Hello Goodbye

Before I left the UK, I sent an old friend an email. I no longer had their number, they'd moved out of the address I had, and I couldn't reach them on social media. I wasn't even sure they used this account any more, but I reached out anyway - across the dark void of both space and time - to let them know I was leaving. To let them know I wouldn't be back. To say some sort of goodbye, although goodbyes were said long ago. I didn't expect a reply, and the darkness didn't answer with one. But somewhere, somehow, I knew they had received my message. 

They say when you meet the 'one' for you, you know. I think that's true with many decisions in our lives - some little, some monumental; that courses set into action will irreversibly change your life forever. Sometimes, these are happy moments, like knowing you're with the right person; sometimes they are tinged with guilt and sadness, like closing a door on a chapter you will not revisit again. These are 'sliding door' moments - that if something, however big or small, had or had not happened, your life would be very different. 

Although I know, just know, that leaving the UK was the right decision, the knowledge is not an easy burden. I left behind a life that was filled with people and memories, with events and stages that have shaped me as a person and made me who I am, in exchange for one that, although familiar, is entirely new. I grew up here. I remember so many little details. Yet I have been entirely absent for 12 years. I have missed all my friends from those years grow up. I missed their trials and tribulations, their first kisses, their boyfriends, their parents' divorces - and although when I see them again it's like we were never apart, it's wholly surreal. Like I was in a coma and woke up 2 months ago. I have no idea of Australian politics (don't ask me who the last Prime Minister was), or any big news stories. I have a very bad sense of geography (I thought Canberra was North of Sydney until I looked on a map). I say 'football' instead of 'soccer', and 'rugby' instead of 'football', which although sounds quaint in my conditioned English accent, is fundamentally wrong here. I didn't know what 'Goon' was (cheap wine in a bag, what everyone got drunk on as teenagers), or 'schoolies' (Australia's equivalent to Spring Break), and I still cringe whenever anyone calls flip-flops 'thongs'. But despite me feeling like I might as well have lived on the moon for a decade, I know I'm happy. Like, deep down, fundamentally happy. Yet I feel more guilt for being happy than when I wasn't in the UK. Why?

A weekly Skype date with my parents is scheduled every Sunday. Technology has made the world so small that I still sit with them at home through a window spanning thousands of miles, talking to them like I would in person. Since I've been away, my mother has mourned my absence by unpacking my childhood belongings, which haven't seen the light of day for more than a decade. She's put teddy bears on my bed, carefully unpacked books into a new bookshelf, and slowly turned my room into her own kind of shrine. Although this behaviour is not new - when I left for university she turned my pinboard into an organised photographic chronology of my life, and hung portraits of me on the wall - it still makes me feel guilty. I feel my happiness has come at a cost - to them - and it pains me. Although technology makes it so easy for us to communicate, the distance can still be felt, and the distance is great. I don't know how to say I'm not coming back. At least not for good, and not for a long while. We avoid the subject of permanence every time we talk. And while I think we both know the truth, uttering it would break a spell that we have all weaved; that I will return, that I belong there, with them.

It's strange to realise how a life that seemed so all-encompassing, so saturated with people and memories, can so easy be forgotten. Events that haunted me for years have all but evaporated in the space of a few months. Yet I still think back to that rainy night I left the UK, when the weather echoed my emotions, and the email I sent to my old friend. The email that detailed my leaving date, and time, and asked for one last goodbye. It never came. They never came. And although I am several thousand miles away, and living an entirely different life, I am still waiting for it. Perhaps one day it will come, and through a window of a screen I will say a hello that will really mean goodbye. 

Inception

To all who might assume, from the title of this post, that I have returned to critiquing films, a word of warning: this is not my interpretation of one of Leonardo DiCaprio’s finest hours. This isn’t to say this will never happen, it’s just to say this isn’t it - yet. I have just returned from an amazing week in Paris with my friend (let’s call her Julia, for artistic purposes), who is quite remarkable for many reasons - not least for her amazing ability to inception anyone she chooses. In this particular case, the person that she chose to flex her mind-altering muscles on, was me. Let me paint a picture for you…

Julia is not wholly remarkable for her amazing ability to plant ideas into people’s heads. Oh no. In my case, she is also unique in the aspect that she is a friend, who also happens to be my ex’s sister (for more information on this topic, read my previous post, Don’t Worry, Baby). To all intensive purposes, we had a marvelous trip. Despite Paris being, on average, a scorching 32 degrees (that’s in Celsius, for all you American lovers of Fahrenheit), we managed to see, and enjoy, a plethora of cultural activities. But I won’t bore you with a myriad of Instagram-doctored photos of Paris and its attractions, instead I’d rather talk about our last night. There I was, winding down after a week of sightseeing and cultural exploits of the French capital, quietly packing my bag in the private confines of our beautiful hotel off the Champs Elysees (how’s this picture working for you?), making general small-talk about what we’ve got to look forward to after this trip has ended, when she interrupts me to say: “You’re so sad.” I stop packing and slowly turn to her. “What do you mean, like, ‘gay’ sad?” (Not one of my most mature interpretations, I admit.) “No,” she continued, “you’re just so unhappy - and the saddest thing is, you don’t even realise it.” Well, that last part was certainly true. As far as I was concerned, I am pretty happy - I mean, I haven’t got much to get down about at the moment: I’ve recently graduated with a not-too-shabby 2.1, I’ve landed a dream job in fashion marketing, I’m living in a lovely house, in a new city, and have money to shop, see friends, and travel with. Why would I be sad? “It pains me to see you so depressed about your ex-boyfriends,” she finished with. Well hold on there, Sally. I don’t remember mentioning anything about my ex-boyfriends. In fact, apart from the passing thought, I really don’t dwell on them much at all. Until now.

What I hadn’t realized was, with one, carefully placed comment, I had been totally inceptioned. I began to doubt whether I really was happy. Was I just pretending to be happy because I didn’t think I had anything to be sad about? Did I not have any time to be sad anymore because of the job? Was I so out of touch with myself that I project an exterior of sadness and depression that I was not even aware of? In other words, was what she was saying right? Shortly after our subsequent conversation, in which I talked - for the first time in months - about my disappointment in my inability to sustain friendship with my exes, we went to sleep. But this was only the beginning of her carefully planted seed. On the Eurostar home, I didn’t reminisce on our time in Paris. I reminisced about my old relationships, on where it went wrong after they ended, on where they went wrong before they ended - poisonous, black musings that plunged me right back to a mindset that I hadn’t wished to revisit ever again. Like a bad dream that I couldn’t wake myself from, I let every memory of failure, regret, and remorse wash over me, accompanied by the most depressing songs in my iTunes library. I started doubting whether I was truly over my relationships, whether I should have stuck them out, not ended them when I did, whether things would have gotten better. 

A year ago, I wrote a journal. Well, I call it a journal, but what it really was was therapy. I had come out of a relationship that had obliterated me to the core. I was working, so had no time to talk to anyone about it, so instead I worked through my thoughts by putting them down on paper (sound familiar?). I was sad then. In fact, sad would probably be an understatement. But am I still sad? No. There are memories, people, places, that bring up feelings of sadness. But if I let every one of those affect me, I’d be a nervous wreck. I think that goes for everyone. I have a scar on my wrist. I got it at boarding school when some girls pressed the heated metal on a lighter against my skin. People ask me about it, and I tell them that it hurt, but it used to be redder and now it’s faded. I think that’s like relationships. Time heals scars, but scars are still scars. People will ask you how you got them, and you will tell them the story. It doesn’t diminish their healing process, or the pain you felt when you got them. Julia’s inception was like pointing to the scar on my wrist and telling me “it’s bleeding”. All I had to do was look down to see it was fine. 

Love,
Belle x

Tune Tape Tuesdays #24

Good Evening, Tune Tapers! Before we get started, I just want to draw your attention to something that I'm really proud of. Back in February, my friend Iona guest edited La Belle et La Bête on the very first Guest List Monday. Writing all the way from Austria, she was going round Snow Parks and filming for various companies and competitions. I'd like to think that my Tune Tapes enriched her time there, as a few weeks ago she released her entry to the Nine Queens Video Contest 2013, featuring a song I included on Tune Tape Tuesday #16: Green Garden (Monsieur Adi Remix) by Laura Mvula. Not only am I honoured that she chose a song I'd introduced her to, but I'm also in awe of her talent in Videography. So here is her amazing entry, which won 2nd Place in the competition. Enjoy!

Alright, let's get down to some new music news. First up is an artist that I've discovered today, through the help of the The Hype Machine. He's an Israeli singer-songwriter called Asaf Avidan, and two remixes of his songs are featured on this week's Tune Tape: Maybe You Are (Stefan Biniak Private Edit) and One Day (Wankelmut Remix). Both tracks have that perfect 'Summer Beat', that makes you smile maniacally and clip your heels together. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever you want to do, there's no denying that they're damn catchy. Check out his Soundcloud page here, and show him some love on Facebook here. Next up are The Lumineers, who you'll probably know from their huge hit, Ho Hey, that featured on a number of TV adverts earlier in the year. Hailed as the new Mumford & Sons, this week I fell in love with their track, Stubborn Love, off their self-titled album (worth a download, BTW). Compared to Ho Hey, this is much more dark and complex - both lyrically and compositionally. I mean, just take a look at the opening lyrics:

She'll lie and steal, and cheat, and beg you from her knees

Make you think she means it this time

She'll tear a hole in you, the one you can't repair

But I still love her, I don't really care.

That's some deep shit. Lightening the mood, I'm proud to announce the return of Lana Del Rey. She's released TWO new songs this week; Young and Beautiful features on the soundtrack to the highly anticipated Great Gatsby, and Summer Wine is a Nancy Sinatra cover (whom Lana has previously named as her style-spiration). The former single isn't as catchy as we're used to from LDR, but she sultrily sways over the notes in a way that isn't by any means unpleasant. Put it this way, I'm not sure it'll be one of her greatest hits, but it's worthy of inclusion. Summer Wine is also a bit of a departure from Lana's previous work; seeing her team up with her current boyfriend, Barrie-James O'Neill, in a cute music video that looks like it was made using Instagram. Check it out here. The next track I'm not quite sure why I'm featuring, as it's been so splashed over Facebook that all of you would have already seen it. Nevertheless, any new song from Daft Punk deserves some recognition, especially if they've teamed up with Pharell (what? I thought he'd died? Yeah, me too). Tom Odell's track, Hold Me, is the kind of track you listen to late at night when you're missing your boyfriend. If, like me, your love life resembles the Sahara Desert, just pretend. No one will judge you. Well, not much. London Grammar is a band that I've had my eye on for a while now. Wasting My Young Years is, in my opinion, their best release to date. With powerfully controlled, Florence-esque vocals, and an accompaniment that slowly grows to a delicious crescendo, it's impossible not to be impressed. I suspect it's only a matter of time before these guys hit the big time. Junip's another artist I've discovered in the last few days, courtesy of HypeM. I accidentally listened to it twice, which I'm really glad I did. I probably would have overlooked it otherwise. Your Life, Your Call is what we in the 'music business' call "A Grower". Give it a chance, I guarantee it'll be top of your 'On-The-Go' in no time. Another band with a new release this week is Disclosure. This time, they've teamed up with Eliza Doolittle on You & Me. It's by no means as big as White Noise, but it will be featuring on sound systems across the country's dingiest clubs, so you should probably get familiar with it. TORCHES's track, If The People Stare is also worth a mention as a curiously pleasant hybrid of Chillwave and Indie. With more guitar than synth, but a beat that wouldn't be out of placed on a Washed Out album, it shows beautiful restraint and is an example to the old 'less is more' approach. Just when we couldn't stand another car driving past blasting Thrift Shop, Macklemore has come out with another anthem: Can't Hold Us, featuring the smooth RnB tones of Ray Dalton. Now whenever you hear the former, you can roll your eyes and say "that song is SO old...". You're welcome. I try to feature at least one Trap tune every week. This week's track comes courtesy of Djemba Djemba's remix of BANKS's Fall Over for you to perfect your TrapStep to. Finally, get your Drum'n'Bass fix from Flyte One, who have expertly remixed Laura Aquilina's Fools. If you've got a minute, the original's pretty decent too. That's enough from me now - time to leave you in peace. Over and out!

Love,
Belle x

With Friends Like These...

As a student, I am forever finding new ways to distract myself from doing any work. Stumbleupon, YouTube, Facebook, you name it, I'm probably on it, wasting time. One of the best ways I've found of using up the hours in what would have otherwise been a productive day, is to watch an entire series. Which is what I did a couple of weeks ago (before I went into a full-blown panic upon discovering all my deadlines were in the same week). I got hooked on Season Two of New Girl. 

For those who are over the age of 30, or have made a conscientious decision to boycott TV (why?!), New Girl is, essentially, the 2010's equivalent of Friends: a group of twenty-somethings living together, and the problems - and laughs - that this creates. As I said, I went through the entire second series (that's eighteen episodes) in a day or two last month. But even after a few weeks respite, something that one of the characters said has stuck with me, and I've found myself asking myself this question:

"If you met your friends today, would you still be friends with them?"

I'm an only child. So is my Dad. And my cousins on my mum's side all live in on the other side of the world. Consequently, our family unit is about as small as it could be. Over the years, I've built up a group of friends who have pretty much substituted as siblings for me. They're the ones who I phone if I've got a problem, want a gossip, or swap clothes with. Recently, I've pretty much burnt bridges with half of them. A couple were exes, and I got let down by them - I wanted to be friends, but they, or their girlfriends, had other ideas, which I can understand. That's ok. Time's a healer. Others I've realised that their relationship with me might not be the same as mine with them; they don't call to hang out, gossip, or chat. At first, I put it down to most of them being third years at university - not all of us can be History of Art students with a 5 hour weekly timetable! This is where Facebook's a killer: when your friends don't ask you out, and you see the photos of them getting drunk and going out, you automatically ask yourself - "why wasn't I invited? Is there something wrong with me? Have I done something bad?" It reminded me of a line in a movie that was on TV recently, He's Just Not That Into You. In it, Drew Barrymore's character reminisces about 'the good old days', when people only had one landline, and one answering machine - which either had a message on it, or it didn't. Nowadays, with Facebook, Twitter, Email, Cellphone, and a hundred other mediums of communication, we're rejected on a host of different medias every day - and it's exhausting. So, I guess another question is: what do you do if your friends 'just aren't that into you'? 

Well, you could try reaching out to them. But, as I've learned, to be rebuffed and then see photographic evidence of a night out you weren't invited to, is pretty much self-confidence suicide. You could try and make yourself less dependable on your friends, but come on, who wants to be a Norman no-mates, alone every Friday night while all the Facebook statuses roll in about pre-drinks, club nights, and hook-ups? Not me, no thank you. You might think about taking yourself off Facebook, and just saving yourself the hassle and some humility - but then that's just another way of cutting yourself off from civilisation, and one further step to becoming the hermit cat lady who dresses in bin bags. Maybe you need to take a step back, and ask yourself the tough question: are these people really your friends?

Friendship, for me, a lot of the time is about habit. You were friends at school, when you were all shoved together and forced to chose people you got along with to make your time more bearable. Or in university halls, and ditto. They're the people that, when you meet up for a drink, you can say "remember when..." and they do. They know who you were, who you are now, and all the bits in-between, and that's nice. But sometimes, friendship with those people is habitual. People change. They fall in love, they make new friends, they're influenced by existential circumstances you have no power or control over, or can even relate to. Ironically, those I would call my 'best friends' are often people that I didn't have any contact with for years. Even though I haven't been kept up to date on every minuscule happening in their lives, we still never shut up when we finally have a chat. They're like a bookmark in your life: you pick up where you left off. If we continue with this metaphor, other friends are like the wind: they come and fuck up where you were, and you can't remember what happened. 

Over the last few weeks, I've discarded quite a few 'windy' friends. A lot, I think, has to do with the fact that I'm planning on moving back to Australia; that I'm off to start a new life, on the other side of the world, and don't need to take any extra baggage with me (in a metaphorical sense. I'll probably have loads of extra baggage.). I guess I've felt like I have nothing to lose by being honest. I've told a few that I'm disappointed with them (that old 'Mum word'), that I've been hurt by them, or I've simply not said anything, and come to terms with the fact that it might not be the end of the world. 

To make sure I wasn't going insane with the 'immense pressure' of my final year, I asked a mate if she had ever felt the same. She replied that she has, and does, regularly. It's the wound that is inflicted when you put yourself out there for someone, and they don't reciprocate in the same way, if at all. I suppose sometimes, you have to think of your friends a bit like a boyfriend: if they're not there for you when you need them, if they let you down and make you feel belittled and self-doubting, then there's no point in letting them continue to make you feel like that. Sacrifice in any relationship is good; self-martyrdom is not. Remember, the only person who will be there 'til the very end is you - you might as well make it a pleasant journey. 


What are your thoughts?

Love,
Belle x