Upon entering 2024, I’ve been noticing small details and glimpses of my past that keeps reappearing… The other day, I found my old drawings and paintings that were made when I was in my early years of Secondary school. I never was much of an artist, but, I enjoyed it none the less. The change in how I used to draw — compared to now — is completely different. The tone, style, and messages to be conveyed…totally unrecognisable (and more childish). Seeing these snippets of life that used to be mine, made me fall into a deep rabbit hole of looking into my childhood, and, finding themes that made me feel content and at peace. One look would be embracing the ‘aesthetic’ Frutiger Aero. This was a broad design style that was used in advertising, media, stock imagery and technology. This theme was prevalent from roughly 2004 to 2013. Now, I know I can’t say I recognise this theme in much detail, simply because I’m in my late teens, and this theme would be more recognisable for those who weren’t a child during this period…but I still find an odd sort of comfort in it. When I was small, I would’ve considered Frutiger Aero to be ‘scarily humane’ and ‘unnatural’. There was something uncomfortable about the theme and aesthetics; in which I couldn’t (and still can’t) place a feeling on. Eleven years later, that feeling has been replaced with adoration and a yearning for that time in history. Perhaps it’s just nostalgia for childhood, or maybe I’m just having a silly day…Either way, I find myself craving to be able to experience something like this in today’s technology. We’ll start with looking into the nostalgia side of things… I’ve been looking into why I have such a deep, and emotional connection to a theme I despised when I was younger. The truth is, you find comfort in what you know. That’s it. When you see something new, you’re less inclined to try it. A few years go by, you get acclimatised to it, and you don’t mind it as much. Then, it goes on to be replaced by something else that’s new, and you forget it was ever there. More years go by, new themes and aesthetics are introduced which are equally more boring than the next (flat design I’m pointing my finger at you)… You then accidentally stumble across it, and wish you had noticed it more whilst it was present. Maybe, I’m just bored of the same design themes I keep seeing everywhere. I’ve grown to really dislike the term ‘minimalist’ and have chosen to aspire to greater things in the realms of ‘maximalism’… All jokes aside, I find an intense passion for my childhood (that I can barely recall any memories for), and a deep call to home in these aesthetics and design choices at the time. So maybe it is just nostalgia screaming to be heard… I think the design theme of Frutiger Aero has nothing to do with me being nostalgic for it. But, instead the time period in which I was a child. I mean, I would’ve been 5 around the height of the aesthetic. Obviously, no 5 year old will be able to remember every small detail of their life at that point. If you can, though, I’m very jealous… What I can remember from when I was 5 years old is just bliss. I remember having play dates, running around outside, making up games…stealing my cousins iPad…which was brand new, and I’d get grubby fingerprints all over it… Good times… That experience of being outside, alive, and playing until the sun goes down makes me feel a deeper connection to the Frutiger Aero aesthetic, by its use of grass, flowers and nature at its core. Perhaps I’m just making up excuses now, but this connection resonates deep within me, and I yearn to be 5/6 years old again and playing until you can’t see the sun. Oh…to be a child again, taking it all in…

When writing this piece, I felt overwhelmingly pessimistic, as proven by how short this piece is. I don’t deal well with people being optimistic, and I think it’s something I inherited from my dad. We’re both glass half empty, rather than glass half full. There’s nothing wrong with optimism, I just think it’s tiring to be positive all the time, and anyone who is should either be shielded from the dangerous weapon of pessimism or taught that not every instance in your life can lead to good things I recently was talking to a friend, who is usually the most positive person I know; but she started saying phrases I had never heard her use before, edging towards being a full-blown pessimist. I always feel melancholic when I see a friend, who is usually beaming with positivity, start feeling pessimistic. It always makes me feel on edge or uneasy; like something isn’t right. Then, I begin to wonder, why is the world split between this metaphor of glass half full or half empty? Is there an in-between? In truth, it’s always been a fight between pessimism and optimism with realism mixed in-between. No one is 100% optimistic all of the time, in some cases there are sprinkles of either realistic or unrealistic optimism; same with pessimism. So, how come there is this divide? Why must people be split between half full or half empty? One answer would be (courtesy of psychologytoday.com and positivepsychology.com) that people are genetically predisposed to be more positive or negative than others. In addition, to be a pessimist or an optimist, there is no specific criteria or requirement to become one consciously. Most of the time, our brain subconsciously decides to become a pessimist or an optimist without input from our conscience. Additionally, pessimism can occur due to external factors, such as a bad break-up, job loss, injury, illness or other trauma. Essentially, in my opinion, pessimism isn’t a ‘bad’ thing, but rather a state of mind that someone resides in. Again, there’s nothing wrong with people being optimistic either. I think for me, I dislike people who think with unrealistic optimism; The type of people who think that if they get an incurable disease, they will be in the 5% that will survive it and be ‘cured’. Linking to that statement the website positivepsychology.com, states that there is the role of a realistic mindset, in which the expectations are based on reality versus fantasy or illusion. The website states that the researchers found that having ‘realistically pessimistic health expectations was also related to reduced depressive symptoms and risk of death. Similarly, unrealistic optimism when health is deteriorating was associated with a 313% higher death rate’. In a way, I’m quite grateful to have this pessimistic behaviourism, as it can lead to less disappointment within workspaces, personal life etc; however, I feel constantly burdened by having a negative outlook on a life that could benefit from optimism, such as I’m constantly thinking of the worst scenario, instead of appreciating the journey, or thinking of the best possible outcome. This is the best outcome I could come up with this week, as evident by the three other word documents left unfinished in my google drive.

As I matured, I slowly acquired the knowledge from my high school and college years that everyone is out to get you. Albeit not actually true - no one is specifically going out of their way to make you feel miserable, it’s more so about finding a piece of information, and latching onto it in hopes it will make drama. 9 times out of 10 it will create drama, and everyone on the sidelines is watching closely, entangling themselves between two people when they shouldn’t be - but it’s the thrill. It’s like watching a tv show slowly unwind to the climax of the season. The peak of tv entertainment. So I wondered, why do people love drama so much? Is it to distract themselves from their own personal issues; or, simply, they like to watch other people suffer from distress? On the website psychcentral.com they found 5 reasons why people love conflict and drama. The very first one is about, indeed, being a distraction from focusing on their own lives - they state that “If you have something or someone to be mad at, it can help you to disengage with looking at yourself deeply.” and “Drama can channel energy away from what you really need to be focusing on.” I think most people would agree that trying to concentrate on one’s self, and still be happy is a difficult task, and I think most people hate thinking about themselves, and would rather someone else take the important ‘role’. It’s also important to consider that drama is something many people are familiar with - according to psychcentral.com, “people who grew up in dysfunctional homes or within families where addiction or trauma was present, creates chaos, unclear boundaries, and teach people that engaging in conflict dysfunctionally is the best way to behave and live your life.”. It is described as a force of habit; if drama is all you have ever known, you are more likely to engage in it, and enforce it upon others. I think this is the most relatable one for my age-category; most of my friends grew up in dysfunctional homes, and combined with drama being a distraction from themselves, it feeds into the addiction of being intertwined with someone else’s issues - relieving the pressure from themselves is probably a very relaxing feeling, despite being excessively unhealthy. Speaking of addiction, the chemicals released into our brains after feeling anger when involved in a drama-related situation can get people high off dopamine and help them engage and re-engage in these types of cycles. According to psychcentral.com “It feeds the feel good parts of our brains”. This reasoning for why people like and enjoy drama scares me. I imagine that if someone was addicted to anger, it could blind them from the reality of a situation. Cloud their thought-process. I think that it could lead to unnecessary arguments, and loss of friendships; perhaps that is just my self-awareness talking, but, I think to stay angry all the time, to be addicted to this feel-good chemical, is quite sad. One explanation I personally enjoy from psychcentral.com is the fact that, put simply, it is news. As humans, we want to know things. Why Bob from History broke up with his girlfriend, and what she is going to do as retaliation. We often step over the boundaries and become too involved, but hey, it’s fun! I think the sooner that people stay involved with their own concerns and faults, and less of other people's problems, the world would seem a nicer place. I’ve often found myself in the centre of drama, not willing or pleased to be there. I try to think that I am a super mature person with the way I handle situations, but the more I grow older, the more I realise I still act like a child. Or, perhaps, I think things through more rationally rather than in the moment.

Looking after kids isn’t easy. Especially ones that aren’t your own - or ones you are related to, or even kids who have no relation to you at all. I’ve been an on-and-off babysitter for just over 4 years. Despite that, I know nothing about kids. I have a little sister who is 6 years younger than me, but I have no knowledge of how to discipline a child or get them to do what they are asked. Last Friday, I was asked by my mum’s friend if I could babysit her kids for a couple of hours; so that she could enjoy a birthday meal with her friends and family. Now, looking after kids seems like it should be a simple thing; you play with them, you get them ready for bed, read them to sleep and then you can relax. Not with these. The children are brother and sister aged 5 and 7 (give or take). They’re excitable, funny, and very, very chatty. They aren’t unpleasant to be around, and provide a lot of character for their small bodies. And, they argue, like any other siblings would. Getting them to play nicely is no easy task, but usually, there is no actual fighting involved, just small exchanges of dislikeable language. As an inexperienced babysitter, who hasn’t done a course in health and social care, but instead just a family friend, it feels wrong of me to discipline someone else’s child for misbehaving; especially when the parent isn’t there to decide if my disciplinary skills are too harsh or too weak. So I only interfere when it gets more ‘rowdy’ and legs start kicking. Luckily for me, the children play nicely most of the time, and so, on Friday we all collectively played Mario Kart together. All was well, until the young girl became upset because she thought she was my character in 3rd place, and not her own in 12th. She paused the game for a couple of minutes, saying she had to do something in the menu, and angry exchanges from her older brother were being directed towards his little sister. He was complaining about how she ‘ruined’ the game, because she had changed her vehicle and the map too many times, and made it so that they couldn’t play a whole ‘cup’ because it was nearly bedtime. She then unpaused the menu, with her face looking sour and teary-eyed, so I quickly and subtly gave her my controller, so that she became my character, and we finished the game. I had checked the time very briefly - with the clock displaying 7:15 PM on my phone, and had decided that I should wrap up the game now, than at their actual bedtime, which was 7:30 PM. Both kids ushered groans of annoyance and told the other that it was ‘their fault’ for not playing fairly; with both kids begging for one more game. I had decided to say “No”, because I knew it would take me forever to get them to sleep. And I wasn’t prepared for when their mum would arrive, so I didn’t want to be ‘told off’ because her children weren’t asleep. They began walking sulkily to their bedrooms, and the little girl was frantically trying to find her pyjama top. I found the colourful pyjama top in the living room and called her over to help her put it on. Her brother came running out into the hallway with some of his animal puppets, and told me that I had to do a ‘puppet show’ before bed. This news excited his sister, who then began to find her own puppets, passed them to me, and told me I had to speak using the puppet only for the rest of the night. I played along only for a few minutes, saying in a deep, croaky voice “You must brush your teeth!”, using the horse puppet. The children burst into laughter, holding their stomachs, and ran into the bathroom to begin brushing their teeth. When they had finished brushing their teeth, they ran into their parent’s bedroom with a towel, forced me to sit on their parent’s bed, and began doing “magic tricks”. I endured this for a couple of minutes, before standing up and stating that we needed to get the books ready for reading. The little girl demanded that I needed to fill her hot water bottle up before I read the books, and her older brother followed suit, asking if I could fill his up as well. So, whilst they were picking out their books I was going to read them, I filled up the kettle, turned it on and waited for the water to boil. Once the water boiled, I filled up the hot water bottles and brought them to the kids. I then moved two chairs closer to the little girl’s bed, sat down in the chair closest, and her older brother took the chair next to me. I first read Frozen, a book recapping the Disney movie, and the children became slightly settled. This only lasted a minute, as the second book I read was a comedy donkey book, which heightened their excitement. As I was reading the book, there were little giggles echoing around the room, and I noticed that the little girl had picked up one of the animal puppets from earlier, the horse, and began hitting her older brother with it. She then started using the puppet to ‘attack’ my ear whilst I was reading, sparking her brother to become riled, and shouting at her to stop. She then calmed down, and once the book was finished, they began to find more books stating “Mum always reads us 7 books before bed”. I told them that there wasn’t time for 5 more books, but 1 more would be fine. They passed me a book about a princess doctor, and I began to read it. Halfway through, the little girl began covering the words so that I couldn’t read the book, with her brother finding this hysterical, began to do it also. My patience slightly faltered after dealing with this sort of behaviour all night, I stated that I wasn’t going to read the rest of the book if they were to continue. They settled down once more, and once the book was finished I told them a little white lie, saying that their mum would be home soon, and she wanted to see them asleep in bed. They both scrambled into bed, the little girl asking to be wrapped up like a little baby, and the little boy emptying out his bucket of toys to form a pyramid to sleep on. I reminded the children that their mum would be home soon, and they both settled down quickly. In reality, she wasn’t home for another 2 hours, but equally, the kids had already been up past their bedtime by an hour.

Last weekend, I had to travel down to London to visit one of the last summer festivals before we embarked into the winter rave scene. As two young people who couldn’t drive, we had no choice other than to take the train or bus. We had decided to take the train, as that was our quickest route to our hotel, and was exceedingly cheaper than taking the bus (believe it or not!). Upon my research into our train tickets - there appeared to be disruptions from Norwich Train Station all the way to Ipswich Train Station. Despite this, the Greater Anglia Rail Company managed to put in place a rail replacement bus route, with buses leaving Norwich Train Station heading directly to Ipswich Train Station within just 90 minutes! Bailey, my friend, was to get on this bus at Norwich, and my station was Diss. However, her bus never stopped at my station, so, text messages were sent back and forth as to whether she had stepped on the right bus. After a long time, I finally managed to convince Bailey she was in fact on the right bus, heading straight to Ipswich. Soon after, my bus arrived at Diss Train Station. I climbed onto the bus and took a seat, waiting patiently for the bus to leave and head for Ipswich Station. After about 10 minutes, a worker from Diss Train Station emerged onto the bus and questioned if anyone was interested in heading to London Liverpool Street. Myself, and a few others, lifted our hands slowly - scared to be scolded and ridiculed - as if the worker was an angry teacher and we were disrupting the lesson. The worker begins “Unfortunately, we have just had news that someone has been hit by a train, and no trains will be running until further notice. The workers at Ipswich station advise you to try and make alternative arrangements.” The bus erupts with people interrogating the worker with questions such as: “Well, will there be buses to those stations?” or “How long will we have to wait until the trains are running again?”. In this chaos, I remember thinking: “That poor person” and “I wonder if the other rail replacement buses know”. I immediately went to text message Bailey to tell her this update. Her response was exactly the same as my own. She was bewildered, confused and panicked. We were advised to speak to customer services when we arrived at Ipswich Train Station, and that was what I intended to do. Myself and Bailey were scared - we needed to make it into London. We had planned this trip to London for months, so we were going to find a way. When I arrived at Ipswich Train Station, it was bustling with people. There were queues all alongside the bus stands and even into the Train Station itself. I stepped off the bus, and was greeted by Bailey’s friendly face, whose expression was glad to see me, but also had hints of trauma in her eyes. “What are we going to do?” She asked me worriedly. “Talk to customer service,” I responded confidently. I had decided that I was going to take control of how we found a way into London. This decision was brought on when I gathered how scared and nervous Bailey was - not only on text messages but in person as well. It also made her feel better knowing that I wasn’t panicking as well. So, we headed to customer services and asked the lady at the desk what our best course of action was. The woman suggested that we try and find a way to Manningtree and Colchester Train Stations, as the lines were still open there. So, we sat down - each with a Costa coffee - and thought about how we were going to make it to Manningtree or Colchester station. I had thought of my friends who were also heading into London, and had hoped they would be driving by car - but I was wrong. In the time that passed, I was getting increasingly stressed - but I persevered in keeping that stress hidden from Bailey. After about 20 minutes, the rail replacement workers had told the passengers waiting for the London Liverpool Street train, that buses were now available to Manningtree and Colchester. Myself and Bailey had now joined the ever-growing queue, whilst watching the rail replacement worker endure abuse from passengers about the bus times. Although the queue was ever-growing, the buses were filling up quickly - and so, the queues were decreasing in size fairly quickly. We were near the front of the queue for the Colchester bus when a worker announced that the Manningtree bus had spaces available. Myself and Bailey ventured forth to get on that bus instead - but we were turned around, as the driver said that no trains would be leaving for London Liverpool Street from Manningtree Station. Annoyed, we headed back for the Colchester bus and demanded that we be let on for the bus because we had been lied to. They let us onboard with no complaints, and we endured another 40 minutes on the bus. Small hushes of chatter lingered throughout the bus, and utters of disapproval echoed. Tensions rose the closer we got to the station. I had checked online for when the next train to London Liverpool Street would arrive - we estimated 2 minutes after the bus would reach the station. When we finally arrived at Colchester Station, I spotted our train at the allocated platform. Desperate to get on, I forced myself and Bailey through the crowd and ran towards the platform. Whilst running, I noticed police officers dotted about the station, questioning workers and passengers. Nevertheless, I kept running to make the train before it departed. When I reached the train, the doors began to close and I could hear the train whistle blow, alongside the frustrated groans of other passengers who had not made it in time. Fortunately, the door light was still green, meaning we still had time to get inside. I pushed the button and the door opened slowly, letting the large crowd behind me emerge onto the train - squeezing into the train like a can of sardines. Myself and Bailey had managed to find a couple of seats on the train, and so we waited until our stop at Stratford. We had alerted our friends, who lived in London - and they had arranged to pick us up from Stratford Station. And so, our train journey to London Liverpool Street was 3 hours longer than we had anticipated, but it will be a memorable experience, to say the least. Perhaps, next time we will just take the bus.