Birth Marked or Scarred?

So this might not be a topic to which many of you will have given much thought- I mean, unless you are directly affected by it, why would you? But I would appreciate if you would read on because it might help some people out there... maybe even you.

Since I joyfully shot out my mum's birthing water slide, I have had these continent shaped, red marks stretching across my right leg/lower back. And I would like to finally introduce them to the world. World, meet port wine stains, ala Emma. These birthmarks are surprisingly common, roughly 3 in 1,000 babies will be born with them, but most mothers choose to wipe their baby's young slate clean and have them removed. But my mum didn't want me to put me through that kind of pain when the marks were totally harmless. So she let me roam free after my 9 months of solitary womb confinement. Fair enough mum, fair enough!

And to tell you the truth, when I was younger I didn't really give them much thought. Like anything else on your body that you are born with, you are sort of just used to it. Just like you accept that you have elbows and eyelashes, I accepted my tinted skin. Young kids are pretty accepting of themselves before other people decide that "nope, you're different and I don't like it." The word different becomes interchangeable with words like weird, ugly and even ew. That in in itself is pretty sad that we are automatically programmed to see difference as a hinderance, not simply as individual. Society is really going to have to get their shit together with that. Just a reminder...

It wasn't until I noticed other people's lingering (not longingful) glances, and a few uncomfortable comments that made me realise that I was just a little bit different. And by uncomfortable, I mean being told that I looked like the midwife had thrown me down the stairs and into some fire after being born, nice huh? And as a self-conscious teenager, this revolution was not welcomed. The more I realised other people noticed these blotches, the more I did. I didn't/don't know how to accept that I am different. And it isn't the most convenient thing to change; it would take many months of painful laser surgery that would set me back £3000. But my money tree has never been that well endowed, and I half fainted when I got my ears pierced (at the embarrassing age of 18), so maybe not.

We all have stuff we are self conscious about: spots, dandruff, body hair, the list goes on indefinitely. But for the most part, you stumble through these insecurities with the somewhat comforting knowledge that 'at least i'm not the only one' or 'maybe i'll grow out of it'. But I didn't know anyone with this kind of skin, I still don't, so how does one find comfort then? Well, I am still figuring that one out. But what I am settling on for now is (and I think it's pretty good), just to work towards being truly, deeply, accepting of your own and other people's differences, quirks, abnormalities and 'flaws'. That word, 'flaws', I didn't want to have to use it, and damn it, i've used it twice now. I don't want to see my differences as a flaw, or for that matter, anyone else's.

So, I've shoved in this debut of my port patches as a first literal step toward self acceptance. Not using any editing to try blur them out, or standing like a mermaid with my right leg tucked in the back (which never looks cool and I really need to stop). I hope that one day when I search on youtube 'port wine stain pride', that there will be even one video that isn't outlining their journey through laser surgery removal.

I hope that my feeble attempt to spread a good message about body positivity in reference to me and my body's little journey goes some way to comforting even one person, or altering the mindset of another - however slight. So if you see someone who looks a little different the next time you're out, it's fine to look, notice, acknowledge, but instead of staring and making that person feel like a walking exhibition, just think for a second. Take your eyes off of them, think about your automatic thought process that may have led you to a slightly judgemental conclusion. Hold a mini celebration up in that gorgeous brain up there and just accept them, and take it as encouragement to accept yourself that little bit more.  

Bigger Than Your House-Pets.

We all have those fond and fluffy memories of family day trips to the zoo, but as we grow up and ask more significant questions and seek real answers, the soft, free-range wool is pulled from our eyes, and the truth about captive parks is revealed. There are still over 100 zoo's in the UK today despite glaringly apparent reasons to close them- as if the sad face of a lonely lion looking at you through scratched prison bars wasn't apparent enough-.

There is a wealth of information demonstrating the cruelty of these pet prisons, but in case you missed all of it, I'll outline a few points here. One undeniable fact is that animals in zoos quite simply suffer. Numerous studies have shown the unnatural behaviours demonstrated by zoo-bound animals. For example, a study found that 54% of captive elephants showed repetitive behaviour and lions spent 48% of their time pacing. But luckily, these animals don't have to walk back and forth in their boxes too long because animals have been proven to die prematurely in zoos. Elephants left to roam free in the wild live three times longer than those imprisoned in zoos. Finally, and most shockingly, surplus animals are often killed in zoos. A Captive Animals Protection Society study found that no less than 7,500 animals in European zoos can be culled at any time. Putting them out of their misery, at least, right?

Okay, so on a much smaller and borderline humane scale, there is only one analogy that comes close to the idea of zoos, which is the unmistakable feeling of cabin fever. You know that feeling when the sun is baking the pavement outside, and you're stuck inside, cramming for exams. But all you can think about is lounging outside in your paddling pool with a Pina Colada lovingly cradled in your hand. Add to this premature death, forced mating, and a hoard of people staring at you, expecting you to do something other than lie in the corner in a melancholy state.

There are always petitions and campaigns floating about on the internet that you can sign or join to help the fight. Below are a couple of petitions you can sign if you need to fight against these pet prisons.

https://secure.avaaz.org/en/petition/USDA_Congressional_Agriculture_and_Oversight_Committees_Make_USDA_Do_its_Job_Stop_Cruelty_to_Animals_in_Aquariums_Zoos_C/?pv=36

https://www.change.org/p/please-don-t-let-the-animals-suffer-in-your-zoos

A Purrfect Sunday

A furry compadre us humans (well, the cat clan members) will happily stroke repeatedly- the same motion, over and over again- potentially for hours. Keeping both hands on the cat at all times and one eye on the T.V. This tolerance for repeti

tive actions is something I don't seem to possess when it comes to reluctantly chasing my own feet on the treadmill. For anything besides petting kitties or eating Reece's peanut butter doughnuts, I'd claim to have sustained repetitive strain injury and seek compensation.

Introducing my 'Friends' inspired cat, Joey.

Ah the soothing softness when your hands slip jealously over the cat's furiously fluffy coat. No, coat doesn't do it justice. The cat's snugglesome dressing gown- one of those luxurious expensive one's from M&S. Grooming the purring pile with my own winter dry, naked-molerat, evolutionary error, furr-less skin. Oh how I dream of the past millenia of our monkey days, when we too had some kind of furry cardigan. Perhaps that train of thought is only applicable to me.

But it can't just be the elegant exterior of the kitty cats that we find so appealing. Replace the soft creature with an equally slippy silky scarf. An arguably equally hand hugging texture, but not something I can imagine being satisfactory to the companion and comfort craving cat crusaders. No, like all good kids movies morals, cat loving is not just skin deep. There is a kitty quality, a sense of calm and some expert level pet owners would say a completeness that can be achieved from settling down into the sofa with your favourite film and feline.

(And to address the comments about cats being self serving, snobby creatures, I have a rebuttal. Have you ever had such fun with a cucumber? To clarify; I mean scaring cats with said cucumbers. Additionally, they're very fluffy. To clarify again; I mean the cats, not the cucumbers).

A Resolution About Resolutions

Another year, another fated opportunity to incorrectly scribble down last year's date. Fortunately, mutating a 5 into a 6 is perfectly passable on paper. On the 1^st of January, we all take a drunken stumble into our recycled and often unachieved New Year's resolutions. And as we do every year, we promise ourselves that we really are more motivated than before, plus 4 to 400 other excuses for gaining that stone instead of losing it. But my cat being lost really did throw off my diet; it was very distracting, honestly.

At the chime of midnight, we make promises to ourselves with the best intentions, but at the end of the year, if we don't achieve them, the only person disappointed is ourselves. So why can we not commit to doing something that ultimately will make us happier? Imagine if every person in the world who made a resolution actually achieved it- my god, we'd have an incredibly slim, smoke-free, money-stable and well-travelled population. To paint a population percentage picture, 45 per cent of people in the US make New Year's resolutions, but just 8 determined little per cent of them were successful in their endeavours. So a well done to Bob, Sue And Timothy last year; we're all proud of you.

As much as statistics could potentially discourage you from setting big goals, I mean it is fair enough announcing to a crowd of hugging, kissing and cheering individuals at your new year's party, as the party poppers stream across the room, "ALL OF YOU WILL FAIL", isn't really inspiring. We should all try to boost the percentage of success stories. Prove to the human race that not only the elite can have Yoda-like mind power when it comes to determination and willpower. This year's resolution is to achieve a resolution. Go.  

Subscribing to the idea.

      Youtube, an internet platform for the creative, the crazy and the 'Charlie Bit My Finger'. A website, which at first, was seemingly named after the vague insults directed at those who posted videos “oh, you tube”. Only the furiously furry cuddly cat videos, the outlandish and the embarrass-proof lip-syncers gyrating to Britney Spears became viral and really nothing else seemed to exist. Videos once unwittingly uploaded in the assumption that they would silently slink off into a dark, quiet corner of the internet, now back to mega-bite individuals on the bottom when youtube became a more universally accessible and active site.

      This quietly quirky online gathering of the wacky creatives, the 'You've Been Framed' aspirers, even the ego enriched individuals seeking just that little bit of extra 'look at my facetime' have congregated to a formidable extent and a new profession has been born. The generation that has kept it's nose firmly pressed against the screen has accidentally snorted up a bit of inspiration to make a name and an income by being a tangible version of themselves online.

      The only glitch for many being that the footage is to be published to the dementors of the web, who's scaly fingers are poised eagerly to suck the joy and confidence from the discoloured roots of your hair to your big boring bones with the tactical use of hate fuelled comments. These 'trolls' have blossomed into a community of cheerless-leaders for the content creators, managing to pick out almost sub-cellular flaws in those who poke their innocent toes onto the site.

      The fact that this career is now available to virtually anyone unwittingly partaking in the digital age is one of the greatest achievements of the 21^st century (perhaps sitting respectfully behind the whole robotic and genetic engineering malarky). A self expressive, home based employment option has never been so widely attainable- potentially making millions of pretty green bills from the bum cradling comfort of your computer desk and chair.

      However, this tasty doughnut comes with a hefty spoonful of saturated fat to sink straight to that pillow padded bottom. These ordinary keyboard clutchers are now swimming their way into the main steam of media, and are being exploited. To the big- vulture like- companies, these people are a formidably sized slab of fresh meat to be picked at. They have multi million strong audiences, an established online platform to preach whatever they feel to an audience who trusts their word, and for the most part, these content creators need the cash, so are more likely to do it than other celebrities who rake in a fair few more gold leaves in their line of work. So, cheap advertisements to a susceptible audience, a.k.a the cheapest celebrity endorsement out there.

      Personally, I have some sneaking aspirations to make a username for myself on this majestic online oasis. I'd like to think if I rolled my desk chair into youtube stardom, my keyboard dented finger tips could resist the tempting scent of the precious pressed paper wafted under my nose from the big business bosses. But, if it truly came to it, I predict it would more be a case of only promoting the products I truly used down to the 'monthly empties' video. A fair compromise coming from a hypothetically stardom slapped youtuber, really.
      But in the mean time, my pyjamas will sink into my skin as I let my eyes lap up videos, holding a vaguely jealous middle finger to those who exploit their eager eyed audiences, and admiration for the rest of the youtuber bird nest.

Midnight Mischief

 Saturday, 3am.Women limping, men pimping. Aching, bruised feet numbed by the body burning shots slung back before taking on the post party storm of stumbling clubbers. Men seemingly strutting home with their night's proud prize or sulking in the arms of their equally sexless chums.      
 Not being my usual willing addition to the pissed parade was oddly sobering during my excursion to the airport at this peak party time. I gleaned a new perspective of the drunken pilgrimages back form the holy temples, that take the from of clubs in this Scottish capital.
 A Night At The Museum film feeling takes hold when the statues- who during the sunny hours are tourist attractions, looked at from a respectful distance- are brought to life, transforming into amusing bull rides for groups of blurry eyed compadres. Rickshaws that provide family fun to meander the Edinburgh streets with, are now lad carts providing an environmentally friendly drag race for some home bound banter.
 It seems that in the night hours, social, even legal rules make way for a little bit of loose lipped fun after being kicked out of your favoured watering hole.You can get away with so much more midnight mischief when the day walkers are tucked in with duvets and dreams. May this nocturnal crew continue to utilise the empty eerie hours of darkness to the best of their beer goggled abilities. 

Taking Britain With You.

Squatting, squishing and only just zipping up suitcases brimming with factor 50 sun defying lotion, label-fresh swimwear yet to discover it's purpose, our skimpiest milk bottle leg revealing shorts and - perhaps something else that should have been left at home - a very British attitude toward holidays. The stereotypical British sun seeker is often so desperate for some vitamin D, the Discovery D is neglected. Unfortunately, restaurants in the more popular holiday hotspots have catered to their foreign diners and started serving up our home comfort food- thus allowing the holidaymaker to leave their stomachs back home, in a warm bed of mashed potatoes and sausages. But it's not just our bellies that we blindly leave behind; there is also a total lack of culture craving. It is less about the country, history, language, food, people and more about the presence of a tepid ocean and some toasty rays. I'm not condemning this type of vacation; I totally understand the warm weather deprived desire for some contradicting chill time, you could say. However, I think our net could be cast to a more tropical ocean, finding that we can enrich our minds as well as our skin tone on our skyline scurrying. Take a warm wander to wherever your bank can allow, just take with you a slightly altered adventurous attitude.  

The Last Haggis Supper (or your first)

If you've ever been to London and thought the sheer size and density was slightly overwhelming for your delicate city-scared soul, one might suggest giving Edinburgh a visit.

The capital city of Scotland is like the younger brother of London, the little Ben if you will. Your curious eyes will still witness the relentless variety of humanity that you would in London, the quaint and quirky shops filled with knick-knacks that'll have you drooling money, hoards of open-jawed, camera cuddling tourists photographing a name-less building in the hope that it's 'classic Scottish architecture'. I think the seductive appeal of Edinburgh may lie in the juxtaposition of the snapshot worthy Castle and the modern shops that eagerly await your wallets. Thus, feeding the hungry desires of the historian and the consumerist; a perfect recipe for a sweet and saliva- inducing city.

A particularly tasty moment from my excursions to the Burgh is the plausibility that you may bump around a bustling corner, seeking sanctuary in a wee cafe- with little expectation for anything more than an over-priced starbucks replica- and find yourself in the paragon of fascination. The anticipation that the next duck-worthy doorway you stick your head into will be the most pleasant and neuron stimulating experience yet is a one that is under-documented, but is a neon lego brick in the founding factors as to why I am moving there. But, if you're a well situated city dweller, you can still find your fix by injecting yourself with the multi storey shops along Princes Street that have befuddled me with their enormity on more than one product-drenched occasion.

A personal tip for the lost boys of Edinburgh; get your bearings at the top of the Scot Monument. When I clambered to its peak, I synthesised the theory that the creation got its name from the stair conquering visitors stating, "Great Scot, what a monumental view". This extra large scene takes a quite a few gulps to drink in, but is truly worth the Harry Potter like staircase hike. I hope this little blurb has been enough to convince you to take a tartan trip to the capital; if not, then go on the off chance that you might catch a glimpse of J.K Rowling squatting somewhere, scribbling ideas for her next book.

Independent Suicide?

 One's aim in life appears to be geared towards gaining independence. First, the unaided act of walking. When those micro-sized feet grip to the floor, supporting jelly-like legs. Striding towards the next chapter of your self-sufficient life, before inevitably splatting onto a cushioned bottom. Then, the 'bird flying the nest act' when you are completely liberated from your doting parents and launched into adulthood. That is of course until you've turned your last pair of pants inside out for the final time and your bank is emptied of all purpose, so a quick visit is made home for some brief assistance. This independence apparently is not only sought after in an individuals journey in existence, but in the process of development in a country. Scotland wants skip the baby steps and completely throw itself from the comforting (or some argue compromising) nest that has been the UK for so long. Is this a leap of faith that will result in Scottish wings soaring into the fresh, un-restraining air? Or is this the step-too-many off a multi storey building onto the unforgiving concrete. 

A Delicate Thread Of Desire

A shrill shriek echoed through me; terrified by my mere existence. It was delicious. See that's the thing, when you're consistently the cause of soul scratching screaming until you are constrained under some devilishly inescapable cover, you must learn to search and tightly grasp onto the bright side of a situation (even if you are swallowed by darkness under some sort of cup). My personal positive spin is the comforting knowledge that I possess a great deal of power. My fragile body has the capacity to make someone a hundred times my size cower in fear, as if they were a tiny frightened fly trapped in my web as a helpless snack.

I scurry the streets, clambering up walls of houses in search of a dry place in which I can rest for a few tentative days. But flies -fluttering, frantic flies- constantly buzzing around mysterious beaming balls of light, draw me into centres of rooms- into the danger zone. Through time and loss of relatives, I have learned that these towering shelters are unsafe. Within situates the most unkind and selfish monstrosities that walk this fruitful earth on their meagre two legs; the creature that goes by the label of 'human'. However, in the spider community they are more fondly known as 'arachnid-abolishers'. Despite their pale, garishly oversized and powerful limbs, they are still intent on wiping out my 'itsy-bitsy' species. I can trek in the freezing and fatal winds to sweetly perch in an empty corner to treat myself to dryness and safety for a short period of time to almost be squashed in an imperative instant.

My existence in comparison to my surrounding infinitesimal. My species have to avoid death at almost every exhausting turn because in a wet second, we could be gone. One raindrop could be the final, oxygen-depriving element that I encounter. Those powerful droplets of destruction can come pounding to the ground at any given moment, so we must remain alert for this wet assassin. It is surprising, with my fantastically long and elegant eight legs, I still struggle to swim. I frantically flail my extremities on the surface briefly, before descending to the hard floor like a perfect pebble.

Despite my incessant rant of my hardships, I have been rather lucky in my life, purely in the sense that I am still breathing. I fill my lonely days with one of the only things that makes me happy and keeps me sane. Webs. Spinning endlessly, swaying to and fro in a glistening blur of complete ecstasy. Like the delicate transparent wing of a fly, it is clear that I have an innate purpose to be on this earth; to create the breath-taking works of webs. Each design is different and unique; it is art (the flies just add an extra tasty decoration). However, such a creation can be instantaneously swept away in one selfish movement by these giant creatures. To them, my work isn't captivating creativity: to them it is unconventional and stereotypically hideous.

The knowledge that I am a constant irritation to those who have the unsightly task of looking at me is relentless, leaving me feeling low, as if I had the stubby legs of a lady bug. I feel as if I am dragging my worthless body around until the day those foul creatures decide to mercilessly end my solitary suffering, eliminating my imaginary threat. Although my shell-like exterior is darker than soil, it doesn't mean my intentions are too. My arachnid view on life is evidently not as advanced as yours, of this I am aware. Perhaps my wish to co-exist is far fetched, but consider this. I dream to live another day, in fear that I will be needlessly squished because I'm not ascetically pleasing to you, and I suspect that you feel no remorse in making me feel this way. However, if a fellow human told you that they felt this way, wouldn't you be ashamed of your species? Feeling utter empathy for the individual?

I may be deliriously droning on about my life, but in my current plastic consumed situation, there isn't much else to focus on. This is futile- as is my existence- you can't even understand a single word I am throwing at you. For every word I waste, precious energy is burned- I should simply sit, awaiting my impending death. For I am trapped, within a giant bowl, soon to be filled with fiery hot water; washed away into the portal of death. Drained; discarded. The words I have spoken, the thoughts that have flown and my talent of web-design will be lost, eternally. Helpless; the state I came into this world and fittingly, the way in which I shall make my grand exit. This imminent, inevitable death is something I have prepared myself for. I depart in the hope that I have made a dent in your dense view of my species- as spiders are spectacular. We will never be defeated.