C.O.I. NYC

Recently I was surfing the Internet and came across the new label C.O.I. NYC.

They seem to enjoy their PUNs and use their wittiness to play on well known labels such as Givenchy

And Balenciaga 

These shirts tend to remind me of the infamous COMME des FUCKDOWN shirts/hats reflecting COMME des GARÇONS that I have been eyeing for quite some time now. 

I suppose when it comes to PUNs I'm a bit of a sucker - Dad jokes seem to be my favourite and I'm the type of loser who enjoys laughing at her own one liners. 

As I'm all those things I'm also a bit of a stingy bitch and am not particularly willing to spend $60 on these beauties if I can't try them on in person. So, I suppose, unless I find a job that pays a lot (or, preferably, win the Lotto) I won't have my hands on one of these for a while. 

The interesting thing about the brand is that, according to NYMag, the designers prefer to stay anonymous. I suppose it's understandable if their jobs are at risk but I, personally, would be quite proud of my wittiness and would be plastering it all over my Tumblr and Facebook (I suppose I don't have a job to worry about though).

Anyway, if you wanted to buy one of these fabulous shirts (there are 3 so far) head to the C.O.I. NYC Website and when you purchase maybe you could possibly type "2" into the quantity and send one this way? That would be much appreciated.

I'm going to lay my beautiful head to sleep as I'm going shoe shopping with mum tomorrow and don't want to fall asleep on the job. 

Goodnight!

Death

Death.

It’s the one thing in life that is inevitable – yet, somehow, we tend to believe it is the one thing that will never happen to us.

I’m 18. The length of death I have known is my friend’s fathers, my cousin’s father’s and, more recently, my lifelong pet’s. 

I can’t grasp how people go on after the death of a loved one. When, two years ago, one friend revealed to me the death of another friend’s father (who was on the other side of the world) I could hardly manage it. The agony of knowing someone you love so much is in such deep pain is indescribable. To this day I wish I were there for her so I could hug her and hold her.

When the day comes that I have to deal with the death of a loved one I’m unaware of how I’ll handle it. I do not believe I will deal with it well. My dog has just passed on and I’ve completely blocked out the feelings – this seems to be how I go about everything. My mum has been seated close by sobbing whilst my eyes have remained dry. I want to cry. I love crying, yet I find it such an uneasy task.

No one wants to experience death or pain. No one wants to obtain the knowledge that their friends and family are hurting because the life of someone has been lost to the world. I don’t want to have to hold my mother because her mother has passed. I don’t want to tell my friend “everything will be okay” after her father has passed on. I know life will move on, but that doesn’t change that she is hurting in that moment.

I want to take all the pain away from everyone. I want to make sure my friends and family never hurt. I want to know their laughs are eternal and their smiles may well be tattooed on their face because that is what is beautiful. But I can’t do that.

I’ll have to deal with death one day, and when the day comes I hope I’m okay. 

P.s. I need to learn how to write.

New room

The other day my mother stated something to me that actually quite shocked me – “you don’t like change”.

I don’t know why it has left such a mark on my thoughts over the past few days… After all, there is nothing wrong with enjoying things to stay the same, but I would not consider myself someone who is opposed to change, I would actually say quite the opposite.

Change has a positive effect on me – be it changing my hairstyle or moving houses. Moving countries would really be one of the most exciting things I could think of.

I now sit and ask myself – what is it about change that pleases me so much?

I’ve come to half a conclusion that for a few days it feels as though I’m living someone else’s life. For those days that the new hairstyle has not exactly “set in” or the bus that I catch is no longer the 769 but the 788 I feel as though I’m either living a double life or that I’ve left my old life behind and have embarked on a new journey.

I have no problems with my life at the moment, yet I’ve just moved into my sister’s old room and I feel on top of the world. Things are different and that pleases me. Is it the sad memories that I have left behind in the room not two doors away? Or is it the painful years of adolescence that have left their mark on that old room that please me so much to leave? Whatever it is about that room, it’s has me doing jumping jacks to be out of there.

The old room was good to me though; it put up with me when I was messy and held my tears in so my mother couldn’t hear me crying. It enabled me to express myself. For two years I stuck the number of population of the earth on it’s face and a few years later it was tattooed with the word “Always” to express my love for Harry Potter. I’ve crawled through its windows when I’ve left my key inside and I’ve called my dad from it when there was a spider on the door refusing my departure.

I suppose all I can take from the room is the knowledge that bad things will happen wherever you are and you’re not going to avoid them just because of a change of scenery. Change is good for the soul but too much change can prove itself harmful. Be happy with what you have and smile when you have the chance, enjoy your room while you’re in there and embrace a new one when you move out!

A text post

As the entire thirteen years of my schooling life draw to a close I find myself considering what has been achieved, what I could have done differently and what changes could have been made.

I am a person with very strong opinions, I do not believe in regrets and I do not believe that you should change yourself for other people (unless, of course, you've got some questionably shitty views on matters of the world) and this has led me to relentless acceptance of myself and acceptance that I cannot change my personality.

At an age far too young I have had to deal uncommon, yet not unheard of issues. I have had to fight myself and challenge myself constantly. I have had to turn my life on its head and completely rediscover who I am.
I feel as though the people I surround myself with are extremely intellectual thinkers and reflect positively upon me, thus helping me in unconditional acceptance of myself - even when it's incredibly hard.

I observe other people my age groundlessly seeking things that will not improve their happiness. Things that are so futile in the question of their existence.
No one is going to refuse to date you because your thighs touch or because you have dimples on your butt. No one is going to refuse to be your friend because you don't have a flat stomach, and, to be so blatantly honest, if they did, why the fuck would you want to date them or befriend them? Happiness will not come through the methods magazines seem to preach.

I have been there. I have held the belief that losing weight will create some new version of me, some version that was underneath the excesses of health and that had been dying to come out for 15 long years. A version of myself that was outgoing, beautiful and happy. When I didn’t discover that girl I got mad, I didn’t know where she was hiding and why she wouldn’t come out. She wasn’t there. She isn’t there. And I’m okay with that, because I’ve found a pretty amazing girl in her place.

There is no way that losing weight has brought me to where I am. I’ve had to work on myself as an individual. I’ve had to accept that I’m not a particularly outgoing person, that I’m introverted and that a lot of the greatest people I know are introverted as well. I have fun when I am around people and I enjoy meeting new people. But that does not change the fact that I’d rather sit at home reading on a Friday night than going out.

I’m not saying this is a better way of being, or that it is worse. It’s just different. I won’t passively stand by while people tell me that I’m a “loser” anymore. When people refer to me as “weird” I actually quite enjoy it – who wouldn’t want to be weird?

Don’t get me wrong, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being normal, but I have found that my life is far more exciting because I’m strange. If I were normal I wouldn't have traveled to the United States at 15 to live with a family I’d never met (who, it turns out, were not quite “suited” to me). I would not dance around my house when I’m home alone listening to Beyoncé, and the people whom I’m close to would probably be strangers to me.

If I were normal I would not be me, and I like me. Sure, sometimes I have days in which I ask myself why it just doesn't seem to “click” when I'm doing schoolwork, days in which I wonder why I'm not artistically gifted or why I can't seem to get the words out quite right. 

I'm a strong individual and I'd never want to ask for more. I believe in myself and I will keep pushing. I hope that one-day I will love myself rather than just accept myself, but for now, acceptance is enough.