A Tiny Little Ring, A Tiny Little Part of Me

Writing 101: The Things We Treasure 

What is my most prized possession?

Since most of my challenge responses are related to childhood, my first thought was my teddy bear. I’ve had him since I was two or three and despite my growth and realization that he isn’t actually that big, he goes by the name of Big Bear. But if I’m honest, I would  be able to sleep without him. I have, a few times. His awkward size meant there wasn’t room in suitcase or rucksacks on trips. That doesn’t mean I don’t want him anymore. I hope to one day pass him on to my son or daughter, however tatty and old.

So, after thinking more deeply, I think that my most prized possession in terms of what it means to me is my ring. Apart from this one ring, I only have a couple of rings, which I don’t wear very often. This ring is a tiny little gold plated one with a heart shaped aquamarine stone, for my astrological sign-Aries. My mum bought it for me when I was thirteen, I think. Ever since she gave it to me, I have always worn it. When I can’t find it after I took it off to get a shower or bath, I have a sudden sense of panic. It seems to have thinned slightly and when I’m not wearing it, it could be mistaken for one of those kiddie’s toy rings.

But the reason this ring means so much to me, is that it reminds me that I am different, and that it’s a good thing. I feel like, even though I don’t really believe in horoscopes (but sometimes it’s fun to see what they say!) embracing a part of me, however tiny, and wearing it everyday makes me feel unique and special.

This ring will always remind my of my mum. And I know that in the future when I’m miles and miles away, studying at university, travelling, living with a partner, building a new family and whatever else I will be reminded of her and how much I love her every time I see the ring.

I have problems with marriage. Having divorced parents and watching the effects of so many failed marriages, I am wary of it. And thinking of rings, symbolizing a commitment, kind of scares me. I have a lot to say about marriage, so I’ll come back to that another time. But what I like about my ring is that it doesn’t have so much meaning and worth at risk. I’ll never have to give back this ring. I’ll never have to take it off to deceive someone (not that I would ever cheat) It can mean a lot to me, or it could seem pretty to me. Its up to me.

Another great thing about this ring is that it’s more likely to stay with me. People grow out of clothes, lose old toys, things get stolen. My hands might get a little wrinkly-or a lot-but they will still wear the ring. I hope that one day my little boy or girl, or one of my grandchildren will point at my ring and ask ‘where did you get that’? And I will tell them how I got it and how I’ve carried it through my life. It’s been through all of the things I have faced. It’s only tiny, and only represents a tiny part of me, but it means the world to me. Thanks, mum, for reminding me that I’m different.

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The Carol Concert

Writing 101: Your Voice Will Find You

Every year it’s at that perfect time. Close to the holidays, when you know the weight on your shoulders is beginning to ease away. When you can feel the excitement of that one special day creeping up on you.

When you enter the church, it’s cold. But as you gather in the pews, packed with parents, teachers and students, the warmth finds its way through the layers of thick coats and wool. Soon the buzz of chatter is silenced by the angelic orchestra. Each instrument sings beautifully to the echoing walls and crevices of the vast ceiling. People look up at the architecture in wonder. It hasn’t changed since last year, but is still as magical.

Like a child again, listening to a bedtime story, the gentle low voice reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’ is a lullaby. From your trance-like state you are awakened by the passionate finale. The soulful voices fill the space beyond the ceiling, beyond the eager ears of the audience. United with the orchestra, a new, vibrant sound is formed; so powerful that goosebumps appear not just from the chill of December. And the smiling faces are reflected in the audience with hearty applause.

Without those moments of joy and infinity, what would Christmas be? The real meaning of this profit-making, money-gulping time is making meaningful memories, of happy times of togetherness that can only be created in frosty December. Music has the power to do such things; take it away and Christmas isn’t the same.

Was that really four years ago?

Today, tell us about the home you lived in when you were twelve. For your twist, pay attention to — and vary — your sentence lengths

Branches and leaves, spiders and ants.I’d found a little haven, tucked behind the shed. A faded plastic ledge offered a small, but welcoming seat to be concealed by the thick tangles of bush.

Past the shed and it’s belly of books-which seemed to always be over fed- was the tiny garden. A circle of grass and pebbles and a neat little stack of potted herbs. Only just enough space for three cartwheels. Maybe a couple of handstands.

The sloped roof with my bedroom window jutting out mirrored the rest of the street. Inside, my cabin bed only just managed to fit in my minute room, with a little space on the floor for me to lie and contemplate life and existence. One of my favourite twelve year old pastimes.

My bedroom used to belong to a baby, with thick wooden shelves, designed for nursery rhyme books, and little wardrobe handles to match the walls, which had been painted over in lilac at my request.

My next favourite place was the loft. Though horribly cold, it was the only place where I could get lost for hours with my dollhouse. No, I didn’t ‘play’. I decorated, I planned, I organised, until I would have been the top interior designer of the doll house world.

The long, laminated floors of the living room, although unknown to my twelve year old self, would be the space for hours of blanket gliding at Christmas time. And the front garden home to a trampoline, which would eventually be eaten away by ice and rust. Years of laughing in the dining room at my sister’s face covered in spaghetti. The wall of photos smiling at me in black and white would accumulate more and more of my smiles.

In the small village, a bus journey from the world of school; a walk from my best friend’s house and a an even shorter walk to the shop. And in the shop was over-priced chocolate. Chocolate!

‘Meant for each other’

I’ve just got back from a family holiday. Being surrounded by other families made me think about how some people stay together because of time and some people stay together because they are meant for each other. And it made me think about what that actually means. I think it means when both partners’ personalities fit together. What I mean is that, like a jigsaw puzzle, where one person lacks a quality, the other person makes up for it to make a balance. For example, a short temper and someone with bucket-loads of patience. This doesn’t work with everything because at the same time being too different can distance people. To me, that’s why finding ‘the one’ is so hard. I think that the people that are best suited to each other have equal amount of things in common to things that are different, which I realise is hard to judge. 

While people watching, I saw a lot of couples that didn’t seem to be ‘in love’. Maybe they were just having a rough day, I don’t know. But I found it saddening, because it led me to wonder how people decide whether to stay with someone through difficult times or not. Sometimes people stay with each other so long and try so hard to do so that they change as people and don’t love each other anymore. When you marry someone it’s impossible to know how people and situations will change ad if it’s for the good or the bad. So, making a lifelong declaration to someone seems awfully scary to me-which it probably should be since I’m only sixteen and have never even been in a relationship, let alone a serious one. 

I’m not going to delve any further into marriage and divorce, as it is a whole subject that I could write thousands and thousands of words on. My final thought on this ramble about love is that I believe people should be more forgiving when relationships go wrong. I feel that judgement, not just from the partner, but families and friends can scare people from doing the right thing for them, so people should allow for change and be forgiving if it distances them. 

The New Girl In Town

Hello bloggers,

My name is Lucinda and I am sixteen year old with aspirations to one day become a successful writer. At sixteen I’m still not sure what kind of writer, but maybe this blog will help me find out. My goal is to express my emotions and ideas in different forms, including poetry and short stories. I chose to start blogging because although writing a personal journal has always been something I have enjoyed, the idea of a community where I can talk to people who understand me and can relate to my situation is something that I am keen to be part of. The topics I’d like to write about are family and relationships, being a teenager, society and culture.

If my blog is successful, I hope to grow in confidence so that I believe in myself and I believe in my ability to write. Another accomplishment I would like to achieve is a relationship either as a reader or with readers of my work (hopefully both) that inspires me to write in new and exciting ways.

I can see that these ideas might be bold, daring and ambitious for a shy sixteen year old girl, but this place is, what seems to me, the kind of platform where nobody can shoot down my dreams or tell me I’m not good enough.

Finally, I want to say that I look forward to reading this in the future and hope for the success I will strive to achieve in this blog by trying, failing and learning from my mistakes-the way I always work.