everyone always says "Well you clearly like each other" or "Everyone knows that they're sleeping with each other", and it just makes us laugh. But it's not because we have this 'spiritual connection of kindred spirits above normal friendships' or anything like that, in fact, its hilariously quite the opposite. 

It's because we absolutely hate each other. 

Wednesday 10 April 2013

A4: S4 - Close Book, Open Door

I put one hand on the knee to my left, and one hand on the knee to my right.

My mother gave a small, sharp gasp, muffled by a soft sob, and I heard my sister sniff loudly and reach for another tissue. I clenched my jaw together hard and breathed slowly and carefully, trying to ignore the small persistent lump in my throat. Two hands on either side of me found mine.

It was... okay.

So far, it hadn't nearly been as bad as I'd imagined. In fact, it had been quite lovely.

But as a small balding man in an ill-fitting suit finished his painstakingly emotional poem, put his fist against his heart and in a cracked whisper, sobbed "My Matty..." before breaking down and being helped off the pulpit, it felt it like a cold hard punch right in the sternum.

I choked and bit my lip, squeezing my eyes shut, desperately trying not to cry out.

And then, something happened which cause a flurry of muffled commotion, disconcert and confusion, as family and friends turned their heads in intrigued whispers and obscure sounds, not knowing quite how to react.

For me, it ended up being a kind of half-laugh, half-wail which probably sounded like a poltergeist being tickled, as the guy sat directly in front of me jumped quite spectacularly, fumbling in his pockets as his phone shrieked, echoing unbearably loudly around the church.

Not entirely unexpected I guess, but oh no, it just got better.

Because right in the critical moment of the service, when human emotions were as tightly strung as they could possibly be, so precariously dangling between just about being okay and completely losing one's shit in a howling mess, the entire church was fully assaulted by shrill sound of;


Wednesday 3 April 2013

A4: S3 - Death, confronted

"I don't think I can... I'm just not strong enough. I'm sorry."

Even as I said these words and heard my Mother telling me it was okay, that everyone would understand, I felt the guilt weigh heavy and damp on my heart.

Because it wasn't okay. I knew it wasn't okay.

As soon as the conversation over I thought about what I could do to make up for my absence. I'd write a letter, yes, I'm good with words,  I could fill a few A4 sides with some heartfelt words and it'd be fine.

I bit my nails, because it wasn't fine. I knew it wasn't fine.

I tried to think of a way I could reassure my mind - perhaps I could write a blog post about why it is okay, why people don't have to feel bad about doing it. But I couldn't in all honesty do that, because how was anyone else meant to believe me, when I could not even convince myself?

It was only when I spoke with Oscar, that I realised that there simply was no way I could actually justify it to myself.

If you are able to go, it's simply unavoidably, inexcusably not okay to miss someone's funeral.

Sunday 31 March 2013

A4: S1 - Love Lost

I've noticed that I put myself through phases.

Do you ever get that feeling, when you listen to a song you used to love, pick up a book you were once obsessed with, catch a whiff of someone's perfume or scent which you haven't smelt in ages, and it evokes such a strong reminiscing sensation, bringing back such a powerful set of memories, that you genuinely recoil in shock and horror at the force of that feeling?

That's just happened to me, just right now.

And the thing which cause such an avalanche of memory was simply one strum of the E minor chord of the ukulele. It's almost implausible to even imagine just how much life, how many stories and situations, conversations and troubles, memories, history and emotion can be held in just one note.

Friday 29 March 2013

A3: S9 - Silver Influencers

I don't know whether it's because:

a) The fate in which I believe, is a real, tangible force,
b) For some reason my life just seems to have a habit of panning out in a series of interconnected events resulting in extraordinary circumstances, or,
c) Whether it is simply just the way in which I view life, an ability to notice patterns and connections and associate meaning...

But, there are such frequent coincidences, little small spheres of beautiful events that happen intermittently along on the timeline of my life, that I believe are too chance to ignore...

Wednesday 27 March 2013

A3: S8 - Blogging Masterclass

Okay, so this was my face today when I realised the day of me hosting the Blogging Masterclass run by the Entrepreneurial Society, was in fact, today....

Sheer panic was an understatement.

 It wasn't that I was unprepared (I'd made a pretty snazzy presentation on my new favourite thing ever, it was just that I felt outrageously unqualified. Obviously I was honored to be asked to chuck in my two cents at a blogging conference, but to HOST a MASTERCLASS about it? I only started blogging two months ago!

Saturday 23 March 2013

A3: S7 - Perfect Future

When I close my eyes and picture my near future, I can see such beauty that it makes me want to squeal...

I see an open-plan studio apartment in the heart of the city, exposed red brick interiors and white-washed  wooden floorboards. Candles, lanterns, fairy lights. Cream and pastel colours. I see sheer curtains and plush cushions on the cream bed. Sprawling bookcases with tattered books stacked haphazardly. A small rickety wooden table with two weathered wooden chairs, only one ever used. Newspapers, novels and useless nick-nacks scattered everywhere, trailing from the giant bookcase. Polaroid photos littering the floor until I can be bothered to pick them up, and muse at what each contains.

Friday 22 March 2013

A3: S6 - Unhappy reflections

I sat out on the porch just now and I could see my breath in plumes around my face, despite the little amber glow between my fingers.

I pressed my back against the rough brick, and I could feel the cold of it seeping through my clothes and into my skin. I closed my eyes and sighed deeply, taking in the cold dark air and feeling it invigorating my tired body.

Not a single thing in my line of vision was moving. Nothing at all. In fact, I could’ve been staring into a panoramic photograph of the lamp-lit street and I’d have never known. The only thing to be heard, was the slow, meticulous flickers of sound as invisible rain trickled across the world, bouncing off the leaves in the trees.

Tuesday 19 March 2013

A3: S5 - Unexpected, Extraordinary

For reasons which quite escape me, yet astound and humble me simultaneously, the post 'The Darkest of Days' seems to have suddenly caught a lot of people's attention in the past week or so...

I guess I wrote it as a form of personal therapy. It was the final stage in the process of re-constructing my soul again, that last minuscule little piece of my now impenetrable armour falling in to it's long-awaited place, and as soon as I'd finished I was free. What I certainly never expected, however, was it to have such an affect on people.

In the past week or so, completely out of the blue, there's been about six or seven people come forward and tell me how that post affected them. Some spoke out of empathy, some were out of recognition of similar personal experiences, and some, delightfully unexpectedly, spoke out of admiration. In reality, I wrote it for selfish reasons, just because I needed to get it off my chest. But somehow, unintentionally, it seems to have struck a chord with some people, people who no-one even knew were suffering.

A3: S4 - 77th day...

Just a brief abnormal post to have a little celebration.

On Monday 18th March 2013, 77 days since I started Scarphelia, I hit 10,00 views...

Thursday 14 March 2013

A3: S3 - Google continued

The event burned brightly on into the night...

Tuesday 12 March 2013

A3: S2 - Beauties & Butterflies

I've come to the conclusion that being robbed was the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Quite genuinely, if that hadn't have happened, I can't even imagine where I would (or wouldn't) be right now. Lady Fate sure does work in mysterious ways.


About a week after I was robbed, I was contacted by my dear friend, for reasonable reasons because of reasons, I shall call him Cameron. Cameron had recently graduated from the University, but had been a social and academic figurehead, and everyone knew who he was. He contacted me because of his girlfriend, who for reasonable reasons because of reasons, I shall call Rose. Rose was a third-year journalism student and was in desperate need of a story for one of her assignments. Cameron asked if I could help and introduced us.

Rose was lovely (and overwhelmingly beautiful) and I answered all her questions the best I could. For one, it was kind of cathartic to talk about it, and two, as a journalist, if I was in that situation I'd be so grateful if someone could help me out. I answered her questions, she thanked me, and said if I ever needed a journalistic favour in return, then I knew who to call. 

Little did I know, that she'd return the favour in such a dramatically unexpected and life-changing way.

After painstakingly managing to get time off of work from each of my jobs, pushing around essays and coursework, and just generally getting my affairs in order in preparation for going abroad, I found myself with one spare evening. I was sat in the library, blogging (my new home since laptop-gate) when I noticed a message had popped up on Facebook. I read it, and audibly squealed in the library. 

Because one thing I hadn't known, was that Rose actually worked as an intern for the famous blogger who came to do a speech at our uni. The same famous blogger who's new book I bought and read cover to cover. The same famous blogger who'd spoken alongside Blake Samuels - the man I'd stuck my stickers all over. The same famous blogger who'd followed me on twitter and sent me direct messages of advice about blogging. Rose was employed by the one and only, Zoe Griffin. And THIS, is what the message said:

"Hey honey, I know this is a long shot. But I was just wondering if you'd be interested in working an event tomorrow- Zoe Griffin's Book launch in the Google Campus building in central London? She is  looking for someone to work from 7pm-9pm for £10 pounds p/h and she will cover all expenses. All you'll have to do is meet and greet people and pour drinks. I intern for her and help run her blog It will be a great opportunity to network with people from the media, journalism and showbiz industry - I know is covering it and hello and now magazine will be there. Just thought I'd ask as I know you like this sort of thing! Let me know. x"

I swear to god I nearly went into cardiac arrest right then and there on the stiff, blue, polyester library carpet. And what made the whole thing even more unbelievable, was that around all this hectic mess and organisation of Poland, I had that one evening free. Hell, even if I didn't, I would've dropped everything to make sure I did.

I tottered through Shoreditch in London in my stilettos and found my way to the Google building, my heart in my throat. I had experience working at a bar, but I genuinely had no idea what to expect in there. Rose had mentioned there would be celebrities, extremely influential and important public figures, press, media, and millionaires. I was placing bets with myself on how many Dior coats and Dolce and Gabbana gowns I'd inevitably end up spilling champagne on. 

I'd been to a novel launch before - in fact right at the beginning of this silver adventure, a novel launch was where I'd first met Fitzwilliam G. Montgomery, and my life had changed forever. My heart swelled with the thought of who I could meet in there and the wild  possibilities of where my life could go as a result. But this time it was a little different. I was staff now. There'd be no casual swanning off for photographers and firm handshakes. This was to be hard graft. As I entered the Google building and Rose escorted me around, I decided I needed to be two things to make that evening a success; exceptionally hard-working and exceedingly charming.  

The night did not disappoint. When I first arrived, the room was in complete disarray. There were people rushing around everywhere still putting up decorations, packing hundreds of goody bags and laying out a plethora of snacks and treats on a big banquet table. It was awfully exciting. I felt like I was on 'My Super Sweet 16' or something, when you see the complete shambles of it all being thrown together haphazardly beforehand, yet you know it'll all come together perfectly in the end.

 I was assigned on champagne duty (well, if I must) and spent two solid hours handing out three glasses per second to some of the most beautiful people I've ever seen. The room was packed with models, stylists and fashionistas, and aside from the excitement, I did feel a little... out of place. I'm quite a self-assured person, but then in that room, I was by far the ugliest and the largest, which was not particularly fun to feel. Regardless, I ploughed on through the night making sure no guest went thirsty.

There was one man, however, who kept returning for champagne. He looked in his late twenties with curly dark blonde hair, tanned skin and bright green eyes. He was tall with sharp cheekbones and a light dusting of facial hair, dressed in tight-fitting blue jeans, a thick-knit cream jumper and a tweed blazer with tan brogues. 

Walking perfection.

 Every time he took a glass, he would smile at me shyly and I could feel myself blush. I'd never seen a real life beautiful person before. And not as in someone pretty. As in someone so divinely beautiful that they look Photoshopped in real life. You never really imagine the people you see in magazines and in the movies to actually exist with such beauty in real life.

...They do.

I turned to Rose when he'd left for the third time, "Sweet Jesus, he is the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life." I murmured under my breath and she giggled.

"Funny how he keeps coming back, hmm..." She turned away slowly with a knowing grin on her face. I smiled like a schoolgirl. The next time he returned, we spoke.

 (Now, as usual, this is going to seem like all made up fairytale bullshit, but I SWEAR TO GOD this was all real.)

I smiled.

"Back again?"

"Can't stay away." he grinned, placing his slender fingers around the stem of a fresh champagne flute. He had a foreign accent of which I couldn't quite determine. I lent forward to fill his glass and he lent forward ever so slightly too. His face was so close to mine I could smell his heavenly scent, and I had to focus all my efforts on not spilling the champagne. My face began to flush and I could feel his eyes on me. When his flute was full, I decided to crack out one of my killer 'moves' (me attempting to be seductive and ending up a cringe-worthy excuse of a human being) and deliberately let my gaze linger downward before making a point of quickly flicking my eyes up to his, and looking him straight in the face. 

Sweet shit. 

That face.

"I think..." he said, smiling with a touch of drunkenness about his eyes, "I think you are the most beautiful girl in this room."

I nearly laughed in his face. If there was one thing I was not, it was that. I'd never seen such a beautiful crowd in my life. They were all stick-thin with impossibly shiny hair, almond eyes and cheekbones carved by diamonds. I tried not to think about it.

"Uh thank you" I said, looking away.

"With the best figure, I've ever seen." He said, quieter. His expression was sincere but my smile faded quickly. I felt uncomfortable. This was the sort of stuff which happens in the movies, when the dashing young billionaire vampire ignores all the beautiful girls and only has eyes for the poor, average 'real girl'. But all of a sudden I just felt very self-conscious. Of course, it was a dream come true to have someone like him saying that to me, but I just felt awkward, because it was just so blatantly not true. It was like an American High School drama where he was the quarterback and I was the lonely, plump, geeky girl who he would compliment to make her day because he just could, whilst knowing it is complete bullshit. I smiled politely and moved swiftly on.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Kai" he murmured. His eyes were impossible. "German" He said after a pause, tipping his head slightly to the left and smiling, his golden curls bobbing on his forehead. "What is your name?"


"Katie... Nice to meet you Katie." I shook his warm, outstretched hand and I felt myself melting. A cold shower was most required. "Which company are you from?"

"Oh I uh... just a friend of Zoe's." I lied/hoped/dreamed. "What about you, what do you do?"

He cast a shy look downwards, then returned his gaze with a full megawatt smile and eyes that I was sure would be the end of me.

"Oh uh, I'm a model."

"Of course you are." I muttered, kinda hoping he hadn't heard. He did, but laughed. "No, I just mean.. look at you. You've got a great face on you." I cringed at myself but he continued to smile.

"And so do you." He said quietly. I couldn't take it. It was a feeling I'd never felt before. Under any other circumstances I would've been bouncing off the walls with elation, but I guess I just didn't quite believe it. Looking at the other girls in the room, I couldn't even understand why he was even bothering to talk to me. Every single beautiful female head was cast in our direction, as if him passing through had left a wake of pure sex behind him. A dark little part of me mused whether this was all a practical joke or a dare set up by the beautiful people. Or perhaps he saw I was 'different' and wanted to try and give me a pity boost because he knew he could. 

But, even if it all was, HELL, I was not going to complain.

"Do you live in London?" he asked.

"Yes... Well, North London" I half-lied. "Yourself?"

"Berlin, but... I travel to London very often." I nodded and he smiled at me for a long time. I laughed nervously, very aware of our audience.

"What?" I smiled in a tiny, awkward voice.

"Listen, I'm in Berlin for the next few days, but I'd love to take you out for dinner in London when I'm back." I was lost for words. My mouth just kind of half-opened and closed again. "Could I take your number?" I nodded slowly, determined not to make a sound at the high risk of it being a squeal-laugh right into his beautiful little face.

He handed me his iPhone, and with trembling hands I put in my name and number and handed it back to him. 

"Thanks," He said with a grin. "I look forward to it." He raised his champagne flute toward me in a toasting gesture before disappearing back into the crowd once more. Instantly, Rose was by my side.

"What the hell was that?!" She quizzed, but I could barely manage more than a squeal. I dragged her into the stock room and told her everything before calming myself down, forcing myself back to reality and regaining hold of myself. The rest of the night's stresses mattered no more. Screw being nervous or shy - a German supermodel just asked me out for dinner.

Secretly in my head, I forced myself to be realistic - I knew he wasn't going to call. Even if by some beautiful gift from Lady Fate he actually did have the intention to, I'd stupidly saved my name under 'Katie Oldham' - like hell he was ever going to remember who that was come tomorrow. 

But I exhaled deeply and closed my eyes with a smile. Who cared? That'll be a story to tell for the rest of my life, whether it was all fake, real or otherwise. Somewhere out there in the vast old world of planet earth, there's a German supermodel strolling round being all gorgeous with my phone number saved in his phone. I did a little 'Ha!' to myself, and got back to work. 

But that did not turn out to be the most exciting meeting of the night. Oh boy, oh boy, did it not. But... You'll have to wait and see I guess.


Wednesday 6 March 2013

Act Three: Scene One - MARCH

Okay, so once again my life seems to have done that curious little thing it seems to have a habit of doing, and spiral dramatically out of control in the most outrageous and decadent fashion. But then again, I guess it wouldn't be me if it didn't.

I can't quite believe how quickly February seems to have gone. I'm kind of gutted that I only managed to squeeze six posts out of it. I guess I haven't quite yet found the balance between being constantly ridiculous and managing to keep track. That's the reason why I'll again have to jump back in time a wee bit, to try and get everything down.

Just when I thought I was done with February, ready to move onto the third act of ten and carry on my journey to the 7th of October, at the very last moment, Lady Fate threw me an outrageous curve-ball that not even a single iota of my being could've been prepared for.

But even before that, (I know, I know, I really need to keep up with myself, I'm sorry!) The greatest silver adventure to date presented itself to me, born out of the ashes of some very tragic news. I was sat at the house of The Interesting Boys one evening, when Charles turned to me and said,

"Come to Poland."

I blinked.


"I really want to go to Poland. I think I might book a flight tomorrow for next weekend. Join me?"

I smiled in bewilderment. This was the spontaneity I thrived off, and under any other circumstance I would've jumped at the chance. But with three part time jobs, getting the time off work at such short notice was going to be damned near impossible, and reluctantly, I had to recognise and accept the hard grey constraints that tethered my billowing silver spirit, and decline.

"You only live once." Charles shrugged as I shook my head.


As well as having three jobs, Another of my jovial exploits at university, is to cheer on the cheerleading squad, competing regionally and nationally, whilst also cheering for the American Football team. In my first year I was elected Social Secretary, and last month I was awarded with the title Senior Captain. I pretty much just love it. Another wonderful thing about it is our relationship with the American Football players. I guess it's perpetuating the stereotype to within an inch of its life, but a lot of the cheerleaders are dating the footballers, and the rest are just like big brothers to us. As a family we'd do anything for one another, and it's just such a beautiful team to be a part of.

A few weeks ago, some tragic news reached us. In the year before I arrived at the Uni, there'd been a player on the team called Ibrahim, who played the position of number 90. Libyan born but raised in England his whole life, he was successful, did well academically and from what I heard was just, happy.

Then, he made the serious and unexpected decision to drop his entire life here, to return to Libya and fight for his country in the Libyan Uprising. Everyone has said how shocked they were but also humbled and awed in an overwhelming surge of respect and admiration for him.

When we joined the university, all us new cheerleaders and footballers were added into this Facebook group of present members of the family, and alumni. There were often posts about him, with people relaying their communications with him, and every so often a comment asking if anyone knew how he was doing.

....About three weeks ago, the terrible news arrived at the gates of the University that Ibs had been tragically killed in battle, fighting on the front line, fighting for his country.

The news devastated the team.

The boys were absolutely distraught, especially the seniors who had known him well. They all changed their profile pictures to photos of him, gathered round to tell stories and share memories, and held a memorial service for him. Despite the fact I never met him, for some reason, the news hit me really hard.

I don't know whether its because I have this abnormal sense of random human empathy, my curiosity about the lives and minds of others or just the thought of what it would be like to lose one of our boys now that we know and love so dearly, but it really messed me up. It just made my problems seem so infantile and irrelevant, and I was just fascinated at the sheer incredulousness of his selflessness, as I know that I for one, could not have done the same.

The words 'what are you doing this for?' Just seemed to endlessly circle around my mind, taunting every decision I made. I'm sure that phrase had not been far from Ibs' mind too, on more than a few occasions.

I got into a bit of a funk. I just couldn't seem to distract myself from the futility of life, despite my persistently reiterated promise to live the shit out of it. I thought about my troubles. Saving money. Coursework deadlines. Sorting out my work rota. And suddenly this almighty thunderbolt of shame and self- disappointment hit me. My life is perfect. I am so unfathomably lucky to have all that I have, there is not a single justifiable thing for me to complain about. Life can be taken away in the most unanticipated moment, and I'm letting these precious living seconds tick by worrying about the most pointless of things? That's when that little phrase in my head became a whisper no more, and began yelling from the rooftops, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING THIS FOR?"

I'm working. What am I doing this for? To save money. I'm saving money. What am I doing this for? To spend on fun things. I'm not doing fun things. Why not? Because I'm always working. So the saving. What are you doing this for? To pay off my student loan after University. University. What am I doing this for? To get a good job so I can work. I'm working....

That's just it. I'm working to get money so I can do stuff in the only time of my life that I'll be able to do stuff, and I can't do that stuff because I'm always working, to get money for the stuff that I can't even do.

That was enough for me.

I called work and told them I wasn't coming, booked my flight and with glee watched a considerable amount of money leave my account. I'm not by any stretch of the imagination comparing this to what Ibs did, but if he taught me anything, its that life is too short not to have passion and conviction in whatever you chose to do.


"You only live once." I grinned to The Interesting Boys as we stood out on the Tarmac of the runway at 5am as we waited to board the aeroplane.

And how was the trip? Well...

"...Travel often; getting lost will help you to find yourself. Some opportunities only ever come once, so seize them. Life is about the people you meet and the things you create with them, So go out out there and start creating, live your dream and wear your passion proudly" -
The Poster

Thursday 28 February 2013

A2: S7 - Blessed

Curiosity, it turns out, is my greatest ally and my worst enemy.

I couldn't possibly wrack my brains to figure out who Gentleman J could be. I asked around everyone if they possibly had a clue, but most were either oblivious or disinterested, and those who did know, refused to tell me. But I had an inkling. Recently, I'd met a whole bunch of rookie American Footballers out on a team social, and one named Jack had later messaged me saying he'd read Scarphelia, and the entry 'The Darkest of Days' had made him cry.

Finally, the truth came out, and Gentleman J turned out indeed to be, rookie footballer, Jack. He was a charmingly befuddled and an overwhelmingly sweet boy, and along with thanking him profusely for his unbelievably sweet words, I realised I needed to perhaps explain my views. In the most cringe-worthy and awkward message ever, I explained my perspective on love and relationships. 

"You don't need to apologise - I feel perhaps I got a little too caught up in the moment when writing that letter, and perhaps came on a little too strong. I completely understand though, but it would be nice to just spend some time in your company. Maybe we could get lunch this week?"

Feeling a little more reassured that he wouldn't think I'd lead him on, we set a date for lunch.

In the meantime, our house got robbed, but we all know how that went.


Two days after the robbery, I headed toward the campus restaurant. To be honest, I was nervous as hell. I'd barely spoken to the boy and one of my greatest fears is awkward social situations. And although I've said before how I believe I am amazing, I always feel apprehensive when others insinuate this same sentiment toward me, because in reality, I'm a totally anti-climactic human, and I'm scared they'll see just how average I actually am.

I met him and we sat down to eat. At first indeed it was pretty awkward, neither of us really knew what to say, and the Valentines gesture kind of hung in the air like an awkward taboo. Eventually he broached the subject, and after we got that out of the way we slipped into casual friendly conversation.

He was quite remarkable. I didn't really know what to expect from him, but he spoke to me of the universe. He spoke about his frustrations with normality and the mundane, how people without passion aggravate him more than anything, and how he has discovered this new found yearning within him, to take on the world. We shared our mutual aspirations and sentiments about life, passion and curiosity, and I felt thoroughly invigorated by our conversation.

I smiled, because without even meaning to, I'd found another. Right where I least expected it, was a brightly burning silver.

About an hour into our lunch, he excused himself to go to the toilet. While he did so, I sat alone, looked out of the window and noticed my Web Design lecturer walking past. His name is James and he's the perfect 'nerd' stereotype, straight out of an American High School TV series. I've always said, to a chorus of 'oh yeahhhh!'s, that he's the perfect cross between Dexter from Dexter's Lab and Gus Griswald from Recess.

There was something quite intriguing about the way in which he was walking. He was walking very, very slowly, head up, face expressionless. It made me start to think. There's something quite inherently sad about someone walking slowly. Everyone these days is always rushing off somewhere, walking fast, weaving through crowds, chattering away on their phones or rifling through their bags, that you when you see someone walking so slowly and so delicately, it just seems wrong. Because they are walking without purpose, without direction. I looked at the other people walking around him, and you could clearly tell where they were going and what they were going to do. But I just couldn't imagine where he was headed.

It then got me to wondering about his life. If he was going home, where was home? What was his house like? What did he do in his spare time? I just stared at his small delicate frame, walking without direction among this crowd bustling crowd of humans, and I didn't even know why... but I just felt such pity. 

I decided I really wanted to write this down, so pulled out the Little Orange Notebook. As I did so, two things happened simultaneously. Gentleman J returned to the table, and a leaflet fell out of the notebook. I picked up the leaflet.

It was advertising an Enterprise talk on self-employment, hosted by the founder of the MOBO awards, Kanya King. Seeing how wonderful and beneficial the previous talk with famous blogger Zoe Griffin and Blake Samuels had been, it really excited me. I looked at the date, it was today. I looked at the time, it was in an hour. I turned to Gentleman J.

"Are you busy?"

"What... now?"

"In an hour."

"Uh... don't think so... why?"

I pushed the leaflet across the table to him. He looked into my eyes and I could see the little spark of silver light up behind his eyes.

"What have we got to lose? It's free and so are we. Like I said, when you're brave and take random chances, fate rewards you. I'm going to go. Come with me?"

And so we did. 


When we arrived there, we realised this was kind of a bigger deal than we'd anticipated. We were surrounded by people in suits, and there was an open cocktail bar and huge snacks buffet. We exchanged a look of 'well, holy shit' and headed towards the bar. We grabbed some cocktails and I saw some people I'd met at the previous conference. They were members of the Young Entrepreneurs Society and the Enterprise Team. I told them how much I'd enjoyed the other conferences and decided to take a chance and come to this one.

Then, the head of the Entrepreneurs Society came up to me, expressed how much he'd enjoyed reading Scarphelia, and asked me to speak at the next talk. 

Dumb. Struck.

I genuinely could not believe it. I'd been blogging for a month and a half and I was already being asked to be a guest speaker at a blogging conference? I quivered inwardly as I realised that things were starting to change.

We entered the auditorium for the talk, took our seats and listened to Kanya King telling of how she rose out of the shallow depths of nothingness and constructed an empire. It was inspiring to listen to her, and I was thoroughly entranced. 

When she'd finished, the host of the event returned to the stage, thanked Kanya, and said that before the Q&A session, they were going to announce the winner of the prize draw. Gentleman J and I exchanged a look of moderate interest, we hadn't even been aware that there was a prize draw. They'd taken down the names of everyone who had attended, put them in a hat, and were to draw out one at random to win an iPad.

I turned to Gentleman J.

"Wouldn't it be funny if it was me who won the iPad, two days after my laptop got stolen?" I whispered. Then, I felt the most inexplicable swirl in the depths of my stomach. Becuase I think a split-second before it happened, I knew what was just about to happen. I felt the cool hand of Lady Fate on my shoulder, as I heard three words boom across the room.

"Congratulations, Katie Oldham!"

I gasped aloud and a small laugh tittered across the audience. I turned to Gentleman J who was staring at me with an expression of mixed horror, disbelief and awe.

"I told you... things... happen to me..." I whispered.

"...That don't happen to... people." He whispered back. "I never... I never would've believed it if I wasn't here, I..."

And while applause echoed around us and the host instructed me to stay behind at the end, Gentleman J and I just stared at each other, shaking, mouths agape, goosebumps tearing across my skin. And somewhere deep in the back of my mind I saw the smirking silver face of Lady Fate give me a little wink, before disappearing again back into the swirling silver mist.


Wednesday 27 February 2013

A2: S6 - D-day

My tolerance of relationships in pretty low.

No, tolerance is the wrong word. Makes me sound like some kind of love nazi. Someone actually sent me a message on Tumblr the other day saying "WHY DO YOU HATE LOVE" which made me smile an awful lot. I guess people have come to think of me as either as some career-driven power lesbian or just an insufferable slut because I just do not feel the need for a relationship right now. Which again, just makes me smile an awful lot.

It's sad how many people at this age seem to be so narrow-minded when it comes to relationships. singledom is treated as a disease, with infected people parading themselves around like peacocks night after night in the Student Union club, desperately trying to find a cure for their ailment. Or like a pre-school classroom when the teacher says 'Right everyone get into pairs!' and the class are sent tearing across the classroom in a desperate bid not to be the one left on their own - to the point where they don't even care who they are with as long as they have a partner. I guess I just don't see why our lives are so powerfully influenced and centered around finding our 'other halfs'. Could it not be possible that some of just feel pretty much in one piece as it is?

I don't hate love at all - in fact I'm possibly the most hopelessly romantic person ever, and I of course want to settle down and marry when I'm older. But that along with being the most fiercely independent person ever, makes my head an interesting place to be. I believe I have been in love twice in my life and I'll admit that most of the time, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. But after a string of  fruitless romances and pointless relationships, let-downs, rejections and heartbreaks, I think I am finally, thank god-fully in that elusive, rare and golden state of mind where I'm actually just... okay. For the first time in my life, I'm not looking for a relationship. I'm overwhelming happy, content and just at peace with being on my own. And I feel pretty blessed for that. I have so much time now to focus on the greatest things in life, learning, educating, discovering, experiencing, creating, and most of all, making a little time for myself. Then, that little poster which changed my life pops into my head again... "If you are looking for the love of your life, stop. They will be waiting for you when you start doing the things you love."

That is why, by all of gods green earth and heavens, I could've never imagined that I'd wake up on February the 14th to a little red envelope and a bouquet of red carnations on my doorstep.

I eyeballed it suspiciously but it definitely said my name. Now, this is partly because of the sheer unexpectedness, partly because of how nice it was and a little part to just having a tiny weeny little brag, but...This is what the inside read:

"To Katie,
It would be easy for me to fly into endless compliments about your physical beauty, but it is too obvious and I would hate to appear slovenly. All I will say is your smile would make a blind man flinch. (hahahahahahahaha)
There is something oddly intriguing and frankly inspiring about your character that I find to be really very difficult to describe in my own words. So I will use a small quote from a film I am confident you have seen...
"It makes me anything is possible. Like... life is worth it?"
You have begun to thaw the black ice from an embittered and cynical man's heart.Whether you pursue to find out who I am, is up to you. But please know you have inspired me to start living properly, regardless. Might also be worth playing "She's got you high" by Mumma-Ra while you read this. It's been in my head the entire time I have been writing this.
I hope there will be some silver lining from this. Good luck with all your endeavours.
Your friend,
Gentleman J. x"

Well, holyyyyyy shit.


Tuesday 26 February 2013

A2: S5: Wake up call

So let's backtrack a little.

As my journey progresses, I've decided to change my angle a little bit. Not that I ever really had an angle in the first place, but I guess then it's a step in a new direction. I've decided I want to find other silver people. Recently, the words from the poster have been echoing around my head, and in particular, one specific line of it, "Life is about the people you meet and the things you create with them, so go out out there and start creating."

It's just so... true. When your days are up on this planet, what will your possessions, your money, your looks have really meant? You will be remembered for the things you do and the things you create, a lasting legacy that you can leave behind. And the beautiful thing is that it doesn't have to be alone. The real beauty comes from the combined creativity of multiple human minds who can create something spectacular, and they can be the minds of the most unexpected people.

For me, it's a terrifying thought that I could expire without meeting every single person I possibly can. I know this sounds weird, (but you should know by now that weird is my norm) but sometimes, I get really down to the point of actually being distraught at the fact that I can not meet every single person in the world. That I cannot read every single book, listen to every single artist or watch every single film before I die. Out there somewhere could be that one book, film, place or person that changes my life forever, remaining lost in the boundless ambiguity of the world, and I might never stumble across it. That saddens me to tragic depths sometimes, and I'm not even entirely sure why.

I resolved that the best thing I can do, is to go out there and meet as many of these people as I can. Travel to as many countries, read as many books, go to all the museums, walk through the forests, dance in the cities and travel every road, and squeeze as many experiences into my set amount of days, that I possibly can.

When I was younger, I remember saying something really, really terrible to my Mother. I was very young, I must've been around 7 or 8 , and was reaching the end of the perpetual innocent happiness of childhood, and just learning about badness in the world. I hate myself when I think about what I said, but I will never forget it.

I remember listening to someone telling another about this friend of theirs who'd just been diagnosed with cancer. The cancer was terminal and ravaging, and this guy had next to no hope of even surviving the next year. But this man had taken this and created beauty with it. He sold his house, quit his job, effectively ended life as he knew it, and took on the world. He visited all the places he always said he would, did all of the things he hadn't even dreamt he would ever do, and then wrote a book about it.

I remember that stuck in my head for a long time, because... I was jealous.

And then, I went up to my Mother, and how this memory has haunted me since the second the young naive me said it, and I said.

"I wish I had cancer."

It pains me to write this. But I can't deny the memory.

Obviously my Mother was absolutely horrified and sat me down and gave me a very stern talking too, but... there's something quite poignant about that, I think. Because the seven-year old me saw something that her small little head couldn't quite understand - man's endless slog of mundane meniality, despite the fact that time is running out. It's as though there is a giant blazing meteor that we can all see heading straight for us, and we're out in the garden mowing the lawn.

Can we only start to begin life, when we realise that we are at the end? Like some sort of desperate salvation from Captain Hindsight and bastard retrospect? If we start living the dream in our final days, maybe we can atone for the precious days we wasted before? Life is a terminal illness. As soon as you're born, you start dying.

But that's what makes it the most beautiful thing in the world.

I believe that every single person is born with equal potential to achieve greatness. Obviously there are circumstantial and economic factors, but by birth we have all the resources to go forth and learn, and grow, and you have (let's say for arguments sake) eighty years to do your best. Imagine life as an assignment. Everyone knows what the assignment brief is, they have access to the resources to do it, and they all know they have a deadline to do it by. In that time between the now and the deadline, it is completely down to them what they do with it, and what each individual can achieve by the time comes to hand it over. Every birth comes with a death sentence... and I for one, refuse to let the time between now and then slip through my fingers.

So, I began my hunt to find people to create beauty with. The first person I happened across has turned out to be greater and more inspiring than I ever could've imagined.

If you recall, many, many posts ago, I spoke of my friend Shauna, who changed the way I look at life, just through her sheer determination. She managed to achieve her dream of studying abroad in Australia, despite the world doing it's best to stand in her way. Whilst in Australia, I mentioned to her that I'd written about her and she read Scarphelia. Then she said to me "Katie... I have met the most silver person in the world. You need to meet her." This silver girl was on study abroad in Australia from Indianapolis, a blogger, and had read my blog.

When I first spoke to her I just beamed. Her name is Lara Parker, and if ever I was concerned that I couldn't meet everyone in the world, that perhaps I'd never be able to find silver people, then just by existing she has laid all these concerns to rest. We spoke of the universe and shared near identical thoughts, fear and dreams, and I realised that this whole world is full of unknown extraordinaries, and if Lara is anything to go by, then I want to find the rest of them. I then saw the music video to a song which just completely summarised every frustration and aspiration I have in the world, I sent it to her, and she just... got it. The video is linked below, please watch it! I then told her I shall now refer to her as SYSIS, my Stranger Yet Sister in Silver.

I urge you, if you get the chance, please take a look at her blog, and you'll understand.


Friday 22 February 2013

A2: S4 - Apologies

I have been absent for quite a while.

It's really shitty as I know that Scarphelia has been damaged by this, but these circumstances have been out of my hands.

Last week my house was broken into and we were robbed. Amongst the things taken was £50 cash from my room, my cheerleading uniform and my laptop.

To say this time has been stressful is a borderline comical understatement. Not only am I currently dangling on the precipice of crashing and burning dramatically due to the strain of assignment deadlines, balancing three jobs and training hard for competition, my laptop was not backed up at all, and I lost... everything.

But to be honest, it wasn't even the theft, the fact that they stole my cheer uniform two days before comp, the invasion of privacy or the personal loss which disturbed me most - we were robbed while we were sleeping in the house.

Luckily (or unluckily depending on which way you look at it) I was sleeping in a different room of the house, as it was just me and my one female housemate left in the 6-bedroom house, we were scared of being alone in the big house, so slept in her room on the second floor. The remaining rooms were locked as our other housemates were away in Liverpool at the time.

The thieves entered the property in the night and scoured the entire house as we slept, finding the rooms on the top floor unlocked, and robbed them blind.

But what if one of us had woken up? What if we'd gotten up and gone to the toilet in the night? We could've walked out of the room and come face to face with the thief. Would they have been armed, just in case? Would they have stabbed us? attacked us? Ran?

I shudder to think about it.

But, how horrible these circumstances may be, I've come to realise that they are tests. Tests of strength, grit, determination and above all, character. Am I going to admit defeat and sit around feeling sorry for myself, and try and pick the pieces of my life back up from the cold, hard floor? Hell no. If anything, stuff like this makes me more determined to go out there and create something spectacular.

How many times have I found myself, night after night, curled up in bed with my laptop, having not moved all day, eating chocolate and pointlessly trawling through Facebook, or half-heartedly watching a TV show I'm barely interested in? Far too many times of late. That is not the silver I so proclaimed myself to be.

I've realised that all while I'm sat here, preaching to the world about being silver, I'm doing just that. Sitting here. I need to stop being a hypocrite and start practicing what I preach. And I think perhaps that being robbed, and having the pivot of my existence taken away from me, has relinquished a curse that I was not previously aware of.

I'm free. And now, I will not let anything stand in my path. It is my time to take back on the world and start creating again.

So firstly, this is an apology. Secondly, this is the start of another series of unbelievable events.

Indeed, I started to take my own advice and my god, if I ever had any doubts before wether I was doing the right thing, these doubts are now soaring irrelevantly amongst the clouds, like my soul.

Since the robbery, things have gone wildly out of control in the most incredible way possible, and the real challenge here is to try and get it all down before anything else happens.

So let us begin...


Sunday 10 February 2013

A2: S3 - Anything but music

I sit in silence a lot of the time.

The majority of people I know have an inexplicable and intrinsic link with music. They never go anywhere without their ipods and headphones, have countless playlists and dedicate hours to looking up new music. Everyone has their own specific tastes in music and religiously follow their favourite bands and artists. At first I thought, well I guess I'm just not a musical person. But I knew that wasn't true. I have a  very refined and particular taste in music, and I love to sing and play my ukulele. That's when I realised that it's not that I don't like listening to music, it's that I just...can't do it.

Most music is fine to listen to, and when I do, I really enjoy it. It's just that there's one particular type of music which I just cannot bare to listen to, for fear of what it'll do to me. This is not a genre of music like hip-hop, indie, rap, or country - it's a type of music. I tried to explain this to someone the other day, and I'm fully aware of just how ridiculous it sounds, but when I really, really like a song, I can't listen to it. When it comes on I get agitated and my skin starts to crawl and I desperately want to change it straight away, just because I like it so much. It's not a preservation thing either, not like I'm being cautious of over-playing it. I just can't bring myself to listen to music I like.

For me, there's a spectrum - songs that I hate, songs that I don't like, songs I feel nothing about, song I like, songs I really, really like, songs I love, and silver songs. It's those silver songs, songs that really stir something deep inside of me that does not stir often, music that seems to wake this sleeping silver beast who opens its eyes, stretches out its legs, cracks its knuckles and entirely takes over my soul. These songs tap into this part of my brain which just convinces me that I am the most important person in the world, I am here for a reason, if there ever was one then I am the chosen one, and the fate of everything and everyone rests in my hands. The emotion is so trembling powerful and earth-shatteringly overwhelming, that when I stop listening and get out of my musical funk, I feel so emotionally, physically and spiritually ravaged that I am genuinely exhausted from just listening. The intensity of these emotions about music I like, makes me not want to ever listen to it, despite the fact, and for the very same reason that, I just like it so fucking much.

The first time I felt this was when I watched the first Transformers film. It may sound dorky as hell, but I became obsessed with that film. To this day it still remains one of my favourite films of all time. Everything about it is just perfect, including the music. The score, written and composed by Steve Jablonsnky, was like nothing I'd ever taken the time to listen to. It made me shudder to feel the pure unadulterated power beneath that music. One song in particular just took a hold of me, shook the hell out of me and threw me to the ground, reeling. The Arrival to Earth.

I used to sit in the dark, night after night, with headphones on full volume in my ears, dreaming of the most unfathomable ideas, inventions, journeys, adventures and challenges that I could do with my life, all spurned from feeling the power of the drums and the violins, and the strength it gave me. It was like a drug, and I couldn't seem to express to anyone just what it did for me. I was about fifteen when I first heard it, and I remember forcing my friend Charlotte one day when she came round my house, to sit on the stairs on her own with this song blasting through headphones, then to come back and tell me what she thought.

She came back, and I looked up expectantly at her blank expression, and only managed a feeble "Did... did you feel it too?" and she kind of looked at me with this slight frown and said (I'll always remember this) "It just made me feel, like, you know when you have a problem, and then it seems like a huge deal, and then you overcome it. That kind of thing?" and I couldn't hide the disappointment in my face.

 Because listening to the silver songs, it doesn't just make me think, or make me wonder. It fully takes a hold of the very essence of my life and soul and makes me feel things I never could've imagined that I'd feel. If I had superpowers, I imagine the first time they'd ever come out would be when listening to this kind of music, because it makes me feel such extraordinary emotions that I can almost believe I have moved past the human state into something entirely more remarkable. When my heart is pounding in my chest and I clench my teeth together, my pupils dilate and I feel all of the air coming whooshing out of my lungs as goosebumps tear across my skin, I become invincible, immortal. I'm listening to it right now, and I'm finding it super hard not to completely lose my shit in a feverish frenzy. Because when you listen to music like this, it really does hit this spot deep inside of you, a spot which everyone in the world has but has never been able to really admit to themselves. Secretly, deep down, you have this small but ever present feeling that perhaps, of all the people in the world, it was you that was meant to do something important. It is your life, your existence above everyone elses that is the significant one.

My most recent silver song discovery is Run Boy Run by Woodkid.

I urge all who are reading this to go onto Spotify or YouTube and put it on right now, then continue to read.

Go, now! Or this next part will not be the same.

The bells. Then Drums. Those drums go right through me. Like a tribal march they infiltrate my body and replace my heartbeat and my pace of being alive. This song make me see. I see such power and passion beneath my burning eyelids. I have to clench my jaw together tightly because I feel like my head will explode if I don't try and take control of what I see. I see people, humans, in their masses, stomping and clapping, their expressions furious, pure animalistic humanity. I see earth cracking, crushing and breaking, crumbling away and rocks crushing together. I see fingernails digging deep into the sand and grit. I see the pure, raw power of a human being, and the potential that one person has. A soldier, a warrior, running, shooting, flying across the mountains and the skies and the trees and the rocks and waves and water. I see the passion in creation of all who have lived, all that has existed and all that will continue to thrive on our planet, trembling with life. Images flash before my eyes of the deserts, the mountains, the cities, the marshes, storms, rocky waterfalls, rainforest's, icy tundras and Savannah's, the whole world smashing together all at once and pressing down upon my soul and burning into my eyes, because the earth is mine. The earth is here for me to create beauty with and here it is, laid out before me. I can be so great. I will be so great. I feel the power in the wild tribal beats of my heart because I am an animal and I am made of pure passion. I want to run out into the rain and stomp and splash around and scream so loudly to mark place on earth, and shout "HERE I AM!" and for the world to see me, and to acknowledge me. And then,

It's over.

I feel raw. In the silence I hear my own frantic heart and my breathing and I instantly feel foolish. Because when I take out my headphones, all that is gone. I'm back in my bed in my pants, with a few books on my bed, ukulele in the corner and Simpsons on the telly, and life is mundane and average again. It doesn't seem possible that these two worlds can co-exist, the world I find when I listen to the silver songs and the world that I actually live in. 

It's like when you're in the cinema and you get so caught up with how incredibly moving a scene is, that you actually weep at the sheer sorrow of the characters. You become so immersed in the plot that you entirely suspend disbelief and real empathy appears and you cry for them. Then the lights come up, you look around and you laugh at the fact that you were just crying, 'cause you remember that you're actually in a cinema in south London, and not lying on a dismantled door of the in the frozen Arctic sea, watching the love of your life die.

And you're able to laugh because you come to your senses again and realise that what you were just seeing, was complete fiction. It's the same when I stop listening to music. I feel a bit of a dick at how emotional I just got as I instantly snap back to reality. But you know what? I don't think that was fiction. That place I go to when I listen to the silver songs is not a movie or a character, it's getting completely lost in the silver, and it's real. The world I see is the world I live in, just viewed through such a different perspective, it seems like an entirely new word altogether. Like normal planet earth, but viewed through a kaleidoscope of passion, strength and power. If I had the choice to live in that mentality I go to when I listen to silver songs, or the coming-out-of-the-cinema feeling after, I know which one I'd choose.

So I guess that is why I actively avoid listening to music that I like. Because it's not just 'listening to music'. However pretentious it sounds, it's not just listening. It's a full emotional, spiritual, physical and biological journey, a complete onslaught of the senses where I am entirely catapulted into another universe and I see things, that one could never dream of seeing.

Hey, maybe I do have super-powers after all, and my power is that when I listen to certain music, I can bridge the gap to another world.

I like that. Let's go with that.