RE: Your thigh gap isn't good enough

Hello blog readers, merry Christmas to you all - I can't believe I'm blogging about this on Christmas eve (which incidentally is the day I celebrate Christmas because I am Swedish) but  this had to be addressed immediately as this landed in my inbox from Cassie.

You may or may not know that I'm an avid reader of health and fitness blogs, and one of the perfect bloggers I am pretty much obsessed with is Cassie Ho of blogilates from Youtube. Combining the internet and fitness was pretty much a godsend for me as I would probably never have been inspired to do anything about my health or fitness had I not stumbled across fitspo blogs. HOWEVER. This email basically was sent by Cassie to all of her followers following comments made on her instagram about her thigh gap.

The thigh gap is such an exhausted topic that I won't go into my personal opinion on it, apart from to say that I majorly sit on the fence regarding such matters. I will however say, I understand the fascination with the thigh gap. I am from the magical and mysterious place of Tumblr, and I am ready to admit one of the first things I look at when passing other girls is often the thighs. It's instinct to me. As somebody who strove incredibly hard to achieve the thigh gap, and partially succeeded, it did not surprise me that such a debate has arisen surrounding it.

What people, especially young girls, need to understand, is that the thigh gap will not be as easily achieved if you work out like crazy and starve yourself. You are building up your muscles, not losing fat if you are doing resistance training and toning etc. You will achieve that thigh gap if your body is suited towards that body type, which includes your stature and your muscle build as well as your hip placement.

But I also want to point out that achieving the thigh gap is not an achievement at all. I "achieved" the thigh gap through months of misery and incredibly unhappy times limiting myself to less than a quarter of the recommended calorie intake spending the majority of my time miserable. I wasn't happier when I was thin as I didn't see I'd lost weight until someone said something about it negatively i.e friends and family who told me I looked "worse". That hurt. But they were right.
A friend at the time sat beside me and said "You don't look thin. You look ill." And that is not what I wanted to hear. I felt ugly and ashamed of myself, but she was right. I did look unwell. There was nothing beautiful about my grey pudgy skin or my over announced bones, and there was definitely nothing beautiful about the floods of tears that occurred every day at 3am when I felt overwhelmed by it all.

The meaning of this post isn't to be preachy, it's not to say I'm 100% right but from my own experience - the thigh gap shouldn't have a place on your fitness journey. Your hipbones, collarbones, ribs etc are not measurements of your beauty. The undeniable fact is that the picture you have in your head about how you should look is probably the most evil image you will encounter. It is that "should be" that eats away at you bit by bit. The "image" me was photoshopped and more tanned and fitter and happier, but reality me wasn't the same girl in the photos. "Anna's lost a lot of weight" and my friends telling me about things boys had said about me - compliments - merely encouraged me to continue with my struggle.

It scares me that past me probably would have thought the same as these girls - but my message to these girls who posted those comments on Instagram to Cassie is - don't let the thigh gap define you. It won't change your life drastically. You won't feel any more beautiful. Your body is not something that needs drastically changing merely for appearances. Be healthy for the body that you deserve, not the one you want to look like. What matters is that your body functions healthily and well, not that other people appreciate it for image wise.

"All this technology is making us anti-social"
Well as if we haven't all heard this at least once in our lives. I realise this topic has already been covered by countless journalists, but that doesn't mean that there isn't room for just one more - and I have a slightly different take on this to those that I have read around the subject.

It's not abnormal to hate change. This photo is powerful and resembles everything I love about the 20th century. This photograph is a catalyst for questions. Why do we choose to hone in on the fact that they aren't speaking to each other during the time this photo was taken? It is not the technology's fault that these people aren't speaking, rather, the people are genuinely interested in what they are reading and are therefore so immersed that they feel no need to converse.

Needless to say, it is also very possible that immediately after this photo was taken, one or two may have turned to each other to comment on what they had just read, but more to the point: what are they reading? We assume it is all the same newspaper, that they are all of the same background, class etc. These people are all on different journeys, literally speaking, and every single one of these people reading something that a journalist has documented for them will interpret their words differently.

This is a time when reading a newspaper was the equivalent of reading news on your iPad or smart phone, and simply because the form in which we do so has changed, we jump to the conclusion that it is a bad thing. This photo is proof that anti social doesn't exist. This is just a different time of socialising. The readers are socialising with the journalists in part, they are reading and accepting or denying the information they are provided with, which they can then share with the other people they meet after they get off the train, on the train or indeed in several years.

If buildings could speak, what stories would they tell?

I have always been interested in architecture. If I had been better at maths, and believe me I'd love to have been, I would have pursued a career into it without hesitation, apart from maybe interior design. However, my path led me elsewhere - into journalism - and it recently occurred to me, why not incorporate the two?

The granny in me loves nothing more than a night in with cups of tea and Grand Designs. It is my guilty pleasure, and upon reflection I don't feel that guilty about it. Buildings fascinate me. I understand that to a lot of people, a mere construction of wood and concrete isn't anything to fuss about, but to me, buildings are catalysts for conversation and the closest thing we have to a time machine.

This interest is embedded in my blood. My own home in Sweden was built in 1904, by a man named Oskar Svensson. My house was the first to be built on the street, and when my dad bought it in the 1980's, many of the tools and objects of the house were left in and around the garden. So as well as living in this wonderfully historic house, built during the First World War by a normal craftsman with a wife and two children, my family and I can share a part of their history.

To this day, the large vat in which the wife used to wash clothes with the local lake water sits beside the north facing balcony, which we now use as a plant pot. Both the workshed and the outhouse toilet were left up until a few years ago, until my father embarked on his own addition to this place.

For my fourteenth birthday, I was lucky enough to receive the best present I know of. My father renovated the work shed in my garden to be a bedroom for me. He did this almost single-handedly, with my brother and a few of his friends to help insulate and lay floorboards etc. The best part? The single glazed windows originally placed by Oskar remain. Single. Glazing. In Sweden. And due to my father's expertise in insulating well and skillfully, I rarely so much as shiver.

My bedroom was a combination of a workshed and outhouse, and I like to think romantically about how Oskar slaved away at building our dining table, liquor cupboard, even our staircase - when in reality along side that he and his family used one half of my bedroom - for other purposes.

But most interesting of all is how Oskar himself planned to heat the main house. Situated in the corner of my kitchen, is an original 1901 stove which has the ability to heat the entire house. Oskar's wife must have cooked several thousand meals every day, every season. But how did they keep the food cold? Simply put, the staircase in wintertime ranges anywhere from 0 degrees to -10. This was Oskar's family fridge freezer, where they kept food all wintertime to keep it from going off.

Everything about my home is so carefully planned out, so cleverly done it amazes me that architects today make mistakes that Oskar had already thought out the answers to - in the early 1900's. I am incredibly lucky to have such an abyss of history literally right on my doorstep. Buildings are of such high value with such incredible stories to hear about, if only you lend an ear or two to the stories they can tell.

What's in a name?

So I often get asked why my online blog name is trueatfirstlight... and the answer is actually a lot simpler than you think. When I first started out blogging, my username was always saager2. You can still find me on most things under that name, but when I began to think about privacy away from school friends and classmates, I came up with trueatfirstlight. The title of a book by one of my all time favourite authors, Ernest Hemingway.

This blog post is literary propaganda, and I urge you all to read. And here's why:

I know it's hardly a cool thing to do anymore, people don't crave the paper-cuts and the musty smell of books anymore when they can be doing other things, but books give you a depth of knowledge that cannot be mined anywhere else.

Although films provide us with a visual aid to characters, plot lines etc, there is a need to read. Books allow the brain to absorb information and then process it. Gone are the days when I would dedicate whole afternoons to reading, but when I get the time I can be found at approximately 3am with eyes wide open lost in a book.

Not only do books give you a somewhat more interesting personality, they also set you apart from people who don't. Books are an abyss of knowledge, where you can "plunder the hallowed heights of Troy" or go to Hogwarts with Harry, as cliche as it may seem, reading is a journey which never costs more than ten pounds.

A book is a vessel of humanity, and it should be treated as such. Dog-eared, tattered, warn, yellowed out pages - those are books who have truly lived. The pristine pages of a shelf full of textbooks have nothing on a thumbed through copy of Jane Eyre or even The Bell Jar.

There is a book for everybody. I like to think of reading the same way I think about dating - don't think me weird. If you read a book and you don't like it, doesn't mean you won't read anything ever again. It teaches you what you do or don't like about the book, the author, the writing style etc, so you know what to look for next time. Bad reads are just as important as good reads in making you a successful and mindful person.

10 books I think everyone should read:

1.) The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald:
My all time favourite book, set in the prohibition era in America, the story reveals true insights into personalities, disappointment, history and the dangers of success.

2.) The Catcher In The Rye - J.D Salinger
Another of my all time favourites, though completely different in style, The Catcher In The Rye is a tale of loneliness, finding oneself, aimless travelling... don't give up on this book. Although slow to get stuck into, a worthy piece of literature.

3.) Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski
A masterpiece by my favourite poet, the almoost biographical story depicts the life of Henry Chinaski, Bukowski's alter ego in his novels. Heartbreaking, subtle and yet scrupulously detailed, this book is an insight to a low life drunk, tramp and heartbroken man burdened with the unease of his upbringing.

4.) Anne Frank's Diary, The Diary Of A Young Girl -  Anne Frank.
Almost self explanatory, if you haven't already, read this book. A scarily personal portrayal of a young girl's thoughts as she hides in Amsterdam under Nazi occupation. Unique, enriching and incredibly heartbreaking, this story needs to be read by all. Besides which, it's extremely quotable.

5.) Private Peaceful - Michael Morpurgo 
Although primarily a children's book, this is the first book I wept my heart out to by Morpurgo. If this book were food, it would be a homemade soup made on a fire. It warms the heart, tears it in two, and then mends it. A tale of family, first world war and love, this story shouldn't be put aside for the mere fact it was intended for a younger audience.

6.) Anna Karinina - Leo Tolstoy
Stealthy, hearty, sometimes irritating, Tolstoy recreates late 19th century Russia as it was for the elite. Adultery, mental illness, false imagery and the like, a story from Tolstoy not to be missed.
*Not reccommended if you have a short attention span, this book makes a very good paperweight as it probably weighs the same as a small child.

7.) To Kill A Mockingbird - Harper Lee 
My second favourite book, and also incidentally the book I studied for my GCSE's, this is a story that changed lives. I mean literally. Not a civil rights book as such, but Lee paints the innocent picture of a childhood in Alabama in 40s. Crime, childhood and innocence put together the puzzle of protagonist Scout's father, Atticus, a lawyer in Maycombe County. This is something everyone should read, if only to understand humanity a little better - and also to smile at how adorable Dill and Scout are.

8.) Lucky - Alice Sebold.
This story kept me up all night. An entirely true story based on the authors life, this story had me writhing with anger and sadness but suspense and relief too. Incredibly explicit but will turn the feminist cogs in anybody, even if they're a little rusty or indeed haven't ever been used. This is a story about justice, not rape.

9.) Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys 
A prequel to Jane Eyre, one of the most popular pieces of literature in Britain, Rhys provides readers with the story of Bertha, the mad women in the attic. Incredible in its venture to reverse prejudices towards white Jamaican women. This book is a must read if you read Jane Eyre - which you should because it's equally good, but this book contests Victorian attitudes - and the notion that readers simply swallow whatever they have read.

10.) Försvunnen  (Vanished Eng. translation) - Liza Marklund
Last but not least, an author from my hometown of Stockholm, Sweden, an ex investigative journalist, Marklund is one of the most well respected authors in Scandinavia. This book, pacy and gripping will keep you up all night if you like Nordic Noir, and tells the raw but frighteningly true story of abusive relationships and women who are forced into hiding. A must read.


So there we are. If there are any books that anybody would like to reccommend to me, I would be more than grateful.

xo

When writing a story...

Reading a story in a newspaper, it is easy to overlook how simple the language is. Accessible and  easy to follow, the language flows more easily than a novel or piece of prose.

But after years of being told to avoid plain language, to show not tell, to elaborate on simpler finer points, writing a news story is not as easy as reading one.

Creating a news story takes a lot of patience and practice. Refining language and  selecting key points is more of a skill than first thought. Particularly when writing stories I have found myself over elaborating on details that aren't necessary to the story.

Luckily, my blog is where I'm allowed to off-load my abundance of thoughts. It was in fact my writing an awful lot that gained me the some 2,000 followers I had on my previous blog. Although personal and often rant-style posts, it amazed me that people were interested in what I had to say, and in a world where people are prepared only to listen when it suits them, blogging fills a void in our social sphere that I fear would be totally lost had blogging not become so popular.

Democracy in Journalism: Snowden, Rusbridger [thoughts]

Today Alan Rusbridger stood before MP's to defend the right to release intelligence leaks in The Guardian Newspaper. A key component in writing my stories for my degree is choosing a story.

News is everywhere. Sifting through what is relevant, what is interesting and what is ethical to write about is a whole different ball game. Yesterday, crime correspondent Sandra Laville gave a guest lecture about Journalism post the Leveson enquiry. She stressed the difficulty journalists face in making quick decisions about what to write about and how these decisions are usually made.

Although being a student journalist means I don't have to decide whether or not to release names or identities about people involved in my stories (or even more serious issues) it does create a difficulty in what to cover and what to leave out.

A strength of mine when it comes to writing is varying my work. I rarely like to stay on the same topic, and each of my self generated stories had originality and I stayed well away from soft stories, which I avoided because from a personal point of view, I often find them tedious to read, let alone write.

Upon reflection, the slow but steady progress made from my first story has improved greatly, they have more depth and certainly tell the story in a more concise manner.

The main thing I learned from my experience of writing news stories: there is no room in Journalism for shyness. Being shy won't get you the story, the quotes or the confidence to write well.

Two blog posts today, one to bring you up to date on my life and another to gush about possibly the best night of my life.  On Friday the 22nd of Novemeber, I came face to face with one of my music  idols The Weeknd. I

The thing about the Weeknd that I feel with such passion is the poetry behind his lyrics. Some would say they're crude, explicit - disgusting even in some cases, but that is exactly what I love about them. The subjects revolve mainly around sex, drug culture, revenge, jealousy and what fame means.

There is something beautiful about the raw honesty behind  the words . A modern musical Bukowski echoes from my earphones and whispers catchy bridges in my ears.

I hate busy public spaces. Railway stations, airports, shopping centres, just get me out of there. With gigs and concerts, it's a whole new story. There's a sea of irritating people all clamouring to get to the front, standing on your feet, the air smells a bit pungent, a mixture of sweaty, cannabis and fake tan, but  I don't care. Amongst the flashing lights and heavy atmosphere, there's a sense of allegiance, brothership, a sisterhood of fans gathered to appreciate music together.

If magic exists, it can be found at a concert. Face to face with your idols is scary,  there's a heightened sensitivity to the expectations in your head. My experience was nothing short of  euphoria.

Legs are aching, lungs and throat are sore from screaming, arms feel heavy and your ears are ringing - but nothing can stop you from screaming the artists name a little louder, chanting the lyrics like an anthem and feeling the bass shake your feet.

under pressure

I have good and bad memories of being at school. From being a year seven sat on my brother's knee in the school cafeteria sobbing my heart out that I didn't fit in and didn't belong,  to sitting seven years later in the counseling office at the same school saying the exact same thing.

The parallels I faced in the first few years were mirrored almost exactly the same a few years later. I didn't learn my lesson. As soon as I began to feel comfortable, I let my guard down and became vulnerable to the grueling hierarchy that schools offer and often found myself alone or ostracized to some extent.

Throughout my entire life at school, primary and secondary, my family's health played a large part in how I behaved and the dynamics of my personality. My father has long term repercussion illness from engineering with asbestos buildings and consequently finds himself consuming over 10 tablets a day, two inhalers and stents in his heart just to keep him with us. When I was an infant, we left the South-East of Asia so he could be treated in his homeland of Sweden where we lived as a family together as my mother juggled lecturing English and two young infants, my brother and I.

In addition to this, when my father (seemingly) began to recover, my grandmother - and my only grandparent I ever had - was diagnosed with cancer. Growing up, I didn't realise just how much pressure my mother was under during this time, I spent a large chunk of my childhood in Sweden with my brother as my best friend and my father. I had, and still have, a very close relationship with my father and brother because of this. What I only just realised however, although I was very blessed to spend almost every holiday abroad with my family - I missed out on sleepovers with my friends, brownie camp, summer birthdays. Everyone else had a huge amount of time to bond and spend time with each other and I spent it in woods and lakes and the sea with my friends from Sweden.

When I underwent my third or fourth counselling session, the counselor asked if I had ever wondered whether it was due to my lack of "a secure base" that made me behave the way I do. My first reaction was anger, shamefully my manners flew out of the window and I reacted exactly how she probably wanted me to. I was angry. She didn't understand that my parents did the best they could under the circumstances, I was allowed to roam free, learn a new language, create a life for myself away from the confines of small town suburbia. She didn't understand that the reason why I didn't have a secure base was not because my parents liked the luxury of having two houses, the bleak and not so fancy reality of it all was - there was money for us in both houses should we need it.

The last time I remember being truly happy before I started secondary school was the summer of year six. I spent it with my best friend in Sweden endlessly acting out Grease, plaiting our hair and getting curly hair, baking kanelbullar and bronzing under the summer sun. I would wake up and run outside and not care about what the day had in store for me.

Although I have never confided in anybody the true extent of my unhappiness at some points during secondary school, I post them here as a possible warning to anybody reading this who may have encountered similar problems. When I was in year eight, a boy who I sat next to in French often poked fun at my weight, my hairstyle, my teeth, my appearance generally. I couldn't get the comments out of my head, they even haunt me to this day to some extent. This combined with misery at my friends all being placed in a different class from myself, I found it very hard to belong. I flitted from group to group, dragging my misery with me.

Most days after school I would walk in the front door and go straight to bed and to sleep. If I couldn't sleep I'd cry until I could. It was not uncommon for my mother to come home and knock on my bedroom door to find me beside myself with guilt and sadness because I just didn't feel enough. School never felt like a place I wanted to be. I wasn't attractive, I wasn't particularly clever, I wasn't like "normal" girls because I did things slightly differently. My identity was decided for me by people who didn't know me or what I'd come from, and to this day the majority of people I've known my whole life don't know how much my family and I struggled with.

Over the past three years, my Uncle and cousin both died. In less than a few years, a family of four went to a family of two. None of my friends knew, and those who did rarely asked. I don't blame them and I don't hate them for it, I just couldn't confide it in anybody and those who I did didn't see how much I was struggling. 

A person can only deal with so much going on in their lives, and it's worth taking a moment to appreciate that you don't know people well enough to say that they don't know what it's like to struggle.
Apologies for the slightly confessional tone to this blog, but past memories sparked this post and it's worth noting that the message I want to send from this piece is - everyone is struggling, try not to make it worse.

Why did I randomly change my mind and come to Uni?

It's almost four am. It's the first night I'm not spending at my boyfriend's house after a month of spending all our time together, I've got a cup of tea half cold in my hands. I start to think. Why am I so unhappy?

The time I spent in Falmouth and at home in Sweden over the summer are some of my happiest memories to date. Pure contentment and living life exactly how I want to. A pure summer of sunshine, lake water, happy people, wellington boots and laughter with people I value and love, all came to an end when I arrived back at home in Bradford-on-Avon. After opening my A level results, I shoved them back in their envelope. What did it matter? Yes they were good, but they weren't going to be used for anything. They lay dormant in the envelope on my kitchen table.

"I didn't realise how miserable you were until I saw how you actually look when you're happy" my boyfriend said to me. I couldn't help but cry. I'm a very emotional person, too much of anything will make me incredibly emotional and hysteric. But I couldn't tell him he was wrong. He knew he was right, and I knew it too.

I soon realised that there was nothing for me at home. I had drifted from a vast majority of people in my life I once considered my closest friends, a few of them who I hadn't were leaving for Uni and the few that remained wanted me to be happy, and I couldn't be.

University has been like being handed a fresh bottle of water after a hike in the dessert for 7 years. After 7 years of very painful, tough and exhausting years, coming to university was like finally seeing sense. I am free to express myself, behave the way I want to, associate with people who make me laugh and smile not cry and question what I think or say.

It gave me the opportunity to start again, realise what it is I want to do and for once in my life really try at something that mattered a lot to me. And that's what I've done, and hope to continue doing.

tea, mornings and some other ramblings

Good morning blog readers! It recently came to my attention just how much my life has changed since I went to University. Whether it's the place, the people or the course, things are very different.

When I was studying for my A levels, I'd wake up at 7.30, choke down my elixir of life - usually coffee - and I'd make my way (usually late) to school. Upon arriving at the harsh blue gates and often grey skies, I'd be greeted by a cloud of perfume clutching a clipboard ready to take my name to put me on the detention list for my slovenly attitude towards punctuality.
I easily spent about 6 hours in detention in year 13 for lateness - not something I'm particularly proud of - I hated a vast majority of my lessons and a few of my teachers for a multitude of reasons, and I felt like every day was a struggle. In the words of Tolstoy, "live in the needs of the day", and that is exactly what I did.

The only kind of morning person I'll be, is the kind who stays up to 6am on the internet and sleeps until early afternoon. I will probably never embrace waking up at any time before 9, whether it's because I go to bed really late or because I love my sleep, but being at University has certainly made waking up that bit more enjoyable.

I've ditched the coffee and replaced it with tea, I easily drink at least four or five cups of tea a day - and I have no shame or guilt in it anymore. I love to spend my time in between lectures tea in one hand and a book in the other whilst chatting with bantering in consequence.

I feel more comfortable here. At school I spent my time in the library alone or with one other person who made me feel comfortable because I felt judged, disliked and overwhelmed.

News Journalism?

When I started my degree, I knew what I wanted from it. I had expectations, hopes, the lot. My ambition has always been to be a fashion or travel journalist. My first two months of my degree have been based on news writing, the most traditional form of journalism (potentially) and a million miles from what I expected.

A city girl through and through, I feel at home in the hustle and bustle of crowds, pigeons, cigarette butts and tall buildings. I thrive in places bursting with life of all ages, backgrounds, and general West Country nonsense. The Georgian setting of Bath has long since been full of news - some genuine and others... not quite so genuine. From Chaucer to sightings of Johnny Depp and the like, there is always something going on, so, stepping out into the small town of Falmouth where I now reside was a big challenge for me. Before, I had news thrown at me from my family and friends and the other thousands of city dwellers who like myself love to talk and spread the news. In a completely new setting where I knew next to nobody, I felt as though I was stood at a precipice with little or no equipment to catch myself with should I fall.

But learning news writing has taught me a valuable lesson - that there is an element of importance in all walks of journalism. What is irrelevant and boring to one person is another person's mantra, a feeding ground for knowledge and gossip and of the highest importance. Though at first glance the fire demonstration of the building in which I live is not the most enthralling subject, when you dig deep enough it became infinitely clear that there was a reason why it was newsworthy. It was newsworthy because it was necessary. The follow up story based upon the connection between alcohol consumption and fires in student accommodation I covered was somewhat close to my heart, being a rare consumer of alcohol.


Being a journalist isn't just about writing fancy stories, nor is it about covering the biggest stories. All is relative when the world is narrowed down to the boundaries of one town. The difficulty isn't in finding the stories or finding the right people to ask, it lies within finding a fresh angle. People already know there are fire demonstrations for young people because they are connoted with reckless behaviour. They aren't, however, exposed to the true statistics that it is older people who cause more fires through alcohol consumption unless they are faced with it in an everyday article.

Although I'm not sure I have been swayed in my interests of journalism, I have learnt that the real stories come from people, and a range of people at that. The vibrancy of a story can never be on the same rainbow spectrum if not enhanced by the perspectives of the people who live through the story, experience the story and ultimately, become a part of the story.

Bookshops

Hello again people of the internet, I hope you are all as well as you can be... I myself am not doing too badly, for a change. I spent the last week or so in Cheltenham with my favourite person in the world, being us and doing 'us' sort of things. It never fails to amaze me how amazing it is that there is someone in the world who is so unbelievably wonderful who so much as knows of my existence. There is a person who knows me better than anybody else, tries to understand me and quite often succeeds, who is willing to hold my hand as we walk down the busy streets of towns and cities we visit together. Although he is made exactly of the same chemicals and substances that the other some 7 billion people in this world are made of, he is by far my favourite compilation. As a couple, It's true to say that we don't argue often and when we do, they're mostly disagreements that neither of us are willing to back down from, or more recently due to a lack of communication. Although I am unbelievably comfortable to talk to him about everything and anything, which for me is an incredible feeling having never felt that way before, he often struggles to audit his thoughts and feelings which I struggle with, thinking it's a lack of trust or love. I know of course, that I am wrong and I need to allow him to express himself as much as he sees fit, and quite often I know I jump to incorrect conclusions or I put my mask of paranoia on and I worry unnecessarily.
Despite minor disagreements that rusted a few minutes of our time together, the rest of the time spent together was perfect. We aren't a couple who likes to get up to too much at a time, some might even call us boring - each to their own I suppose - but we're happy in eachother's company. I spent many hours this week in the arms of my favourite person, in the comfort of his warmth and laughter watching our favourite TV programme, Catfish, and drinking a lot of Green tea.
We also visited the most magnificent bookshop near Montpellier, if you are in the near proximity of Cheltenham then I urge you to pay a visit to the three tiered bookshop full of wonderful and interesting books. I am a bookworm and there is nothing I love more than running my hands along shelves of books and running my fingertips through the pages. We spent at least an hour in the Art and History and Politics sections of the bookshop, as well as Travel and Photography and Architecture. We have a lot of common interests which makes our visits to places like bookshops easier.
This may be my second favourite bookshop I have visited in England, I liked it that much. Such an array of books and interests and a plethora of various ideas that inspire me and give me a rush of adrenaline.
My favourite, however, lies on the West coast of England in Falmouth, Cornwall. It goes by the name of "Beerwolf" and is a refurbished workers pub. Having a boyfriend from such a beautiful part of the country definitely has its perks when he introduced me to such a wonderful place. The bookshop is located inside of a pub, which can only be visited to be able to describe. It has a special place in my heart, and I will forever remember drinking from pint glasses with the faint smell of thick paged books alongside the smell of "pub".

I'm sorry this hasn't been the most interesting update, but I feel better for having written it all down. Stay golden x

feeling sad

Hello again bloggers/readers (that is of course if anybody besides me is actually reading this and I thank you dearly if you do read my rambling nonsense). Quick update on my life and how I have been these last few days - unfortunately I took really ill on return from Zakynthos and have been bed ridden for a whole week now with a really awful cough and light headedness etc. It's been a really awful week health wise and I mean that physically and mentally. It's been a tough one and thank god it's come to a close.
No doubt my sickness has taken it's toll on my mood and it's a real shame really because the weather has been absolutely wonderful. This grouchy mood resulted in an argument with the person I love the most in the world and regrettably I spent from late evening until the early hours of the morning in a state that used to be very familiar to me when things... weren't so great. It was frightening to see how easily that side of me could sneak back into my life. The paranoid and scared and alone draped in cynicism me awoke with sore eyes and a heavy head this morning.  It's overwhelmingly frightening to me to realise just how much I care about this one person. A molecular structure of atoms who no different to any other human walking the earth at this very second has the power to completely alter my mood and life with mere words, or more accurately, lack of them. For a very long time, pardon the cliche, everything about my life was incredibly dark. My moods, my thoughts, my general consciousness was bleak and pale and days passed me by like strangers on the streets and I was stuck in the same old rut of nothingness and pinned fake smiles until I was alone again and my true self would spill out. But meeting this person completely altered how I felt and dealt about and with things. From late winter to now my time has been consumed by the most wonderful person I have ever met. A thousand poets and paintings couldn't describe him to his true wonderfulness if they tried. I'd compare him to stars and writers and other beautiful things the world possesses if I thought they could match - but alas, they don't. What I have is a dark glittery eyed companion who fills me with the deepest happiness and wonder.  Sometimes it's all I can do to watch him from the folds of his duvet go about his day , getting dressed and standing in the mirror, drying his hair, all moments I wish I could capture and rewatch at a later time when I'm feeling alone. I love watching his eyes light up when he smiles at me, holding his hand as we walk down the street I can feel eyes of other girls burn into him and he doesn't even realise. He doesn't realise that clasping the palm of his hand is a bundle of insecurity and sadness which only he can remedy. Because it's true, nothing makes me feel more alive than even just listening to rain and music and lying in our mess and filth. From the laces of his Vans to his long dark eyelashes and everything in between; I love him. I love the small things that connect us to each other, like our matching freckles on our hands and feet, and our warped sense of humour.I love him enough to give me all of me, the good and the bad and he takes it. He never asks for more. There's nothing I wouldn't do to have him in my proximity. I love sitting in his jumper breathing in his smell combined with that of baking as we intertwine our bodies on the sofa in silence. The silence is one of the most beautiful things about us. Not that I don't love our talks, I appreciate every second we are talking, but our silences fill the gaps between those conversations and they almost tell him without words how grateful I am to have such a wondrous  person to call my own.

Best day ever yesterday, seriously. I spent the majority of it with my boyfriend, watching Disney films and drinking Frappe's and eating Mini Eggs and generally being cuddly and cute. I also got an unexpected (but turned out to be the best of my life) surprise from him - tickets to see The Weeknd in November. My excitement cannot be put into words, I am super excited and it was just yet another reason to be thankful that I have such a wonderful person to share my life with as it changes and progresses. He is honestly the best part of my life and it kind of scares me how much I care and think about him. I never really saw myself being someone who could pull off a long distance relationship and yet here we are, nearly three months in, and I'm the happiest I've been for years and years. However, the relationship is sure to be tested at Easter where we're separated for three whole weeks whilst we spend the holidays with our families at opposite ends of Europe.. but I think it makes us that much closer. The time we do have together is so wonderful and special and it's a welcome break from my usually hectic life where I spend a lot of my time upset or busy or other negative emotions.. he makes me feel like I do at home. I can't stop smiling and I feel at ease and happy and generally contented. I never thought I'd find that in a person, I don't know.

Welcome back to my not so interesting life that I like to document online. After two and a half years of having Dailybooth as pretty much my online diary, it was really surreal to suddenly go to almost a thousand words a day to none.. hence my return to blogging. It is a new environment and group of people so, if you don't know me this is probably going to be more interesting than if you do know me. And if you do know me, you may be surprised to find out some new things. Whoever you are, I hope you enjoy my blog which will consist of my opinions, my life choices, things that interest me etc. 

First things first, my name is Anna-Karin Sager. I'm 18 years old, and from the corner of the South West of England in a city called Bath. I'm also half Swedish, and I'd consider my other hometown to be Stockholm where I've spent every summer of my life since I was three years old, as well as Christmases and Easter and other half term holidays. I'm a rambler (which is probably already prominent) and I'm a very complicated person. I wouldn't say my life is boring, but many of the aspects of it is. 

This is me. A health enthusiast with a loud laugh and passion for life,

nice to meet you. I expect we'll get to know each other very well in the future,

all I wanted was a place to vent.