October 31st 2007:
The relationship between a man and a woman is, from my experience(s), a mish mash of awkward moments, stimulating conversation and intimacy.
Sometimes none of it makes any sense...and other times it makes perfect sense. Either way, you enjoy the ride and want to stay on or you don't and want to get off.
It is something that everyone has to, or at least should, experience - even just the once.
© Rachelle Hull 2007
December 12th 2005:
The month is here and the invitations are out. The venue has been decided on and the menu is in progress. Sounds intriguing. Sounds great. Well, unfortunately for me it's not. Why? Because I am talking about the one thing that happens every year (though I wish it wouldn't): the (dreaded) Official Office Christmas party.
Now, don't get me wrong I do talk with my fellow colleagues (I have to, it's a part of my job), so I am no snob. And I do (on the odd occasion and with a few of them) have conversations and a good laugh, so I am no grouch. However, I endure their voices, odd senses of humour and...OK let's not be nicey nice-I damn near tolerate their presence for a good few hours per week (and that's while getting paid) why would I want to do the same in my own free time?-without compensation for my efforts.
So, just like last year I exercised my right to free will and have decided not to attend. That way I wont have to put up with stilted conversation, inane jokes, or drunken passes made by middle aged men whilst trying to grind hips to tunes where they are unable to comprehend the rhythm (let alone the words). Not forgetting the embarassing attempts to joke the whole thing off the next morning-providing they remember in the first place-or unwarranted jibes from the other gormless gnomes who spread gossip like it's an STI!
No I think I will stay home that night. Safely tucked up in bed, with a good movie or a good book away from such events...besides I'm going out with friends the night after, I've got to save my energy and glam-rags for that!
© Rachelle Hull 2005
April 24th 2006:
I appreciate India Arie's music and I admire the niche she has carved for herself in the superficial ''world inside a world'', we call the music industry. Since her latest track there have been many posts, threads and blogs sharing in this ode of hair freedom and expression.
As for me, I feel like I am sitting on the fence.
On the one hand I agree with her, that how someone wears their hair should not be taken as an indication of who they are. Nor should it be used as a stick to judge or limit somebody. But on the other hand I disagree.
As an African my hair defines me in a way it wouldn't for a lot of other people on planet Earth. For example, there could be countless pics of the back of anonymous heads, and you may not be able to tell Indian hair from Italian hair, but you sure as hell would be able to tell my African coils from anyone of those straight haired ladies. My hair is a signifier of where I have come from and who my ancestors were.
And it would be strange for another African woman with straight blonde hair (hers, a horse's, or someone else's) to be deploring the African holocaust and the present day African struggle. I don't know about anybody else, but I personally could not and would not take her seriously.
For other people, this may simply be something that grows out of their head. But for someone who has recently learnt how to appreciate and fall in love with what nature has blessed her, I cannot be so casual. In fact, I refuse to be so casual.
I am in love with who I am as a person and if I decide to change my hair to my needs then so be it. But never will I say 'I am not this hair, I am not this skin' because I am. For without either, my life experiences would be completely different and I wouldn't be the person I am now.
*So I guess that means I am no longer sitting on the fence...
June 21st 2006:
When in a relationship is it right to always be honest and forthcoming about the way you feel?
See when you're always honest about your feelings, you run the risk of leaving yourself open, to whatever the other person decides to throw your way.
Supposing you do. You're aware of all the risks, but at the time you don't think they apply to you, so you're honest. And you're left open. Wide open.
Is that a classic example of stupid?
I often wonder, because I have done it.
Twice in fact.
The thing is when I enter into a relationship I like to give it my all. That includes my honesty. It seems to be a part of me that cannot be changed. And yet it is always the part of me that leaves me open. Wide open. Thus rendering me vulnerable and subject to hurt.
Who do I blame?
If I am unable to change an integral part of my personality, then I guess there is only one thing I can do.
Stop being a willing participant in relationships where my honesty is not appreciated, but taken advantage of or simply ignored.
Is it that I'm simply not ready, or they're not ready...
Which is it?
© Rachelle Hull 2006
June 23rd 2006:
I recently watched part of a film where a couple made a pact to end their lives together; one of them dies and one of them survives. It becomes a murder case when pieces of evidence suggest something other than a suicide. I didn't watch the whole film, so I am unaware about the outcome. But it got me thinking...
Suicide is a taboo topic amongst many people, regardless of why it is committed. Many people seem to think it is selfish, or an easy way out. But what if it were the right choice for that person? They may seriously feel they no longer needed to be on Earth, that either their life has run it's course, or they never had any purpose to begin with.
I myself have flitted between the opinion that a person who commits suicide is a coward or a brave person. Either way, what does it matter. Maybe they are just somebody who is ready to go, or thinks they are ready to go.
The point is, they no longer want to be here; and when someone no longer wants to be somewhere, they leave...and sometimes they leave for good.
For many, the Winter season consists of shorter, darker days and chilly evenings culminating into a miserable time of year. For me however, these all form part of the attraction.
Giant lampposts light up my journey home, their rays reflecting off freshly fallen raindrops. As they glisten and sparkle I truly believe that Winter is an enchanting time, magical even.
Living in the city during the month of December I forget about the smog and grey buildings, as they are brought to life by an array of fairy lights: all different colours, shapes and sizes. I see Christmas characters: reindeer, Santa and stockings and Disney characters too. I feel like a child as I stand in awe, looking up at the bright lights-a marvellous contrast against the midnight sky.
Even Mother Nature lends a helping hand to create this magical world for me. The sight of crisp white snow is a beautiful sight indeed and the usually sullied streets look clean and inviting. Icicles form on railings and underneath window sills, creating a crystal-like decoration.
Cosy nights in include rain washing against my window, a good book or film and a cup of hot chocolate or (depending on my mood) a glass of white wine. And although I don't have a fireplace with all the trimmings, central heating works just fine lol
If nothing else, Winter is most definitely the most fashionable season of the year. Bodies incased in long, tailored coats made from luxurious fabrics: tweed, lambswool and cashmere. Necks wrapped in brightly coloured scarves, with matching hat and gloves. Jeans tucked into supple leather boots: slouched or knee high, chocolate or black, stiletto or kitten.
I truly adore Winter.
November 2nd 2006:
There is a theory that says it is possible to love someone and that love never goes away.
I wonder at what point does this happen? Is there a certain age when this takes place, a certain amount of experience that is needed before one can undoubtedly say: 'this is a love that will never go away'.
When do we realise that this person is the one where our love seems to know no end; refuses to move on, in fact cannot move on. Is there a special feeling that we encounter or a sort of time-stands-still moment? You know the often talked about bolt of lightning, the world going by as you stand still, unable to move as the realisation hits you.
Can one person truly love another for the rest of their natural life? How does one decide to do that? Does one decide to do that, or is it a beyond-human-control kind of thing?
If this loving one person forever exists, why doesn't it happen to everyone? Or maybe it does and they just don't admit it to themselves or to anyone else. And why is it often difficult for those who do admit it, to actually come together? Is this some messed up paradox of the universe, where your forever love will forever be unavailable to you?
What kind of love is it anyway and how does one measure it against all others?
© Rachelle Hull 2006
It's a strange and horrible experience when you think you know someone, only to discover they are not the person you originally thought.
In my close relationships with people I am open and honest, I find it impossible to be any other way; in truth, I don't actually know how to be any other way. It hurts and cuts to the core, when everything you have ever shared with a person, given to a person turns out to be the only truth in the relationship. When you discover the very things that made you respect that person and/or (fall in) love that person, don't actually hold up under the microscope. A small part of your world stops or ends...well it does for me.
You begin to wonder at what point did truth turn into fiction, and did it ever exist in the first place? And what of the memories? Conversations about life, love, hope and dreams, do they even begin to matter anymore. What exactly can you take away with you and/or cherish when you can no longer discern what was real and what was make believe.
I think the worst emotion in all of this, besides all the pain, is the disappointment. Disappointment in yourself for believing, perhaps feeling that you could have been more aware and less gullible. But also (and more importantly) disappointment in the other person.
Disappointed that they took the trouble to waste their time and yours.
© Rachelle Hull 2006
November 23 2006:
Forget about marrying for happiness, I have decided I need a man to be rich. Rich because ''comfortable'' doesn't seem to cut it for two people in this day and age.
My reason for switching is because I have had enough of working. It's not that I don't like working, I just don't like the people. I have yet to come across a workplace where I am truly happy i.e I get on with most people and look forward to coming in to work.
Everywhere I go I come across the same type of person: smarmy, pretentious, la-di-di aspiring middle class folks. Now I'm not a classist, far from it (though I can be mistaken for snobbishness at times, although I have nowt to be snobbish about!!) but these 'aspiring middle class' folks are all the same. They want to eat, drink, and sniff the good life whilst running up high debts and paying off their student loans simultaneously. They are elitist arse-kissers who live for posh titles and lording it over others. You know the office skivvy who isn't your boss but acts like it anyway, that my dear friend is (probably) one of the 'aspiring middle class'. Or the person who has a small role in the office with a fancy title and is pedantic about using it-that my friend is (definitely) one of the 'aspiring middle class'.
I tire of these people. Especially when I hear them throw around this 'chav' word, like they have any right to be condeming anyone. Because you bought your gold jewellery from Bonds instead of Argos and get drunk on Dom Pérignon instead of Lambrini, does not make you better than anyone else.
So if I marry someone who has already done the groundwork I no longer have to meet these freaks. I can stay at home writing my soon-to-be best selling novels, whilst raising the babies and cooking up a storm in the kitchen (not to mention the bedroom!)
So if there is anyone, anyone at all, send your name and salary on a:
© Rachelle Hull 2006
April 24th 2007:
I understand everybody's (so-called) concern about the size of models, but seriously this is getting beyond ridiculous!
How many programmes of people, who are trying to slim down to a size US 0/ UK 2, must I put up with? Do they really think the British public are that stupid to believe a size 12/14 (UK) person or someone who is naturally big boned will be able to do this following a healthy diet?
I am aware many things are manipulated to make a point, but I cannot stand the manipulation of this issue. It is ludicrous to suggest that some people in this world are not naturally slim, skinny, thin or whichever adjective you choose to use. And yes I am aware that models are encouraged to lose weight and look like a matchstick, but there are many women who are naturally very slim. Let me just repeat this point: there are many women who are naturally very slim and I am one of them!
I am sick to the back (of my white) teeth, of seeing women trying to drastically lose weight by eating nothing but a celery stick and drinking soup from a blasted straw and then have the bare faced cheek to state that being this slim is unhealthy. Starving yourself is unhealthy, all people with sense know this.
I don't have an issue with people who are bigger than me, I have an issue with those who feel it's ok to turn around and make comments about people who are slimmer. It's practically taboo to tell someone who is fat or chubby to stop eating, or they need to loose weight-but the same doesn't apply to people like me. The amount of times I have had people tell me I need to eat more, or I need to put on weight LMAO! And these are people who know next to nothing about my lifestyle and thus my eating habits. I often grin and bear it, but I swear the next person to suggest that I am lacking in nourishment I will put them firmly in their place, because quite frankly it is rude.
Seriously, is it an anomaly for a woman to be naturally slim...and not just naturally slim, but actually happy to be that way?
© Rachelle Hull 2007
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