More Creative Quotes

Another ‘creative’ quote from my manuscript, this time from Aidelle’s side of the separation. Of regrets and chilling thoughts of being away from him.

(It’s larger – and the picture was, sadly, more cumbersome than my previous, horizontal photos – therefore, I have to say, the quote carries less elegance than the other, but I still thinks this brings a certain bundle of ‘feels’ when I read it. I highlighted some of the phrases that have stayed with me throughout writing.)


Poem: Fingermarks on the Glass


Too many drinks make a hazy head –

A thin line ‘tween clarity and peering through a traffic of images

For the harmony of your tenor,

For a stupid, goofy grin

We both once shared.

In drabs, our souls drip away;

Though the clear transparency of your tone

Mingles with my opaque dossier,

One look is not as simple as one glance used to be.

Reliving through a blanket shell,

The “mirror darkly”, the apt quote,

Now feelings fracture the edge of new circumstances.

I collect them in a decanter,

You see, for my pleasure

At reconvening evidence, pocketing it

Like copper coins. You abandoned

Your place at one whisper –

Hold on to sailors’ hats! He’s done it again! –

Yet, simultaneously, you crept away

Into a veiled concept like a spice element amongst my dew,

Performed a tidy show for all the eyes,

But neglected my introspective, skip-a-beat type care.

Instead, I play with the remains of my alcohol.

I thought I heard a strain of some lyric once –

In the dark, that sound might be you –

Or it was a simplified version of hope,

Threaded by some Demon

With a promise of a sweeter success

With a headache.

Forget the chorus and the organ

Or the “operas and musicals” in mountains of my taste;

I want to hear your solo,

And the lightness in your cocktail accent,

And your questions – unimposing for now –

And every word, unspoken, that will follow.

An affair of the soul, indeed!

If flirtation begins, the thirst must be quenched;

If one eye closes, it must be opened by the other.

I drain the last of the second cup,

And the memory of your smile

Is nothing more than fingermarks on the glass.


If I took a sip for every thought of you…

Anger in Itself is Not Bad

I’ve always had a problem with anger, both on the sense of my short temper, and in my reactions to it. As a child, I was frequently berated for it, and, as such, I conditioned myself to expect that it was wrong inandof itself. Anger = punishment.

I believe that is the root of the depression and constant sadness that haunted me as a child, and trailed behind me as a youth. Anger is the monster that turns us into carbonated drinks or makes us eat away at ourselves, turning our anger inwards. I was one of the latter types. My hate = my fault = my punishment, you see.

As my RCIA leader said very wisely: “the feeling of hating one’s own anger is more likely a trick from the Devil.”

Now, I’ve been taught different. It’s not the anger that is the human sin, for we are flawed and we experience emotion as part of that fundamental flaw, but what we do, our actions, that make our sin.

In our RCIA session this week, we are still discussing Jesus as Word and Flesh and meaningful existant; we read through extracts of scripture and broke them into our personal and general interpretations and what we liked and thought difficult about them, be that giving when we have little to give, or being humble when the world around us is bold and self-loving.

I am blessed for having been there, for that discussion made me realise something that, though I’ve slowly become accustomed to, I’d not fully accepted: I am allowed to be angry with other people, I am allowed to be displeased and offended.

I’d understood that idea when I began to forgive myself (and this, I believe, must have been shortly before or after I made the decision to become a Catholic), but I’d never felt it.

The spirit entered us that session. I am so thankful that my eyes have been opened to this.

To finish, a thought considering the Pharisee and the taxi collector: Salvation cannot be earned.

(In a related, apt post, today is the eighteenth of February, which is the annual day of self-harm, depression and that lot. People are gathering, telling tales and supporting each other over those bumps in our lives. The Light shall come.)

Raising and Giving week (Or: In Which I Have Red Hair)

(Somebody tell me how the gifs hijacked this post…!)

These next couple of weeks I shall be even busier than normal, due to my duty to support anything charity-related – and it is Raising and Giving Week (next week, due to an arrangement change, but that doesn’t matter) at Wantage Hall, ran by the JCR and the Charity Rep, who happens to live two doors down from me. I’ll try and keep y’all informed of the happenings. With pictures (and gifs?) hopefully, because raising money for charity is something I’m passionate about…even in this wretched British weather driving thoughts away.

I myself am doing (what I consider to be) an extra special event, since I’ve not had that much to do with charity after leaving school. The British Heart Foundation’s Ramp Up the Red is this Friday 7th Feb, so anybody can get involved with fighting heart disease, even if you don’t live in the UK. Raising as little as even £50 can “provide a special kit to measure tissue or blood samples as part of vital research in the lab”. And that, as small an action as it sounds, could potentially save someone’s life.

But I’m doing something extra, for the rest of Feb, too. I owe the world more.

Me? I dyed my hair red to raise money for them. The entirety of February. Let’s say that again: I have gold hair no more for all of my February fixtures. 

You can actually (do the honourable thing *cough* xD) support me from afar by donating here:

But, seriously, threats bribes persuasion aside, even £1/$2 goes towards my goal and, thinking about it, we can always spare a pound/dollar or two by doing the healthier thing and not buying, say, chocolate or alcohol for one day. Think of raising money for charity as a very-short, all-year-’round Lent. Yeah…

Anyway, I think raising and giving is worth the trouble. In our daily lives, we spend so much time on the minuscule that we forget about those less fortunate than ourselves. It’s this time of year – just after the start of the year, but before we fall to the heavy slog of work and exams – that is the best for thinking about giving – be that more than money, be that time or care or attention to someone who deserves it more than they themselves realise. Give a moment these coming weeks to someone who thinks less of themselves, and prove that they are Humanity just as we are…

Love's chosen few

“Love’s chosen few can frolic without care…” (Phillip’s Poem, 2012)

I made myself into a gif. I’m just that good. ;) Alexandrina :D

Trust without wavering

Miss Alexandrina:

I’m feeling filled with the spirit, and this quote touched my soul: even when the world is dark, the sky is broken and fallen, there will be a light for all peoples. There will be Jesus.

Originally posted on 1catholicsalmon:

05_40_4Iamthelightoftheworld_web1PSALM 26


A Psalm of David.

1 Vindicate me, O Lord,

for I have walked in my integrity,

and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering.

2 Prove me, O Lord, and try me;

test my heart and my mind.

3 For thy steadfast love is before my eyes,

and I walk in faithfulness to thee.

4 I do not sit with false men,

nor do I consort with dissemblers;

5 I hate the company of evildoers,

and I will not sit with the wicked.

6 I wash my hands in innocence,

and go about thy altar, O Lord,

7 singing aloud a song of thanksgiving,

and telling all thy wondrous deeds.

8 O Lord, I love the habitation of thy house,

and the place where thy glory dwells.

9 Sweep me not away with sinners,

nor my life with bloodthirsty men,

10 men in whose hands are evil devices,

and whose right hands are full of bribes.

11 But as for me, I…

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A Succinct Defense of Marriage

Originally posted on matt fradd:


This is perhaps the best, succinct argument for marriage that I’ve heard.

I encourage you to watch it several times and then share it with friends.

It was offered by Ryan Anderson to the Indiana House Judiciary Committee earlier this week. Anderson is the co-author of the book, What Is Marriage? Man and Woman: A Defense. One of the other co-authors, Sherif Girgis, is a regular guest on Catholic Answers Live. You can (and should) listen to one of his shows here.

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Poem: I Was Working Away The Pain

I see you in the dark shapes under my eyes,

Where I’ve been losing sleep

Over contemplations and other intangible

Mysteries of the black storm beneath my chest.

That heavy block – organs, flesh, blood…

Of all things, my blood shares not your blue hue,

But if I were the sky,

I’d bleed in globules of rainfall dark.

Still, that organism beats irregularity. Stilled.

I forgot I was working away the pain –

Yet, how can I complete any masterpiece?

Without a muse, I stew without a soul.

Mimic my words like a pen without an owner,

Inscribe my touch with a senseless breath;

I beg you: take my voice and use my transcript.

At least then I’d share your separate lips.

Question after question, rushing torrent,

Claim me. Inquiries, not their inquirers, carry gifts:

Are your walls as towering as mine?

Do you precipitate like the clouds

With my eyes in the shadow of the moon

And sun? Broken – the sky fell with me,

Yet the gods stayed in their heavens.

Now my night is dawning,

My eyes are closed by petty exhaustion.

Sleep comes crawling with an apology.

It matters not.

meum errumpis pectum

A Christmas Reflection

Miss Alexandrina:

Writer Victoria Grefer speaks about what Christmas means to her as a Catholic. Merry Christmas :)

Originally posted on Creative Writing with the Crimson League:

"And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us."

“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”

I just wanted to take this moment to wish everyone a wonderful Holiday Season, and to my fellow Christians, Merry Christmas!

For me, the Christmas season has always been about remembering the things that really matter in life: catching up with family, renewing friendships, and even taking a breather from all the things that stress me out to simply be grateful for the incredible blessings I’ve been given.

I will be returning to my regular blogging schedule soon. For now, my Wednesday posts for December 25 and January 1 will be moved back to Thursday, December 26 and January 2 because of the holidays.


Perhaps more than anything else, Christmas (for me as an adult) has always meant rediscovering the completely unmerited but boundless gift that is God’s peace. I tend to…

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History Boys Quote

“The best moments in reading are when you come across something – a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things – which you had thought special and particular to you. Now, here it is, set down by someone else…someone who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.”


I found this quote from Alan Bennett’s play The History Boys (about private school boys trying to get into the Oxbridge unis, so very relatable to me) on the second page of a classics book I’ve started reading: Latin Love Lessons (my former Latin tutor gave it to me as a prize on the prizegiving night last week), and I felt I had to transfer it to my blog, since it’s so poignant and, well, worth sharing.

When I was little, I wanted these thoughts to myself – every song applied to me and every story was mine alone – but it’s so true that most thoughts are recycled. That’s marvellous about humanity, isn’t it? That, although we have lived in some many different trials and times, we are still essentially the same the same inner workings, the same subconscious desires and animalistic urges. And intellectual nuances.

Indeed, I’d say (at least, in my world-view) there are few more “long dead” than the Romans, than Ovid and Cicero, than Propertius and Catullus. Yet, in the two years that I got ‘down and dirty and in-depth’ in my Latin A Level, I learnt more about the Romans than their practises, flirtations and breath-takingly-poetic language. I learnt that they, the best of the poetics and storytellers, bottled passion and dripped it through each work, shaping how each of us will feel at some point in time: anger, joy, repulsion, relief.

They are the best of writers. Unlike [some] modern writers (and partly because English language lacks this flexibility), classical writers took care over every single word: where it stands in the sentence, what translation it gives, which other words it should be linked with. In this same way, classical writers have defined the genre by pouring what they noticed about the world, the relationships, the land around them into each sentence.

They invented capturing passion and they passed it to us. Cyclically, humanity designed passion the way it is. Thus, we all feel what feelings have been written once.

(Thus, my degree is Psychology and Philosophy!)