#my uni said students can have a tiny amount of rights. as a treat

[everythingmatters]

emails that make u start crying

[faofinn]

Stitches - Whumptober Day 9 (Alt. 4)

@whumptober2020

Sheila had warned Fao, again and again to behave, to not be stupid. And yet, somehow, they’d ended up in A&E. Again. She often wondered if Fao was actually the more mature one, if the ten year age gap between the two brothers meant anything, or if the two of them were just as mad as each other.

Then again, if the amount of times she’d ended up there with her husband were anything to go against, they were all daft. They were all daft and she was stuck in the middle of them all, trying to control the chaos. With a sigh, she wrapped her arm around Fao.

“Are you warm enough?”

It had at least been a genuine fuck up this time. Of all the times he'd ended up in A&E from something that he ought to know better for, at least this time had just been a mistake. He'd been trying to put his laundry away, and the cat had gotten under his feet (he was perpetually hungry and in need of attention). He'd tripped and smacked himself on his bedside table on the way down. Now he was bleeding with a pounding headache and a blooming black eye. And he had placement next week. 

“‘m fine. Just bored.”

"Are you sure? You've only got a hoodie on."

“It's not even cold.”

"You're not exactly the best judge of it right now."

“Irish blood. Don't get cold.”

She huffed. "Irish blood my arse. There won't be much left of it in you, it's all over the bloody carpet."

“There wasn't that much. Seen more.”

"Yeah, normally from you." 

He groaned. “It’s the cat's fault.”

"It's always the cat's fault."

“Wouldn't have tripped if he hadn't been begging for food.” Fao grumbled, leaning against her. “This headache is killing me.”

"You wouldn't have tripped if you'd been watching where you were going." She told him gently, no heat behind her words. "I'm sure it won't be too much longer now."

“Am I still bleedin’?”

She hummed, pulling away to look at him. "It's coming through the bandage a bit.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Typical.”

"Tell me about it." She pulled him closer. "You and your brother...take after each other in too many ways."

“Finn takes after Fred.”

"You're all as bad as each other."

“Mm. Finn wins though.”

"Only because of his big accident." She murmured. "And if we're not counting yours before you came to us."

“That doesn't count. Wasn't an accident.”

"No. And if I ever met him, that wouldn't be an accident either."

“Don't want you in prison.”

"They wouldn't catch me. Be too fast for them."

“Still.” Fao insisted. They called him through then, and he swayed as he got to his feet. 

"Hey, hey." Sheila wrapped her arm tighter around his waist. "Careful. No more falling over."

“Was just a tiny bit dizzy.” He protested. 

"Sit then. I'll get a wheelchair."

“No. It's fine, gone now. I can walk.”

She gripped tighter. "You're having one on the way back."

“Nah, I'm fine.”

"We'll see what they say. Fred and I have bets on whether you'll need stitches this time."

“Rude.”

"Maybe if you'd stop falling over the cat, we wouldn't have to."

“Maybe the cat should stop tripping me up. Should have stayed in my flat.” He grumbled, though he soon made it through and sat down somewhat heavily.

"Fao, hi again. What have you been up to this time?"

Fao glanced down at his lap. “Tripped over the cat, cut myself on the table.”

"It's always your cat, isn't it? Wasn't your brother in with a cat related injury last week?"

“Probably.”

"You just hit your head? Or did you hurt somewhere else too?"

“My arm feels a little bruised but nothing broken.”

"We'll have a look at that to be on the safe side. Can I check your head? How are you feeling?"

“Tired.” Fao said, but nodded. “A little dizzy? A lot dizzy. And I have a headache.”

He nodded. “A lot dizzy? You must have hit your head pretty hard. Did you knock yourself out?”

“Maybe?”

“Any pain along here?”

Fao winced. “Yeah.”

“Sorry kid.” He murmured. “I’m gonna have to take this lovely bandage off and have a proper look, yeah?”

“Go for it.”

“Was it mum who put this on? She did a great job.” He laughed quietly. “I guess she’s had a lot of practice with you.”

“We've got her well trained.”

"I bet." He smiled, finishing his examination. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you're going to need some stitches there."

“I figured as much.”

"I swear he's going for stitches on every body part." Sheila muttered, reaching for Fao's hand.

“‘M not that bad.” Fao protested.

"He is." She replied with a gentle squeeze. 

"I'm sure most teenage boys are the same, always getting into scrapes."

“I’m 21.” He grumbled.

"University student though. All the same."

“I'm still blaming the cat.”

"I'm sure it was." 

He sighed. “I've got placement next week. I'm going to look a state.”

"Oh, placement? What are you doing?"

“I'm a third year medic.”

"You'll know all about this, then."

“Yeah.”

"We'll give you it and you can stitch yourself up, eh?"

Fao snorted. “Think I'll leave you to it.”

"He'd stitch the wrong side of his head." Sheila teased gently. 

"We'd best do it then. You can do the next one." He laughed. "I'll just get the numbing stuff sorted and then we'll crack on, yeah?"

“Sure. Where do you want me? I don’t know what’s easiest for you…”

"We'll get you on the bed and make sure you're comfortable. There'll be a few sharp scratches which won't be too comfortable, but it means that we'll be able to do the stitches nice and easily."

Fao shrugged. “Whatever’s easiest.”

"We need you to be as comfortable as possible."

“Okay.” He said, awkwardly getting to his feet.

"You alright? You're not going to faint on me, are you?"

“I, uh…” Fao swayed, reaching out panickedly for Sheila. 

She grabbed his hoodie, slipping her other arm under his. "Yeah, don't count on it."

"All right. Why don't we sit back down? We don't want to cause any more damage."

“‘m fine.”

"We can make it to the bed." Sheila muttered, trying to help Fao. "At least then we won't have to get up again."

The bed wasn't far, and Fao felt somewhat better now he could lean on Sheila. He sat down heavily, gripping the edge of the bed tightly. 

“You alright, kid?”

“Yeah.” Fao breathed after a minute, now the dizziness had subsided. “Yeah, ‘m fine.” He settled back on the bed slowly, glancing at Sheila.

“Really?” Sheila asked softly, moving to hold his hand in hers. 

“Just stood up too fast, got a bit dizzy. I’m alright now.”

“That’s been happening a lot lately.”

“Because I smacked my head into a table.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not just today. You used to do it when you lived with us.”

Fao shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is when you pass out.” She shook her head. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but I don’t always pass out. I think my blood pressure is just low. No big deal.”

“You need to make a doctors appointment.” 

“Alright, Fao. Are you ready?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Fao said, closing his eyes.

Sheila tightened her grip on his hand, turning away. She wasn’t going to watch it if she could help it.

“Okay, sharp scratch then, Fao. Try and stay as still as possible for me.”

Fao hummed, breathing slowly as he waited for the sting of the needle.

He was quick and deft with the needle, numbing the area. “You’re doing really well.”

It stung, and Fao’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t move. He knew better than to move. He exhaled slowly once it was done, still not daring to open his eyes.

“There we go, just give that a few minutes to work.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“How are you feeling? Dizzy? Sick?”

“No worse than before.”

“That’s good. Keep breathing.”

“Yeah, I plan on it.”

He laughed. "Always good to do that."

“Yeah, I do my best.”

"Alrighty. Can you feel me touching along here?"

“No.”

"Great. We're gonna get started then. You grab your mum's hand, eh? Try not to break it though."

"You better not." Sheila laughed weakly. "Quite like that hand."

Fao took Sheila’s hand, squeezing gently. He wasn’t particularly bothered by the stitches, but it was nice to have a little bit of comfort. 

"Try and stay as still as possible, okay? If you need to stop, just raise your hand."

Fao hummed, not wanting to move to talk. He was happy to stay still as they stitched, staring up at the ceiling.

"You're doing really well, Fao. We're nearly done."

Sheila didn't raise her head but offered Fao a small smile. "Nearly done and we can get out of here."

He hummed again, squeezed her hand in response. It wasn't painful, but it was fairly uncomfortable. His teeth bothered his bottom lip, just wanting it to be over. 

"Normally when I'd try and bribe Finn to behave with a treat, but I don't think we should be encouraging this with positive reinforcement." She tried to joke. "Sure we could make an exception though."

Fao shot her a dirty look, a crooked smile on his lips. He couldn't really protest, but his look was bad enough.

"What do you think?" She tried to distract him. 

“I'll be happy with a cup of tea on the sofa.” He said quietly.

“You know Finn won’t let you get away with just that.”

“I'll be smothered.”

“When aren’t you?”

“When ‘m at uni.”

She smiled sadly. "He still sleeps in your bed."

“I miss him.” Fao murmured. “I don’t like leaving him.”

A few moments later, the doctor pulled back. “Okay Fao, we are all done.”

Fao sighed. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “Just want to go home.”

They let him home a little later, with some concussion advice and instructions to come back if things got worse. He was tired and his head was still pounding, he was just desperate to get home and curl up on the sofa.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Chapter 1 - Seed and Spark

Harry Styles was kind of a dick. At least, that’s how he acted towards me. You see, growing up down the road from someone should make them care about you--not in some romantic way--just in the sense that our moms started their own book club and our older sisters were inseparable from the age of eight, when my dad’s work had us relocate to the U.K.

You’d think that kind of family bond would make Harry so much as look at me inbetween the moments he was sucking face with my roommate, Quinn, the unequivocal love of his life. But I guess it was kind of silly for me--a girl with a big mouth and an ever bigger ass--to think that he would ever so much as smile in my direction.

When my mother told me that Harry and I would be attending the same university, at first I thought it might be nice to have a friendly face around campus, perhaps even someone to sit with in the dining hall when the tons of new friends I would make were in class or just busy.

I thought that maybe this would be a turning point for us--maybe Harry would see me as more than just the annoying kid he grew up with--maybe he’d even take a liking to me, enough to spend movie nights with me and Quinn or study with me in the library.

But, as usual, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

“You’ve got something on your cheek,” he said with a monotonous delivery, his back against the wall as he sat on Quinn’s bed, directly mirroring my position.

I sat with my computer in my lap and looked up at him, unsure if he was speaking to me. When I realized that Quinn was nowhere to be found, I assumed he was.

I brought my hand up to my cheek, brushing off a crumb from the chips I’d been eating. I rolled my eyes at him, only mildly offended by the fact that that was the first thing he’d said to me all night.

He looked back down to his mobile, his fingers scrolling as he let out a sigh, “you’re welcome.”

I stared at him for a second, wondering how long he’d been staring at me. I’d been lost in a paper that was due in less than an hour, but the distant hum of water from our bathroom let me know that Quinn had disappeared to take a shower.

Quinn Markos was pretty much your image of a girl who’d been popular her whole life--the kind of girl who probably had a date every weekend and never failed to make the rest of us jealous. Harry had only started being nice to me when he realized I was rooming with one of the hottest girls on campus, but as soon as Quinn seemed mildly interested in return, his kindness was rescinded.

I’m not sure if it was the fact that my blatantly American ways seemed to annoy the living daylights out of Harry, or if it was just that 7-year-old me spent most of our school holidays trying to convince him to ride bikes with me, have a lemonade stand, or do other things that he acted like were the epitome of uncool. But for some reason, the more Harry pushed me away our entire lives, the more I wanted him.

I know, I know. How pathetic can one ex-pat be? Fall in love with your neighbor down the street who wants nothing to do with you? Okay, so maybe that’s the reason I figured going to university with Harry would maybe shift the dynamic between us. Perhaps he’d finally see me as more than just Harper Coleman--the girl with curly blonde hair and hips the size of a flat screen TV.

Maybe he’d see me in this new university student light and be flat out shocked at how smart, funny, and entertaining I was. Or maybe he’d continue treating me like a pesky house fly as he spent increasing amounts of time in my room, only addressing me when I was in the way or when I had something on my face.

Quinn appeared from the bathroom--a towel wrapped around her tiny frame as she smiled at Harry. Quinn and I were friends, you could say. She was nice to me and I was nice to her. Occasionally we’d grab some food together or study together, especially if we ended up in the same class. Despite that, Quinn and I couldn’t be more different, which made us good roommates.

Her long brown hair was straight and always tamed, she was short, standing a few good inches below my 5’8 frame. Her hips were normal sized, she had the perfect nose, and more importantly, she was pretty and funny and cool and she always seemed to have a guy chasing her.

That’s why, when that guy was my neighbor and proverbial childhood crush, Harry Styles, I momentarily questioned what I had ever done to the Gods in the sky to deserve this kind of torture.

It wasn’t until the spring of our first year that she really started hanging out with Harry--and now, only a week into our second year, they were clearly going strong.

“I heard there’s a movie in the first floor lounge,” I said casually, hoping that my desperation for social interaction didn’t strike them as weird. To be honest, for someone as outgoing and loud as I was, making friends at Uni hadn’t been the easiest thing.

When I first moved to the U.K. as a six-year-old, people were much more infatuated with my American accent and blonde hair. Now, I was just another eager girl who--much to my father’s displeasure--was majoring in Theatre and Performance Arts and spending too much money on alcohol on the weekends.

If it wasn’t a Friday or Saturday, most of my time was either spent in class or at the coffee shop in the student center where I worked. If I wasn’t in either of those places, I was at rehearsal for this semester’s play.

The novelty that I had once possessed--similar to that of shiny new toy--had long worn off, especially for Harry.

Quinn let out a sigh and turned to me as she combed through her wet hair. “I think Harry and I were going to just stay here and do some homework--but you should go!”

Harry--who’s eyes met mine at Quinn’s mention of his name--simply nodded. “Yeah, you should go.”

I stared at him straight faced, not bothering to mask my displeasure. He would rarely speak to me, unless it was in an attempt to get me out of the room so he could shag my roommate. I gagged just thinking about it.

“Maybe I’ll stay and finish this paper,” I shrugged, my eyes locked on his as Quinn grabbed some clothes from her closet, disappearing back into the bathroom to dress.

“Will you ever give us some time alone?” He hissed at me, his voice much quieter now to keep his girlfriend from hearing our conversation. He dropped his phone on her bed and rested his head against the wall--dramatically. His hair--which was shaggy and fell just about his ears--seemed soft enough to touch.

“You have plenty of alone time, I go out almost every night on the weekend,” I shot back at him, offended by his accusation. I was proud of the fact that I kept busy--even if that meant closing down local pubs with Millie, the one friend I’d made so far.

“Yeah, asshat,” he rolled his eyes. “We’re out on the weekends too. I mean when we’re just hanging out, you know--when we could get busy.”

“You’re disgusting,” I rolled my eyes at him, hopping down from my bed as I shut my laptop. It wasn’t that I wanted to give Harry alone time so he could sleep with someone other than me--it was more so that I didn’t want to sit here and listen to them giggle all night. Sometimes it seemed that they did it just to annoy me.

Harry--seemingly pleased with my sudden movement and the fact that I was gathering my belongings--smiled at Quinn as she returned from the bathroom, fully clothed. “Maybe we can watch a movie here, babe,” he said as she climbed to join him on the bed.

I pulled an old sweatshirt over my head and shot Harry daggers, but he simply smirked at me in return. Quinn cooed in response as she snuggled next to him.

“Catch ya on the flipside,” I saluted them both before closing the door behind me.

**

Millie reached her hand into the popcorn that sat on my lap, munching away as she stared at the screen in front of us. For a welcome back event, the movie night had a decent turnout, if you count the couple in the back making out and the two first years who sat beside Millie and I.

“I just wish he didn’t pick Quinn, of all people,” I whispered at my friend, who’s hair was up in a bun on top of her head. She was also wearing her pajamas--I was glad I wasn’t the only one.

“Of course he picked Quinn,” she whispered back at me, her eyes still on the movie. I hadn’t been paying much attention--instead, I chose to ruminate over the conversation Harry and I had had--eye rolling included. “She’s pretty, she’s popular--” Millie shrugged and brought her eyes to me.

“She’s not that intelligent,” I continued her sentence for her, causing her to let out a snort like laugh, gaining us glares from the other movie watchers.

I constantly told myself that this entire situation would be different if Harry weren’t being dangled in front of my face like a piece of meat. Had he been dating someone who--I don’t know--didn’t sleep in the same room as me every night, this might have been easier to tolerate. Hell, if Harry were dating someone different, I might not even know about it, meaning I could continue my daydream of the two of us in peace.

“She’s fit,” Millie shrugged. “That seems to be all Harry is concerned with.”

I let out a groan and let my shoulders slump. It wasn’t my fault that I liked Harry--in fact, I’d always felt kind of helpless when it came to my raging crush on him. I remember the first time I realized that he gave me butterflies--right after he pushed me off of my bike in his backyard.

Gemma, his older sister, helped me up but then promptly tattled on him--but when his mother asked if I was hurt, I swore I wasn’t. I didn’t want him to get in trouble.

That seemed to be pretty stereotypical for me and Harry--he’d be a jerk and I would just let it slide, hoping that one day, eventually, he’d realize that he loved me too and we were destined to be together.

I just thought that day would have come by now.

Millie--who didn’t have the slightest clue as to why I was pining over someone who treated me like chopped liver--was always quick to come to my defense should she be present when Harry was a jerk.

One time she told Harry that his hair looked stupid (it didn’t) and one time she locked him out of my room when he went to get dinner. It really was the little things that made our friendship so great.

I’d met her first when I started my job at The Counter--I had just about spilled coffee on a fourth year and got myself fired on my first day, but as we got to know each other and she told me about the theatre group on campus, I knew she was a keeper.

I’d been too scared to join by myself--being a first year and all that--but she apparently knew some of the older kids from a class she’d had and she convinced me to join.

“Still got that paper to finish?” She asked me as the movie ended, the other kids standing to leave the lounge as we sat planted on the floor.

“No, I sent it before I came. It wasn’t a whole 8 pages but it’ll have to do.”

She laughed, sprawling out on her back as she let out a sigh. “Sorry Harry was such a wanker before.”

I nodded, staring off at the rolling credits on the screen even though the lights were now on. “Don’t be, I’m used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be,” she corrected me, her blue eyes watching me closely.

I thought for a second, mainly because I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t ever known a different version of Harry. For as long as I can remember Harry had been the cool one--the one that I was always chasing.

He was the one who didn’t want me, the one who sat as far away from me in the cafeteria as possible--the one who only spent time with me with our mothers arranged a play date. As soon as we were out of primary school, he basically only interacted with me at family parties or neighborhood events. One time he was the only one in the hallway when I dropped all of my books and he just kept walking.

Millie and I parted ways--agreeing to meet for breakfast in the morning before class. I climbed the stairs back up to the fourth floor, grateful that I couldn’t hear Quinn and Harry laughing or whispering as I neared the our room.

I reached for my key in the pocket of my sweatshirt and slid it into the lock, twisting it open.

There was a moment of silence, before I heard “Jesus, Harper!” as I walked in to the sight of Quinn’s bareback as she sat on top of Harry. His voice was annoyed--as it usually was--but I cursed them in my head for not making more noise.

Most people--when they have sex in their shared dorm room--are at least decent enough to be loud in order to not be walked in on.

“Sorry, fuck, sorry!” I yelped, jumping back and slamming the door as quickly as possible. I could hear Quinn chastise Harry for yelling at me, as she often did, but it was no use.

I let myself slide to the ground, slumped against the wall as I tried to wash away the image of Quinn Markos riding the only boy I had ever truly loved.

**

The student center was busier than usual, and the line at The Counter was nearly out the door prior to the afternoon class rush. Luckily for me, I didn’t have an afternoon class on Mondays, which meant I got to spend my afternoon getting yelled at by angry students and forgetting how to properly make a skinny latte.

A little whole milk never hurt anyone.

“That’ll be three ninety-five,” I smiled at the customer in front of me, swiping the plastic card she handed forward. I grabbed her receipt, shot her a smile, and waited for the next customer to look up from his phone.

I would recognize the top of Harry’s head anywhere. I didn’t know--based on how often he avoided even looking at me--if he would recognize me in a green apron and a stupid green hat with The Counter’s logo on the front.

“Hey,” he said quickly, stepping forward to lean on the counter.

“What can I get started for you?”

“Just a large coffee, black,” he said abruptly, his eyes on mine as as I punched a button on the cash register.

I turned my back to him without another word, grabbing a cup from the stack and placing it below the coffee spout. I pressed a button, letting it fill nearly to the brim as I wondered what he was thinking.

“Sorry about last night,” he said suddenly, still watching me closely as I turned around and reached for a lid. I snapped it on, brought the coffee back to the register and handed it to him.

“It’s fine, that’ll be two seventy-five.”

He reached for his wallet and took out a small bill, handing it to me. His fingers grazed mine and I utilized  the calm, cool, and collected face I practiced in the mirror for moments like these.

“Keep the change,” he said with a small smile before walking away.

I stared at his back--momentarily forgetting that there was another customer in front of me waiting to be served. Harry walked with the confidence of a star quarterback--if they had American football in the U.K., that is. He was just as popular as Quinn--I guess that’s why they fit so well together.

“What was that about?” Millie appeared beside me, handing a coffee to a customer and swiping a card on her register.

“I don’t know,” I watched as Harry sat with a group of friends a few booths away, smiling as Quinn cuddled into him.

I’d told Millie about the Worst Moment of My Life, of course, seeing as she was the only person I really spoke to on campus aside from Quinn. She was almost as traumatized as I was, minus the whole ‘one person in this sexual encounter is the person I’m supposed to end up with’ thing.

It had been a while since I experienced kindness from Harry Styles--and not in the usual sense. There were moments where he would say ‘bless you’ when I sneezed or even handed my the salt and pepper in the dining hall when I asked, but that was rather infrequent and never came without a sneer or a grunt.

This--however--the true moment of pure humanity that I just experienced--this was a once in a decade type of thing. The last time I really remember Harry exhibiting any type of emotion rather than utter annoyance towards me was when we were fourteen. Harry had long been ignoring me in school and most of our encounters happened on our walk home (which was often filled with silence) or when we were dragged to family dinners.

I had started dating Fin Devens, a blond-haired boy who’d asked me to dance at a school function and who played on the football team. He and Harry weren’t exactly friends, per se, but they were casual buddies and lunch time pals. Harry--who suddenly took an interest in my dating life--had been telling me for weeks that I shouldn’t date him.

When Fin Devens kissed Maisie Whitley in the park, Harry told him off in front of everyone the next day in school. It only made me love him more.

And it was strange--it wasn’t like Harry was super popular and I was a nobody. I had plenty of friends in school and was voted most talkative in year 6. People always liked me--except for Harry.

“Excuse me?” A voice sounded from in front of me, pulling me out of my primary school daydream and back into the crowded student center. “Can I get a tea?”

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” I smiled apologetically at the woman who was definitely old enough to be a professor and reached for a cup.

If walking in on Harry and Quinn resulted in Harry actually being nice to me for the first time in six years, maybe it wasn’t the Worst Moment of My Life.

**

I was never one to turn down a good time. If there was anything I learned in my first year at Uni, it was that I could handle a decent amount of alcohol before throwing up, and that parties in the senior housing complex were always just that--a good time.

Millie groaned behind me, already complaining about the heels she had strapped to her feet. Friday nights at London Metropolitan University were perhaps my favorite part of the university life. Minus Millie and the theatre group, Friday nights were definitely my favorite.

“Come on, stop complaining,” I said to Millie as I climbed the stairs. The elevator, unfortunately, was out of service, meaning we had to climb the 8 flights to our intended destination. Millie let out another whine but picked up her pace, almost bumping into me when I walked right into Harry’s back at the top of the 8th floor landing.

“Oh, hey!” Quinn smiled at me as she turned around to see us. “I had no idea you guys were coming, we would have waited for you!”

“You guys are hanging out with Preston and Katie?” Millie chirped from behind me, the look of confusion on my face was hopefully not as pronounced as hers.

“Yeah, Katie and I are in a biology class together,” Quinn explained, her hair perfectly curled as it fell around her beautiful face. Harry stood with his hand on the small of her back--when I noticed it, I did my best to not frown.

“You’re taking a biology class?” Millie pressed further, still shocked at Quinn’s connections and apparently, her cognitive abilities.

I placed a hand on her shoulder to quiet her. “That’s great! We were at Millie’s beforehand, I should have texted you to check if you were coming out tonight.”

At this, Harry let out a groan and rolled his eyes. If there was anything Harry disliked more than me, it was the fact that Quinn seemed to actually like me. We might not be the best of friends, but she was always more than willing to invite me along on their excursions.

Sometimes I questioned if she knew about the history between Harry and I--I mean, she knew we grew up together, she knew our families were extremely close--but it often seemed like she had no clue how much Harry really disliked me. He never seemed to keep it a secret--but it also didn’t seem like he had outright told his girlfriend.

Harry nudged Quinn forward, Millie and I followed behind as we rounded the corner in the hallway and walked towards the flat. Outside the door were two guys I’d known from a previous class--both smiled and greeted our group as we walked inside.

The flat--which was dimly lit save for a rotating plastic disco ball that sat on the kitchen table--was filled with students from our school, all of whom seemed decently intoxicated and happy to be back for a new school year filled with partying. Music played through speakers near a TV as I scanned the crowd for familiar faces.

Millie hugged a friend from our theatre group beside me as Harry and Quinn pushed through the crowd--heading straight for the kitchen to get some drinks and greet the others.

“Hey,” a familiar voice sounded from beside me as an arm slung around my shoulder. A quiff of dirty blond hair sat on top of Niall’s smiling face. “Didn’t know if you’d come out tonight.”

I let out a laugh and turned to face him. “Would Harper Coleman miss the first 819 party of the year?”  

Niall brought the beer can he held to his lips, taking a sip before shrugging his shoulders. “I guess not--it’s just that Harry didn’t say you’d be here.”

I raised my eyebrows in an unsurprised fashion. “Harry does his best to ignore my existence,” I reminded him, stepping closer to Niall to allow a small redhead the space to squeeze behind us.

Niall Horan was known on campus as a bit of player, in the most charming way possible. Harry met him during our first year, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew he was also always up for a good time. Harry had reluctantly introduced us in this very flat, eye roll included, and Niall proceeded to get extremely drunk and touch my butt every chance he got that first night.

He was cute--and when we first met, I thought that maybe he’d finally be the person to distract me from Harry. But--again--Harper Coleman was terribly wrong.

“Don’t know how he manages to do that,” Niall smirked, grabbing a beer from the hand of another party goer--offering it to me with a wink. “Here.”

Millie--who completely supported my unrequited love for Harry--also totally supported the fact that Niall seemed like he would marry me if I said ‘I do.’ I took the beer graciously, my eyes wandering the room to see where my friend had wandered off.

I spotted her in the corner of the living room with Preston and Katie--the two who currently lived in flat 819. Flat 819 was always occupied by seniors, and it had the reputation of being the best party spot on campus. Preston and Katie, two seniors who were dating, shared the flat with two other friends--Hollie and Niall.

“How was your summer? First week been alright?” He asked, his eyes scanning my face as if he could tell I was somewhat distracted. It wasn’t that Niall wasn’t cute and funny and nice--in fact, he was all of the above. Most girls would be extremely pleased if Niall Horan were showing them attention at the first 919 party.

This girl, however, had her eyes glued to the hand of her betrothed that slowly slid it’s way up and down Quinn’s back as they whispered to each other in the corner.

“Good, yeah,” I smiled back up at Niall, trying my best to focus on him. He returned my smile, his eyes still searching my face for anything. “Would you excuse me?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he nodded, surprised by my sudden shift in attention. I took the beer with me, shirked away from his arm around my shoulder, and pushed through the people in the living room to find Millie.

Katie spoke animatedly beside her, her hands flying in every direction as she laughed. Millie--who was thoroughly enthralled--didn’t notice my presence until I clamped a hand on her shoulder. I apologized to Katie and pulled my friend away, hoping that the bathroom down the hall would grant us the privacy I needed.

“Niall is at it again,” I told her quietly as I flipped on the light switch.

“Yeah? Are ya into it?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed, taking a seat on the side of the bathtub. Millie checked her makeup in the mirror, adjusting the crop top she wore before turning to face me.

“A little one night stand never hurt anyone,” she wiggled her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, laughing when I rolled my eyes at her crudeness. “I’m just saying, you won’t know if you can get over Harry until you try.”

“Who said I’m trying to get over him?” I defended, taking another sip from the beer can as Millie brought her phone up to read a message.

“Okay, well--you know what I mean--swim the sea, realize what else is out there! There’s more to life than a moody kid with poofy hair and a bunch of tattoos.”

I stood from my spot on the edge of the tub, taking another sip and letting the cheap liquid slide down my throat. I didn’t know if Millie was right, but I figured the only way to find out was to keep drinking and to do my best to forget about the moody kid with poofy hair and a bunch of tattoos.

**

“That’s what I’m sayin’ though!” Niall laughed as he leaned against the wall in his bedroom. “This album,” he held up the vinyl in its case and waved it in front of my eyes, “is one of the best pieces of music I’ve ever heard.”

I wasn’t quite sure how I’d wound up sitting on a ratty old armchair in Niall’s dark and dirty bedroom--but I could guess that it had something to do with the drinks I’d consumed and the current MIA status of Millie.

“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “Unless it’s got a 7 minute power ballad, that just can’t be true.”

Niall threw his head back in laughter, placing the vinyl back down on his dresser. He took a step closer to me and smiled. “You, Harper Coleman, have the biggest set of balls I’ve ever seen on a girl,” he nodded. “Critiquing a band like U2? I don’t know who you think you are.”

“That is quite possibly the best compliment I’ve ever received,” I brushed hair behind my shoulder in an exaggerated moment of confidence. Niall, whose blue eyes didn’t light as much of a spark in me as Harry’s green ones, let his gaze flicker from my eyes to my lips, and before I could stand up to let him kiss me, the door to his bedroom opened.

“What the fuck?” a familiar deep voice sounded as Niall stepped back. I side stepped him to find Harry at the door, his brows furrowed as he took in the sight of me and Niall--alone in his room.

“Can I help you?” I shot back at him quickly, silently cursing the fact that he always seemed to pop in at just the wrong moments.

“Quinn wanted me to tell you we were leaving,” he said quickly, looking from me to Niall before slamming the door behind him, not even giving me time to respond.

“Sorry,” I breathed out, looking back up to Niall--who now seemed thoroughly distracted and somewhat disappointed.

“S’good,” he shrugged. “But I’m gonna go get another beer.”

And with that, he left me in his bedroom, alone with the desire for a spark between us that I knew just wasn’t quite there.

[queerwonder]

How safe do you feel on campus? How involved are the security guards? Do the dorm rooms lock with cards or keys? Is there a lot of support between the students and the faculty (I'm going into social sciences for reference)? Is there a noticeable amount of racial targeting? Is the coursework generally demanding (examples from your program would help)? How's the food on campus? Do you feel safe in that area of Ottawa most of the time? Is not speaking french really going to be a problem?

oookay so this is gonna be a long one

How safe do you feel on campus? I personally always felt quite safe on campus! uOttawa is well-lit and is also in downtown Ottawa, so even when you’re leaving campus you’re right next to a big shopping mall and the rest of the streets are also well lit. I can’t remember a lot of times in my university career where there wasn’t at least a few other people on campus, whether I was trudging home after a 10pm lecture or waiting outside the library for it to open early in the morning. I should make a pretty huge caveat that I’m a white person who for most of my uni career was fairly masculine-presenting, so I don’t know if I necessarily would’ve been a major… target? But you asked for my experience so…. that’s it.

How involved are the security guards? So I was never particularly impressed with the security guards per se, but there was a really great service on campus called Foot Patrol, which is run by (pre-screened) volunteers who help you walk or bus places on your way home, especially late at night but really any time of day. They’ll ride surprisingly far away from campus to keep you company and I always had really positive experiences with them. My interactions with security were fairly limited–once they were called to residence while I was at a party that got too loud and they were pretty gruff. I was always friendly to the ones in my building but I seemed to always run into ones that were just very reserved.

Do the dorm rooms lock with cards or keys? I lived in Brooks residence (and also started university a solid seven years ago, so things might have changed?), but my residence building was locked with a card, and my personal room was locked with a key. For reference, Brooks is the ~apartment-style~ res – you lived in a mini-apartment with three other people. Each person had a bedroom that locked with their own key, then there were two shared bathrooms and shared living space–a pretty tiny kitchen with a full-size refrigerator, an oven, a little bit of counter space, and a bigger living room with a tv and two ancient couches. There was a dinner table. It certainly wasn’t glamorous, but given that the food on uOttawa campus is pretty much garbage (or was when I went there), having my own kitchen was a huuuuuuge plus. I was also quite introverted and mostly didn’t party, and found Brooks to be a lot quieter than the other residences. There were some parties, but not as many as other residences, and it was easier to get away from them because we all had individual units and didn’t have the sort of “open door culture” that I saw in other residences.

Is there a lot of support between the students and the faculty (I’m going into social sciences for reference)? So I did my degree in the Faculty of Arts, but had a few classes with soc people. With one or two exceptions, I have nothing bad to say about any of the professors at the university. I found them, to a person, to be genuine and passionate and a lot of fun to be around. I strongly recommend that you go to office hours, even if you don’t need help with anything in particular–setting yourself apart from the crowd will make your professors care about you and your success a lot more. It also, to be blunt, results in better grades. Professors are more forgiving when they can picture you while they’re marking. It’s just human nature. I made good relationships with my professors and would even count a few of them among my friends now. When I was in third year university I had a bit of a breakdown and went around to each of my professors to explain why I was dropping their classes and taking time off, and every single of one of them was so kind and so accommodating. One of them in particular made me tea and gave me a pep talk I will remember for the rest of my life. When I was upfront with my professors about mental illness, when I came back and needed to do part-time studies, I was always given extensions and the support I needed. Treating your professors with respect, but remembering that they are human beings, goes a long, long way. If you go into their office with “I know I can’t get this paper done on time, but here’s what I’ve done and here’s my plan to do better,” there is no reason for them to say no (and if they DO say no, the clinic on campus is totally solid for sick notes–I got passes because of mental health stuff maybe four or five times.) Similarly, if you’re going to write a paper, I really encourage you to go to office hours and pitch it. Don’t ask your professor for sources or to do your work for you–just ask if the idea you have is specific enough, if they think there will be enough resources, if you’re being realistic about the issue you want to address within the page count. They are, generally speaking, there to help you–and I’ll say too that if you start out with “I’ve looked at x and y but really want to make sure I’m not missing any really important issues on this topic,” they will nearly always say “I’m not going to do the work for you,” as they’re handing you books from their bookshelves with articles or primary source material you need.

I know there are professors who are assbutts and more concerned with their research than teaching. I’m pretty sure those people don’t usually go into the social sciences.

Is there a noticeable amount of racial targeting? So, I’m a white person! I don’t feel qualified to answer this question really. I can tell you that when I was in third year, there was a threat on campus (WHICH ENDED UP BEING A HOAX, BUT STILL) and the school went into lockdown, and I saw some articles from people of colour who were discriminated against trying to get into rooms to be safe for the lockdown. That’s the only example I can think of, but from what I read institutional racism is a pretty fucking big hurdle to jump and uOttawa is not, so far as I’m aware, a magical post-racial utopia.

Is the coursework generally demanding (examples from your program would help)? 

How’s the food on campus? So, I graduated over a year ago and started my degree in 2010, but the entire time I was there I would say quite vehemently that the food on campus was garbage. Even on my initial tours of the campus it was obvious to me I didn’t want to be beholden to their meal plan. Thank God it wasn’t mandatory. I ate on campus as infrequently as possible. I also hung out at the freshii that was just off campus quite a lot.

That being said, it’s basically connected to a mall with a giant food court that was just renovated. So there’s a lot more local options than there used to be. And people complained about the food ALL THE TIME when I was there, so I like to think maybe they did some things to make it better. But from my personal experience? Jesus frikkin’ christ it was bad news bears.

Do you feel safe in that area of Ottawa most of the time? Most of the time, yes. To be honest, there was a stabbing at a shelter within a few kilometres of the university during my time there, and you hear about violence in the Market every so often. I would carefully say it’s not any more dangerous than any other big city. I have been street harassed and queer-bashed and had plenty of unpleasant experiences. But I don’t really know anyone without those experiences who lives in any city of a certain size.

Is not speaking french really going to be a problem? Not really. The administration is francophone and they will usually be a little nicer to you if you can talk to them in French, but that’s because they’re human and they’re sick and tired of French getting thrown under the bus. uOttawa gets a lot of cred for being ~bilingual~ and ~isn’t immersion great~ and ~such culture~ but it’s honestly super anglo-centric, anglo-focussed, and it’s entirely possible to pass the Immersion program without actually being what most people would call bilingual. I would say most of Ottawa is MUCH more accommodating to anglos. You have nothing to worry about.

[robotslenderman]

#I'm also gonna test out a hypothesis when they emerge#to see if I've figured out how to prevent diapause#I might've found out by accident over Christmas???#which is weird#because the silk industry finds diapause a HUGE PAIN#and it'd be goddamn hilarious if one disabled uni student found out how to skip it lmfao#the silkie lady down in Victoria is testing it out for me too#so I'll hear back in a month or so whether or not it worked!

See, a thing happened in December where I had a second generation in a row hatch prematurely. 

Under a cut because super long. Also contains the deaths of thousands of tiny caterpillars. :( 

So last year some of Spot’s nieces and nephews hatched super early instead of going into diapause. That was the huge batch I had last year that partially got eaten by mice (:<), but it totally baffled the silkie lady when I told her about it. Only a hundred and fifty or so hatched (out of well over a thousand eggs in the second generation), but it was still totally WTF.

See, when silkies lay their eggs, the eggs go into diapause -- that means they hibernate. You “winter” them by putting them in the fridge. American silkies need a few weeks, but Australian silkies need about 3 months, so I’ve heard. Then you bring them out.

After that amount of time in cold temperatures, this tricks the eggs into thinking it’s spring and they hatch. Otherwise, they could be dormant for up to a year, sometimes longer. They need to think winter’s passed.

There are different strains of silkworms -- univoltine (one generation per year), bivoltine (two), multivoltine (three or more). Univoltines enter diapause once per generation. Bivoltines will have one generation skip diapause, so that only every other generation goes into hibernation. American silkies tend to be bi- or multi-voltine (which may be why they need less time in the fridge), but Australian silkworms are univoltine.

The silk industry finds this a massive pain. They need silk. So what they do is they treat the eggs with acid to get them to skip diapause, so that the cycle can go on and they can keep making money.

But then something weird happened to me over Christmas.

Firstly, I got super low spoons over Christmas, so I really struggled to keep up with my silkies. They emerged from their cocoons about a fortnight to a week before Christmas, and I managed to harvest the first wave of eggs, then put in a fresh sheet of baking paper.

I didn’t have the spoons to harvest any eggs that came after that. Since adult moths don’t eat -- they fuck themselves to death and/or die of old age in a week or so -- I put the lid on the box resolving to clean up the tiny little bodies and harvest the eggs when I got better.

About a week after New Year’s, I opened the box again.

There were thousands of tiny caterpillar bodies. At some point over Christmas, the second generation in a row to skip diapause hatched and died, because I hadn’t thought that I’d wind up with yet another generation skipping diapause and so never checked on them.

But it gets weirder:

It was only the eggs left with the parents that skipped diapause. The eggs that had been laid first had been taken away, but never fridged (they’re still sitting on my dining table) had not hatched. It was the newer eggs that hatched, the ones with the adult moths.

And I remembered -- when I kept Spot separate from the others as a moth, I’d had her sitting on her siblings’ eggs at one point. Some of those eggs I’d harvested immediately after laying, when they were still white-yellow, instead of after they darkened.

So I have a tentative hypothesis that silkworms will skip diapause and hatch if there are living adults still with the eggs by the time they hatch.

I theorise this because:

Third generation in a row hatched in a country that has only univoltine eggs what the fuck???

When moths emerge, the moths that mate the most die the soonest. So a high population of moths means there’d be less food for the young (since this generation would’ve eaten them all) means that the moths would die before the young finish developing in the eggs.

But moths that aren’t constantly mating will live a really, really long time. Females are supposed to live three days to a week -- I let Spot mate once, then kept her on my desk where she lived for three weeks before she died.

Therefore (despite silkworms being domesticated for thousands of years), in the wild, if the population of silkmoths was low enough -- that’d mean there’d be more food left for the young (since less moths = less worms in the last generation eating all the mulberry leaves). So the young would sense their mother is still alive (maybe the eggs pick up on the pheromones the female moth makes to attract a mate), and then hatch in a few weeks. Spot took three weeks to die -- that’s how long it takes silkworm eggs to hatch if they skip diapause.

I thought that if it were possible to skip diapause without involving acid or anything, the multi-million dollar silk industry would have found it by now. Except... they might not have. Why would they put aside a female moth and give her the opportunity to live long enough to see the next generation hatch? They wouldn’t have -- they mate the moths then burn them when they’re done.

The only other major area where silkworms are raised are in the shoeboxes of schoolkids, where there’d be enough moths that they’d all die before the next generation could hatch.

So how often, really, would anyone have had an opportunity to find this out by accident if it turns out my hypothesis is correct?

Like, maybe the occasional silkworm rearer would’ve stumbled upon this by accident, but not anyone in one of the two major areas of silkworm raising. And I’m sure somebody would’ve stumbled upon this before -- but not someone in the industry or someone who supplies eggs to schoolkids, where the moths would either die or be separated from the eggs before they could hatch.

I could be totally wrong. Like I said, silkworm industry -- multi million dollars and thousands of years old. I just can’t believe that if this is true, I would be the one to find it out when it’s got so much history already.

(Or heck, maybe the Chinese already know but haven’t told anyone outside of the country -- the only reason the western world knows silkworms exist is because someone smuggled out silkworm eggs and mulberry shoots a few centuries ago. Up until then, the Western world had no idea where the Chinese got their silk from, or anything about silkworm rearing -- because [correct me if I’m wrong] sharing that information was considered treason. Since the Chinese control like 90% of the silkworm industry, I wouldn’t be surprised if they simply kept their mouths shut even after the secret got out and it’s only the Western silk industry that’s going to all this trouble to get around diapause.)

But like. I could be totally wrong. But it’s just too weird that I’d have two generations skip diapause in a row when my supplier, who’s reared silkworms for years and years, has never heard of it happening in our country before.

And it’s doubly weird that none of the eggs I took away from their parents hatched, but a good portion (a third to half) of the eggs that were left behind hatched. It’s totally plausible that the first bunch of eggs that hatched still had adults alive, but by the time the unhatched eggs matured, the adult moths had all died and so they went into diapause instead.

My supplier’s got some moths right now, so she told me she’d test it out and keep a moth aside with the eggs to see what happens. 

Since Spot’s children are hatching now, I’ll do the same when they mature. I’ll put aside a few female moths, leave them unmated, and put in some eggs with them as soon as the eggs are laid (when they’re still white/yellow). I’ll also put aside some male moths with some eggs and see what happens there -- female moths are fatter, so I think that female moths that don’t mate will live longer than unmated males. If egg hatching is triggered by the presence of adults, I think it’d be more likely to be the eggs left with females. 

And we’ll see what happens!

But damn, if it’s not the presence of adult moths I don’t have a clue what the fuck it is.

[damefriday-blog]

Free universities: The Greek experience

People ask me why I came to England. My coming here always seems to puzzle them, especially after I declare I’m from Greece. There are multiple answers I can use, depending on who I’m talking to or my mood: I came here to study; I came here because Greece has pretty much sunk to the bottom of the Mediterranean from shame and debt; I came here because I’ve wanted to live in this country since I first started learning English. But the truth of the matter is that I came here because my parents paid for it.

In the beginning of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies the audience learns that it is considered fashionable for noble families to send their progeny to China or Japan to learn the art of war. And so, in a similar fashion, Greek families of means send their children abroad for an MA, MSc, PhD and then boast about it, trying to explain to their friends what their child is doing, even though they have no clue what they’re spending a considerable amount of money on. But this is the elite we’re talking about. What about the majority? In this post, I would like to discuss how free, higher education in Greece has shaped society and how its members treat each other.

So, going to uni in Greece is free; and it’s probably because of that fact that it’s also a given. Once you finish high school and survive the Panhellenic examination, the grades you receive will secure you a place. Only then can you submit your list of prospective unis to your school. In Greece, you apply for subjects rather than universities. The subject is more important than where you study it. Most people don’t get their first choice but everyone goes somewhere. It might be the dumbest subject in a uni that’s based in buttfuck nowhere* and they will still go because they need a degree in something. Apparently, it’s better to have a degree in chicken breeding than no degree at all.

If you don’t go to university, you are considered the lowest of the low, uneducated, qualified only for manual labour. People assume you were too dumb and lazy for even the shittiest university. The irony of the matter is that finishing uni, no matter which school it is, law or interior decorating, odds are you will end up unemployed. As a country, we export oil, fruit, wine and scientists. My sister is a clinical nutritionist, currently focused on her MSc at Glasgow university, dreading the thought of going back to our parents without having secured a job. I helped a friend who studied medicine find a position here by translating the CV she submitted. She now works in London as a plastic surgeon. My best friend from school is in New York, working as an engineer, while another one is in Denmark studying and working to support herself through it.

Finding out that people in the UK have the option to not go to uni, without the stigma attached, was quite a shock for me. A few months ago, I took part in a research conducted by the HR department at work. They wanted to talk to young professionals, people under thirty, and discuss what works well for them, what’s challenging and how they, as an institution, could improve. I went, less because I had something to contribute and more because I was interested to see who was going to turn up and what they were going to say. No person in the room, except for me, had been to uni. Most of them had gotten their job through apprenticeships. They seemed very professional, goal focused people who knew what they wanted: a career in local government, a house and lots of work friends. One girl said she’s so glad she didn’t go to uni, which I thought was really sad. She was in her early twenties, talking about how much money skipping higher education has saved her and how in a couple of years she’d be able to buy a house. The others smiled and shook their heads as she went on counting the many benefits of working for local government. After I left, I still couldn’t decide whether I felt sad for her, because uni is great and people shouldn’t have to turn it down because they can’t afford it, or it was the Greek, prejudiced, mean snob inside me pitying the uneducated person. I want to believe that I’m better than this.

For the sake of avoiding any confusion I just need to clarify: I am not comparing Greek universities to British ones. Greece has neither the funds nor the infrastructure to compete with Britain, where higher education is a major source of revenue for the country. No one would pay to attend a Greek university. There are perks to entering uni in my home country though: you receive all your books for free (I got both volumes of the Norton anthology English literature, plus the Norton theory and Criticism on my first semester – all three are offered on Amazon for the price of £109.33) and you can apply for university accommodation which is also provided free of charge. The rooms are tiny but you can hardly be picky when your parents can’t properly support you. And as I’ve already stressed, you need to finish your degree in order not to be treated like the black sheep of the family.

I don’t like the fact that in my country, people can shame other people over their degree, or the lack of one. Most parents want their child to become a lawyer or a doctor or a computer engineer; a career that swallows your life to the point where you define yourself by your job. My best friend’s dad asked me once why i didn’t apply for law school, given that my grades were so high. He said medical school and law school are the only options distinguished students should consider. He was genuinely surprised when I told him that it never even crossed my mind to apply. No one ever pressured me to either and I am thankful for that. At the age of sixteen/ seventeen, when you are supposed to make this sort of choice, you can be uniquely vulnerable and susceptible to your parents’ suggestions. Lots of people I know went after the course their parents wished them to pursue. I wanted to go to Film school, become a writer and film director. I used to fantasize about who I would thank at the Oscars when I won the Best foreign film and Best original screenplay award. My parents said no. I fought back. We met in the middle: I went to study English literature and was shipped off to England for my MA Creative Writing. They paid and I’m grateful.

Education should be free and available to everyone; that is a fact and I fully support it and believe in it. The UK might have some of the greatest universities in the world but what is the point if people can’t access them because of the price tag? Choosing between being in debt for the better part of your life and starting a life without this massive burden on your shoulder is a tough choice to make when you’re seventeen years old; no one should have to do that. Going to uni is not for everyone but the choice whether to go or not shouldn’t be influenced by the cost. You don���t have to go to uni to be intelligent or well-read or politically conscious. Plenty of people come out of uni with prestigious degrees and an empty head.

Having said all that, I can’t help but wonder: should universities in the UK were free, would a similar situation to the one in Greece arise? Because right now, I think there’s plenty of snobbery to go around in Britain as it is.

*there is this amazing Greek expression, equivalent to buttfuck nowhere, that I felt I needed to share with you: kolopetinitsa. The literal translation is: village in the rooster’s ass. Isn’t the Greek language a gift to humanity?

[fureniku]

Life

So... I said previously that I wouldn’t blog here. I’m going to change that slightly.

I still have my private blog (Inbox me if you want the URL), but on here I’m going to post thoughts and stuff that are a little more public, but still not quite facebook-safe. Maybe these are more relatable for others as well, considering they’ll be more generic and conceptual instead of specific to my life. However; they may still have triggers for people - so be warned of that.

So tonight, 

Blog #1 - Life. 24th January 2018 Start time: 20:59

Life. For as long as we have been here, people have asked; what is the meaning of life? They ask this from sheer curiosity - why are we here, sentient meat-machines living on a little ball of dirt and water in an endless void. Is there a purpose? Were we created by some divine being, or maybe deposited by aliens... or maybe we’re just an accident of biology.

When they ask the meaning of life, they ask about life as a whole. All of humanity, and even extending to the animals, insects, plants - every last life form of the planet.

But what if we dial it back? What if we ask about it from a personal view; Why am I here specifically? as opposed to us as a collective?

When you really think about it, how many humans can say they truely enjoy life? Granted, not everyone is depressed, or suicidal... but are they really happy? Lets run through what life consists of.

First, you are conceived. Then you spend 9 months of nothingness just developing and growing until you’re eventually born as a baby- year zero. The first two years of your life most people don’t really remember - at most only tiny snippets and concepts as we learn how to human. From there we start to develop our memories and our personalities. Ages 3-4 are great, you just play with toys and don’t really have any problems. Life value is pretty high, for you.

Next up, school time! Most countries tend to start children at school around age 4 or 5 (We’re going to stick with developed countries for this run through). And, like those early years, it’s pretty easy. You’re learning social skills, you’re getting a very basic education that’s generally disguised as play and you’re making friends that may last for decades. Sometimes teachers might get annoyed because you did something wrong, and that can be stressful - you’re learning that negative emotions can be sourced from other people, as opposed to just dropping your new lego car.

In the UK, your first real standardized test (Year 2 SATs) comes at the age of about 6/7. For many kids that can start to bring on pressure to do well - even if only slight - a sort of prequel to the stress of work to come later. You’re barely 7 years old and already you have to start living to responsibilities. Most stuff is still easy so life value is still good, but not quite where it was.

The next few years of school get a little more challenging. You’re doing real education now, you’re starting to learn things about the world - how it works (basic physics and biology), what happened (history) and so on. You learn about these huge wars in which hundreds of thousands of people died, you learn about the vastness of the oceans containing immesurable amounts of life... you start to realise there’s more to this world than just the few square miles around your house and school. It leads up to (in the UK) your second major standardized test around age 10/11. This one has more pressure, it’s often used by your next school to group you so can have an important impact. Naturally the teachers are stressed, they want you to do well... but that rubs off on you, the student. You don’t quite understand why they’re worried yet as you don’t really know the concepts of bad performance affecting their career, but nonetheless you feel pressure to do well, to not upset them. Life value slips just another tiny bit down.

Now, we move to our new school. Most of the time it’s a much bigger school with lots more people. Social status instantly plays a huge role in everything - and this is where you will define yourself as a person for the next 10+ years and make decisions that will impact the rest of your life. No pressure, young one!

At the tender age of 14 you are asked to make a decision on what you want to study. Choose wrongly and you might not be able to persevere into the career you want to do... but what if you don’t know what career yet? What if you change your mind later? And while all this is going on you have the social side too. Maybe you’re being bullied because of some physical condition or abnormality that you have no control over. Maybe you’re confused because you’re a boy, but you really like that boy, or maybe you don’t actually feel like a boy deep inside. Maybe you have a mental health condition thats totally out of control, and you don’t know what to do about it. You’re still so young but the pressures are building. These early teens are when people will start asking that all-important question with a personal view; Why am I here? Why do I exist, if all I get from life is pain and stress?

But it’s ok. You know once you finish school, it’ll get better right? The bullies will go away, your teenage hormones will settle down, you’ll get that awesome job you want, buy a house and live happily ever after.

Back to the education. Age 16, you make a more fine-grained choice towards your career. Get this one wrong and you’re already a bit screwed, so I hope you know exactly what you want to do and how to get there! So you continue with your next stage of education, age 16-18. Often again in a new school, with new people and you’ve got all these thoughts swimminmg through your head, its like the last few years on steroids but no time for that now, gotta focus! But focusing is hard when your brain goes a mile a minute. Maybe you’re a lucky one and you do well, maybe you slip and fall here - do that, and your life will totally stall. Life value is really starting to drop now.

Finally! You’re 18! Off to college/university you go! But wait, now you have moved out. You live in student accomodation, and you just got a lump sum paid into your bank. That money is the most you’ve seen in your life, but its gotta last three months until the next one. But it’s fine, you can manage that! $10 here, $15 there, it’s nothing... until 2 months later it’s gone. If only you knew how to budget properly... but hey at least you know mitochondria is the power house of a cell, right? So you spend that last month living off instant ramen and scraping the mould off your toast, praying you don’t have any sudden costs come up.

You hold out hope though. A few more years and you’ll be done with uni! Then you can move out, get that awesome job and live life! It’s gonna be GREAT!

wrong.

You finish your education. You did OK, you passed and got your degree with average marks. You head back home to party for a month or so before starting to look for a job, and its such a fun period! No commitments, no worries, you can just have fun.

That time passes like nothing, and its time to get a job. You spot an ad for the perfect job for you, so you apply. You’ve got all the right qualifications and they’re even hiring fresh graduates; great, you’re basically in! But you aren’t. Because 20 other people are applying for this exact same position. One of the others gets it, but it happens. You apply for another, the same scenario with 19 other competitors, and it passes you again. By now, your bank is empty so you have to get a minimum wage role in your local store/restaurant/warehouse. It’s not ideal but at least now you can contribute rent to your parents for the house.

While this is all going on, you’re struggling to meet that special someone. You had a couple of bad tinder dates and now you’re a little sore of it, but you still try and talk to people who interest you... but it always fades to nothing.

Then at the same time, you see that older generation complaining about you. About how you’ve had everything handed to you, how lazy you are, why haven’t you moved out yet?!

So you start looking. You know you have two choices here and once again, it decides a lot. You can rent, or you can buy. If you rent, you’re paying that for life, and until you get that qualified job you want you’re gonna really struggle - certainly won’t get enough to be saving for a house deposit to move out later. It’s starting to dawn on you as well that that qualified job? it’s a pipe dream. It’s never gonna happen. The other option is to buy. You do the math, you budget everything and you can afford mortgage repayments on a 1-bed house over 25 years. Once those 25 years are up, regardless of anything you OWN that house - great! This is the logical route, with your current job it’ll be tight but you can make it work, and things will only pick up from there.

But the banks? They don’t care for your budget. They have a flat maximum rate they’ll give you, and its well under your budget... but that doesn’t matter. They’ll give you a loan of 45k if you have good credit, but when the cheapest house is twice that you know it’s not gonna happen.

And there you are, mid 20′s, shit job, living in a flat knowing you’ll be paying rent for the rest of your life, on your own while older generations tell you about how “lucky” you are. Life value? low as fuck.

But then you meet someone. Great! They move in with you. Your bills are a little better, so you can each afford occasional treats. You can do a hobby on the weekend sometimes (assuming your partner is into similar things or has their own hobby and is happy to be separate for them). Things are slightly better.

Now you’re 30, and it’s time to have/adopt a child. One way or another you’re now caring for a new life. You look down into those innocent infant eyes, and you reflect. You think back on how in just 15 years, this child will start to question things like you have been. They’re questioning why they exist, when this world isn’t all that fun to live in.

Plus, now you have a new commitment. At least the next 18 years of your life will be dedicated to this childs upbringing. You will make mistakes and feel bad for them, and you’ll have victories that make you happy. But now, you exist for your child. Your life is gone, everything is for them until they go to university themselves.

And they eventually do - but now you’re in your 50′s. You can’t do stuff that you used to enjoy quite as easily, your body doesn’t work as well as it used to, you get tired easier. You’re still working somewhere or other and you’re still making ends meet... but is it fun? Are you having fun?

20 years pass, you’re 70 now. You have retired from work, but even going to the bathroom is a little more effort now. You still do your hobbies but you have less energy for them, and you realise this is the end. You’ve got maybe 20 years or so left, but you’ve already peaked. Everything is downhill from here, things are gonna stop working, you’ll lose your independence and before you know it, you’re sat in a chair getting a sponge bath from an intern who couldn’t care less. And then, you find yourself on your death bed.

You have that time to reflect. Think back on your life, and you realise. Was it worth it? Why was I here? Did I make a difference? The answer is probably no.

You existed for your own sake, not anyone elses. Life is there to be enjoyed - so if you aren’t enjoying it, then whats the point of it at all? If all we do is be born, work, and then die, then what’s the point of being born to begin with?

But that was a pretty average runthrough. What if things happened differently? Maybe you got that great job. You were on triple the grocery store salary and the bank gave you a good mortgage. You could afford to care for yourself so you met a great partner, and you pay off your house with ease. Your children have a happier upbringing with more stimulation, meaning they pick up education better and are less stressed. You retire at 55, but your pension is great so you can afford things like big holidays and expensive hobbies. You are the living proof that life can be enjoyed. They say money can’t buy happiness - but you proved them wrong, because it drives away the negativity.

Of course, it goes the other way too. Maybe you’re born into a third world country, you grow up knowing only the pain of having not eaten yet this week... and while your first-world brethren are stressed about that SAT exam, you’re dying of some disease that they were vaccinated against. Then you really question why you were here, if life was so short and painful.

I guess this was all a little pessimistic, it just reflects my current mood, but more importantly it reflects the outlook I’ve always had on life. Why ARE we here? Is life really worth living? Do the pros really outweigh the cons?

What is the meaning of life, for me - the individual?

End time: 21:50 Word Count: 2,466

I’m adding suicide trigger warnings to the tags, becuase if someone feels that way this post could cause the wrong signals. I would never suggest that as a solution to anything but honestly, I understand the feeling too. If my blog has upset you in any way or you want to discuss it, my inbox is always open.