Not a Single Duck

This is a story of what happened to me a few weekends ago, when my only goal was to feed a duck. Be warned, there isn't much of a point to this story. It probably won't leave you feeling inspired, nor will it contain any sort of profound message about life and stuff. Nevertheless, I wanted to share. So here it is, the story of my duck feeding adventure.

The day started when I was out and about in the morning, and I saw two ducks swimming about in a small creek. That was the moment it all began. I looked at those two ducks, flapping around and being adorable, and I knew. I knew that my day would not be complete until I had fed a duck.

I went home and found a list online of things you can feed ducks, and as rice was the only thing on the list that I had available in my pantry, I went with that. So off I went, armed with my bag of rice and a willing spirit, to find the ducks in that same small creek.

This is when things started to go downhill. I drove to the creek where I had found the ducks that morning, but as I approached I noticed a large group of middle aged people sitting right by the creek having a picnic. I couldn't feed the ducks now! Not with all those people sitting right there! I imagined their judgmental faces as I squeezed past them to make my way down to the bank with my zip-lock bag of rice. They would think I was mental. I mean, if I had of been with a friend I wouldn't have minded so much. But I didn't want to be seen as some sort of lonely, crazy duck feeding lady. I drove right on past the creek. Attempt one to feed the ducks had failed, due to me caring to much about what some middle aged strangers thought about me.

Despite the rough start, I was still determined to feed a duck. There were plenty of other creeks and ponds around! Surely in one of the many other bodies of water, there would be a duck that would gladly accept the rice of friendship from me!

What happened next wasn't that interesting. It was basically this: drive to pond/creek, get out and look for ducks, find no ducks, get in car and drive to another pond/creek, repeat. After an hour of this, thats right, ONE WHOLE HOUR, I started to lose faith. My determination had turned to desperation. I started to feel a bitterness towards all ducks. Why were they tormenting me? All I wanted to do was feed them! Something in me snapped. This had become much bigger than just feeding a duck. It was about honour. It was about respect. "Damn it, ducks!" I thought to myself as I descended further into duck induced madness, "You think you can make a fool out of me? I'll show you! I'll show all of you!"

I drove to another pond, but unfortunately I missed my turn and ended up on a hill. No big deal, you might think, it's just a hill. You could just pull over and do a u-turn and go back to the pond. Except I couldn't. This hill was a trap. It just kept winding upwards, and there was literally nowhere to pull over or to turn. You just had to keep going up.

Again, if I was with someone this would have been fine. We would've had a good laugh about the lack of ducks to feed, and about being trapped on a hill. I imagine being trapped on a hill is fun when you have a friend with you. But when you're alone, and you're lost, and you are going higher and higher up what was turning into more of a mountain than a hill, and all you want to do is stop or pull over but you can't, it's not fun. It's freaking, terrifying. And because it was terrifying, I am not proud to admit it, but I did have a little cry.

Don't judge me. If you were trapped on a hill on your own after spending an hour trying to find a duck, you'd cry to.

Finally, after driving further and further up the hill for what felt like a lifetime, I found a place to pull over, make a u-turn and drive back down. I'd given up. My will had faded. No duck feeding was worth what I had just been through. I just wanted to go home. But then I found one last shred of hope. I would have to pass that other pond on my way home anyway. Maybe, just maybe, I would find the duck I had been searching for all afternoon.

If life was fair, I would've found a duck at that pond. Maybe even several ducks. And I would've spent what was left of my afternoon throwing rice out for them as they gobbled it up appreciatively. But life isn't fair. There were no ducks. I went home, disappointed and without having found a single duck.

And that's it. That is the story. Like I said, it doesn't have much point. But if you feel you must take something away from this story, take away this: Sometimes you'll have a goal and despite all your efforts, you might not achieve it when you thought you would. Life is unfair, but at least when it is unfair, you can sometimes end up with a mildly interesting story.

Moving On - Coping with the End of a Book

A few days ago I finished reading the Book Thief by Markus Zusak. It was so unbelievably amazing. If you haven't read it, I strongly recommend you do.

This post is not going to be about the Book Thief, I'll save that for a later post (maybe? I'm not sure yet, we'll see). This post is going to be about the feelings I experienced once I had made it to the end of the Book Thief.

I know I'm not the only one who feels this way upon finishing a good book. It's a strange mix of satisfaction/sadness. A contentment coupled with a sudden emptiness. You become so emotionally invested in a book. You form a bond with the characters and you immerse yourself in their life and their world.

A good book captures you. Then when you read the last words in the last chapter, it suddenly releases you. It opens the door and pushes you back into the real world again, leaving you with the inevitable feeling of "What now?"

For a moment, you may struggle to remember what you did with your life before you became so obsessed with these fictional characters lives. You might look at those around you going about their day to day business and be filled with awe at how they can do it. How they can just be going about their life as if nothing has happened? Don't they not realise what you've just been through?

After a while, you gradually ease yourself into your old routine and life goes back to normal. A few things you might be able to do to help make this transition easier are as follows:

1. Have your moment. Don't feel like you need to run headfirst straight back into the real world. Just make yourself a cup of tea, have a lie down and let it sink in. Accepting that the book is over is the first step in moving on. 
2. Start small. Go for a walk, watch TV, tidy your house, make another cup of tea (because tea is good for every occasion). Completing basic tasks will help you ease back into normality. 
3. Find someone who has read the book and talk to them about it. If you can't find someone who has read the book, find someone who has no interest or intention in reading the book/doesn't mind spoiler alerts and just pour your heart out. Trust me, it helps.

I'm sorry that those three pointers are all the advice I have. If you have any more tips on getting over a book, please feel free to comment and let me know. Together we can get through this. 

Sad Days

So generally speaking I am a pretty cheerful person. I like to smile at people, I like singing songs and dancing about. I like baking cakes and telling jokes and then laughing at them so much that I can't get the punchline out.

However, like most people, every now and then I find myself having a sad day. These days come at you out of the blue. You can wake up in the morning feeling ready to take on the world, and then something happens that makes a part of your brain snap. Next thing you know, you find yourself crying in the shower while listening to Bonnie Tyler (we've all been there).

Then there are the times when the sad day decides that it doesn't just want to steal twenty-four hours of happiness from you. It lingers. You try to cover it up with other things, but it finds its way back. Like when your hands smell like onion and garlic after cooking, you can put as much pomegranate hand cream on as you want, but deep down you know that in a few minutes that that will wear off and you'll be back to smelling like a burger grill.

There are things I can do to make myself feel slightly better when I'm having a sad day. Such as fighting (and I mean really fighting) the urge to spend the day in track pants and food-stained tee shirt and actually getting in the shower, washing my hair and putting on clean clothes. It doesn't have to be a formal dress with opera gloves and top hat (although sometimes that ensemble does help to boost my mood). It just has to be a clean pair of track pants, and a teeshirt that won't drip out bolognese sauce if you squeeze it.

Listening to happy music or watching a movie or TV show that makes me happy helps to, however I do have to be careful with my choice. Certain Disney movies sometimes have to go on the no watch list during a sad day. If you're already emotionally fragile you do not want to take on a major Disney Journey.

Another important one, I have to try not to isolate myself. When you're sad, its hard to step outside and interact with people. But usually once I do go and spend some time with friends I feel a lot better by the time I get home. And if I really can't handle human contact, then its good for me not to just let the sadness sit in my head. I dance around my house. I read a book or write a story. I clean or play scrabble against myself. Something to take my mind off of going over and over the sadness.

And, of course, every now and then, I like to have a cup of tea, a biscuit and a good cry.

Sometimes, however, you'll find that even though some things will make you feel better, they won't make the sadness go away. The thing that sucks most about sad days/weeks/months is always the waiting. I know there is going to be a stage when I will stop feeling sad, when whatever it is that has been bothering me won't bother me any more. So I just find myself waiting for it to stop sucking.

But at least I have found a few coping mechanisms to get me through till then.

I guess the main reason for writing this post is just to say that if you are going through a sad day, you can get through the "waiting" stage. And you are most definitely not alone. Everyone everywhere has been through a sad day.

Let me know in the comments what your coping mechanisms are for sad days.

(PS) I promise I am going to try and post more regularly from now on. But you should note that the operative word here is "try"

Winston the Cat

This is a true story that happened to me in December of 2011, which as you can probably tell from the title involves a cat, named Winston.

It was the night after Christmas, and my boyfriend Dylan and I were sitting in my room talking about all the things we wanted to have one day. The kind of house, the kind of furniture, and of course the kind of pets. He mentioned that he wanted a siamese cat, while I told him that for some reason I always wanted to have grey and white cat called Winston.

No much longer after I told him about my future cat did we hear one of my roommates in a struggle in the laundry. We came out to find him slamming the sliding door shut. We asked what was going on and he told us; there was a cat outside who kept trying to get in to eat Georgie (his cats) food. I looked and there, through the glass sliding door I saw him. I could hardly believe it. It was a grey and white cat. It was Winston.

My roommates went to bed while Dylan and I decided to go outside to see the cat. As soon as we opened the door he shot in like a food-seeking missile, straight towards Georgie's bowl.  We picked him up and took him outside, taking some food out for him. He gratefully ate, and then once the food was gone he turned his attention to us. 

He began to wind himself between our legs, rubbing his face against us in a plea for attention. We sat with him for a few minutes, stroking and patting him, then we decided to go back inside. He had a collar so we figured he was just at our house for a pat and some food and that once we left he would wander back to his own home. 

But as soon as we closed the door behind us, he cried. He looked at us through the glass with despair in his eyes and meowed for us to come back to him. When you see an animal in such desperate need for you, that is not just asking but begging you to be with it and to help it, there is no way you can just close the blinds and turn your back. 

I didn't want to keep a cat in the house without telling my roommates first, so Dylan took the cat, who at this point we had started calling Winston back to his house for the night. First thing in the morning, I went to see how he was doing.

Dylan informed me that he had tried to get him to sleep in the Laundry, but that every time he shut the door Winston would panic and start to cry at the door. After a couple of attempts at this, Dylan pulled out an air mattress and slept in the kitchen - Winston by his side.

It wasn't till now that we noticed how skinny he was. Because of this, and the fact that he panicked whenever we left him alone, we figured he had been lost for quite sometime. We called the RSPCA, but as it was just after Christmas they told us they would not be opening up for another couple of days. So I called my roommates, who agreed to keep him at our house until the RSPCA opened, and Winston was ours for the next week.

I cannot explain to you how much I loved this cat. After on afternoon, he was completely settled into his life with us. He would always allow you to pat and cuddle him. He was happy to play and equally as happy to sit on the couch with you while you watched TV. Although the time we had together was short, I cherish the days we spent with Winston.

Needless to say, I cried my eyes out when we took him to the RSPCA. I told them to let me know if no one took him, because I would. I never got a call, which definitely doesn't surprise me. Winston was such a beautiful cat I know there would be a plethora of people who wanted to be his new family.

I still get a little sad when I think about Winston. But I know he is with a good family now, and probably going by a different name. He is playing with someone else, being cared for by someone else, and sitting next to someone else on their couch while they watch TV.

There are so many loving animals like Winston at the RSPCA who need loving homes. They may not all be pure-breds, but they are ready to be part of your family if you just give them a chance. Please, when you get a pet consider adopting from the RSPCA and giving an animal a chance. If you can't adopt a pet at the moment, then like the RSPCA page on Facebook. Every time there is an animal to be adopted, I share it. The more people that know, the more likely they are to find a home, right?

I had my grey and white Winston, and although I don't know when I'll get my next pet or what it will be, I know the first place I will look to find them.

Fickle Hair

Most of the times that I wear my hair down I end up straightening it, but on the rare occasions that I don't someone usually says something like, "Why do you straighten your hair? It looks fine natural!"

The answer to that question is simple. My hair is fickle. While somedays leaving it to its own devices works out...

"I feel like a model in a shampoo commercial!" 

...Other days, it doesn't work out quite so well...

"I wasn't exactly going for the "Lion whose had a trim from Edward Scissor Hands"look, but okay..."

My Idea of Exercise Is Walking to My Nearest Sitting Position

I'm not an athletic person. I'm not good at, nor do I particularly enjoy sports. Recently when discussing exercise with a friend who shares my views I told her that I usually just walk to my next sitting position. Because of my distaste and general suckiness at sport, PE was one of my worst subjects in school.

I did try in PE. I ran, I jumped, I dribbled, I kicked, I threw to the best of my ability. It's just that the best of my ability was, well, terrible. 

But there was one school sport that I didn't dread, that I didn't suck at. You may think it was something like interpretive dance or synchronised swimming. But no my friend, the sport I was actually good at was in fact rugby. 

The moment I realised I rocked at rugby was during a game in school PE. We had been split into teams, but somehow, all three of the girls in my class ended up on the same team. The teacher insisted that to make things fair one of the girls had to go onto the other team, and of course, my team decided to get rid of me. 

I joined the other team, who did not seem keen to have me either. I think everyone (teacher included probably) would have been happier if I had of just sat on the sidelines. But, as usual, I was determined to try my best. And to my and everyone else's surprise, I freaking dominated that game. I not only managed to take down the girls on the other team, I took down several of the guys. 

After I managed to tackle quite a few people, my team mates finally trusted me enough to actually pass me the ball. Once I got it, there was no stopping me. I ran and dodged all the way to the try line. As I'd never gotten that far before, it took me a few seconds to figure out what to do once I crossed the try line. But I did it. I scored a try. It was truly a movie moment. Although in an ideal world it would have been the game winning try, and then my team would have carried me off and cheered in slow motion while "We Are the Champions" was playing, but apart from that it was pretty amazing. 

That was peak of my sporting achievements. I wish I could say I went on to join the school rugby team and win medals. However my friends laughed at me when I mentioned it, and being the weak minded peer influenced teen I was, I let it stop me. 

I haven't had any amazing sporting achievements since then, and my fitness levels have substantially dropped since school. I do feel a little guilty sometimes when I hear some of my friends talking about going to the gym, eating healthy and getting fit. But when that happens I just have some cake and a nap and I feel much better. 

Introduction - The Fun Starts Here

"I can't put it anymore clearly, sir, because it isn't clear to me" - Alice, Disney's Alice in Wonderland. 

That quote pretty much sums up how I feel about trying to introduce myself and this blog. I can tell you the basics of who I am (hi, I'm Aysha, I'm 20 years old etc etc), and I can give you the general gist of what I'll be posting here. But I can't give you a clear idea of what to expect, because it isn't completely clear to me. 

My intentions are really just to share some of my stories, my ideas and thoughts, and the odd picture or drawing here and there (sounds thrilling, I know). 

My first official post will be up tomorrow night, so I do hope you'll give my blog a chance. 

I thought this ways a pretty good choice for first drawing.