i like the view from my window. it’s a labyrinth of lots of little chimneys and stones and at the bottom there is the garden seating for morton’s café. but i see it every day. and lately there has been construction on the roof just outside my window, which is, well, not idyllic. today however, began as a quiet afternoon, and it was just about lunchtime when suddenly: there was a balloon in the sky. day made. thank you, virgin balloon, for your shamelessly adorable advertisement. ★
last year kate nash visited my uni and talked about girl power and sang and i was mesmerised. she struck me as humble, candid, witty, as authentic as a friend. the real life kate nash lived up to and enhanced the music that inspires me to write, sing, and express. this afternoon she tweeted this video announcing her pledge account in which: she makes cake (rainbow cake). she crochets. and there is a bunny. this girl continues to exceed my soaring expectations of her. in a whim of spontaneity i decided to purchase one of the exclusives: a handwritten and decorated lyric sheet. my very first art investment. which song? i chose i hate seagulls, the one she sang for us, which embraces the simple little truths that together embody one person, and all the feelings that are love. ★
^ my workspace at oxfork. books, notes, tea, and loveliness.
during the college application process, i told myself that my dream was to get in somewhere and study abroad in oxford for a year. my actual dream was to study in oxford for more than a year, as an undergraduate. when i realised that applying was not only a possibility but what i had to do, a passion, a need, awoke. recently, i fell into the same trap, grasping at options for a potential career. all the while i searched for something that would allow me time to write on the side. why not just write? when i was eight years old, having just finished “my first chapter book”, i announced with confidence my aspiration to be a writer. returning to my childhood dream is scary. it’s going to be difficult. but admitting it, acknowledging it, is liberating. ★