A complex complexion

I am pink and pale. My hands and feet turn a worrying, mottled mixture of blue and purple as soon as the temperature drops ever so slightly. I have paper-thin skin which flushes extremely easy, causing me to be an open book of emotion and no exercise. I am speckled with acne all over my chin, sloping down each side of both cheeks, crossing my upper lip and flecked sparsely upon my forehead. A lightly tanned mole is jammed under my left eye causing it to crinkle funny and my features are drowned in endless freckles, the type you have no hope in hell counting.

These are a few of the things that cause the issues I have with my skin. I type this as I gaze down at the thousands of freckles smattering my lanky, milk-bottle arms. I would also like to point out that I am not the pretty kind of pale.

I am not an elegant and blemish-free faerie queen from mythical lands or a strikingly, beautiful model that looks simultaneously like they have not slept in days. My face blossoms red, particularly my nose, in the slightest cold temperature, my freckles blend so much they look like dried dirt upon my features. My lips are generally quite pale and almost always end up matching the tone of the surrounding skin. My under-eyes are so purple I am often asked whether I sleep enough or even if I had been in a fight, no matter what I do they won’t go away. My acne stings.

Many of these were reasons for my reluctance to go on holiday. I come from the highlands of Scotland, a place of stunning views, reluctant sunlight and cool temperatures. Due to such temperatures I have the advantage of wrapping up, drowning my body in coats and jackets, jumpers and long-sleeved tops. Whereas in the warmer climates of the Channel Islands between England and France, I knew I would lose my advantage. I was also aware that I would be in a hotel with a nice pool and spa facilities, a pool I would be forced to go in. A day out to the city alongside my friends achieved myself a bikini and a few spoonfuls of anxiety.

There were absolute bloody models at the hotel when I arrived. Tall blonde girls with endless legs, clear, tanned skin and bikini bottoms that showed their whole arse. I could only imagine they were some kind of Swedish models, whereas I see myself as a speckley, freckley brunette with a bad posture and similar attitude. However in I came in a ropey, white bikini from H&M blanketed up by the hotel owned dressing gowns that smelt pretentiously of lavender. Pale, pink body and all. A second however includes that as they frolicked and giggled with open, pearly toothed grins in the cerulean water, I lay upon the chairs, huddled up with my copy of ‘Lolita,’ pages wrinkled from the chlorine air. I studied H.Humbert’s obsessive description of ‘Lo’, almost matching each detail with the girls. I suppose I am not a 40-something year old’s type. Shame.

I typed this out without proof-reading so please don’t shoot me for mistakes,

I am already a mistake enough,

Just kidding,

Eilidh

Exam Results

I receive my exam results tomorrow.  On the general idea I am not completely worried but when I really think about each individual subject and memory of experience when sitting the exam, my heart freezes up a bit.

It doesn’t help that my mum is frantically searching for her purse containing all of her bank cards and asking whether or not it is too late to drive to the police station.

I feel frustrated when I think about how much control these measly pieces of paper hold over my near and far futures, to be judged and given a grade solely upon one single performance. It is not reliable, countless analysis of biology experiments which I have preformed in class and written about in my actual exam say so. How hypocritical.

Thinking about my subjects feels all too daunting. A mixture of English (first, foremost and favourite), History, Gaelic (Scottish not Irish), Biology, Art and lastly Maths. Mathematics and I live in a tumultuous and bittersweet relationship. I see the attraction to Maths quite clearly, the unchangeable logic and satisfying motions from rules giving you a correct answer at the end of the rainbow is a feeling of upmost relief. It is rare this occurs for me but when it does, the appeal rings clear. However, I am often left in severe frustration and spitting poison at the never ending rule book of equations. I cannot, for the life of me, seem to wrap my head around them all. But this may be due to the fact I hardly ever revised for maths, except for the last five days leading up to the exam itself.

I am my own worst enemy.

I am one of those people who was a constant over-achiever throughout primary years and early secondary years, one who didn’t need to revise due to being able to withdraw the knowledge from my conscience. Yet as the years progressed and the knowledge required became increasingly more in-depth and obscure, my bad habits dug their heels down and stuck. I have been distractedly bashing at those habits with a blunt stick for a while now. They have one heel somewhat unstuck. I digress.

Whatever results I receive tomorrow, I will force myself to smile and joke. Frown then accept. Think deeply then carry on. I want to do good, I do. And I will.

Eventually.

Eilidh x

 

 

 

A Brief Introduction

It is a rare feeling for me, the sudden boost of energy and determination to advance my writing skills. I have continuously googled ways in the past other than this one, always believing that I am unable to write upon a blog and share my thoughts and opinions to the internet.

God forbid anyone I am familiar with will stumble upon this mediocre blog tucked away in the corners of a desperate internet.

This small passage is honestly just something to unwillingly slap on my blog in order to prevent the site from pestering me to do so further. As well as checking that I truly still do understand the English language. Hopefully I do, as I hail from a small country where it is unfortunately the first language, a country where other languages are not found often amongst our ignorance. I type this now, my laptop upon my bed as I sit upon my ankles, crushing them gently into the carpet while I peer through large-framed spectacles. Music is playing gently by my side. I do hope I can write often.

I am a naive human in my earlier years of life, filled with fearful ignorance and empty with a severe lacking in life experience. I do hope whoever may read this understands as I ramble obliviously about my unimportant life, accompanied by my frequent frustrations and joys as I navigate it. As well as my amateur writing style.

So, here’s to a hopeful time of me attempting to write out into the world and creating a better version of myself as I go.

Much thanks for reading,

Eilidh