NEW VIDEO! The Importance of ... Channel Orange + BONUS Spotify Playlist!

This video is the perfect example of why you should always script videos. Sorry if this is a little all over the place - hopefully someone understands what I was getting at!

Boys may not cry, but I certainly do over this album. Check out the bonus playlist below for some of my favourite cuts from Frank.

x

REVIEW: Zoeva Classic Brush Set! | Drumbeat Heart

(L-R: The face brushes from the Classic Brush Set - the 125 Stippling brush, the 105 Luxe Highlight brush, the 128 Cream Cheek brush, and the 142 Concealer brush)

Hello little friends ...

It was my birthday recently, (had I mentioned that? I didn't think I had. At all. Ahem). My brush collection had become deplorably dirty, so my sister convinced me, (tough task, I assure you), to let her buy me some new ones from Zoeva. 

Founded in 2008 by Zoe Boikou, Zoeva is a cosmetic line originating in Germany. The name comes from the Germany word for 'life', ('zoe'), and honours 'the first woman on earth', ('eva'). 

I didn't want to get a set specific for eyes or face, so I got the Classic Brush Set, which costs €60 on their website. The sets range in price from €35 to €185: all sets are cruelty free, and there are a couple of vegan-friendly sets too!

The eye brushes in the Classic Brush set

The face brushes in the Classic Brush set

The set contains four face brushes, and four eye brushes, which I will go into in more detail further on. The brushes came in a faux-leather wallet/bag/thing which I have found very convenient for travelling recently. The one thing I didn't like - only five of the brushes came with brush guards, and the ones for the eye brushes didn't even fit. It felt a little half assed, like someone gave up packaging halfway through.

Having never been in contact with the brand before, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of positive reinforcement their products and their branding carries. It's not something you get with a lot of brands, and it feels very authentic.

But you don't want to read about the packaging, do you?

L-R: The 142 Concealer Buffer brush, 128 Cream Blush brush, 125 Stippling brush and the 105 Luxe Highlight brush

Starting with the face brushes - I was wary of the 125 Stippling brush, (I'm just wary of stippling brushes in general. How does it blend it in? Sorcery). No, but this is very good at both stippling AND buffing, and I think it will grow to replace my Real Techniques buffing brush. It applies product evenly and flawlessly, and the bristles are super soft on your skin. Be warned though - those thinner bristles will never be white again. Ever.

The 142 Concealer Buffer brush is an exact dupe for the Real Techniques Deluxe Crease brush. It is really stiff and dense (like every man I've ever encountered, amirite?) and it blends product out beautifully. I rarely applied concealer with a brush before, but I'm a convert now.

The 105 Luxe Highlight needs to be seen (and felt) to be believed. All the brushes are fairly soft but this might as well be a rabbit's tale, (it's not because that would be lousy). It is perfectly shaped for applying highlight, with the brush picking up a lot of product. It wouldn't make a bad contour brush either: the chiseled tip is perfect for creating your own chiseled cheek bones.

I'm not a blush person. Thousands of makeup tutorials later and I still can't apply the shite without resembling a whoopie cushion. It should be no surprise then that 128 Cream Blush brush was my least favourite of the set. I tried using it a couple of ways - highlight, contour and yes, blush - and the brush just wasn't effective at applying any product. The bristles are firm or dense enough, and it feels the cheapest of the lot.

Now the eyes ...

L-R: The 317 Wing Eyeliner brush, the 228 Luxe Crease brush, the 230 Luxe Pencil brush and the 227 Soft Definer brush

The 227 Soft Definer brush is your standard flat base colour brush. It's not rounded enough for blending, but that's ok. It's does its job. It's good at its job. My only crib is that I already have plenty of brushes that do that exact same job, just as well, I also found that it didn't wash very wall, and
there was some bristle fall out after.

The 228 Luxe Crease brush AKA THE PERFECT AFFORDABLE BLENDING BRUSH. This is beautifully soft and so rounded - great for softly defining the crease or buffing out harsh edges. I really really liked this product. When I washed it though, compared to the other brushes, it didn't keep its shape very well. Again, there was a tiny bit of bristle fallout after, but not enough to stop me loving it. (I am very sad).

I usually wear smokey eyes going out, and the 230 Luxe Pencil brush is going be really useful for those kind of looks. It's a good enough size that it can kinda of be used for everything - cut creases, soft creases, smoking out eyeliner, your lower lashline, highlighting your inner corners ... Multi-purpose wonderfullness!

Last but not least, the 317 Wing Liner brush is a basic angled brush. You could use this on your brows with gel or shadow, or for eyeliner - either applying or smoking out.

Eight brushes for €60, with only one dud, ain't too shabby - it roughly works out at €7.50 a brush, which is what you'd pay for most good quality ones in the pharmacy/drugstore.

Overall, I'm impressed, and I would definitely consider repurchasing again. In fact, I already have my eye on the Cocoa Blend eyeshadow palette! Pity you only have one birthday a year, huh?

Have you tried any Zoeva products before? Are you a fan?

x

DRUGSTORE HAUL! Sleek Makeup, W7 and NYC Cosmetics | Drumbeat Heart

L-R: NYC Liquid Eyeliner in Black, W7 Prime Magic in 'Camera Ready', W7 The Fixer setting spray, Sleek Makeup Matte Me lip creams in 'Fandango Purple', 'Birthday Suit' and , W7 Absolute Lashes mascara

'Ello 'ello 'ello ...

I usually don't do posts like this because I don't want to come off like a big fat wanker. I am not a makeup artist, nor would I consider myself a 'beauty blogger', but I do absolutely love makeup. I remember discovering online makeup tutorials and I became completely obsessed, (as in if I could do my Masters in being Pixiwoo then I would).

I'm constantly picking up new stuff, and seeing as I dropped serious dollah on a DSLR, and because I'm trying to get back into blogging regularly, I thought I'd talk about some bits I picked up recently!

I bought all these products in Sam McCauley's Pharmacy in Midleton, (they were doing a 'buy one get one half price' on cosmetics, I was like a deer in headlights), 

W7 Absolute Lashes mascara

First up - W7's Absolute Lashes mascara, which is basically Benefit's They're Real! for €4. Don't tell them that though, obviously. Gracey from Long Hair and Lashes (go check out her blog and fawn over her) posted about this originally so I said I'd pick it up when I got a chance. Since using up my They're Real! I've been at a loss. I did find some great ones in the mean time - Benefit's Rollerlash is fantastic, as is Bare Minerals Lash Domination - but I can't justify spending lots of money on something that I'll be throwing out in three months. Absolute Lashes is literally the EXACT same, right down to the brush, for a fraction of the price. I will be repurchasing by the dozen.

Lil brushy wush!

Next up ...

W7 Prime Magic primer in 'Camera Ready'

...W7's Prime Magic face primer! Being honest, I never usually used primer up until recently, when I got a sample of Bare Minerals Prime Time primer. It made my skin look visibly smoother when I applied my foundation, no matter how rough and ragged it was. This is the same concept, but again, for half the price (this costs €6 compared to Bare Minerals being anywhere between €22 and €26). The one thing I would say about this is that it doesn't dry as fast as the BM one, and the 'camera ready' claim is just marketing fluff.

W7 The Fixer setting spray

This was €3 which meant I had to buy it because I am attracted to things that are very very cheap. W7's The Fixer spray smells amazing, but I don't think I've used it enough to give it a fair review. It did take away a little bit of the chalkiness from my setting powder but as regards my makeup longevity, it's too early to tell.

NYC Liquid Eyeliner in 'Black'

This is one of NikkieTutorial's favourite eyeliner, and it was only €2 so I said it was worth a shout, (if you can't tell, I'm a massive cheapskate). This has definitely overtaken my old favourite. Essence Liquid Ink - the longer brush of the NYC Liquid Eyeliner is way easier to manoeuvre, and the formula is much longer-lasting. Win!

Sleek Matte Me lip creams in 'Fandango Purple', 'Birthday Suit' and 'Brink Pink'

Best 'til last! Sleek Matte Me lipcreams! *Whitney Houston's 'The Greatest Love of All' plays in the background* I became obsessed these when my friend Gracey started raving about them. If you're familiar with Limecrime Velvetines, this is them, for half the price and without the fraud, (these retail at about €6/€7). These are extremely pigmented, extremely long wearing and extremely matte - they even lasted through me eating a really oily salad the other day. Application is key though: you'll get the bet results if you apply it in thin layers, and allow it to dry between each one. Also, I HATE the doe foot applicator, it's like extended and very stiff and not easy to use at all. I usually use a separate brush to be honest. But it's a tiny price to pay I guess.

Talking about the shades - 'Fandango Purple' is a blue-toned purple. For comparison, it's slightly lighter than my MAC Lipliner in 'Currant'. 'Birthday Suit' is the the eponymous Kylie Jenner colour - dark, browney nude. And 'Brink Pink' is literally highlighter pink. Amazing.

L-R: 'Fandango Purple', 'Birthday Suit', 'Brink Pink' and the NYC Eyeliner in 'Black'

Fionnuala x

NEW VIDEO! #StillHere Ep. 3 - Defining Your Happiness | Drumbeat Heart + BONUS SPOTIFY PLAYLIST!

Hello friends,

New video is hereee - talking about how we need to take control over our emotions, especially happiness.

We can make ourselves, we just need to know how!

Also, bonus Spotify playlist here on the blog! It includes some tracks that instantly put me in a good mood - there should be a lil something for everyone on it!.

Fionnuala x

Waxing lyrical

I'm not one to pay attention to the Christmas creep. Well, not really anyway.

I'd avoided all the Bah Humbuggers, collectively cursing the Yuletide and all things related on every social media platform possible. I'd shown equal amounts of indifference to festive manics, saying things such as, "only seven Saturdays 'til Christmas!", as if it had suddenly become appropriate to use the number of Saturdays as an appropriate measurement of time.

I think it was only towards the end of November that it got to me. We were dismantling equipment after an open mic. I did a lap of the room, plucking flames out tea lights with damp fingertips. Usually, the smell of smocking wicks incites different emotions - birthdays, sucrose saturated blood streams, extreme bashfulness due to incessant choruses of "happy birthday to you", (because what did I deserve for them to be singing for me?)

This was different. This was Christmas.

I'm very bad with candles - more specifically, candle wax. I'm a messer as it is, but candle wax is a different ball game. I blow candles out so I can play with the wax. I wiggle them around so that the pool of warm wax builds upon itself. I stick my fingers in it so that it hardens on my fingertips and I resemble some sort of half-human, half-reptilian being.

Or just a freak with a candle fetish.

One Christmas, in the run-up to, I remember my mam had been gifted a tall red Newbridge Christmas candle.It stood in silver stand, with a repeating reindeer pattern. The candle itself was made of twisted wax, with a white wick.

I think I was nine - old enough to know better - and in my eagerness, I knocked the candle off the mantle.

The sitting room looked like a crime scene - hot red wax splashed all over the timber floor. This saw me gleefully pushing my initials into the wax, before I realised that wax dries as quickly as it melts, and that my mam was going to fucking kill me.

Back to present day, approximately 250 kilometres away from my family home, I was filled with an enormous sense of longing. All of a sudden the world gets a little bigger, and so does the distance. I found myself shopping for a Christmas tree for the apartment, despite the fact that only one of my housemates would be up long enough to appreciate it. I decorated it, but it was a shadow of the one at home - sparse lights, mismatched tinsel, tiny stockings stitched in primary school.

 I was ready for the annual argument over the fact we never have potato croquettes for Christmas dinner, courtesy of my sister. I was ready for a house that resembled Santa's grotto. I was ready for my mam telling me to stay away from the candles.

I was ready to come home.

Pyjamas and monkey suits

Tuesdays are my favourite days.

The week's barely begun, and already I'm off - no lectures and the freedom to lounge in my apartment. I can sit behind my laptop with a constant stream of tea, pretending to be a journalist. Bliss.

Last Tuesday, I got a text off my friend. It was Enterprise Week, and he wanted me to come with him to some talk on how to enterprise, or whatever ... It was the middle of the day and (naturally) I was still in pyjamas. I was not leaving the house for that very reason.

"It's 1pm!" Barra was baffled on the other end of the phone. My other friends expressed similar sentiments.

My response: "What is it with you and the others and wearing pyjamas after conventional hours? Free your mind!"

"It's not acceptable to wear them while attending college", he said.

Isn't it?

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm pretty much against wearing pyjamas in public unless it's a dire emergency (the walk of shame doesn't count). As I'm studying journalism, I've read endless books (cough) on the trade, and one the plus sides of being a self-employed journalist means working at home. Which means never having to leave the jammies. So really, I'm just preparing myself for what's ahead of me.

Pyjamas are wonderful things. They bring people together. There's something about onesies that just screams mutual understanding. Just the other night in college, we had a pyjama-themed open mic night. I'd never seen so many overgrown toddlers in a room in my whole life.

Clothes seem to be a big thing in college. I know one of my friends wears a suit to college ever day, as well as polishing his shoes. Me? I'm lucky if I'm dressed for my 9 o'clock starts.

I will admit that DCU has seen me one time too many times in my pyjamas. That technically wasn't my fault, however. I woke up one morning, horrifically hungover, to find a brutish cleaner at my door. It was bed bug spraying day, and, of course, I had forgotten all about it. Queue frantic tipping over of mattress, stripping of sheets and scrambling out of the room.

In my fluffy pink dressing gown (from Lidl, no less), I strutted over to my friend's apartment with more sass than Beyoncé until they were finished spraying.

It's a confidence thing more than any thing. I've been told on several occasions that the stuff I wear is completely outlandish.

"Put it this way", my best friend Val said to me, "If we hadn't been friends already, and I saw you in the street or at a party, I probably wouldn't be your friend. You dress weird."

I can't say she's wrong. I have a fetish for fur coats, and I've been known to make tops out of tights ...

Or maybe we're still conservative when it comes to clothes. Maybe in years to come, pyjamas will be less of a social phenomenon. Men will be legally obliged to wear suits at every opportunity. People won't laugh at me and call me Macklemore when I wear my fur coat in public and it swallows me whole ...

A girl can dream!

Truth

It's safe to say that this week has been a struggle.

Having just typed that, I feel incredibly silly and ashamed. While I have had my own difficulties this week, nothing could compare to the struggles my friends are facing and will continue to face in the coming weeks. While health issues are plaguing one of my best friends, a young man in my year died while on a trip with a college society. I refuse to name him or go into intense details about the case: people are doing enough of that as is. I also would not claim to have ever been incredibly close to the deceased, but on any occasion I did engage with him, he always came across as a very polite, well-rounded young man.

These are hard truths we face. "God only takes the best", we are told, as hands are held and eyes are closed. We pick up our friends from the airport to greet them with smiles and warm hugs, only to be met with ashen faces and distress. Emotions run high as you realise it could have happened to any one. "Life is simple, it's just not easy" - another equally upbeat pearl of wisdom from the powers that be.

You sit and wonder why. You sit and sympathise with the family in a faraway county, who must bury their son in the most tragic of circumstances. You sit and wonder why it wasn't you. You're selfish. You cry wolf and blame anxiety for your cowardliness. You blame others for the self-inflicted panic attacks. You lay awake until five in the morning begging people to talk to you until your heart stops racing. You lie and cry after love in the dark of your room. You call others out for their selfish acts caused by their own inner conflictions. You act recklessly and irresponsibly in a desperate attempt to recapture your spirit and call yourself brave. You are no better for saying no. You are no stronger.

I've spoken briefly before about my anxiety. It's something that's stuck around, and tends to rear its head when I'm alone. Anxiety and loneliness are lovers. I've moved back to Dublin following my Christmas break, and was living in the apartment by myself while all my friends were away. I told my mam, who reassured me I could come home whenever I wanted to. But I turned her down. I saw coming at the weekend as a sign of weakness. I felt like I had something to prove. Going home would be allowing my emotions to win.

My brain became more wound up as cabin fever set in. My sheets were sweaty and I felt like I'd seen everything the internet had to offer me. So, that night, I went out by myself, in a city I am still growing accustomed to. I got drunk, and, in hindsight, put myself in a potentially dangerous position. What I had thought to be a courageous act had been hideously stupid in light of what had happened.

You have your darkest days in exchange for the brightest of nights. Often, the pieces of yourself will feel broken or shift out of place. That doesn't make you weak. Neither does asking for help. Comparing your problems to others' don't make your problems any lesser or any greater. They are still your fears, and they will feel just as real, no matter what the context. I encourage any one with the saddest of burdens to reach out their hand in the dark and take the first step. Despite how small you feel, you will always be the largest part of someone's eye, the plug in the hole in someone's heart. You'd don't go any where alone, and you don't let any one go any where alone.

You'll still over think. You will still cry yourself to sleep worrying about your future in the hands of demi-gods. Bad things will still happen. But not a day will go by when you won't be shining. You are as bright as the day you were born - for always, forever.


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Aware - (01) 661 7211‎

Living is a problem

"Nadine?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do we have two mop buckets?"

My Christmas break was over. I was back in my apartment in north Dublin, ready to face the struggles of semester two and a laughable 10 hour week. My four house mates had moved back up earlier than I had, and I had arrived back to a pretty unclean apartment.

I overlooked this - until I noticed a second mop bucket sitting in the corner of the room, half full with dirty water. It looked as if it had been sitting there for days. The other mop bucket was on the opposite side of the room, sporting mysterious white stains on the inside.

Nadine laughed. "That's not a mop bucket - that's the bin."

I paused. "Why ... Why was the bin used as a mop bucket?"

"Well", she replied, still laughing, "I had used the mop bucket to bleach my shoes in. It was in my room, and I think Jun wanted to mop the floor, so he used the bin." Queue more laughter. (Jun is our Japanese house mate who doesn't speak to us much, mainly because he can't).

Incidents like this were becoming all too familar. In semester one alone, we had been through a kettle, two toasters and vacuum cleaner. (We had broken the vacuum cleaner as a result of using it to try and hoover up a flood in Nadine's room - it's a miracle we made it to college in the first place).

College teaches you a lot of things. It is slowly teaching me how to live amicably with people that aren't blood relatives.

Your days of reaching into the cupboard knowing they are overflowing with food are gone. I returned knowing that my meals would have to be made up of three ingredients - porridge, pasta and rice. Delicious.

"We HAVE to go food shopping", I said to Brid, who temporarily moved in with me last week.

(This resulted in us not going food shopping and eating at the college bar almost every night. Or just not eating).

We don't have a dishwasher apartment, nor do we have a mother that miraculously swoops in every time you leave a tea-stained cup on the draining board. Slowly, the washing builds up, forming a budget Leaning Tower of Pisa.

I mean, sure, every one was great for cleaning at the start. I even went the extra mile - I went from not lifting a finger at home to taking out the bins, doing the wash-up, hoovering and mopping the floor (this was prior to  the Bin-As-Mop-Bucket saga). Old habits die hard, however. Jun, who used to do all of the wash-up even when the delph wasn't his, soon realised that we had no intention of ever touching a dirty plate again as it was assumed he would clean it. I'm pretty sure this was the point when the entire house broke down.

We had a house inspection a couple of weeks ago. Tired and well-worn from college, naturally, we'd left all cleaning until the night before. The house was hoovered hourly, I used bleach for the very first time and cleaned all surfaces without baby wipes. Defrosting the freezer turned into a bizarre house-bonding exercise, as we all tried to remove it from the wall, unsuccessfully. Jun and I must have looked a sight, hacking away at the ice with whatever clean cutlery was about.

Living with strangers teaches tolerance ... Or lack thereof. Dealing with my house mate's girlfriend has proven unbearable. She doesn't clean up after herself - and then precedes to make snide comments about the state of the apartment. (Hey, I know where it's clean - your own apartment!)

She's also quick to apprehend us when we're being 'too loud' and when we 'keep her' up. (I mean, that's cute and all, but I'm pretty sure you don't live here).

I'm one to talk though really: I regularly have people over (not like that, refrain from making jibes please) and I'm usually the one that has parties. This was no exception during exam time - much to my house mates dismay. They usually put up with it, without much complaint. However, this week, things came to ahead.

Living with other people will teach you how to deal with conflict within your house. A discussion I had initiated over cleaning and the starting of a cleaning rota resulted in a full-blown argument and tension between my house mates and I. I had come back, and after, seeing the state of the house, begged and pleaded for something to be done about the Great Wall of Washing-Up. I left notes, which got responses of, "I didn't use these dishes, I'm not cleaning them."

Relations were poorer than America and Russia's. I was in despair. I'd ruined our fantastic house dynamic by playing tyrant and by allowing my innate housekeeper instincts to overrule me á la Macbeth. Then, a letter from campus residence came in the door.

Each of my house mate's was to be fined €50 because I smuggled Brid into the apartment during exam time. If I came forward, a €100 fine would apply to me and only me.

Well, shit.

I hid the letter from my other house mates, fearful that they would drive me out of DCU after being fined through no fault of their own. I decided I would own up in the morning, and sit down with house mates and apologise about the cleaning issue.

I sat down with Nollaig the following morning, wishing to clear everything up. It was agreed that a cleaning rota would be drawn up to avoid confrontations.

"You know the fines?" Nollaig said. "Well, they're fake. They're not real. We made them up to get back at you."

I stood there, baffled and speechless. No wonder they'd been barely speaking to me! They'd been plotting against me! For asking them to hoover the kitchen! How had I even fallen for it? They'd pull it off immaculately - the sheets bore the college's logo and all of the college's contact details. Imagine I had gone down and admitted that Brid had been staying with me - they would have laughed in my face AND I would have been out of 100 quid, for no good reason.

Initially, I was angry: fuming, even. But then I realised that really no harm had come of it, (and I was acting like Queen Bitch). I had four lifelong friends in my very wonderful house mates - all gorgeously funny people who successfully managed to pull the wool over my eyes.

Plus, I got my cleaning rota. Dishes on Tuesday, anyone?

Finding balance

"Hold still", the doctor said. "This won't be painful at all. I'll just be pumping water in to your ear".

A machine gurgled and hummed behind me as I held a dish up to my ear. I had been dreading this for the past day. The words 'ear syringing' had me conjuring images of oversized hypodermic needles being shoved in to each ear, before they slowly drained me of my life.

In reality, it was similar to a wet willy crossed with a very small tropical storm.

I was suffering - two infected ears, resulting in an infected throat. The last few weeks had been intense. As previously mentioned, I started college at the end of September, considerably later than my fellow classmates. Life before college involved ... Well, not preparing for college, that's for sure. I was diving head first in to a course I had wanted since I was a nipper, and a city I'd hoped to live in for as long as I can remember. So incredibly idyllic ... What could possibly go wrong?

College has been incredibly difficult so far. I completely underestimated just how monumental a change it is. I was going from a quiet country home with just my parents, to sharing an apartment with four strangers in the city. My first night had involved making awkward small talk in the hopes of convincing my house mates that I was a decent person - you could have smelled the desperation off me. By half 10, I was in bed watching kids TV shows on Netflix, wondering whether I was cut out for three years of this. I was uncomfortable and anxious and my fears were mounting.

I had always liked school. My mam told me that, even as a young child, it was just in me to study and to work. I never needed much encouragement. I thrived on doing well and succeeding - praise was the icing on the academic cake. I wanted to make my teachers and my family proud, (even now, I still feel like my intelligence is my only redeeming quality). Before college, I had never failed an exam. Starting college, I failed my first three or four assignments. Concentrating in certain modules was impossible. I would leave the lecture hall dazed and confused as to what I had just sat through. When I eventually started passing them, I only just passed. I felt like the rug had been pulled from under me. I wondered whether my old school would take me back, and keep me as a permanent fixture in the school.

Why was I complaining? I had made it to college! I had gotten my first choice! My parents had paid x amount of money to get me there and house me! I felt like grabbing myself by the scruff of the neck and giving myself a good shake. I had my mam on the phone constantly telling me that if I was finding it too hard, or wasn't enjoying the course, that I should tell her sooner rather than later.

But that wasn't it. I liked my course. It was hard, but I still can't imagine myself doing anything else other than journalism.

And another thing - why was I being such a moody sod to my friends about staying in contact, seeing as I was struggling myself to return calls and reply to text messages to myself? Why was I so surprised when they were busy themselves? Their lives didn't revolve around me, as much I wanted to believe that they did. To top it all off, I was constantly getting thick with my mam on the phone, as she tried to extract information from me about how college was going and how I was. Drawing blood from a stone doesn't even cover it, let me tell you.

It was during my reading week (essentially a week off), that things came to a head. Before and during my exams, I experienced very mild anxiety. I would get incredibly sad and anxious for no real reason, and this would be brought on by stress. I couldn't control my breathing, and it felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. Because I was doing little else but sleeping, watching TV and staying inside, my anxiety started to affect me again. I felt hopeless, alone and began agonising over things. I felt like I was swamped with work, when the reality of the situation I had finished all my assignments. I was painfully lonely, as my friends attended school or college.

When my mam found out (through Twitter, I might add - I am a horrible child), she was worried. But to be honest, she was my saving grace. I had found no solace in anything else. And then I spoke to her, and it felt like coming up for air. I didn't feel stupid talking about it. She brought me out, took me shopping and talked and talked and talked so I wouldn't have to. All my concern seemed to dissipate, my self loathing eased.

College has opened my mind to a lot of things. You can't assume any thing about any one. You don't know where they've come from or their walk of life. You will face challenges and struggles - some explainable, some not at all - but everything can be overcome. My mam's favourite expression is, "there's no such thing as a big problem; just a serious of little problems".

I lost my balance for a bit. But I think I've got it back. Being to able to spend time with my friends at home has been hugely important, and reaffirmed that I must have done something right to have them as comrades. My room mates have turned out to be fantastic people, and there's even talk of living together next year. The people on my course are like-minded and seek the same things as I do.

It's satisfying to know that I'm back on track. I'm terrified of what's ahead. I still think about whether or not I'm cut out for this; whether or not I'll be good enough. But every one falls down at some stage - be sure that you're the person that gets back up again.

"Wow!" the doctor exclaimed., "would you believe, that was my fastest ear syringe ever! Sometimes you can be hours at it trying to get the stuff out".

"I'm honoured", I smirked.

Read more from me at studenthandbookblog.wordpress.com

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Definitely maybe

"Everything happens for a reason".

That's my typical response when something goes wrong in my life, or someone else's. "One door closes, another one opens ... " I'm some woman for clichés, especially when they're the last things you need to hear. Up until quite recently, I believed it all.

But what about the doors that don't close? What about the ones we leave ajar? 

I feel like nothing's certain any more. Recently, I've been second guessing myself on decisions I made months ago; on thoughts I believed I couldn't be more set on. Now, I feel like someone's yanked the rug from under me. 

I've always been level-headed. I've always relied on logic, and have never been spontaneous. I'm cautious - perhaps overly so - and indecisive. I'm not brave. I'm scared of my own shadow, and even more so of the unknown.

Open doors bother me. What I don't know bothers me. I need certainty and clarity in my life and right now I don't have that. I need someone to come out from behind the door and tell me whether I made the right decision or not. 

But that's not going to happen: not now, not ever. It's just a matter of waiting to see how curious I get before I coax the monsters of my past out from open doors. I just want to know ...

... What if?

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Eighteen going on extinct

"I know my place/It's nowhere you should roam ... "


It finally happened. On the August 8 2013, I turned 18 years old. I could now legally do the things I'd been doing since I turned 16 - not to mention the fact that I could now buy scratch cards and enter all those RTÉ competitions I'd been missing out on.

I was compelled to consider the significance of it all. I'm not aware of any country that takes turning 18 quite as seriously as Ireland. Mammoth preparation had gone into organising my party, to the point where I was considering who to invite a year in advance. Honestly, My Super Sweet 16 had nothing on me.

"What if nobody comes?" I considered this terrifying scenario. Surrounded solely by my family and a miserable cake, social suicide beckoning ...

"I'll laugh", my best friend Valerie, reassuring as ever.

So, after that little inconvenience that was the Leaving Cert was put to bed, Operation 18 was put into full effect. I created the Facebook event with precision and great detail - I sold the party with an hilarious description, referring to light up runners and the frivolity of youth. After that, I invited pretty much anyone I'd ever spoken to, and their neighbours.

"My parents are going to murder me", I grimaced as the number of people attending continued to rack up.

Being a career woman, I was able to purchase a stupidly expensive playsuit (and matching lipstick) to wear to the party, to ensure that I looked the most dashing. I was determined to look so darn good that I wouldn't have to untag myself from any pictures of the night - no mean feat, I can assure you.

"18 EURO FOR A LIPSTICK?!" My mam yelped.

"I told you not to look at the receipt for your own good!"

The days went on, the numbers continued to pile up, as did the number of people declining. Excitement was building, as was my immense nervous terror. I had full-blown nightmares of hoards of my drunken, messy friends terrorising Ballymore one naggin at a time. I would wake up in a cold sweat at the thought of vomit in my house, my parents reaction, broken limbs ... Amongst other things.

The big night arrived. I frantically set the house up, (and by that I mean Mama and Papa put up the gazebo and decorations for me while I got my hair done and pretended I was Kim Kardashian for two hours). Party time arrived, and the same nervous terror began eating away at me once again, fearing that no one would turn up, and, on the other hand, that everyone would.

By half 8, the majority of my friends were wasted before anyone else had arrived. By half 10, one of my friends had passed out in her own puke, and another had face-planted in the garden and took a battering to the knee. By 12, the music had stopped, and my parents were frantically urging my guests - who now resembled Bambi wearing rollerskates on ice - to 'come inside and stop drinking'. Meanwhile, I ran around like a headless chicken playing 'hostess-with-the-most-ess', telling everyone for the seventh time that there was food on the way and drink in the fridge. By 2 o'clock, everyone had left, I was tucked up in bed after a solid one Jaegerbomb, while my parents were left to clean up the mess. The joys of adulthood, eh?

"The guards weren't called and I didn't have to call a doctor", my mam remarked following the party, "so all and all, it was very successful".

Being an adult is strange. Telling people how old you are is stranger still. As someone who relies a lot on other people, to now be, pretty much, solely responsible for myself is sickening. Independence? Overrated - give me my blankie and my mammy any day of the week.

I don't think it had really hit home until the last two weeks. Last Wednesday, I received my Leaving Cert results, and achieved enough points to do Journalism in Dublin City University - my dream course and career path. Yesterday, I accepted my place. On September 23, I will be moving to Dublin, away from my family and friends, (my second family), to start an entirely new and terrifying life. I will have to cook, clean and learn to live for myself, (and possibly how to use a washing machine).

I have never been more scared or more excited in my entire life. Despite the fact that I'm still very young, I feel I have already made enough mistakes for a lifetime, and I am more than happy to leave them behind. However, leaving my friends as they face exams themselves, and my family, will probably be a bigger challenge than the Leaving Cert itself.

Without a doubt though, this is something I absolutely must do, and something that I have wanted since I was 12 years old. It gives me great satisfaction to know how proud everyone is of me already, so the least I can do is stick this out and hopefully, carve a bright new path for myself.

So I have to ask myself again - has turning 18 affected who I am? Yes and no. My teenage years are slipping by, and I feel caught between wanting to make the most of my youth and finally growing up and getting my shit together. This is my fresh new start that I've longed for as I've wished away my summer nights and drank away all my perspective..

All I know is, I'm about to change the world: the world's not going to change me.

(Well, maybe after I watch some Pokémon or something).


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My life in pictures #3 - Year of the gig

Following the exams, my sister and I joked that the summer and the remainder of the year would be referred to as the 'year of the gig'. In July, I saw The Killers, Haim, Two Door Cinema Club and Frank Ocean, as well as Bell X1 in Cork. Here's some horrendously poor qualities of both gigs, which were fantastic (unlike the camera quality). Enjoy!

Bell X1 @ Live At The Marquee, Cork, July 4th

 

The Killers, Frank Ocean, Two Door Cinema Club, Haim @ Phoenix Park, Dublin, July 13th