identity

Not Just Another Brick In The Wall

When you think of rebellion a collection of stock images tend to flicker through your mind, playing like an old time newsreel.

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The Story of My Life

There was a time not long ago when I was young and free. Those were the days when your friends would come chap your door and ask you to come outside and explore the vast open world beneath your feet. But not all days were sunshine and roses. There were days when there was upset and distress. My very first friend was called Reece and my father always warned me of his bad influence, but I never listened. I never listened because my father treated me like I was young and dumb. He made me feel like he always knew best which made me continually rebel against his authority.

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A Love Letter

Honey bunny, Mummy wants you to know that you don’t have to try to please everybody around you.

You can say or show how you truly feel.

I want you to be happy and be able to have the confidence to speak up for yourself.

I want you to be able to find happiness from within.

But,

First, you need to be able to stay true to yourself.

You don’t need to say out loud to others how you feel.

But,

You need to be able to say it to yourself, be confident in what you believe and accept who you are!

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Tuesday

On the kitchen top the old kettle rumbled, rising to its crescendo, the finale a desultory click.

Routine made the whole operation easy; in no time she was settled beside the living room window, chair angled to watch life outside. Most of her neighbours had left for work, there wasn’t much to see, or hear. The only constant companion, nature’s changing wallpaper. She often felt she was the street’s security guard, keeping an eye on any comings and goings. Not today though.

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So You're the Rebel?

'So you're the rebel?'

It's a question that is often asked of me.

I don't know what they want me to say. That's their word, not mine.

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I'm Not The Rebel You're Looking For

So you want to read about rebels? Well, you’ve come to entirely the wrong place. Sorry.

I’m about as far from a rebel as it’s possible to be. To give you an idea of what I mean, here are a few scenarios from 20th century cinema to help.

Imagine Stand By Me, but with a character who, having heard the rumour about a bloated corpse amidst the rushes, leaves his more adventurous friends to it, hot-footing it home quicker than you can say ‘valuable life lessons’.

I’m the Neo from The Matrix who takes the other pill.

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Charnock Richard

  

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“Silent Rebellion”

A door clicks.

Floorboards creak.

Footsteps accompany cracked, rasping breaths.

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Thanks - but no thanks!

The knarled, twisted tufts of root are still caked in sandy, red earth - grains clearly stuck fast in the crevices and knots, pressed against the clear, tight plastic wrap. I absent-mindedly toss the celeriac toward my trolley.
"Sh**- oh, sorry, excuse me" I mumble as the slippery ball escapes my grasp, hits the floor with a dull thud and rolls away along the aisle. Sighing I crouch down, rummaging on the floor beneath bemused and slightly irritated Saturday afternoon shoppers. I’m painfully aware my neck is reddening with embarrassment.

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Auld Rebel

Warning: this piece contains strong language

My itchy feet did not stop when I returned home from the Far East and met the man who would become my husband in less than six months. They were soothed. They were softened. They were worn, day in, day out, for many years. 

Worn, trodden upon, used … my feet were trampled over many times but still they plodded on. They say we hit a treadmill at certain times of life and maybe that’s where my feet found themselves for thirty plus years. 

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