My battle scars are your enjoyment.

Birds and I have never seen eye to eye. They are unpredictable with the ability to not only walk and run with the added and most definitely unnecessary bonus of flying. They lurk, they steal and they have beady little eyes that stare into the depths of your soul.  But it was one cold winters day that trauma ensued.

As a young teen the idea of gym class outside during Winter was not ideal however as the diligent student I am I pursued my task and headed outside to the park across the road alongside the rest of my classmates. As we crowded around the teacher all moaning about the unfortunate combination of Winter and Cricket (yes we were all aware how awful that sounds) I stood opposite my classmates for a reason I cannot remember for the life of me, and suddenly each of their mouths opened and their eyes widened while in turn my face first became confused. Why were they all pulling faces of shock and horror? Was there some inside joke I was missing out on? and then it hit me quite literally. A pigeon, the most horrid of all birds, landed on my head, it was that moment my heart stopped and I had wondered if I had begun to see the infamous bright light. Had I died? Had I entered my own personally hell? okay maybe I was being dramatic, but nevertheless, I dropped to the ground as I assume one naturally would, wailing my hands around trying remove the pigeon from my head. But here is the kicker, IT WAS STUCK.  As everyone laughed, I cried swearing right then and there that my relationship with birds will never be mended, I had created my very first enemy.

Eventually after the pigeon’s claws were removed from my scalp I sat there, in the middle of the park with the mascara I wasn’t allowed to wear streaming down my face for what must have been a good five minutes.  After completing my melt down (one I believe was well deserved) I looked up at the rest of my class and I laughed. I just starting laughing. Maybe it was shock maybe it was an immediate realisation of how crazy the whole situation was.  It was so hard to comprehend, pigeons tend to fly away when you approach not fly towards you and land on your head like it was prepared for battle. But no matter how traumatic it is equally the most hilarious event of my life.


That’s one zesty lemon you made there.

Below is a story I submitted to Man Repellers writing club. I didn’t get selected but I am still happy with what I wrote so I thought I would share it on here.

Dreamers are often said to be the people who get the least amount of things done, too far up in the clouds to pull their dreams in to reality. But as a dreamer with a strong desire to remain as optimistic as possible I like to believe that my crazy and wild dreams will one day make up my reality. Because being optimistic doesn’t mean that you can not imagine the possible things that could go wrong just that you choose to focus your energy towards all the amazing things that could go right.

When life handed me one truly shitty lemon I had to learn to overcome, I had to learn to not give up and work towards making that oh so delicious lemonade.  There is no nice way of saying it, Anxiety is a bitch. When you pair a dreamer with an anxious mind you can only imagine the conflict that erupts, the strongest desire to do something with your life but the constant voice in your head giving you speech after speech all ending in the concluding sentence of “honey you’re just not good enough”.  Anxiety is not an optimist, it is an  exaggerated survival skill telling you that the word vomit of nervousness you encountered while being forced to speak in class, resulted in a face the colour of a deliciously zesty tomato and was the exact moment of your demise. However, optimism will prevail taking the little ball of anxiousness that is myself and making the best of it. Whether I wore a risky outfit in the living room of my flat or out in public… I still wore it, Whether I emailed a lecturer instead of speaking to them directly … I still asked my question and whether I write for my own personal journal or a legit publication … I am still letting my words and my thoughts hit the paper.

Because what you truly need as a dreamer who has unfortunately been paired with anxiety is the optimism that you will push through. That the little voice in your head who condescendingly calls you honey for some unknown reason doesn’t have to triumph. Maybe I haven’t quite found the perfect formula to turn a shitty lemon into lemonade but I would like to believe with a little (somewhat forced) optimistic mind that I have taken a shitty lemon and grew it into a gloriously oh so zesty lemon.