I have always hated my name. I can’t remember the last time it was said without spite or malice. It held no meaning, nor had a definition that could be found. At most it was a mess of letters. My father seldom said my name but on those rare occasions where he did indeed utter it, it would only be to scold me or worse. I haven’t heard my name in for a significant period of time either, not from my mouth or anybody else’s. The prominent memories, or only remaining memories, being me laying face down on the bloody ground with sharp pains shooting across my entire body while chocking back tears, a scene which became all too familiar. Over time I learnt the tricks that would not annoy my father, therefore he had no reason to mention my name, whilst everyone else in my presence is too hung up on pleasantries, resulting in them calling me sir or prince.

But now I sit here, in front of a woman I admire and quite possibly love, as I hear as my name rolled of her tongue so beautifully. She said it so nonchalantly in the middle of a conversation, such an innocent setting. Yet I am rendered speechless. As I pause not knowing how to reply, she repeated my name again. Not knowing the effect it had on me. Completely unknowing that I could have cried from the mere sound of it. I haven’t heard it in years and I had completely disassociated from that name.

Then I remembered, the person gave me my name, not my contemptuous father. No, the first lady who loved me and who I had lost too young, had gifted that name with love. I once felt that love from that name. She had picked it out, so carefully, especially for me. “Your name means bravery, bravery to love and to fight. You’re so brave and so strong, my son.”

As my name was repeated in the present day with such care, said with love and it will again from this moment onward. My new beginning had started from that minuscule moment.

I love how she says my name. I love my name.

A Letter To Someone 

To Mum, 

Thank you for all you’ve done. I know we both mutually piss each other off. I know sometimes I’m a piece of shit. But thank you for your endless support. For letting me do what I want. Not questioning my life choices. Always being the happiest when something good happens. Thinking I’m actually good as I am. Thinking I’m beautiful.
I want to let you know how much I admire your strength which is often undermined. Also, to say that you’re so compassionate more than anyone I know. It’s not just a mum thing, only you can be so compassionate and forgiving. It’s not a weakness, never let it be your weakness. It’s another strength.
I just want to say I love and admire you. I also would like to say that I want you to follow those dreams you’ve had but didn’t persevere. I want you to make it. I don’t want them to give you a reason to not finish. You’ll make it because you are you.
For all you believed in me, I know you can do it.

Love from a daughter who doesn’t deserve you.

The 30-Day Writing Challenge: Day 3

Day 3: Now send your character to his or her grumpy grandmother’s house for a visit. Write the scene of your character’s arrival.


I took a deep exhale as I stand in front of the door, the odd off-white colour that it has faded to over the years. I reached for the doorbell and heard the sound resonate inside, the ringing rapidly ended and was followed by a disconcerting silence. Therefore, I was left with no other choice but to wait, it quickly became clear that no one was coming to the door. As much as I wanted to turn around, I did not. Instead I chose to persevere. I pressed the doorbell and pushed it repeatedly. After the many attempts, I finally heard footsteps approaching the door. They were loud heavy footsteps hastily approaching the door. From the other side, there was a vague mutter, mixed with the sounds of the door being unbolted, a chain rattling, along with many other commotions. Then the final click.

As the door slowly opened I found myself praying ‘please don’t let it be her, please not her’.

The door cracked open ever so slightly revealing a livid face of a withered old lady. Even though she was clearly in her seventies, the look of disdain in her face evoked a twinge of fear in me. Not because I was afraid she would disapprove of me, or I worried about her judgment but because I felt she could probably pack a punch. She was that kind of woman, the woman everyone feared, even the burly men in this neighbourhood did not want to cross her.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, her facial expression unchanging.

I faked a smile: “Nan, are you going to allow your favourite grandchild to remain in the cold any longer?”

“Who the hell said you were my favourite?” she simply opened the door. “What brings you here?”

I walked into through the hallway into the living room and crashed onto the couch. In a normal event like this a grandma would be baking cookies or maybe even greet their grandchild with a hug or a vague bit of happiness. In this household, there was no such luck.

“Do I need a reason?” I looked around, this was clearly awkward for the both of us.

“For now I wont question it. Do you want tea?”

I hesitated, “Yeah, sure. Where’s gramps?”

“Out with his friends. You’d think those boys are twenty by the way they act.”

I laughed. That’s so like grandad to be a kid. He would always teach me ways to piss of my grandma, and my parents, then he would laugh about it after. He taught me how to play cards, and that is how we spent a lot of time. I developed quite the poker face because of that old joker.

“You always did like him more than me,” grandma commented.

I remained quiet, there isn’t much that can be said as a rebuttal.

“I thought girls are meant to be chatty.” She looked at me up and down, “well, you don’t really act or dress like a girl. Your hair is in your face constantly and you are wearing damaged clothes.”

“Okay, firstly these jeans are ripped for fashion. Second, I came for a nice chat with gramps because I lost hope in you being nice years ago.”

And with that, by pure irony, the kettle alarm went off. Grandma still looking unfazed turned to attend to it.

As she had her back faced to me, I stuck out my tongue.

“If you have your tongue out be prepared to lose it.”

“Of course not, ma’am.”

“Please, the amount of times I caught you doing that as a child and you think I believe that?”

I laughed, “yeah it was always funny seeing your face go red when I got caught.”

“You really are your grandad.”

I was still laughing and managed to cough out, “Nan, how do you have a straight face right now? Remember when your face when redder than ever and it seemed like steam was coming out, I got scared but gramps started laughing so hard and he was drinking. I swear I saw water come out of his nose, and he started choking but still laughing.”

With that memory both their raucous laughs filled up the room.

“That is nothing though. When your grandfather first met my parents, he was so nervous my dad asked him a question about kids in the future, he got so flustered that he practically spat water on my dad and himself. He spent the rest of the evening in a woman’s t-shirt because dad refused to give him one of his.”

“No way! I need to ask him about that.”

“He really is an old fool.”

“But you love him.”

“Yeah and so do you.”

“That’s true. I love you too, though, nan.”

She reached over and wrapped her arm around me, “even though I am a pain.” She then kissed the top of my head and whispered, “I love you too, my child.”

It was silent for a while but not an uncomfortable silence, a nice moment because for the first time in my life I felt we were truly on the same page.

“You are obviously staying for dinner. What do you want to eat?”

“Nan, how would you feel about cookies?”


The two women were in the kitchen as the grandad walks into the house humming showtunes and clutching a bouquet of flowers. He is greeted to a sound he doesn’t often hear and it brings him such joy, he can hear his wife laughing with his granddaughter.

The grandma simply thinks ‘She really is my favourite’.

The granddaughter is glad she came because the truth of the matter is she visited because ‘she missed them both’.

The grandad thinks of how lucky he is, the woman who is his granddaughter is just like the woman he fell in love with 50 years ago; the woman he still is in love with. Despite these two women being stubborn and a big pain in his ass, they can get along and love each other.

They both look at him enter and greet him with a smile as he joined the laughter and help them bake the cookies the grandkid has waited long enough for.

I Can’t Deal With Unwanted Attention

My blog is by no means a relationship feed or filled with articles about boys. I am no Carrie Bradshaw and have no intention to be.
I think I have made it clear on this site that I am destined to be spinster. Especially seeing as I am terrified of commitment and much rather spend time with my friends discussing cats or fictional characters.
I make my need for a relationship clear in real life. With men and women alike, saying that I don’t see myself in a relationship and can’t stand the effort of other people beyond friendship.
But why oh why do guys think that I am not being serious. Why do they think my insults is flirting? Why must they put me on an awkward situation?

I appreciate men who friendzone me and I friendzone them, being friends and understand the boundaries. But some boys think that if I refer to them as a buddy and thinl that they should flirt anyway. My body is not capable of flirting, my childish face, bad hair and chubby stomach screams unattractive. I’m not trying to not look good but it happens.

The experience that spurred this one was that one “friend” who I haven’t seen in a few months, started to be more awkward than usual. In the past I have spoken about girls that he may like and my views on relationships so it’s pretty clear that I don’t want any unnecessary attention. In general I tend to have awkward reactions to very explicit conversations. Today in particular he singled me out of my friends and sat a little to close to comfort. Asked me about things that I haven’t told him, so clearly seen via snap chat months ago. He chose to spend time sitting with me than with his own friends until I told him that he should go. But not before hearing my friend mention something about my bra size under her breath. To which he continued to pester me about which size I really was. I told him very clear that I wasn’t gonna tell him but he made remarks that he wasn’t gonna quit. He then returned and mentioned about it again. My friends just made jokes that they were right that he wasn’t a friend and just an awkward fuckboy.

I haven’t noticed before but I’ve been told many times that he’s checked me out head to toe when my back is turned. Also the fact that he only greets my group of friends when I’m around. Which he makes an effort to sit next to me even asking me to move my belongings and make space for him. The worst thing is when he tries to touch my feet cos I put my legs on the table (with shoes obviously. But it’s still weird.)

People would probably just say if you were attracted to him it would be different. And to that I would say maybe. I haven’t been attracted to a real person I’ve met since I was 13 and I only fall for people with a personality to match mine and I need to know someone very very well before I get those romantic feelings. And I hate that he thinks he knows me well. The reason I’m not attracted to him is because of him. His face is decent and I can see if people are attracted to him but thinking about his face makes me feel sick.

I wanna be nice but don’t wanna give out the wrong impression. I’m done with the inappropriate comments, kissy faces and the touching.

The main reason I wrote this is because I feel weird but at the same time feel like I’m over exaggerating.
Why do guys flirt with friends? Or am I just being too sensitive?