The Tessellation Diagram

Humans beings are born with the innate need to feel. Throughout life – as a baby, a toddler, a child, an adolescent, teen, youth, young adult, adult and elderly person – this need is the focus of everything we do.

Babies cry because they want attention, they need to feel loved. Toddlers waggle their arms to be picked up because they want to feel comforted, they need to feel cherished. Even when we’re older, we date or marry people because we have this seemingly insatiable need to feel wanted.

But wait, you’re probably thinking, what about people who DON’T feel? Now, I know I’m thinking of it from a black and white perspective, but it is impossible to ‘not feel’. The first connection we make when we think of feelings is one of happiness; we assume that in order to effectively ‘feel’ it has to be good feelings. It doesn’t. Bad feelings – feelings of doubt, guilt, fear, depression – are feelings just the same. At the end of the day, everyone feels something. It might not be the same as we grow up, and yes, even evil people feel things too (though exactly what, we may never understand) but everyone feels something; and some to a greater emotional extent than others. Even psychopaths supposedly have the same breadth of emotions as everyone else, they just don’t ‘attend’ to their emotions the same way that everyone else does.

In general though, the most widely sought-after feeling is that of a need; to be wanted, to be loved, to feel like you matter to someone. This is what drives the majority of our daily lives, from childhood all the way up to retirement age. We want to feel like we have people who care for us and love us. This is why we at first develop friendships; from an early age especially, friendships teach us how we feel that we should be loved, how worthy we feel of this love and also how we feel that we should care for others. This is why that when we first start to develop friendships, it is so important that we are taught our self-worth and value; because when we have little or no self-worth, then we don’t have particularly high expectations for the love we feel like we should receive.

The start of someone’s life is the most important part; it makes them who they are. Each mistake, each tear, each success, each failure; but the important part of the learning and growing process is that they are all feelings.

For me, feelings play a huge part in my life. I get very easily attached to people who I feel are worthwhile people to have in my life, in both platonic and romantic senses, and at times, it can be very difficult for me to let go. My need to feel loved, to feel wanted and to feel appreciated drives nearly every single one of my relationships with friends and with family. In the past, as I think I’ve probably mentioned (or slyly indirected) I’ve lost quite a few people who I once considered my really close friends, or ‘best friends’ as some people would refer to them. And yes, losing friends is sad, and it hurts a lot, and it can take a long time to get over. To some extent, I would argue that I never really ‘get over’ things, but just learn ways to cope and move on.

So this is where the title comes in – after my long, and mostly necessary ramble. A while ago (about a year ago now, WHOA time flies!), I was chilling with Dezza and trying to explain to her my interpersonal relationships with others. I described it to her using the simple example of a tessellation diagram:

Imagine a blank white page. Now draw a hexagon. Now draw another one connected to it. Keep drawing hexagons until your page is a tessellation filled with empty-looking hexagons.

This is the structure of my relationships. The ’tiles’ closer to the upper left are some of the oldest ones; the tiles further down and to the right are new ones that are added. Pretend that there is a name painted in black on every single tile; these are all the people I interact with regularly, occasionally or infrequently. The oldest tiles, the ones that are broken and cracked, are often the ones that I have tried to remove, but with disastrous consequences. You see, the longer you leave these hexagonal ’tiles’, the more difficult they are to pull up without completely shattering the tile altogether; over time, and without care or attention, they become neglected, brittle and subject to fracturing.

On the other side, you have the newer tiles, that are being added as I write at this very moment. These tiles are the ones that are shinier and new, but only time will tell how well they wear. (That’s  a bit of a mouthful: only time will tell how well they wear…) And then you have the tiles somewhere in the middle that are neither old nor recent but are very shiny; they are the ’tiles’ that I regularly attend, cleaning, polishing and filling in any cracks which appear when cracks start to show.

Some new tiles don’t last very long; sometimes the names written on them are quickly scratched over before the ‘paint’ can dry and replaced with new, more worthwhile names. Old tiles only remain because taking them out of the tessellation altogether would mean… well, it just wouldn’t be a tessellation; as much as many relationships I’ve had have been somewhat questionable, there is no doubt that I would not be the person I am today if it weren’t for the mixture of both good and not-so-good experiences.

And that’s it, I guess.

That’s the positive outlook of the whole situation; even though not every friendship and relationship I’ve had has been positive or edifying for me as a person, they’ve all crafted me in ways which may not have made sense at the time, but start to make sense the older I get.

The more you age, I guess the less you realise you know and understand about things. I’m not trying to make out like I’m an ‘old soul’ far ahead of her peers, but there are certainly (as it goes without saying) things that I’m still learning. I’d like to think I’ve become a lot more sensible in choosing my friends and surrounding myself with encouraging people who understand me and support me, and give me the opportunity and the privilege of being able to reciprocate as well. I don’t even have to @ anybody, because you all know who you are. 🙂

But yes, that’s it from me for the evening.

In the (fictional) words of Albert (and then Sir Robert Peel): There it is.

Love from The Faerie Squad Mother x


p.s. I watched the next episode of ‘Victoria’ and their incestuous cuteness never fails to simultaneously shock me and move me to tears.


An Unexpected Return: The ‘I’m Kidding Mum’ Edition

Once again. I am always disappearing for long periods of time, and – honestly – so much has happened since I last blogged on the 1 August 2016. Unfortunately, I have no elaborate, eloquent essays like my last post, so this is simply pure, unadulterated rambling. No structure, no hidden messages, no propaganda.

Just my nonsense.

So what have you missed? First of all… well, not first of all, but one of the most important things: I turned 17. (Wahey!) This is a milestone in UK terms because (also most importantly) I can start to learn how to drive. I am also one year closer to getting married without my parent’s permission; this, naturally, is obviously the number one goal.

I’m kidding mum, that is obviously NOT the number one goal. 🙂

Secondly, I’ve made new friends. I say new friends, I mean friends who have literally fallen into my lap due to entirely unforeseen circumstances. As I, often do, never directly use their names, Cameron – as she is called for an entirely justifiable reason – is a new friend I have discovered, to be politically correct,  who shares my love (pun intended) for words, writing, racial politics and humour. I’m low-key glad I’m talking to her now, too. There has been the development of my friendship with Spaceboi who is, in fact, a boy from space, because he is out of this world. Literally. He also still owes me Welsh soil. (Even though he’s dying and he can’t swallow. #GetBetterSoon) And as a new edition to my shiny card collection of friends, Bag Juice, so named for his favourite beverage in Jamaica (yes, I also went to Jamaica for the summer) is – I have discovered – my ‘long-lost cousin’, whose laugh makes me laugh.

As a matter of fact, he’s on the phone to me as I write this. Bag Juice, as in. As he has just brazenly told me, after a small dispute over GCSEs, “I know bare.” What a legend. Truly inspirational words from an inspirational young man.

(I was going to start the next paragraph with the word ‘also’ but because he’s now at A-Level and thinks he’s a bit cool, Bag Juice suggested that I start with the word ‘conjointly’. I’ve never even heard of it before in my life. He now tells me I should look it up in a dictionary or a thesaurus, because of course, “he knows bare.”)

Conjointly, I have continued my current studies in A-Levels, continuing on with the ever-stressful English Literature, Spanish (now so rapid that I’m surprised I’m not told to bring a life-jacket to every lesson) and History, which is the only thing that is keeping me going right now anyway. But I don’t have a choice, and so I am aiming for that #AcademicExcellence because I intend to make the best of this year. Especially since last year didn’t exactly go to plan. And, naturally, I do not want a repeat of the academic DISASTER (to put it lightly) that was the school term of 2015.

I’m kidding mum, it wasn’t a COMPLETE disaster. 🙂

[Update: Bag Juice has now gone. It’s just me now; thank goodness he’s left me to blog in PEACE!]

Praise the Lord, though, that I got an A and C in my AS Levels. The A was (entire unsurprisingly) in Drama and the C was in Spanish, and even though, sadly, I have been forced to drop Drama – and will subsequently miss my husband Torvald, and my Polish twin sister Caroline, and Turkey, and just everyone in the class – God helped me to pass my Spanish. No, but honestly, it had to be Him, because there is not a chance in Hell (ha! see what I did there?) that I was able to understand a single word on that test paper.

It was all Greek to me. (I’m kidding mum, I obviously revised for it. 🙂 )

Also, on the theme of #AcademicExcellence, I’ve recently deleted my Instagram and Snapchat – and I couldn’t have chosen a better time, really – so that I can focus on my work and my spiritual life as I realised they’re literally two of the biggest distractions for me. I’ve only been accessing them illicitly when it is 100% necessary. (I’m kidding mum, I don’t illegally sneak onto them on my laptop. 🙂 )

Since the tearful and heart-wrenching ending of Downton Abbey, and the anxious wait for the next season of Velvet to be released on Netflix, I have found a new program to alleviate my desperate and insatiable longing for period dramas; Victoria, on ITV. We only have a slight problem – well, I say it’s a slight problem, when in reality it’s a large problem that brings about very worrying developments and has even worse implications; Victoria and Albert, the cutest televised historical couple that I have seen to date, are related.

“But that’s not so bad!”, I hear you cry. “All the British Royal family are inbred!” (You wouldn’t be wrong if you did say this; our current Queen Elizabeth and her husband are second cousins once removed). But wait! Victoria and Albert – the cutest televised historical couple that I have seen to date – are not only related; they are *drum roll* FIRST COUSINS! (Gasp! Shock! Horror!)

What shocks me the most though, is not that they are related or that they had 9 kids (and that’s at LEAST 9 sex – 9 too MUCH sex for first cousins, in my humble opinion), but the fact that despite knowing this shocking fact, I am still high-key gunning for their sweetly romantic relationship.

In other words, I am high-key gunning for incest. (Please feel free to quote me; you will never hear these words come out of my mouth at any other point in my life). What’s wrong with me? I mean, I know I’m a nerd for history, but I’m NOT a nerd for incest and there is never any excusable justification for this practice, right?

I’m kidding mum, I don’t support incest. 🙂

Anyhow. We’ve lost a key member of our History band, which was named ‘Volksgemeinschaft’; now Babs has left and our topic has changed in History (Civil Rights in America from 1865 – 1992) we’ve had to rename ourselves ‘The White Citizens’ Council’. Which is just historical banter, but PLEASE don’t assume that we’re only made up of racist white people, because I am neither racist nor white. I don’t know about the others though… I know for a fact that Mags has admitted to being a white supremacist on the weekends, and she does own an uncanny amount of white bedsheets?

I’m kidding mum, none of my friends are white supremacists. 🙂

Speaking of white supremacy, I also want to say, a HUGE congratulations (and shout out) to the KKK, who would have been in existence – by December 24th of this year – for 151 years! Yes, you’ve read that entirely correctly! The fun-loving, all-hating, Christian band of ‘lovable rogues’ (as I, so gingerly, put it) have been up and running for 151 years! Since December 1865, who would have thought that they would have STILL (yes, that’s right, STILL, because they have an official website and everything!) been alive and well in September of 2016?

Certainly not me. That’s who. (Especially to all those who think we live in a ‘post-racial’ society, they are a group who were literally born out of racist ideologies and stand for white supremacy and are still today being supported by American citizens.)

But let’s not dwell on the positives, eh?

My writing attempts since 1 August have been somewhat faulty; did that sentence even make sense? Probably not. Goes to show, right? But when I was in Jamaica, I kept a diary of the goings-on (for about a week or two) which I tried to start off emotionally-neutrally, but ended up failing and just revealing the depths of my soul to. The worrying thing is, even though I know it’s at home, I can’t remember where I put that notebook. (I’m kidding mum, not the depths of my soul.) But I don’t doubt I will shortly find it and be able to burn whatever necessary incriminating pages.

I’m kidding mum, I’m not going to burn any of it, it’s all evidence to be used against me in the future. 🙂

And on that note, I think it’s time for me to once again depart and leave the heart of my blog empty and waiting for me to return at sporadic intervals, whenever I gather the ability to write.

Farewell, until next time,

The Faerie Squad Mother x


p.s. I’m kidding mum.

A Pensive Cerebration of the Capricious and Fickle Nature of Human Beings

I know the title of this post is long and somewhat laborious, but I thought it the best phrase to even partially express the sentiments of my post. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, how disloyal and selfish human beings can be, especially in terms of our relationships. Our intentions and emotions are forever changing, the shifts in our relationships meant to accommodate those respective emotional modifications – more often than not, however, with such revisions only considering the person making the changes.

Not all changes are purposeless, I’m sure it goes without saying. There are toxic relationships which need to be eliminated; no matter how much one tries to justify abusive relationships (emotional, verbal or physical in either a romantic or platonic situation) there is little else more damaging in the life of the average human being. And of course, people change. Admitting such only further stresses the necessity to be rid of certain burdensome associations, as the person they have become is, of course, NOT the same person whom you initially befriended.

Sometimes it’s funny to think how much people change. In general, change is a positive thing, but it can also be a stumbling block in the way of relationships. Anybody you know, at any time without warning, could decide they no longer want to be a part of your life, be it a boyfriend, a best friend, a parent, a relative, whoever. They have the ability to choose to destabilize even the most sturdy and reliable of relationships, though I suppose whether they have the right to is another question altogether. But like it or not, it happens. And people do change, suddenly, without warning, leaving your friendship in broken shards or your relationship in pieces of fragmented heart – and there you are, wondering what you did wrong.

But when you really think it about it, it’s not always other people changing. A lot of the time, it’s ourselves. We change – be it for better or for worse.

We become more mature, or immature. We grow emotionally, mentally, spiritually, or we regress. We think differently, we meet new people, we explore and discover things which we have never before seen the like. Or we don’t. Whatever the case, these changes in us affect our currently-existing relationships, either negatively or positively, depending on the respective change in the other party as well.

When your best friends looks at you, and notes with disgust in her voice, “You’ve changed”, she’s not lying. You HAVE changed. It’s just that those changes have now made you the better person and put you at an assumed advantage in that friendship; and she doesn’t like those changes. The problem is not that you have changed. The problem is that she HASN’T.

When you watch your best friend looking at you with sad eyes as you tell her sympathetically, “I’ve changed”, although she doesn’t want to believe it, you have. It’s just that those changes in you have left your relationship undefined and in new, uncharted territories, and now offers you neither comfort nor happiness. The problem might not be that she hasn’t changed. Perhaps the problem is that you have.

But change should never be the foundation upon which a relationship is built. Too often, people make friends or date someone with the intention of ‘changing’ them, which is effectively saying, “I won’t accept you as you are; you must fit into MY mould.” No matter how you want to look at it, it’s often selfish – the ‘fixer-upper’ ideology – but also dangerous. Building relationships purely on the projected view of what you envision the person to have become after you have finished ‘changing’ them, means that you are never content with people as they are. You simply want them to be your version of themselves.

And staying in a relationship because of a change you hope to happen is also not a great idea. I mean, I know that many times the only thing standing between you and a successful friendship or happy marriage is a bad habit, but the assumption that the other person will change purely to satisfy your needs within that relationship is also not great. It means that you will hang onto relationships way past their ‘sell-by’ date purely because of the misguided hope that they will change; not just for the better, but also in the specific way that you want them to.

Yes, there are cases where people can change, when they realise that they have an issue or some other insurmountable problem which stands in the way of a fruitful relationship with you, but THEY are the only ones able to dictate when that change will come about. You cannot neither force nor expect someone to change. Change comes about naturally, and though you may make the person aware of their flaw or whatever other imperfections, they have the ultimate choice as to whether to act upon it or ignore your counsel and seek a happy relationship elsewhere.

Sometimes change is necessary for growth. A snake cannot grow without shedding its skin, and though this may be a somewhat difficult process, leaving behind the old allows you to move forward into the new. Not every relationship you have will always be long-lasting. Some are superficial and have their ‘expiration dates’, and that’s okay. Of course, it’s important to recognise such friendships; because they are so short-lived and intense, they can drain you as they are often emotionally demanding and exhaust your energy reserves, not to mention, your mobile contract.

And of course, I am speaking in the assumption that only one party of the relationship changes. It is likely that both could change. If you both change for the better, growing together and developing healthily through your relationship, then despite changing times or seasons, your relationship will go the distance. If you both change for the worse, despite your identical poor choices, you may stay together, both blissfully unaware of your regression. If one changes for the better and one changes for the worse, it is likely that the former will become hyper-aware of their respective changes and either make the latter aware of their flaws or leave them.

What I’m trying to say is, in every situation, there are lessons to be learned. Whether one of you or both of you change, or even don’t change, there is always something about you which can be improved, if you are willing to be open to positive growth and constructive criticism.

As I noted in the title, the natural nature of human beings appears to be irrevocably fickle and it is becoming abundantly clear that we are consistent in only one thing – inconsistency.

I’m not entirely sure how to end this, as I realise that my blog post very closely resembles one of my equally pretentious essays for English Literature. I suppose I can only say that I am perhaps misguided on many things which I’ve commented on, but that I hope it offers insight for some people and that it is, for the most part, relatable.

Look at that, I even included a conclusion.

Goodnight everyone, wherever you are.

The Faerie Squad Mother x


Cue Music

So I’ve been MIA for a while, but I’ve decided (somewhat magnanimously) to return to my child and show it some love and affection. Ergo, this blog post.

DISCLAIMER: Obviously all the names used in this aren’t people’s actual names, so please don’t be surprised; I’m just using ones that make sense to me, and maybe people who were there will be able to figure it out too, LOL.

Anyway, for the past weekend (last Friday to Monday) I spent an amazing, fun-filled, beach-filled, music-filled, laughter-filled four days at a caravan campsite in Cornwall. (What a tongue twister…) In fact, there was so much said fun that I lost my voice and am still now recovering. Although I blame W____ church for that – we were screaming ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls in their caravan and me and Yin-Yang both lost our voices. Everyone else wasn’t so unfortunate.

I’m pretty sure we spent FAR too long in W___ church’s caravan, because nearly everyday from the second day, we went and chilled in theirs and listened to music and ate food and talked. I mean, minus the fact that I forgot to add them all on Snapchat and didn’t get to see any of the videos they’d posted of us all in the caravan, it was definitely fun.

10 out of 10, would recommend.

Also, I’m pretty sure myself and my sister were two of like four of the people there who weren’t Filipinos LMAO. But I met some wonderful, talented, hilarious people (I can’t fangirl too much otherwise I might get carried away) but the majority, unfortunately, live REALLY far away. And by far I mean like, it would take them 5 – 28 minutes – depending on arm stroke length – to swim from their houses to London. (Or perhaps a bit longer than that depending on how bad the traffic is).

I got the chance to sing with some pretty cool people this weekend too, both other singers and musicians, so that was definitely one of the highlights of the week. Spaceboy’s musical prowess completely blew me away, as did Caesar’s constant willingness to join in and sing with me, for which I cannot thank him enough. (#ReadyForAnything) And Moustache’s playing of that drum-box thing and his guitar, and The Enigma’s guitar playing was also awesome and they were all so much fun to jam with. And talk history with. And reenact the assassination of Julius Caesar with.

The caravans were alright. I mean, of course they weren’t five star, but we (specifically us, because nobody else’s seemed to worked) had a banging heater. Like a proper fire stove that was really toasty and that we turned on every morning and every evening. I was scared though during some worship we had that we’d left it on, so I ran back to our caravan in the rain… only to find that it had, in fact, been switched off by the more responsible adults in our caravan, Chilli and Sunflower. Which was great because not only was my trip useless but I was also wet. Yay.

But myself and Michy-Fichy got the largest room with the double bed and the heater (LOL, you snooze, you lose!) so we had a ball in that room really. I had a sleeping bag and she had the bed sheets, and it was – for the most part – comfortable. And when the heater went on, we were all toasty in there too. Once again though, I was terrified that we would wake up to choking fumes and something nearby the heater, which happened to be flammable, on fire, so I made sure I switched it off before either of us fell asleep.

Also, one lunch time we had some huge jam sesh, where someone would literally just start playing a song on the piano and then everyone would join in. It was truly so beautiful aha, *wipes away solitary tear rolling down cheek* we did Adele, Beyonce, One Direction (bleugh), Justin Bieber, John Legend, Taylor Swift (bleugh, once again), Ed Sheeran, it was just great. Slightly dissonant at times, but I have a feeling it had more to do with the fact that the song being sung was by One Direction or Taylor Swift rather than the people singing it being inharmonious.

We also went to Cornwall beach on the Sunday, which I’m sure would have been a lot nicer if it wasn’t cold. But I had a foolproof and simple plan to stay warm and happy: Stay. Out. Of. The. Sea.

Did I stick to the plan? No.

In fact, the first thing I did when I got to the beach was strip down to my swimming costume and run into the sea.

Did I stay warm and happy? No. You know why? Because I didn’t STICK TO THE PLAN.

To be fair, the water was really clear and there were very few rocks or seaweed, so I didn’t feel like my legs were being attacked by the marine manifestation of Ursula in her hybrid human-Cephalopod form. (A little Disney/scientific classification reference there for all you fans). I also managed to get sand EVERYWHERE (that’s genuinely the one thing I hate about the beach) BUT we made a sand-mermaid, which I have to say was perhaps one of my greatest artistic feats to this day.

So not entirely bad.

It was also lovely because me and Sparkle got to bond, and we went on a long, romantic stroll down the beach and she and I walked for ages and just talked and talked. I was a bit of a psychiatrist, is that what they’re called? Therapist, psychologist, counsellor? Whatever they are, I was that for about an hour and a half. But I really love listening to her and I’m so glad that God put us both into each other’s lives.

AND – this is one of the best parts – last week when I went to Hampton Court Palace (#HistorySquadDayOut) I had a bag of Bombay Mix, but I forgot that I hadn’t finished it. So when we were at the beach and my sister whipped out a bag of half-full Bombay Mix from her snacks bag, you simply can NOT understand how fast my heart began to beat. It was one of the most beautiful moments. So I say:

The only thing more beautiful than discovering food is when you FORGET that you have food and THEN discover it.

You can quote me.

What else to say? When we left on Monday afternoon I was really sad but at least I got to sing with Spaceboy and Caesar one last time, which was really the cherry on the vegan-cake for the last day.

The theme of the camp ‘The Armour of God’ was also really nice; it gave us lots of opportunities for different activities and I know I thought about quite a lot of things differently after all of that. It was nice seeing that the people running it – the main oragniser and all the speakers – were genuinely so invested in us youth. Like they really cared; not just about what they were saying, but about each one of us as individuals. At the end of the four days, I felt really encouraged spiritually, physically, emotionally and mentally. And musically.

I’ve probably written a lot of mostly incoherent nonsense, so I’ll sign off here with a few shoutouts:

Shoutout to anyone mentioned who’s reading this…

Shoutout to ‘Las Problematiques’ and Tarq – I miss you guys…

Shoutout to the toilet lid for being down…

Shoutout to NASA for having our backs since 6000BC and creating the ozone layer…

Shoutout to my mum, for having me, which made this blog post possible…

And shoutout to my sister for being a loser and belting songs from the ‘Les Miserables’ OST all. Morning.

Goodbye everyone and lots of love

From the Faerie Squad Mother x


Why Justice and Equality Don’t Exist

A man walks into a bar.

It’s the horrific reality of a nightmarish joke, almost causing you to be expectant of a similarly terrible punchline.

The only problem is that it’s not a joke. It’s an atrocity committed for unjustifiable reasons and an equally disgusting hatred. I don’t even know what to say. There is nothing to say to this. To make it worse, the general media response (i.e. their pathetic attempts to ‘depoliticise’ a – specifically – homophobic hate crime) has only further served the purpose of eliminating the voices of the LGBT community at a time when their voices should be the loudest.

Today, I watched the video of Owen Jones walking out of a live Sky News interview. To which I say, good on him; he had every damn right in the world to. How dare they accuse him of ‘monopolising’ a tragedy?! Like what the hell? This is literally a specific attack on the LGBT community and all the news want to do is make out as if the gunman was an ISIS terrorist (because YES let’s blame the Muslims again, it’s not like you have an issue with gun laws or anything…) whose target of ‘insanity’ JUST HAPPENED to be a well-known gay club?

It’s ridiculous that people are trying to make this an ‘inclusive’ attack. Why does everything have to include you?! As Owen Jones rightly said, if this was an attack on a synagogue, it would be labelled anti-Semitic, so what’s the difference here? Why is this attack called an attack on ‘human beings just trying to have a good time’? They’re gay. Gay people were targeted. The LGBT community is under threat and all you’re focused on is the religion (or, in this case, ex-religion) of the gunman? Are you for real?

This, is why equality doesn’t exist. Because this attack is being used to further Islamophobic agendas, and we are completely ignoring the SPECIFIC group and trying to ‘depoliticise’ an event which is VERY political, and VERY specific. Because the LGBT voices right now are being ignored, and the ones that are being listened to are the ones that are saying, “He was a Muslim terrorist” and ignoring the fact that this was a homophobic hate crime. Because ‘some people’ were shot and they ‘just so happened’ to be gay.

I don’t care what you think. I don’t care if you have religious motivations or personal experiences or political opinions. It doesn’t matter what you think about people’s lifestyles, or genders, or sexuality. Everyone deserves the right to live. Your opinion means nothing in the grander scheme of things. Nothing gives you the right to take lives. Nothing gives you the right to take anything.

Nor does anything give you the right to take what you have not been given; but apparently Brock Turner didn’t get that memo.

The media love giving us the unnecessary facts. ‘Omar Mateen was a Muslim.’ ‘Brock Turner is a swimmer.’ As if their religion or personal hobbies justify their crimes.

How about this? How about we replace the words with what they’re supposed to be?

Omar Mateen was a Muslim homophobe.

Brock Turner is a swimmer rapist.

In Turner’s case, his athletic past should have had absolutely no relevance in determining how light or heavy a sentence he carried in court. Why should his life be considered? Why should the ‘severe impact’ on HIM be counted as more important than the ‘severe impact’ he has had on his victim, psychologically and mentally, and even physically? Why should we care about him? Did he care about the girl he raped?

And here’s a question for the so-called ‘Justice System’: how can someone who is the criminal and perpetrator be treated in sentencing as the victim? How does the letter (the very BIASED letter) from said criminal’s father hold a greater sway than the testimony of the victim herself?

For the rape of an unconscious woman behind a dumpster (or “20 minutes of action”, as was referred to crudely by said father) to the point where he had to be stopped by another witness, and forcibly pulled off the woman, for the woman’s subsequent discovery of said rape only after she had come to in a hospital, for the psychological and mental damage that ensued, he was sentenced to 6 months.

6 months in a county jail with protection from other inmates.

6 measly, pathetic months, of which he is only expected to serve 3.

6 months, which could have been up to 14 years, but was made lenient because why?

Because he was a ‘good boy really’. Because his ‘character profile didn’t ring true with his crime’. Because he has goals and ambitions. Because he goes to Stanford. Because he’s a swimmer. Because his daddy cried “White Privilege!” and suddenly all was fixed. Because this was his ‘first rape’. Because his athletic career would never recover. Because apparently, ‘raping someone does not make you a rapist’.

Because we don’t want prison to have a ‘severe impact’ on him, oh no. God forbid he learns the severity of his crime in a system created specifically to punish those who commit criminal offences.

This, is why Justice doesn’t exist. This, the fact that the system caters more for the criminal (if he is white and male and straight) than the victim and attempts to make his life as cushy as possible, even though he has committed a crime. When he can serve half of his already-pathetic and inadequate sentence, and this is seen as acceptable because the judge has some ‘very justifiable reasons‘, naturally, and Justice is forgotten. Justice is an ideological concept.

I am so sick of hearing all these stories. I am so tired of being reminded every single day, whether it’s on the news or through personal experiences, that there is no such thing as Equality or Justice. I am saddened to hear of all these people (all the victims of the shooting RIP, the victim of rape) who are affected by the hateful, hurtful actions of hate-filled, small-minded criminals. Because, let’s call them what they are, thanks. Criminals.

I want to talk about the refugees. I want to talk about the bombings in Beirut. I want to talk about the flooding in Ghana. I want to talk about everything. My heart hurts so much right now, so I cannot even begin to imagine how the families of the Orlando victims or the victim of Brock Turner, or the refugees or the victims of the recent international bombings, or the victims of the flood in Ghana, feel right now – and I won’t pretend that I can.

My heart goes out to everyone I have – and haven’t – listed. Wherever you are.

Love from Rianna x

How Ironic

I think it’s really funny how some people seem really surprised that I’ve suddenly begun to talk more about racial issues and such, not just on my blog but also in real life.

I’d just like to let everyone into a little secret: I’ve always been talking about this stuff.

It’s just that when I used to talk about it, I tried to keep my voice as quiet as possible so that nobody complains that they’re offended or that I’m a ‘racist intolerant’ or whatever else. But now, I’ve made a conscious choice to make my voice heard.

I also find it really funny how before, when I was content to quietly mumble about social injustices with my friends, there was never a reaction, but the instant that I find and use my VOICE and on my personal BLOG of all places (what am I thinking? How RUDE of me; my PERSONAL blog?!) people suddenly make a fuss about my opinions.

I bet if I was to post a blog complaining about the Instagram update and saying how unacceptable it was, people would comment things like, “This is so true! THERE IS SO MUCH INJUSTICE IN THE WORLD!!!!!” or “I’m so glad SOMEONE said something! I thought I was the only one!” or even “I actually think it’s alright.” Even if I was to post entirely in (probably very poor) Spanish, I guarantee people would still comment, “I couldn’t understand anything but this is so true!” Even my post about my somewhat controversial religious beliefs didn’t elicit the level of hate and disagreement that my racial post from Sunday did – both online and IRL. But when I post about racial issues people tell me, “You make this all up” and “You’re not even oppressed. Go live in a third world country and see what oppression REALLY is” and “Stop complaining! You’re not helping your own situation by fulfilling stereotypes!” (Which, may I just ask, stereotypes do I fulfil?)

Plus, oppression is relative. Just because I don’t live in a third-world country or somewhere where many women are openly treated as subordinates, doesn’t mean I am not still at a disadvantage in my own country. I’ve mentioned before, I’m a black female. I live in a Western Society, where the institutions cater for White Heterosexual Rich/Middle-Class Cishet Males before anybody else. This means that within my own native system, I am at a disadvantage. And I think people think of oppression and imagine slavery being reintroduced into society; but it’s a lot more than that. Oppression is about how prejudice and discrimination has become institutionalised and normalised to the point where a specific set of people are benefitting – and it just so happens that I am not a person who is actively benefitting from the system.

I mentioned in my #BodyPostivity and Letter to my 8-year old self post that I’m learning to love myself and that nobody can make me feel inferior without my permission. Which is very true. In the past couple of days, because of the reactions to real life and on-line situations, I’ve begun to doubt the validity of my voice and my opinions. But then I get slapped back into reality and realise, “Why am I letting bitter, ignorant people limit my voice?”

And I realise that, as much as I don’t like confrontation, some things have to be said. It has taken me SO long to climb out of the box that I was put in from Primary School, and I’m still on my self-love journey. I literally cannot believe that I would even consider taking any anonymous person;s comments to heart. I literally cannot believe that anyone would take time out of their day to read through a post, become offended by the literal truth and then decide to share their negativity  – to be honest, I love hearing from my fans. Especially the bitter ones. (Plus, I’m flattered you think me so significant!)

Anyway, let’s not dwell on negativity.

I had an exam yesterday, a written one for Drama. Which went really well. We had to sit two papers; a live theatre and a studied play script. For my playscript, we studied Henrik Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House’. If you HAVE read it or had to perform it then I feel sorry for you if you had to be Nora. If you haven’t, maybe do in your free time. It’s an interesting play definitely, but you have to take into consideration a lot of contextual factors. Interestingly, it touches upon issues of female subordination, to an extent, because – long story short – the play centres around a married couple, Nora and Torvald Helmer. They live in 19th century Norway, and Nora is literally treated like a child by her husband – a doll, in a sense of speaking, hence the title. It’s actually SO weird, he calls her all sorts of weird, dodgy pet names, and she loves it, but she’s quite manipulative.

To be honest, their marriage is just a disaster waiting to happen.

But in the end (SPOILER aha) she leaves him after a LOT of unnecessary and avoidable drama because she realises that she has become such a trophy wife and a pet to him that she doesn’t even know who she is herself. She says she wants to discover herself or whatever, so she leaves him with the children.

Great story.

But anyway. I have an exam next Tuesday for Spanish Listening, Reading and Writing which should be VERY interesting, seeing as I’m a lot worse at Spanish than I initially realised. I’m sitting in my study periods, and I’ve just spent about an hour practicing Spanish words and phrases and grammar etc. (Memrise is actually fantastic. It is keeping me going this year in Spanish, I swear!)

Because of the fact that my AS subjects have technically ended, I now have two mornings and two afternoons off from school, which is literally fantastic because it means I can go home earlier and I’M SO READY FOR SUMMER NOW.


Because they’ve changed the system and as of next year, AS-Levels will technically no longer be a thing, they’re introduced these new exams which are like UCAS Prediction exams, so that when we apply for University (next September, I think, we start) then you have the Predicted Grades from the ‘official’ University system, I suppose.

Which sucks because it means more unnecessary and stressful exams. But whatever.

I need to do some more Spanish.


Love the Faerie Squad Mother x


UN Declaration of Human Rights – Article 19

I’m sick of being told not to rock the boat. I’m sick of feeling uncomfortable discussing issues that should be talked about because they need to be. I’m sick of feeling like I’m not the person who can say anything because I’m supposed to be the quiet black girl who sits back and quietly calls people problematic but doesn’t say anything to their faces.

I’m sick of this ‘angry black girl’ rhetoric. I’m sick of people telling me I’m making a big deal out of something that isn’t even being made a DEAL out of. I’m sick of the fact that these mentalities are so institutionalised and normalised that whenever I say anything, I’m suddenly the villain. I’m sick of being villainised for something I have every right to do. I’m sick of people calling me aggressive and vicious in my behaviour. I’m sick of people believing I am out to fight them verbally about racial issues when in reality, that’s what they do to me.

I’m sick of ignorant people. I’m sick of having to tell people that their behaviour is offensive or rude or racist or prejudiced or discriminatory or problematic. I’m sick of the fact that in the 21st century, I still have to tell people that their behaviour is offensive or rude or racist or prejudiced or discriminatory or problematic. I’m sick of hearing about whose ancestors didn’t own slaves. I’m sick of hearing excuses made for ‘justifiably-racist’ comments, or actions. I’m sick of the fact that people believe that we live in a post-racist society.

I’m sick of the fact that my culture is still a costume and a trend. I’m sick of the fact that I’m told to ‘relax about my culture’ when I have every reason to get angry.  I’m sick of people ‘tone policing’, and telling me how I should feel about things that are problematic. I’m sick of the fact that me highlighting someone’s questionable behaviour turns into me racially attacking someone.

I’m sick of people believing that white people are oppressed. I’m sick of white people believing that they are oppressed. I’m sick of white people believing they are entitled to everything, including oppression. I’m sick of white people feeling they are entitled to use the word ‘nigger’, in any of its forms or variants.

I’m sick of people fetishising my race, and men of colour, and women of colour, and mixed-race babies. I’m sick of the fact that the movement #BlackLivesMatter has been counteracted with #AllLivesMatter, not because all lives ACTUALLY matter, but because people want to derail the growing self-love and solidarity of Black people. I’m sick of the fact that #BlackLivesMatter is still controversial. I’m sick of the fact that we have to even have a BLM movement. I’m sick of the fact that we have to campaign and fight for #BLM and #BlackGirlsRock because nobody seems to realise this without us making it a thing.

I’m sick of people trivialising my struggle. I’m sick of the fact that because I’m ‘just’ a black girl, my opinion about racial issues pertaining to myself suddenly carry no significance. I’m sick of people telling me that I haven’t experienced racism. I’m sick of people telling me what I have experienced isn’t racism. I’m sick of being told that my personal experiences are invalid.

I’m sick of the fact that in the media, in films, in movies, in books, the exploration of a culture is mind-blowing and hard-hitting, but in real life, in MY life, people never want to acknowledge the origins of a culture, so long as it suits them. I’m sick of people being uncomfortable discussing racial issues. I’m sick of my struggle being a taboo. I’m sick of people trying to avoid discussing these issues altogether. I’m sick of people telling me to “not get involved” because it has “nothing to do with me” when the issues are directly pertaining to me.

I’m sick of being looked to as a minority group as the spokesperson for an entire race and culture and heritage in certain places. I’m sick of not being looked to as having an opinion for an entire race and culture and heritage in certain places. I’m sick of having my opinion passed over because it’s too controversial. I’m sick of being told my opinions are controversial.

I have every right to call someone out if I feel like they’re being offensive. I have every right to RESPECTFULLY call someone out if I feel like they’re being offensive. I have every right to point out someone’s problematic behaviour. I have every right to RESPECTFULLY point out someone’s problematic behaviour.

Don’t tell me to calm down. Don’t tell me to stop talking. Don’t tell me I’m being offensive. Don’t tell me I’m upsetting said problematic person. Don’t tell me to stop making a big deal out of it.

I can’t believe I even have to write a post like this.

I’m not a person who likes to ‘rock the boat’. I’m not a person who likes confrontation but I am NOT a person who is going to sit by any longer and listen to problematic people and offensive people and racist people and prejudiced people continue on in their ignorance without telling them.

I am not disillusioned to believe that anything I ever say will change their opinions. I am not going to pretend that I am the Almighty SJW who will liberate the minds of all ignorant people. I am not saying that I have reached the ultimate level of social and racial enlightenment or that I am entirely #Woke. Because I’m not.

But I’m sick of being told I’m the angry black girl. Because I have a voice too.

And I have every DAMNED right in the world to use it.


To 8-year-old Rianna

How the hell do I start this? Oops. Shouldn’t say hell, that’s probably a bad word right now. Uhm. Ignore that sentence.

Right now, we are 16. (Do I say we? Are we the same person or different individuals? Who knows?) We could have avoided so many problems right now if I’d have written this to you earlier. I just want to try to correct what should have been corrected about 8 years ago, but I was unable to tell you, being 8 and all, because I didn’t know the things I know now.

I know this won’t change anything but let’s pretend that this will. These are some really important things that you have to listen to, okay?

Firstly, please love yourself. Don’t let people trample all over you. Don’t let people bully you or tell you that you are worth any less than you have been taught to believe. It will take you many more years to learn to love yourself if you don’t right now, and you don’t need all the drama of self-acceptance and self-confidence. Really. You don’t. Understand that you matter, that you have a voice and that you can use it. Understand that nobody can make you feel inferior without your permission.

Understand that you are beautiful. Just because your hair isn’t blonde and you don’t have freckles and your eyes aren’t blue, it doesn’t mean that you aren’t beautiful. You will learn later that the way you wanted to look was just society telling you how you should. But embrace the way you look. It doesn’t matter whether everyone else teases you for your hair and your butt and your height. You are a beautiful black girl and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. And if they do, don’t believe them. They are taught to believe that you cannot be beautiful, but you can be, and you are.

Keep working hard. People will call you a nerd, and a geek and whatever other offensive words they can find to use. Don’t cry, they don’t matter, because in a few years when you are going to sit your exams and they are the ones asking you for help with revision, you will smile at the reversal of fortune. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re ‘too’ smart, that you’re ‘too’ intelligent, that you’re ‘too’ anything. You are just right. Put effort into the things that you do, and I promise you, it will pay off.

Stay strong in what you believe. It will take you a while to fully embrace and understand everything you believe, but make sure you believe it for yourself. Right now, some of what you believe is what you’ve been taught to. Understand everything for yourself, and don’t just let people tell you right and wrong; learn it for yourself. In about two years you will want to be baptised, and you will, with your best friend. Keep the enthusiasm you have for God, and don’t let anyone take it away from you. Don’t be ashamed of what you believe in. It will become harder to express your beliefs when you get older, but the more you do it and stand up for what you believe in, the better it will be.

Keep being sociable and friendly. Everywhere you go, you will make lots of friends and lots of acquaintances. The difficult thing is learning to differentiate between the two. Don’t just give your phone number out to everyone that you meet, because you will end up with lots of phone numbers of people you don’t even speak to anymore, and you’re too scared to delete their contacts. Also, you will get a smartphone one day. I won’t tell you when, that’s a surprise. But keep waiting in anticipation. Your waiting will one day pay off.

Act, dream, write, sing, dance, do the things that you’re good at. The more you do them now, the easier it will become for you to do them when you get to where I am. You won’t be able to do Street Dance, even though I know you really wanted to, but there are other things you can do. Keep up all your talents and hobbies. Keep drawing! Don’t stop because the moment you do is the moment you might lose your ability. Don’t rip up your drawings when you’re mad or when you’re upset. Don’t make hasty decisions when you’re mad or upset. Try and manage your emotions properly. Channel them. Talk to people, never, EVER bottle your emotions. It will only cause more damage and pain than you can begin to fathom. (I know you know what fathom means, don’t worry).

Don’t stop reading or dreaming. Sometimes they can be the same things. Keep reading, but PLEASE I beg you, stop reading Jacqueline Wilson. (I think you’ve probably grown out of her by now). Also, don’t read romances. They won’t get you anywhere and will fuel this entirely unrealistic romanticist nature in your teenage years. And don’t read manga either, no matter who tries to get you to. Read historical fiction. I have a hunch that you’ll really like reading about the Tudors, and Ancient Greece and Rome. Learn about the world around you. Learn about the past, and the present. Learn about your heritage, your culture, where you came from. Ask questions. Never stop dreaming.

What you can stop, however, is relying on your friends. The sooner you grow out of being a follower, the better. Your friends will try and make you do things that you don’t want to do. Sometimes, if you let them, they will succeed. But you have to be independent. You have to learn how to cope for yourself and make your own decisions. Sorry to disappoint you, but none of your ‘best friends’ from primary school will even talk to you by Year 11. The people you will find as your friends will surprise you. And popularity doesn’t matter. Friends aren’t about how many you have, or how popular they make you. Friends are about the people who are there for you time and time again.

You’ve probably got a huge crush on someone right now, I don’t know who, and it would probably make me laugh just remembering. But if you can (the key word here being ‘if’) just leave off boys for a couple years. Say… 52? Wait until you’re 60. That’ll probably make your life a lot easier. Obviously this is unrealistic, but just try and be patient. Not every boy that you like is going to be your future husband LOOOL. Don’t mistake liking the attention someone gives you for liking someone. Have expectations and standards. I mean, I know you’re only 8, but boys are barely all that and a bag of chips.

No matter what happens, no matter what you achieve or where you go, remember where you’ve come from. You will go on to do great things. You will change your life goals 4 times, probably even more, seeing as I haven’t quite settled yet. You will be a Queen and then an Empress, you will rule nations and empires, you will advocate for Black History Month and slowly evolve into a social justice warrior. (I know that doesn’t exist just yet, but I promise you, it’s as worthwhile as it sounds). You will experience things you have never experienced before, you will have your expectations reached and exceeded.

Believe in yourself. Trust that you can, and will, do amazing things.

And, one last thing, for your near-future: I’d appreciate if you could lay off the Disney please. The soundtracks take up an awful amount of phone (and mind) space, and they’re too catchy. Be into them, by all means, but don’t be such a die-hard fan.

Lots of love,

16-year-old You (aka. The Faerie Squad Mother) x


‘Religiously-Politically Correct’

People don’t like to talk about God.

He just seems to be a bit of a taboo, to be honest. It’s like people don’t like the taste of His name in their mouths. Any mention of him seems to be a ticking time bomb; and everybody knows how politically correct you have to be these days. God forbid if you use His name around an atheist; they might spontaneously combust or something.

Whenever He is mentioned, it is usually in reference to a group of specific things, which all seem to be interlinked:

  1. The Generalisation of Religious Afflictions (i.e. “All Christians are hypocrites. All Christians are homophobes. All Christians are narrow-minded and old-fashioned.”) which links to…
  2. The Instability of Religion (i.e. “Religion is an organisation for man’s own ends, I mean, look at all the extremist groups because of it. We should just give up on the idea of God.”) which leads to…
  3. Attributing Blame (i.e. “If He existed then how could God allow that to happen?” “If he existed then why would God let innocent people die?”) which leads on to…
  4. The Denouncement of Religion (i.e. “God doesn’t exist, so I shouldn’t believe in anything.” “The selective nature of miracles means they are simply a fluke of nature.” etc.) which leads to…
  5. The Politically-Correct Silence (i.e. “We can’t seem to confine God to our mortal-minded boundaries, so rather than try to understand Him, we’ll just not mention Him in reference to anything positive).

What I find particularly interesting, though, is that the very same people who so adamantly deny the existence of God are the same people who are jumping on the “If God exists, then why is there suffering?” band-wagon. And the same people who are the ones questioning His existence are the very same people tagging their photos #PrayForParis #PrayForSyria and all those other #PrayFor tags that nobody actually seems to recognise the religious sentiment behind them. (Who exactly do you intend to pray to if you don’t believe in the same deity you are claiming to pray to?) And yes, I know that the whole “Pray For [insert name of afflicted country here]” is a fluke of Social Media for people to get more likes and followers, but people need to recognise what they’re saying by tagging that in the first place.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this post isn’t me saying “The evidence is irrefutable for God’s existence,” because I know for many that it’s not. And, like I’ve said many times before, there are times when I’m sure many Christians doubt their own faith or beliefs. Unfortunately, I cannot offer anybody any solid evidence as to God’s existence. I could tell a billion stories of times where I’ve experienced or been privy to what I could only call miracles. But I know that they would serve very little purpose. This post also isn’t me saying “Everyone, it’s time to stop being cynical and to believe in God” because of course, that would do very little in the grand scheme of things. If people don’t believe in a deity whose existence has been widely disputed and many times scientifically disproved, then what is the opinion of a mostly uneducated 16 year old going to do?


But I thought that maybe, since I’ve never actually spoken about it before very much before that maybe I’d talk about what I believe in, and why, because people never seem to understand. And yes, I may potentially get some hate, seeing as this is probably NOT going to be a ‘Religiously-Politically Correct’ post, in contradiction to the post title. But that’s okay. I don’t mind. My beliefs aren’t necessarily the most popular, and that’s okay. But I’m going to try and teach you something about me while I’m at it, because why not? Would it hurt to be religiously-aware?

So. Let’s start from the beginning.

I am a Seventh-Day Adventist. This is just a denomination of Christianity, but it’s one of the more recent denominations, as it’s only been around for a couple hundred years. (Since the late 1860s). Whenever I say to people, “I’m an SDA” (which is just a contraction) I usually get one of two responses:

  1. “What is that?”
  2. “Oh, you’re the ones who don’t eat pork and keep the Jewish Sabbath.”

I would just like to clarify. If you are currently in the first camp, then, to put it simply, we are a denomination of Christianity who are fundamentalists. What we are not (as some people believe we are) is a cult.

If you are currently in the second camp, then you’re right, but you’re also wrong. Not eating pork is not the foundation of our beliefs (although it does form part of our health laws; and it’s not just pork, there are other meats we don’t eat as well), and the Sabbath (which is Biblically from Friday sunset to Saturday sunset) is not Jewish. The Sabbath was there long before Judaism existed. So, no, the Sabbath that I observe is not intrinsically Jewish.

So. Fundamentalism. I get lots of fun responses for that, so I’ll just add some points to that. Yes, I am a creationist. I believe that God created the world in 6 days and rested on the 7th (which is where the Sabbath comes from). I believe in Jesus, that he came and died, and rose again. I believe that everything in the Bible happened as it was described, and I try my hardest to keep the commandments and laws of God in the Bible. (And no, I don’t feel like these are restrictive or conservative or narrow-minded. And I don’t follow them because I just want to get into heaven either.)

If anyone wants to drop the ‘not wearing mixed cloth’ or ‘women must be silent and submissive’ argument (because I’m sure that someone will) then you’re more than welcome to do so in the comments.

I believe in God and the Bible. I don’t just believe in it because my parents believe it or because I’ve been brought up in it. When I was a bit younger, I did doubt my beliefs a lot but I’ve learnt to trust and believe for myself. What I’ve learnt is that if you only believe in something because your family does or you feel like you have to, then there’s not really any point in believing in it, or pretending to believe in it. Because, effectively, that’s what you do.

We don’t believe in Hell. At least, not in the way that it is an endless place of torment where the ‘souls of the damned’ burn forever. That whole idea of hell was conceived by the Roman Catholic Church in the Middle Ages, and we don’t believe in that, because nowhere in the Bible does it state that that is what Hell is. It is also in complete opposition to our view of God. God cannot be benevolent or merciful if Hell exists.

Two of our main foundational beliefs are laid out in our name.

Seventh-Day Adventism

The first part in bold reflects the belief we have about the Sabbath. We worship on the Sabbath and observe it because in the Ten Commandments it makes reference to keeping the Sabbath day holy. It also reflects that the Seventh-Day is the Sabbath day, and the Seventh-Day by definition is Saturday. Hence Saturday being my Sabbath.

The second part (Adventism) reflects the belief we have about Jesus’s second coming. So, I believe in the prophecies of the Bible about Jesus coming back again soon. In short, I believe that He is going to come back soon, and there are lots of instances in the world right now that are happening in accordance to the Biblical prophetic books, and the predictions made about Jesus’s second return to earth.

Another one of our foundational beliefs is our health message. The basic idea is that the more you follow it, the healthier you will be. Biblically, we’ve been recommended to eat a vegan diet, and those who do so typically live a long and healthy life.

Our denomination was founded in America, and one of the main founders of it, Ellen G. White, (who is possibly the most well-known and respected women in our denomination) wrote lots of books and texts based on the Bible, which we refer to more widely as the Spirit of Prophecy.

Okay, so now the less ‘politically-correct’ things, I suppose. Our stance on abortion is that if it is being used as birth control then it isn’t right, but in other cases, like rape, or potential birth defects or severe risk to mother or baby, then the woman should make a choice herself. We don’t agree with homosexuality (it speaks against this specifically in the Bible, and we are fundamentalists) but we’re not homophobes. We don’t condemn people for being gay, they’re people nonetheless, and they have the same rights as everybody. There isn’t a stigma against this. (I’d like to take this moment to point out that disagreement does not equal hatred or intolerance. For example, I disagree with other religions; that does not mean I hate them or am intolerant of them.) We believe in abstinence, so not generally in favour of premarital sex, but it doesn’t mean there’s any particular stigma against this either. The whole principle is that it’s not for us (who, essentially, are all sinners) to judge other people, because we’re all on the same boat. And the principle thing for us as well is that no matter what we do or what we’re like, God still loves us.

That’s one of the reasons that I believe in God. Because it takes an immense amount of love to die for someone who has constantly tormented you, mocks you, hates you, and yet you still love them enough to lay down your life. I’m at question to whether I would lay down my life for some of my friends, but I know without a doubt that I would not be the first person putting my neck on the line for someone who I don’t like. So I think there is literally no greater love than the love that Jesus had for me, and the whole world, when He gave up His life for everybody.

It’s okay if you think I’m a Jesus freak or whatever, LOL. I’m alright with that. And this post was not meant to be a sermon, but you know, if it came across in that way, then ah well. But I just thought, hey, why not be different, and write about what I believe in for once, rather than trivial things?

And what harm would it do?

Have a good evening everyone,

Love Rianna

Heralding the Empress

Greetings, readers.

I’m not sure how to put this in a subtle way, but uhm… I’m 16 today. So I suppose a speech is in order. Perhaps a quick summary of my life would suffice? Hmm… or maybe a Grammy/Oscar style acceptance speech. Here we go. (This is all impromptu, so let’s not hate, okay? And I’m not even at home right now, I’m away at a hotel where my family is the ethnic minority LOL):

“Ah. Well, what can I say? 16 years ago, a star was born.

I can remember back, way, WAY back when I wasn’t even born. When I was just a little specialised cell, swimming in the recesses of, what would later become, my birthing place. I don’t really remember what happened, because everything was so dark. And then next thing I know, I’m encased in some gloopy cell thing, and all I am thinking is, ‘I’m drowning, I’m drowning!’ but then I remember that I’m not drowning, because I CAN’T drown; because I have been designed SPECIFICALLY to swim.

I also remember this overwhelming feeling of pride knowing that I had been the one to get there first, before any of the others. And that made me feel so great. Or at least, it would have if I had had feelings.

Growing was the easy part. I sorta just relaxed and let everything happen naturally. Imagine a 9-month (or 8-month in my case) holiday where all you do is lounge about on a floating hammock, and your food and water is brought to you. You don’t have to get up to do anything, because all your entertainment is brought TO you. I got read to, I got played music, I got rubbed about. I’m not exactly sure what I ate, because I didn’t taste any of it. But it didn’t matter, because it was just a holiday. You know, in preparation for the big world and that.

Ah, those were the good days.

But then there was the escape. After a while of sitting there one day, a bit bored, I just thought, ‘You know what. This has been a great experience and everything, but, I’m a bit cramped now. And there must be a better place for me outside of this womb.’ So I just left. (I was later told that I left too early, but I was just glad to be out of there to be honest. And so much more space!)

For the first several years of my life, it was difficult. Being unable to read, walk or talk was actually very distressing and, I have to say, although I learned quickly, it wasn’t quick enough. I couldn’t communicate effectively using words, and for all those who know me now know that I have to speak all the time.

Those were dark times for me. Dark times.

But anyway, that was a minor obstacle which I, with the help of my mother, quickly overcame. I learnt how to talk (the next part was for me to learn how to be quiet… a concept which I have still not yet mastered) and how to read. And from there, the world was my oyster.

But people still seemed to want to put my light out. (Not literally, that came out a lot more ominous than I intended it to be…) After a stint of bullying in Infant and Primary School, I think the moment came where, thanks to several fantastic teachers and amazing family members, I realised that I was so much better than that all. I didn’t think that I should be defined by other people’s perceptions and standards of me, and I decided that it was my time to shine. That I was a star. No, more than a star.

A Queen.

It took years for me to fully come to terms and embrace my title, because I didn’t realise the extent of power which I held in my hands. But after careful training, and hands-on working, I learnt how to use my powers for good, and to be the best Queen possible. (Though, perhaps a tad corrupt…)

After I got my island, Astellia, the rest was history. I held absolute authority in my hands, and I ruled righteously and fairly.

It wasn’t easy though. Along the way, I got waylaid by some kinda rubbish friends, people who weren’t very supportive of my aspirations or dreams. I made some bad choices and made some mistakes I shouldn’t have needed to. I messed up a lot. But God was always there to help me up. He gave me better friends, ones who are like my brothers and sisters. He helped me move past my choices and mistakes to make better ones.

And I cannot thank Him enough for the many chances He has continually given me at life.

Yes, I’m a bit crazy. Yes, I’m not perfect. But I have family who loves me, and a wonderful husband (and 6 kids and 1 grandchild and 1 great-grandchild) and a fantastic mistress and bae. Maybe I’m not where I want to be, but I’m where God wants me to be, I think, right now, and I’m okay with that.

I have dreams, I have aspirations. I am gonna be a writer, make no mistake about it. I will be published before I get off to Uni, and I am going to keep at this blog (hopefully) for a long time. And I will, because I’ve put my faith in God and I know He will help me to do whatever it is I need to. He’s led me through almost 16 years (I’m not technically 16 until 5:30pm this evening, but AH WELL!) and, let me tell you, that is NO small feat.

Not with me.

So, I am so grateful to Him for that. I am grateful to my family for putting up with me for so long. I couldn’t have survived without you. LITERALLY. I literally couldn’t have survived without them taking care of me, because then I would have died.

But I’m not dead, so that’s always great.

Anyways, I just want to make it known that an Empress has been crowned (Empressed? Coronated?) and is now ready to rule her Empire. Because I’m going to have to make an Empire now, seeing as I am an Empress. I promise to be the best possible Empress that the world has ever seen.

And I am 16 now. I’m so old, I’m practically an OAP. Getting wrinkles and stretch-marks come next.

But I won’t think about that. I’ll think about the good times, and the exciting times, and all the fun times ahead (and behind of) me.”

So there it is. My birthday speech. I love you all and hope you all have an immensely fantastic day,

(You may want to note this date down in your diary as the day Empress Rianna was crowned – 25th August 2015)

Love from your forever Queen, but now,

Empress Rianna


p.s. So of course you’re going to want to know what I got for my birthday. So I will say this: I. Am. Ballin’.

(I joke, I’m really not, I got some money, some GORGEOUS shoes and some gift vouchers… and there are more on the way! 🙂 )