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Creative Writing

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Literature

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Travel

A Stream of Incoherent Thoughts.


It’s interesting, the amount of thoughts that run through the human mind. I wanted to document the stream of mine. Read at your own peril.
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My Hair History.

My hair colour changes in accordance to my mood. I also use the colour of my hair as a measurement of time; my memories are all connected to and associated with specific hair colours. It is the first thing that people notice, and in my world, the most indicative of the way that I am feeling. My hair colour represents certain periods of my life; it signifies struggle, contentment, anarchy, loss. In the midst of an identity crisis, I immediately change the colour of my hair to shift perspective, to feel close to myself again. 

I have dyed my hair more times than I can remember, and for this I partially blame my mother who is an avid hair-dyer (although her colour choices have been rather more appropriate); like mother, like daughter, they say. I thought it would be interesting to put together a ‘hair timeline’ to showcase all of the colours that I have dyed my hair. There are a few gaps due to not having photographed certain colours (they were too horrendous to document and I did not want them to exist anywhere on the universe).

A majority of the colours below are the results of experiments, of which many have been disastrous. However, it is just hair at the end of the day and it grows back. If it does go entirely wrong, I express my gratitude for the existence of hats. It's all about perspective, about embracing your mistakes (there is a life lesson in everything).


It all started with the picture on the top left. My natural hair colour is black, and this colour paired with my yellow-toned complexion and horrendous dark circles, has always made my skin appear sallow. This picture was taken on the day that I first dyed my hair. I was 18 years old. 
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For The Women Who Are Meant For More.


I came across an exquisite piece of writing yesterday. Every single word resonated with me and I wanted to share it with you to allow you to find yourself amid these words. If you ever find yourself feeling lost, this will guide you back to where you are supposed to be. It will empower you. It will realign everything. It will reassure you that it is okay to be different because your individuality is one of your greatest gifts.

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The Monsters Are All Missing.


For giving me life, I thank you EMDR. 

Letting go of the trauma that my body had stored was truly remarkable, it’s terrifying how much pain the human body can hoard and remember without even being aware of its own presence.  

Being in remission is strange, it feels like everything is starting to get better, you begin to think rationally and clearly and you start to see what's right in front of you, it's almost like you can finally make out the cars that are on the road ahead. You stop thinking about death, you stop seeing obstructions, the traffic is moving now, you’re heading in the right direction. It's a peculiar feeling because it's foreign to your body, you're not entirely sure how to deal with it and you wonder whether this is what normal people feel like. You start to consider what you need to do now and how you can retain this sentiment. Can you capture it in a bottle and drink it every time you lose yourself?
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In The Grave of Vocabulary.


Our language is made up of the vocabulary of everything that we have ever read or heard; a regurgitation. It is only through the introduction of new substance that we can provide it with the capacity to grow and feed itself.

We, as humans seem to carry this myopic view of our lives.

It’s almost like through not reading, we become content with our limited catalogue of words. We are happy to live the rest of our lives with the language that we have acquired but how many times can you use the same word before it becomes redundant? How many times can you describe something as being ‘amazing,’ ‘good,’ ‘great,’ before it begins to evoke sarcasm?
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