Fog and Basics (OOTD)

It's been a long period of physical and mental exhaustion. I accepted a full term position at a (very) well known and by some (very) well loved fashion retail chain in order to save up for a trip back to Tokyo. The price I paid in exchange for some money was high. It took a lot out of me, but gave me some useful utensils for life too.

I quit a bit earlier than I had originally planned because I couldn't justify the price any longer.
But it all had its purpose and I am so excited to be going back to Japan in July! I'll also be visiting my Dad in Singapore and making a small detour to Thailand... So looking forward to spending time in Asia again.

Yes… I've been feeling foggy for days. I think it's because suddenly everything is falling into place- When what you used to dream about turns into concrete reality (i.e. moving to London), is it abnormal to feel a bit foggy? Expect more content here, definitely!


Ever since I got these amazing jeans, I have been wearing a variation of this outfit A LOT. The cardigan I am wearing has been on my lust-list for over a year. I bit the bullet and finally gave in to paying a slightly obscene amount for a cardigan. But it's not just a cardigan. When I have it on I feel like I'm walking inside a cuddle.

Jeans: Topshop
Crop top: H&M
Cardigan: American Apparel
Earrings: & Other Stories
Necklace: Gift from Singapore
Nails: Lapiz of Luxury by Essie

I am seriously loving Femme… I do love her just a slight bit more because she graduated from the uni I will be attending very soon… I think. Love her style and lyrics. Enjoy if you fancy!

I'm going to have my third coffee of the day now. See you soon! X


every1 is n8kid underneath

Here's a thing.
My mind is full to the brim and I can't work out what to write.
Once in German class we read this text about expressing thoughts. How we can never actually know what 'thoughts' really are, because what you write down or what you say is never the exact match of what's whizzing around in your mind-box.
You get me?

This is one way I feel I could express the current contents of my mind.

AAAaaahhhhOoooohhhh!!!!1111 I am an adult whyyyyy!!Yeeeaaayy thats why University <3 <3 <3 < 3 <3 Moving away from Germany FINALLY YEEESSSS,,,, got accepted… unconditional offers!!! eaten too much today,,,, green teas forever, love my porridge… London or Brighton?!?!?!? Sheffield scholarship though wooooahhw Fashion week… seasideeee!!! big campus, small campus!!! league tables & gut feelings!!!seaaasideee!! but its so cool london so cool yar
ahsdkaghsdgas OOooohhhhAaaaah well done you thank you mum where why how!!!! that damn personal statement seemed to do the trick though aaahhhhHHH abitur what even WERE those 13 years of hELLllllllllllllllllllllllll?

I am currently not capable of writing a coherent text expressing my joy and inevitable slight decision-making anxiety.
The main point is, I have finally achieved what was for a very long time, unlikely... a lovely fantasy to cuddle up to whenever I couldn't get to sleep and whenever I was where I didn't want to be.

So yeah. Here is what I wore to my interview at Goldsmiths Uni of London, minus the crop top.
What a heart wrenchingly surreal and incredible day that was.

I love a crop top. I feel totally fine showing my stomach… We're all naked under our clothes anyway.
Been wearing these jeans to smithereens the past week because they're so comfy and casual.

Kimono: Lush @ Nasty Gal
Crop top: Missguided
Boyfriend jeans: H&M
Boots: Topshop 
Leather holographic bag of my dreams: Choies
Coat: My sis <3

I am not even ashamed to admit that I can't stop listening to Bound 2. I don't even understand why. Here's my favourite man on the planet, JAMES FRANCO and Seth Rogen being kings in that stunning remake of the official music video.

P.S.: Running away is like standing still, you won't get anywhere and be happy. So get on your trainers, your heels, your thinking caps, your hard-working socks and GO!


For the Love of Brand: Messiah Complex

Two nights ago I found myself only meters away from Russell Brand.

Before I start about the Messiah complex and Russell's public persona, I have to say that I have loved this strange skinny, fearlessly and carelessly sexual, extravagant man since I was about 12.

 I used to listen to his radio show every week alone in my room and laugh and learn. It was a time in young adolescence where I was probably quite impressionable, maybe that's part of the reason I still feel like he's still a loveable constant in my life.
 I read Booky Wook when I was a bit older and was dumbfounded and entertained and appalled and excited. Then Russell got quite famous and married a pop singer with massive boobs who got famous with a song about doing things many sexually curious girls may do.

The BBC let him go and he sang weird songs in corny American films that you watch once and then forget the plot forever.
Recently his interview with Jeremy Paxman caused more than a slight cyber stir. Russell had disappeared slightly from my radar, but suddenly he was attracting attention for something I hadn't really expected.
Image courtesy of Frankfurter Neue Presse, Sajak
I appreciate everything Russell says in this interview. He seems so confident that humans are all connected, that political problems can be solved by us. He's so hopeful, he reminds me of an indignant child. He's wild and weird and somehow ridiculous.
He's brave enough to make statements he knows intellectually confident men and women will pick apart and oppose.  I can't say I am behind every political idea he has ever voiced, but I just appreciate him utilising his opportunities to appeal to the masses in such a reckless, hopeful, human manner.

In my thirteen-year-old fantasies Russell Brand would visit this bleak spot in Germany and I would see him in the flesh. My nineteen-year-old self was able to realise this fantasy on a Sunday evening after being at work for too long.

Mr Gee opened the show with two poems that made my heart and soul melt together and stop time and space for a while.
Later Russell did the same in a different way.
He was over the top and filthy and atrocious, but it felt like he was loudly proclaiming thoughts individuals have occasionally and silently, sometimes shamefully keep to themselves.

You know that feeling you get sometimes when anything seems possible and you realise everything could change and you're not the only person who feels a specific way? I get that at concerts and I get that with Russell Brand.

Yes, he is sexist sometimes and he defends this only by crudely claiming he can make any female orgasm first. He also has a filthy mouth and currently insubstantial administrative plans necessary to entice a revolution BUT how nice, how refreshing to have someone on stage making hundreds of people laugh. How refreshing, to hear someone say things out loud you think to yourself when you're the only one awake and wrestling with problems you had forgotten the world had.

Listen to one of the poems Mr Gee performed:


Retelling some Tales of Retail (and a Poem)

I can honestly say that in the past few weeks I have had no time to sit down and write about things. I have also had no time to paint my nails, moisturise my legs, buy enough Christmas presents or go to the gym. I did manage to buy some more oats and fleece lined tights though.

I've basically been working full time in retail, which I can assure you, is no easy feat. It started subtly, I folded some jumpers, I made sure rows of parkas were neat-ish. I remember being pleasantly surprised after my first day of work: I get payed for this? Marvellous!
And then I began to understand that working with clothes during the holiday season is hard labour, physically and mentally.
That clothes lose their charm when you've seen them and felt them over 723 times.
That to most shoppers you are nothing but a minute part of their consumer experience, there to serve when needed.
My arms ache every day from carrying at least 18 items of clothing at once and the back of my left forearm is permanently slightly numb. Nerve or muscle damage? Hoping muscle.
The idea of spending more time in a brightly lit area blasting the same musical playlist every day is magnified by the simple fact that I have not received my pay check for what feels like too long. But, when it arrives a mere three days after Christmas I know my achey numb arms and I will breathe a sigh of relief and visualise the flight to Tokyo I'm hoping to purchase very soon.
You know that beautifully Gangsta-esque saying: Work hard, play hard? I get that.

What has made the past few weeks of intense work much more bearable (aside from really sweet colleagues and listening to Tame Impala) is that I was finally able to send off my UCAS application! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported to me and helped me get to this point. It's been a long journey, and it's only just properly starting. The dream to finally move back to the UK, and to study something I am so keen to learn about is becoming reality and it's just.. wonderful. Hard work  pays off. However slowly.
Having received an invitation for an interview at one University already, I'm feeling very positive and excited. Life is what you make of it, as cheesy and as impossible as it sounds at times.

As I have really had no time for photography, here is a poem. It's about someone much older than me, who no one I know knows and I wrote it waiting for a train on Thursday.

Thank you for being a comfort
Through spilled and loosely arranged words
And salty eyes, red eyes
Acne, dry fingertips
When my life had died.

That quiet room
That journey to and fro
And hasty words, true words
Answers, questions
One hundred and fifty times you drew the curve,
I filled in.

Of all the people
That don't share my blood
I feel you are proof,
Of relations.

And now I'm back to enjoying my Sunday off. Because last night I didn't get home until about 2 in the morning. And I had to cycle. And it was freezing.
So all I'm doing today is drinking green tea and planning trips to London with old Australian friends.

(This is the original version of 'Riot Van'. Yes, it's really got something the album version hasn't, and not just the word 'bong'.)


Better Late Than Never (?)

I cannot believe that what feels like a week ago, I was worrying about getting sunburnt  and now I'm worrying about surviving sub-zero windchill riding my bike downhill.
Or maybe I should approach it in a more positive manner: I cannot believe that what feels like a week ago I was enjoying iced coffees outdoors and now I'm enjoying cosy jumpers and knee high fluffy socks.

I turned 19 recently, which means I can only use the phrase 'teen angst' for one more year. Among other things I enjoyed receiving well-wishes from people I hadn't heard from in a while and Morrissey's Autobiography.

Annika's turned 20 a week later and we celebrated the fact we were still alive in Amsterdam. What a fantastically beautiful city it is, which should be known for so much more than the availability of otherwise illegal substances.
Water dividing streets filled with more bikes than cars, the absence of sky scrapers, little friendly shops and a very high concentration of attractive male creatures, polite tourists and locals offering us free rides on public transport... I liked it, a lot.

Please enjoy a fraction of photographic remains of a week in adolescent limbo. Read on for more gushing from me on Suite 1888, the most beautiful Bed and Breakfast I have ever slept in.

You should probably check out the photographs of Suite 1888 on its website. My badly lit grainy photographs may appeal to me on some artistic levels but you can get a better idea of the impeccably designed apartment there.
It was very close to the centre of Amsterdam, beautifully furnished, complete with complementary fruit, wine and daily breakfast delights. Not only that, we were welcomed and taken care of by the most friendly, helpful, lovely couple who lived upstairs.
Suffice to say, I would happily sacrifice a year without coffee in order to stay there again. Which is saying a lot.

I am in limbo now by the way, working, sleeping, eating, cycling, reading, watching Season 2 of Gossip Girl. I miss when 2008 music was new. Remember Alex's longer hair, the slight hint of low self esteem?


A Hasty Homage to Astrix Boots and AM

I am ill for the first time in months. It has given me plenty of time to lie around feeling sorry for myself, read Rivers of London and watch YouTube videos.

In between drinking loads of herbal tea (in that beautifully cliched way everyone does, or says they do when they're ill), I just had to pay homage to these these amazing new Astrix boots by Topshop. I have been eyeing them up for ages and finally decided to give in to materialism. They add quite a bit of height without being uncomfortable or heavy. They tick all my "Shoes Desirable to Short Girls Who Fancy Being a Bit Taller" boxes.

Floral dress, floral arm chair, floral cushion, flower on the windowsill, just pointing out that I am very aware that I love them florals.

I feel the need to stress that the new Arctic Monkeys album is gold; I would be hard pressed to not love any of their music because they've been my favourite since 2005, but I do really think it's gold.
The whole album will fill you up like a roast dinner for your ears after being out all night, lying somewhere on your own.
The album closes with the song 'I Wanna Be Yours', which is actually a poem by John Cooper Clarke they put to music. It will give you goosebumps every time you listen to it, even if there's nobody's you wanna be.

Whatever gal he's been phoning slash texting whilst drunk slash high, thank you so much.


Library Antics, Gatsby Commentary

I have been visiting the library a bit recently in an attempt to gather all my enthusiasm, disbelief and eclectic ideas concerning finally moving back to the UK to study into a personal statement necessary to secure a place at uni. It's very difficult to explain in 4000 characters (including spaces) what makes you an excellent future student.
The other day after having cycled into town to the library (I am no longer in possession of an annual bus pass) I found myself, whilst searching for a book I never found, confronted by a young male, circa 21 who asked me following question:

"If heaven existed, what would it be like? Not for everyone, just for you."

Surprisingly tactful chat up line or not, it had me thinking long after I had laughed and said something about endless supplies of sushi.
It was an unexpected reminder that I can't imagine it any more.
I remember being about seven at school in England and Mr Sage said that in heaven, you were the age you felt your best (and I'm sure I haven't reached that age yet). And I remember thinking of everyone living in an infinite place of satisfaction which involved trampolines and the absence of tiredness and tragedy.
Unfortunately, the older you get, the more you understand that trampolines aren't fun if you play with them all the time, tiredness is necessary because sleep is wonderful and happiness isn't worth much without tragedy. And in the absence of knowing how wonderful 'life' will be after death, we find in our mind's the desire to make life before death as close to an idea of heaven as possible.
Much like James Gatz, perhaps known best as the mysterious millionaire Jay Gatsby.

I watched the Great Gatsby the other night and it was the first time in a very long while that everyone in front of the electric square, which was projecting wondrous images and spilling beautifully planned words and melodies, remained absolutely still and silent.
A lot of movies are made today, a lot of blocks are busted, and more often than not, the profit-hungry undertones of its makers seep through.
Gatsby was a box office success and I suspect it was for all the right reasons.
The kindle version was on my iPad hours after enjoying the film and now I have finished reading it I have to get my hands on a physical copy of the book.

I was so in awe of F. Scott Fitzgerald's descriptive writing that I literally let my mouth drop multiple times, sitting upright in bed at 2 AM. So many sentences are floating in my head, but this one in particular moves something in my gut and I'm still wondering if he spent hours, maybe days, perfecting the sequence of his words, or if they simply tumbled out naturally.
For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened- then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
Although the novel seems relatively short, it's left me feeling fuller than longer books, the titles of which I have already forgotten. I wonder now why when spending hours of valuable time in education contemplating the notion of the American Dream, this book didn't once make an appearance.

Gatsby's desire to recreate the past, control time (insisting Daisy tells Tom he 'never loved him'), make him seem so driven, so passionate, obsessive, somehow heroic and on a much more basic level, so timelessly human. And thank God for Nick Caraway's almost painful honesty, good-naturedness and patience, without whom there would be no believable narrator.
I want to write more, but there's really too much to say. But I had to write something, somewhere I would remember, because I cried at the end of the film and at the end of the book.