I am Me, Not My Chesticles.

I’ve wanted to talk about this for a really long time but I felt it was too soon to be thrust upon you. However, we’re 8 weeks in, I think I’m allowed to discuss this.

Disclaimer: this has nothing (okay, maybe a little bit) to do with recent events (yes, point at yourself, I’m referring to you) so don’t think this is one my shadeful, judging lollipops to you. This is just an outcry for help of understanding the immense interest, or more like, the obsession with breasts. If you can’t handle the word ‘breasts’, you shouldn’t be on the internet, let alone this blog, okay?

When God made me, He decided that when I grew older, my breasts would also grow with me. He also decided to make boys completely fascinated with breasts right around the time that I (and a lot of other endowed girls out there) were beginning to accept and deal with their assets. I don’t go around shoving my breasts under everyone’s nose, I don’t confine myself to the wonders of turtle/bottle necks either. I wear what I want but I am decent. I wear tank tops under certain items of clothing, I wear camisoles, I am continuously tugging my tops up to prevent epic disasters. I even invested in a pair of minimiser bras from Marks and Spencer’s recently. I can’t help it if I lean over and you see Paris from inside my shirt. Leaning is a fundamental exertion. Let me live. There are times when I myself am awed by my own cleavage but I keep those moments to myself, mostly. I’m no Kim Kardashian, as you can probably tell.

I refer to my breasts in many varying ways such as boobs (even though I use this the most, it’s one of my most hated words. it’s just so… irritating), jugs (only to my nearest and dearest), breasts and my all-time favourite, chesticles. I call them chesticles because there is power in this word. If a man stood before me right now and we were trying to engage in a somewhat meaningful conversation about the controversy over the reception of Ebola in the diaspora, for example, and my eyes continuously fleeted between his own eyes and his testicles, wouldn’t he be itching to grab me by the chin and tell me through gritted teeth, “Hey, eyes here. Eyes no go there.” Well, that’s exactly how I feel when I attempt to converse with many a member of the opposite sex. My eyes are on my face, right above my nose. They are not dangling from my chest. I don’t know, am I missing something here? Am I unaware of how my own breasts appear? Are my breasts the first to have ever existed? I’m starting to think that if one day, I had a mastectomy, I wouldn’t have nearly half as many boys attempting to speak to me. I really think my breasts are like a beacon for some of these aforementioned boys. It’s sad. I am a human being, you know. My bra size doesn’t determine how much of a person I am. I like to think I’m a good person, I’m intelligent (ish), I’m friendly, I can cook (ish), I like to read, I like sleep, I like buying things on Amazon compulsively, I like listening to music, I like blogging. All these things have no effect or are not affected by my breasts. So what is the problem?

I get it: there’s something arousing about them. There’s something sexual about them. There’s something there that makes the boys go loco. It offsets this burning sensation to mention my breast size, just to make sure I am aware of the power I possess on my chest. Hey, I do it too. I ogle at fellow ladies every now and again, I comment on their breasts. Even my friends do it too. They tell me how mahoosive my chest is. I can deal with people telling me or commenting on my chest size, it’s the very loose equivalent of commenting on how large someone’s eyes/nose/mouth is. It’s just another body part. But, sex is associated with breasts. And because of this, a lot of boys make it their mission to acquire information and visual data on as many heavily endowed girls out there as they can possibly get their hands on, no pun intended. And I’m done with that sh*t. No one should expect something like that from me or any other girl out there who isn’t parading their chesticles like a pay-per-view channel. Things like that equate to vulnerability, intimacy. I’m not just about to throw things like that to anyone. I don’t care how big a deal it is or isn’t to you. Even if I did want to share such moments, it would only be with my lover. My absolute lover. Or my mother when she walks in on me in the shower but you get the idea.

So, to my male readers and even some female readers (yes, I see you), think before you ask for that picture or before you comment on her chesticles in a way that you know will immediately eject her from her comfort zone with you. Think about the effects, short and long-term, on both her and yourself. Do you really want to wreck a friendship/budding romance/whatever because you couldn’t control what’s in that mind of yours or those boxers/briefs/whatever? Think about it. Think long and hard.

Remember ladies, you choose what defines you. If you want to be known for your chesticles, here’s a fist pump in agreement. If you don’t, here’s a fist pump in agreement. Don’t let someone call you prudish or uptight or even outlandish because of what you want for yourself.

Do you, honey boo-boo.

Mini Rant of the Week: Please look after our planet. I’ve watched enough films to know the people who write these things probably know more about the fate of Earth than I do. Recycle, turn your lights off when you’re not in the room, turn the switches on your plugs off, don’t throw food away if you can’t finish it. Save it for later or give it to someone who will happily eat it for you. Walk, ride a bike, take public transport more often. Interstellar (the movie) not only confused the hell out of my mind but it’s scared me sh*tless as well. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to meet an untimely death and I would like my children and at least my children’s children to live in a fairly decent world. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the generations to come. And if you really couldn’t give 2 sh*ts about humans in general, do it for the polar bears because who doesn’t love a polar bear?

Song of the Week: Miss Amor – Azealia Banks (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6SgqYMl5R8)

Quote of the Week: “My feelings don’t disappear but I’ve learnt, with age, to use them for the greater good.” – Unknown.

Georgina x

Plot Twist: It Doesn’t Go As Planned

So last week’s post hit home with a lot of you guys which I’m super happy about. It’s good to know that there are a lot of people in the same boat as me when it comes to matters of the heart.
However, my number one fan (you know who you are) gave me some solid, ground-shatteringly good advice that I can’t help but share: “stop looking for love.”

It seems like a no-brainer but you’d be surprised at how unconsciously I do just that. Now, I’m not parading the corridors of my university with a banner screaming “I’m single. Take me now” but I fantasise (in the clean way, obviously). I daydream a lot about what my future holds and who it will contain and how my mystery man will look and how many kids we’ll have and all that stuff. Such daydreaming is healthy, I guess, but not to the point where almost any eligible bachelor is scrutinised heavily and then you mentally score him out of 10, depending on how close he matches up to your mind’s idea of “this is who you will spend your life with”. I’m guilty of this. I do it every day but I’m going to have to take up this advice because of another one of those clichéd taglines that inevitably affect us all: nothing goes as planned!

Honesty hour, I didn’t want to study pharmaceutical science. I’d always wanted to be a dental hygienist. Actually no, I wanted to be a dentist. Well, I wanted to be a doctor. Really, my first dream job ever was to be a singer but that ship sailed pretty quickly, naturally. With a dental-orientated career path in mind, I planned everything out and it all had to go to plan or else I was doomed. But hey, sh*t happens. You can’t be left holding on to a dream that obviously isn’t going to happen because it simply isn’t going to happen.

So, you improvise. You work with what you have.

I’m kind of adopting the “going with the flow” mentality because it doesn’t set me up for failure. I’ve come to truly appreciate people who say they don’t know what they want to do or who they want to be because it’s okay to not know. It’s okay to not have your life mapped out. I used to think such people didn’t want to live a good life but they turned out to be doing the smartest thing ever: they could never truly feel disappointment because they didn’t set themselves up for it. It’s good to have goals, don’t get me wrong, but I think it’s a lot healthier to not set your judgement on whether you’ve failed in life on whether you attain these goals or not. Right now, I don’t know what job I can get with my degree, I don’t know what type of life I’ll live after university, I don’t even know if I’ll end up with this particular degree, I’m trying not to think about who I’ll end up with and quite frankly, I’m not that worried. When I reach those hurdles, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get my leg over it.

I just want you to know that life is not what it seems, it is not as clear cut as you hope. So, if it does all seem like a mess and you don’t know what to do next, just let it be. Let what you are so hell-bent on controlling be. Everything happens for a reason and there’s a reason for your life taking an odd left on the highway of it all. Ride with the tide and you’ll be amazed at where it takes you.

To end this amazingly inspirational blog post, here’s a quote from the flawlessly flawless Beyoncé: “Enjoy your life, it’s short. And that’s the message.”

Mini Rant of the Week – This is going to sound rude but oh well: why does inspiration always seem to hit certain people in Starbucks? Why? Why does it so conveniently hit those writers that are sat, perfectly poised at the coveted window seat with their MacBook Airs’, notebooks sprawled with messy notes and of course, the Starbucks mug covered in lipstick stains just so you know they’ve been there for a while. I don’t understand it. It’s like the ultimate writer’s cliché. Are the employees at Starbucks instructed to sprinkle something in the air that attacks people who are armed and ready with their laptops in their bags? It irritates me. It makes me feel that some of the integrity of writing is lost because people will automatically think you came up with your total gem of written gold in the window seat at Starbucks with a MacBook Air in front of you.
And before you ask, this little explosion hit me on the train… just after I’d left Starbucks.

Song of the Week – I’ve been replaying the On The Run Tour version of Beyoncé’s “Countdown” for the past 7 days. It’s too damn good.

Quote of the Week – see main blog post.

And So It Begins…

Hi there 🙂

I already sound like I’m trying to sell you something, oh well.

That’s me, the summer of 2014 in Amsterdam (it was amazeballs). I don’t usually look that put together, trust me. I’m a hot mess half the time.

I’m first of all a citizen of the world but I am British by birth, Nigerian by blood and a healthy mix at heart. I’m currently an 18 year old.

I’ve always wanted to blog as I love to write. I find inspiration in the oddest things but lately, I’ve been suffering from the world’s worst case of writer’s block. Ironically, I figured the best cure for my yearlong mental seizure would be to make a blog but I wanted it to be special and meaningful. The only way I could think of making it special was by publishing my first post on my first day of university. So original, right?

University – to me – is pretty much one of the biggest steps I will ever take in life, along with moving out, getting married, my first job related to my career and so on. I want this blog to be like a gift from present me to future me. I want to look back and see some kind of development in myself or something along those lines. However, I’m already not enjoying this whole university experience: I’m staying at home (one of the biggest bummers I could ever attribute with university life. Ever.) And the general population of my class are just beyond what I had hoped to be amongst (Hint: I think there are only 5 black people in a class of almost 150) but luckily for me, I can mingle with almost any pringle so it’s all hakuna… for now.

I keep a diary but there was something that keeping a personal diary didn’t offer compared to making a blog – I couldn’t share it with people. Now, when I say people, I mean people of the world, people I wouldn’t readily have the opportunity to speak to on a daily basis. The internet is a powerful thing: it brings people together and boom, you’ve started a discussion. Do you know how crazy social media is? How insane it is that people on a social platform are partly responsible for groups of people coming together and becoming friends? God knows how many times I’ve met people who watch the same YouTubers as me and how many friendships have blossomed based on that alone. Also, keeping a blog means I have to commit to it: I can go for weeks without writing anything in my diary but by making this blog, I have to be consistent because hey, I hope people actually read this thing and come back to read again!

So, starting from today, the 29^th of September 2014, I solemnly swear to publish a blog post once a week, every week. I will commit, I will persevere no matter how busy I claim to be, how many views I get or how insignificant my life may seem at the time. So help me, God.

This blog will be personal, it will be heartfelt and most likely emotional but I want it to be real. I will rant, I might swear, I hope I won’t name-drop or slut-shame anyone but most of all, I will say it all. I hope by the time I reach a certain stage in my life (not sure about what this stage is yet), I’ll be able to look back on this post and say I have touched people and I have started a discussion with the world and it’ll all be worthwhile.

Until next week!

Love, Georgina x

P.S. I will have little “add-ons” with each blog post and I’d like to start with my song of the week and my quote of the week. I might add more as time goes on but this is all I’ve got for now!

Song of the Week – Papaoutai (Pentatonix Cover): it’s amazeballs, trust me. (YouTube link – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hgFRkBeJBGY)

Quote of the Week – “i am mine. before i am anyone else’s.” – in