you should know.

When the routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And the resentment rides high
But emotions won't grow
And we're changing our ways
Taking different roads
Then love, love will tear us apart again

Why is the bedroom so cold
Turned away on your side?
Is my timing that flawed
Our feelings run dry?
Yet there's still this appeal
That we've kept through our lives
Love, love will tear us apart again

Do you cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed
Get a taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Is it something so good
Just can't function no more?
When love, love will tear us apart again

[Joy Division]

i'm still alive.

something that makes it all go away.

crystal[ized]

Yesterday I stumbled across some pictures in the January 2010 issue of Elle magazine, and I thought I'd share them with you.

The woman being photographed is Crystal Renn, who is an American model. Her modeling career started at an early age, yet she found herself engaged in a battle with her weight that almost cost her her life. Despite being praised by her agency on her new and tiny frame, she decided to take back control of her life. After gaining weight and becoming comfortable with her figure, she returned to modeling; happier and healthier.

I love the shots so much I've used one to illustrate my blog, seeing as it fitted perfectly with the title, 'farasha', meaning 'butterfly' in arabic.

'Ring in the New Year with High Glamour Frills, Feathers, Sequins and Dazzling Diamonds'

Elle, January 2010 Canada

Photos: Leda & St. Jacques

(Images from www.fashionising.com)

highlight hell.

Considering until very recently I've been a 'highlight virgin', I was pretty excited when I bounded into my hairdressers ready for my transformation. As I sat there with my eyes squinting and my nose scrunched up, I realised I was probably concentrating more on a few strands of hair than I had recently done in my exams.

After I picked a nice honey shade of brown, I sat there sipping my tea and being my normal, inquisitive self. Or just nosey, whatever you would prefer to call it. We all do it, sneaky glances in our mirror at the person sitting behind us until they look up and catch you staring at their hair (for the love of God WHY would you have it cut like that?) Sometimes we get caught out when they meet our eyes, and in a panic we end up spilling our tea or coffee down our aprons. Clearly I speak from experience, and found myself sat there waiting for my stylist to come back, feeling like a child covered in acrylic paint.

After my hair had been finished, I went to pay and realised I had no money in my account. Could this day really get any worse? So after a phone call to my mother who managed to pay for it, I left, thinking my new hair would last at least a couple of months. Apparently not.

Now I sit here with blonde-verging-on-yellow streaks in my hair, making me look like I've aged about thirty years. Having spent a while debating with myself whether or not to bleach my entire head of hair and try life as a blonde or just dye it back to my natural colour, I've finally admitted to myself my hair will never be the same as Shakira's, nor will it effortlessly cascade over my shoulders like Vanessa Hudgens. I'll just have to learn to love how in the morning it seems to have a mind of its own, and how after being caught in the rain I start to resemble some kind of mushroom.

imperfect perfection.

Yes, I convinced myself that I could remember her exactly, but when I was honest with myself, I knew I was losing the specifics. Or maybe, I realized, I'd never noticed them at all. In the photo, for instance, I realized that Savannah had a small mole beneath her left eye, something I'd somehow overlooked. Or that, on close inspection, her smile was slightly crooked. These were imperfections that somehow made her perfect in my eyes, but I hated the fact that I had to use the picture to learn about them.

N. Sparks.

Job Application.

The phenomenon that is social networking has taken the student population by storm.

First it was Myspace.

This website was a breeding ground for people to take pictures of themselves in the mirror, normally wearing their underwear and looking as though they have fallen face first into their make-up drawer. Natural beauty is at this point, rapidly becoming a thing of the past. Myspace soon became a hotspot for bored and lonely men around the world, who suddenly think its alright for them to message you saying things like “Hey hows it going beautiful? Your profile caught my eye and thought I’d see if you minded a chat?!” Yes I do mind, you strange and desperate little man.

Once the Myspace hype started to die down, social networkers became restless. Frantic, they scoured the internet and came across Facebook. Facebook may have appeared significantly plainer, without its fancy optional backgrounds and little orange man screaming “online now!” practically begging people to comment their walls and photos. However, like a contagious disease, the Facebook infection began to spread.

It seems normal for profile pictures to be changed every couple of hours, and statuses to be updated every time something happens to you, whether you passed your exams or just saw a bee fly into your window. Whatever it is, the social networker will be dragged like a magnet to their laptop or computer, feeling compelled to tell all 598 Facebook friends about their new socks or something equally thrilling. I’ve learned that some like to include song lyrics when they are feeling a little emotional, and some even go as far to recite us passages from the Bible. Who'd have thought it, Facebook is actually educational.

People take everything on Facebook so literally, especially when it comes to relationships. Cue shocked expressions and gasps from a bunch of girls upon hearing two of their mutual friends are now dating. “But is it Facebook official?!” one blurts out without any way of stopping herself whatsoever. And the reply? A very serious nod of the head. Woah, you don’t question a relationship when it’s on Facebook for everyone to see. And what happened to the good old days where guys would ask a girl for her phone number? Or when a girl would send her high school crush a note in Chemistry telling him she fancies him? Nowadays its “Hey, you’re hot. You got Facebook?” Nice.

Even Facebook has become a little too dull for some, and forcing them to convert to the religion of Twitter. For research purposes only (honest) I too joined the said site, uploaded a profile picture, and clicked “follow” on about four different Robert Pattinson profiles. Other than that I don’t fully understand the concept of Twitter, and I don’t see myself “tweeting” much in future. Although whilst trying to interpret the various tweets and re-tweets I came across Katy Perry’s profile, and I’m pretty certain she and Russell Brand talk more on that website than they do in real life.

shopping bag.

Bikini Top- Accessorize, £15.00

Bikini Bottoms - Accessorize, £15.00

Necklace - Accessorize, £12.00

Nail Varnish - Barry M, £2.50 each.

camels and vampires.

Given that I am being dragged kicking and screaming halfway around the world in a week's time, I think its only fair that I be paid some form of compensation. Ok so not quite dragged, and I probably won't scream at or kick anyone. However, I am going away for a grand total of four weeks; thus being torn away from all that is familiar to me, and thrown into the world of camels and magic carpets.

I'm going to stop exaggerating now.

My father has somewhat foolishly allowed me to "borrow" his credit card, in order for me to buy the necessities I so desperately need in order to travel. So far I have purchased a pair of daisy dukes, and two play suits from ASOS. I know he will despise all three.

This doesn't bother me, since my Scottish genes mean that being in anything above 30degrees Celsius will undoubtedly lead me to melting on the spot, and I must dress accordingly to avoid such a catastrophe. Although given the amount of whining and complaining that I plan to do upon arrival, this will probably prove to be a blessing in disguise to my father and brother.

Despite worrying about encountering various traders on the streets in the Middle East calling out "Three camel for your daughter" and braving the Med and all its wonders (ie sharks and jellyfish) I'm actually looking forward to a bit of colour on my skin that's not pure white and similar to that of Edward Cullen. Although if that meant becoming one of the Cullen clan, that doesn't sound so bad. Stupid Bella Swan.

paws for thought.

Do they ever change their spots?

I hope so.

obsessions.

Sunday, wake up, give me a cigarette.

Last night's love affair is looking vulnerable in my bed

Silk sheet, blue dawn, Colgate, tongue warm

Won't you quit your crying? I can't sleep

One minute I'm a little sweetheart

And next minute you are an absolute creep

We've got

obsessions

I want to wipe out all the sad ideas

that come to me when I am holding you

We've got obsessions

All you ever think about are sick ideas involving me, involving you

Supermarket, what packet of crackers to pick?

They're all the same, one brand, one name, but really they're not

Look, look, just choose something quick

People are staring, time to quit thinking

Skin is on fire; just choose something, something, something

Pressure overwhelming

Next minute I am turning out of the door, facing one week without food

A day, a day when things are pretty bad

Don't let it make you feel sad,

the crackers were probably bad luck anyway

Can't let your cold heart be free

When you act like you've got an OCD

We've got

obsessions

I want to erase every nasty thought

that bugs me every day of every week

We've got obsessions

You never told me what it was

that made you strong and what it was that made you weak.

We've got

obsessions

I want to erase every nasty thought

that bugs me every day of every week.

We've got obsessions

You never told me what it was

that made you strong and what it was that made you weak

Sunday, wake up, give me a cigarette

Last night's love affair is looking vulnerable again.

these lyrics make so much sense, but make no sense at all.

Obsessions -Marina & The Diamonds

diamonds are a girl's best friend.

So yesterday was the long-awaited Marina & The Diamonds gig at the Bloomsbury Ballroom, London. Oh. My. God. I actually love her.
The day began with a Modern American Lit exam. But I'd rather not talk about how that went so we'll move on. Got the train at 4.02pm. Had to run and make everyone wait, but got it nonetheless.
Sat on the train, I was trying to reply to Facebook threads on my phone (with great difficulty, as I haven't entered the world of the Blackberry or iPhone yet) so I'm sure my eyes were squinting and my tongue was poking out of my mouth due to my intense concentration. If only I'd been that attentive in my exam. A man in a very expensive-looking suit gets on, sits himself down, and pulls out said iPhone. Looking at him jealously, I got distracted by his bow tie. Panicking, I remembered the name of the Marina venue, and suddenly wondered if I should be wearing some kind of ball gown. Shit.
Obviously, I wasn't but it got me thinking for a second. Stupid iPhone owner.
Anyway after reaching Victoria and pestering various policemen for directions and tripping up numerous escalators, I finally made it to Charing Cross to meet A, my fellow Marina lover. After some more trekking, we stumbled across our venue. I say stumbled for two reasons. Firstly, because London drivers have no mercy for pedestrians, and crossing the damn road was apparently too much to ask. Secondly, because we had grabbed some food and had no idea where we were, when we noticed a queue of teens outside a very big building, guarded by some bouncers. Sat in the queue, we decided we'd regress to a few years back, and graffiti ourselves with eyeliner and lipstick. As you do. After more waiting and having Jagermeister reps throw orange garlands of flowers over us, we finally made it inside. Upon entering, we were accosted by a bloke trying to sell the gig merchandise. I should probably tell you that I am very easily swayed, and this is not my best trait. Infact its quite annoying, even to me. My eyes must have doubled in size at this point, because he tried everything in his power to take my money off me, even resorting to "this is the last one" when I questioned him about some £10 lip paint (it was UV!!) even though we were one of the first to get inside. Silly man. Although I did buy a t-shirt because I am just that cool. I'm glad I didn't wear it during the gig, because its fashionable, high round- neck would A) have probably killed me in the heat and B) looked ridiculous as another girl decided to tear most of hers apart, leaving little to the imagination.
Back to the actual gig. Marina was supported by Spark, a newcomer to the music industry who wowed the crowd with her voice from the moment she opened her mouth. Favourite songs of hers include Revolving, Scream and Blow. Since the only place I can find these on the web is on myspace, I feel like I'm fifteen again.

Check her out, www.myspace.com/sparkthemusic

Marina finally comes on. She opens with Girls, my favourite lyrics being "Girls, oh girls, wag your tails to the beat". She chatted to the crowd between songs, remarking on the business men at the back who weren't clapping her and how she'd need some help singing due to her voice being affected by the "secret ciggies".
She goes on to sing pretty much her whole album; The Outsider, Rootless, Numb, Guilty, Hollywood, Shampaign, Oh No! Mowgli's Road, Obsessions and of course, I Am Not A Robot. She included a song called Seventeen which isn't on there, but just as good as the others. She sang perfectly throughout, regardless of the shouting "WE LOVE YOU MARINA" and "WHAT A SONG" after announcing she was to sing Guilty. She finished by singing her Radio 1 cover of 3OH!3's Starstrukk, which was incredible. Her second outfit of the night was made up of one of her own Marina T-Shirts, with some very fetching Coca Cola dungarees. She pulled it off, somehow.
Loved every minute and definitely buying tickets to see her again in November.

procrastination?

Sitting in a hot, uncomfortable IT room at university, I'm continuously telling myself I'm revising, even if the computer screen infront of me has two windows open, this one and Facebook.
Whilst trying to read about the life and times of Hester Prynne from Nathaniel Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter, there are many distractions around me that are far more interesting. For one, the bloke next to me appears to have given up altogether, and is fast asleep, his chin resting on his propped up arm. This is quite entertaining in itself, but is encouraging me to do the same. Must. Not. Sleep.
The second being R, my wonderful study companion who is on my other side. Looking at her now, she's furiously scribbling away, stealing occasional glances at the lighter between us, trying desperately to stay glued in her seat rather than give in to temptation and have a cheeky cigarette outside.
All I seem to have done is get a little bit over-excited with my highlighters and coloured pens, highlighting funny words and things that might be semi-useful in my exam. We've both spent about five precious minutes laughing at a post one of our mutual friends just published to another's facebook wall. It consists of the words, "JOE ITS YOU" and a very fetching photo of H from Steps. Facebook becomes so much funnier and cigarettes become even more addictive at this time of year, since we seem to do everything in our power just to avoid a bit of reading and note-taking. Am listening to Marina and the Diamonds on my iPod, and think I can remember more of her lyrics than I can of this bloody book, and may well resort to using them in my exam instead.
---
Just had said cigarette. Feel ill as have barely eaten all day, so going for nice romantic meal with R soon. Feeling slightly better now because have just seen an Edgar Allan Poe quote tattooed on the back of actress/love interest of Marilyn Manson, Rachel Wood. Am seriously considering doing the same before my exam on Wednesday, but somewhere I can actually see it.


All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

danger zone.

The exam period is an interesting one.
The library becomes a hunting ground, with people stalking the IT rooms ready to pounce on the first available computer they find. Eyes dart from side to side, looking for any excuse to lash out and hurl a keyboard at the closest unsuspecting student who so much as blinks at them the wrong way. When 3am comes around, there are students clinging on to their desks for dear life, screaming at the staff that they will never leave.
Slight exaggeration on my part.
Regardless, tensions are running high and for two to three weeks of every year, the library transforms from derelict, forgotten land to the most wonderful place in the world.
Two guys were having such a heated argument last night that I genuinely thought one of them was going to throw the other out of the nearest window, which wouldn't have ended well since this was on the third floor. It was around this time that a member of staff entered the room, threatening to fine anyone else who decided to talk. Personally I think most were to afraid to even open their mouths to breathe at this point, but it seemed to do the trick and I could go back to the wonders of Geoffrey Chaucer without wanting to hit the two loud-mouths with my 686 page long anthology.
It was a little later after being brave enough to venture out to the vending machine, only to find almost everything gone except Fanta (yuck), that my eyes started to blur and the desks were starting to look a bit more comfortable than they probably are, when I decided to admit defeat and head home. The journey down the three flights of stairs wasn't quite as perilous as the earlier one going up them, where people literally fly past you screaming their warrior cries as if going into battle, when actually they are only attacking silent study area, level 3.

back in the saddle.

So I came to the conclusion that I have far too much time on my hands, considering my university course only requires my attendance for about six hours a week. How intellectual I must seem.
With this in mind, I made the decision to actually step out the front door, and do something outside in the fresh air, like in the good old days before Facebook and the Nintendo Wii.
Horse riding is something I've done since I was about two feet tall, and to be honest I was probably better at it then. At four years old, with a riding hat covering my head and probably most of my face, I enjoyed every minute of it.
Once you hit your twenties, however, I realised a little bit more is expected from you rather than just sitting back, and giving the poor animal a little kick in the ribs every now and again.

Sometimes you are offered a small step to help you clamber on to the horse's back in a slightly more dignified manner. On the occasions where the step is nowhere to be seen, I begin imagining myself falling backwards with one foot in the stirrup and the rest of me on the ground. Not the most attractive thing a girl can do. So once in the saddle, feet in the stirrups and hands grasped tightly around the reigns, a little nudge from your legs and off you go. Sporting an incredibly unsexy riding hat, its not quite as glamorous as the likes of Katie Price who seems quite comfortable wearing hot pink heels and hotpants. Definitely won't be trying that look any time soon.

I was on a hack recently and sat on top of Marmite, a gorgeous dark brown horse whose name could not be any more perfect. It was on this hack Marmite decided to make some very unusual breathless sounds with every other step. I started to think my weight was too much for the poor horse, but after much reassurance I've now learned it is just was the way some horses breathe with a rider upon their backs, and that Marmite could quite easily carry someone of twenty stone. I am not yet convinced, and still feel horribly guilty that whilst enjoying the fresh air and surrounding woods, I was actually killing a beautiful animal with my own body mass.

Dismounting the horse is perhaps just as dignified as mounting it. Both feet out of the stirrups, and you have no choice but to swing your right leg behind you and over the horse, before stumbling to the ground and trying to look calm and collected at the same time. Although it may not be the most graceful of activities, its one I hope to keep up as long as I can, as long as I don't cause any serious injury to a horse's back by simply sitting on it.