Wait… where did those eight years go? It honestly only felt like yesterday when I was writing “Minimalism – 1 year later”… and I blinked, and well, now I’m here. Seven years after I wrote that. I would say I’ve been busy, but- I haven’t, not really. Looking through my old posts, I haven’t really written much about me for years, just the odd AirBnb tour here and Australia itinerary there. The last none-travel related post was 2021? Early 2022? Life has changed so much since then. Its weird. I spent my whole life not changing very much. As a kid, my cousins that I grew up with, one seven months older, one seven months younger, were maturing and growing out of all I was familiar with faster than I could deal with at the time. One moment it was Nintendo games and doll houses, then before I knew it, my cousins had moved on to make-up, clothes and gossips about their crushes. And I… couldn’t relate at all. I felt so very much like an alien.

It wasn’t the fact I didn’t want to ‘grow up’, I mean- I didn’t, but I didn’t want to, simply because I just wasn’t feeling that way yet. My cousins were prancing around in high heels and mini-skirts, and whereas those things don’t make you a ‘grown up’ by any means, I, still rocking my Tom and Jerry t-shirts, jeans and pull over baggy hoodie to hide any trace of my body entering into adulthood faster than my brain could handle, was not impressed in the slightest. I… was scared. Now thats a common theme with me, as most people know. I am always scared- of everything… Life, time, the way it never stops… and recently, the ever growing suspicion that the old saying of time moving faster the older you get, actually being true. Life really isn’t all that long if you think about it. A year is only 364 sleeps long, only 364 breakfasts, 364 “Good Mornings” to that one neighbour you see on the street each morning. And only a little over 3,600 of them is an entire decade. That, at least for those in England, can see your baby who learned to walk last week, all the way until they start high school. Just 3,600ish sleeps. 

Eight years ago I felt like I had so much time, and most people, especially those born in the generations before me, will happily tut at me and tell me “you’re only 25 Alex! You have your whole life ahead of you!” But, these eight years have just… gone. Another eight years is also going to vanish in a blink, and there have been some moments, especially in the most recent end of these past eight years, that I have wanted to hold in my gaze forever, those moments deserve a lifetime, not just a blink. I remember the day me and those cousins I spoke of became estranged, the day, the arguments contained in that day, felt like weeks ago. No, eleven years, in fact. As we parted ways and parted from the childhood that we left behind, I would hear about all they would go on to achieve; passing driving tests, moving out, getting their degrees, and I, was where I had always been, sat under a tree in the park, in the hometown where I grew up, eyes fixed on my Nintendo 3DS, fishing for a Sea Bass on animal crossing- like I had been doing for almost ten years. I was six when I started playing that game, then, a few Sea Bass later, I was… six…teen? Oh.

Wait, stop, I’ve only just come to terms with that… what do you mean in 9 months I’m twenty-six? Sixteen wasn’t a decade ago, surely. What do you mean I’ll be closer to thirty than I am to twenty? I turned twenty the other day, silly. Mmm, maybe not. I still remember being six years old in the playground, when my then-best friend, Nicola came darting up to me exclaiming that she had paid off her mortgage… In Animal Crossing. She was who got me hooked on the game. The last time I saw you, I was 9. I moved primary schools, so did you- you went off to Grammar school, I… didn’t. In 4 measly years, it will be 20 years since I’ve seen you. I hope your life down in New Zealand is being good to you, I hope you get the satisfaction of paying off a real mortgage one day, if thats the life you’ve chosen. I think, I perhaps have hit a quarter life crisis bang on time. I am a punctual person, I guess even my existential dread is no different… Okay, come on Alex, lighten the mood. Minimalism! Thats light, if it was a box, it would be light, because there wouldn’t be anything in it… *pause for laughter from audience*. 

I was seventeen when I discovered minimalism. Its funny, I felt like I was so old when I was seventeen. But, in my defence, the mental turmoil I had all-of-a-sudden found my self going through made me feel like I had aged ten years in just ten months. Rewinding time back to my sixteenth birthday, March 2015, my parents brought my cake out of the kitchen and onto to living room table. “Make a wish!” They demanded. But, in that moment, I didn’t wish for anything. Life wasn’t perfect, it hadn’t been for a while, but, I was full of hope. The end of high school was just under 2 months away. I had been telling myself for the past 5 years that once I leave high school, everything will be okay. Gosh, I’m so sorry for lying to you, past Alex. I closed my eyes “I just want everything to stay exactly as it is right now” my inner monologue said as I blew out the candles. 

And then, it began. 

And by that I mean, the very next day… less than 24 hours later, might I add. That next day was a Friday, just one day in school until the weekend. I was sat in science class with the one and only friend I’d ever really had in high school. He moved from America back in Year 8 and our peers had labeled him an outcasted weirdo just like they did to me the year prior- so we simply found friendship and solace in each others company during hell-hours… sorry- I meant school hours. All of a sudden a teacher came in and called his name to the office. “… And he needs to bring his schoolbag with him” the teacher sternly added. Turns out this guy… brought a machete into school. Yeah, a big ol’ knife. Into school. In a tiny market town in the north of England. 

Apparently, earlier on in the day, he was in a class that we didn’t have together and someone who hated both him and me, ‘cabbaged’ this guys bag. Which meant, from what I recall, stealing the backpack from someone sitting in front of you without them seeing, taking all the stuff out of their bag, turning the bag inside out, putting all their stuff back in their bag, and putting it back under the seat without the… victim… realising. This prank really only targeted guys, I never knew a girl to get ‘cabbaged’ and luckily for me, this was the one prank that I never was the victim of. Maybe its because only immature schoolboys found joy in it, and maybe it was a taboo to go near a girls bag? Maybe they where scared of touching a tampon? As they say, a tampon a day keeps the dudes away… or something like that. 

Now I don’t know what transpired after that, I don’t know why dude wasn’t questioned about this there and then. His bag was cabbaged before lunch, and he didn’t even breathe a word of this to me during the entire lunch hour. I knew nothing of this… Like, I’m not a criminal mastermind, but if you were almost caught with something you weren’t meant to have, but you had a chance to get it far far away from you… wouldn’t you? I’m guessing the guy who cabbaged the dudes bag didn’t mention it to a teacher straight away? Did he just… put it back where he found it…? It’s been almost ten years and I’m still so confused. Long story short, he was expelled that day, never saw him again. We were both meant to stay on in Sixth Form for a further two years after the end of Year 11, but he was no longer allowed to, so subsequently, I also now had to change all my plans. 

For those not in England, you do the whole school thing from age 4/5 to like, 16… that’s “mandatory”. I say it in quotation marks like that because, despite what I was told my whole life, you don’t actually have to send your kid to school. All my life I was told “if you don’t go to school, your mum and dad will go to prison or they will have to pay a fine” both, for 99.9% of occasions aren’t true. Both parents and teachers do have rights and responsibilities in that regard though. Parents have a right to just never send their kid to school, you don’t have to enrol them, or even let anyone know (I am talking about England only here!). But they do have a responsibility to provide an education. Teachers have a right to, for instance, if a child is in the classroom for the majority of the year, not permit a random suspicion month off in the middle of June during holiday/vacation season. They can’t stop you, but the school can take it to the courts if they so wish.

But, random school-rant aside, if you were to follow the traditional schooling system in England, you would start your first year of primary school at age 4 or 5, this class is usually called “reception”, which, 20 years later, I still don’t know why its called that. It’s similar to kindergarten in the USA or Australia. Then it goes years 1, 2 and 3. Which, at least in the cases of both primary schools I went to, were called the “Infants” and then years 4, 5 and 6, which were called the “Juniors”. In my first primary school, the infants and juniors were all in one big building together, and shared a playground, dinner-hall and school facilities. In my second primary school however, infants and juniors were totally separated. Different buildings, lunch-halls, playgrounds and even timetables. The playgrounds were connected; meant there was no fence separating them, but we were never outside with any of the younger kids, so I guess they had different times for their lunches.

Then after year 6, you go to high school. For most cases, we don’t have middle schools. I have heard that some private schools do, usually these are the schools that have nurseries built-into them. Their kids would range from age 2-18, but that’s all I really know about that. Back in the public school territory, year 7 was the start of high school. We start at age 11. Years 7, 8 and 9 are KS3 years, they’re “important” but.. they’re not. Nothing that happens in these years will permanently affect you academically, no exams or assignments. Years 10 and 11 are the last two years of high school, year 10’s do mock exams, and your real exams are in the summer months, at the end of year 11.

Now I have major issues with the exams, as well as with the entire schooling system. But the whole exam ordeal especially. ALL of this, from your reception class, your transition through the infants, juniors, into high school… all comes down to these exams at the end of year 11 at age 15 or 16. We are not tested at the end of each year, simply put- if you have gone through something stressful the night before your English exam, maybe your partner left you or your parents got a divorce, you have to attend that exam, on that date, no exceptions. If you don’t turn up, you fail. You cannot even have a label on your water bottle. You have to be dressed, blazer and tie, even in the sometimes harsh summer sun in a British gym hall with no air conditioning.

Unless you have money, you can resit exams, in your own time, at certain exam halls dotted around the country, at your own expense. But for people less privileged, your entire 12 year education comes down to a 1 hour exam, and that’s a type of pressure that should NEVER be placed on a child that is still expected to raise their hand to ask permission to use the toilet. But if you do well in these exams, you have “a lot of opportunities”. University was most of my classmates aims, or you can go to college (which are two very different things in England), or an apprenticeship, which was the choice of a lot of the guys I knew. its more like a job, such as a mechanic, where you’re provided with training and “hands on” learning experiences or something.

Lastly, you have sixth forms. Not every high school has them but most do. These are usually called Year 12 and Year 13. but the majority of the time they’re in a totally separate building on the school grounds, unless your high-school is, well, huge. These are for people wanting to stay on in school and get their A-levels. You don’t have to wear uniform and for a while, that meant they stuck out like a sore-thumb in the school. Some point in the late 2000’s though, most British sixth forms brought in a “smart” dress code, to force the kids to wear business attire. Yuck.

All these different options were all dependant on your GCSE grades (the year 11 exams), when applying for college, or whatever, it would usually say “You will need 5 GCSEs at grade C or above”. I am fully aware we now use a number system in England. I don’t like it, and thus, I won’t be using it. For more… targeted or prestigious A-level or college courses, you would have to get a high grade in certain subjects. Maths A-level would need, I think, a B or higher in match GCSE. Engineering needed a high maths grade too. Science A-level needed a high science GCSE grade… How does this apply to me? Well. I’ll get back to that in a minute.

A month or so after my school-friend was… reprimanded… we went on study leave. Simply put, year 11s leave school 2 months earlier, to “study” for their exams. But, no one really studied… Or maybe they did. I didn’t, however, as I was busy conversing with a very special person who I had recently became acquainted with online. We all know who. You saved me more than you’ll ever know. But, I should have been studying, because I really didn’t do too great at my exams. Though in my defence, most of them I failed due to having panic attacks in the middle of them. One time the exam invigilators ‘SHUSH’ed me for crying too loud… Anyway. My English Language exam, I totally screwed up, I cried and cried and didn’t even open my test paper until 10 minutes from the end, wasn’t a great time. Don’t recommend. I got an E. Yes, the letter that neighbours F. My maths exam, I got a D. Which, I was surprised at. I really thought I would get lower than that. May not seem like a good grade, and it’s not even a passing grade, but I actually worked hard for that one.

I did try to go to Sixth Form. They usually let kids from that school go to their adjoining Sixth Form no matter what grades they get. I had never felt so lonely and scared in my life. I lasted a grand total of… three hours. I went home at lunch, sobbing my little heart out. And since then, I guess I really have had a track record of not sticking with things that I simply didn’t want to do. Most would say that wouldn’t get me far in life, I’m not sure. Either other people, or time shall be the judges of that. After that, my mum, who panicked about me not being in a traditional education setting wanted to get me into what my second choice was- a sixth form college. Like a college and Sixth Form merged into one stand alone building. They usually do obscure courses that combine the practicality of a college, with the more “notable” qualifications of a Sixth Form. I really wanted to go there. Like I felt a genuine fire in my heart. I wanted to study journalism. As much as I had already started to hate the education system (something that only becomes ever stronger as the months and years go by as you can tell from my precious writings here), I knew getting into journalism independently was a hard feat. You needed to ideally be in a school studying it for your work to be noticed by the right people.

I guess it’s the equivalent of a singer trying to become famous from only singing alone in their bedroom- but then again, didn’t Justin Bieber become famous from doing just that while posting it to YouTube? I guess anything is possible, but life would have been easier if I could study it. It was something I was passionate about. So I happily went for the interview… and… that E in my English GCSE came back to bite me. I had an A* in English Literature. Which, was a miracle because I wasn’t even in English Literature classes. I won’t bore people with the details. But, I was treated badly by my peers- so badly in fact they took me out of most of my classes, and put me into smaller classes or out of the class entirely and I would work from home or something. The only small English class was what we would call “bottom set”. Sets ranged from 1-5. 1 being for the “clever” kids and it worked its way down. Looking back at it with adult eyes, it sounds really degrading. They put me in set 5, this was a set that needed extra support and in turn, they didn’t do the English literature qualification so they could focus more on the language to get that extra support.

I thought it was unfair, why should I have to be at an academic disadvantage for something that wasn’t my fault? No one listened to me except my English teacher. She, in her own time once a week, stayed behind for an hour after school on a Wednesday and I did all my English Literature lessons there, and at home. There was no exam, I did all the course work at my lunch breaks in the library. And I passed. With top marks. But was the Sixth Form College impressed with that? No. They wouldn’t even say two more words to me after they found out my English language marks. I couldn’t help having a panic attack in the middle of the exam. But either way, there I was, laying in the middle of my parents living room floor not knowing what to do all of a sudden. So then, I went to study art in college. We have now gone full circle. And that was the college that I speak about in my first blog posts here… I left after a few months as I wanted more for life. I wanted to see the world. I wanted to see my world.

That was almost 10 years ago. 3,600ish sleeps ago. You learn so much in 3,600 days. And you dream a lot in 3,600 nights. And as every year has passed, I have wanted more and more to feel like life has meaning. There are things and people that bring meaning and joy to my life. But as an individual, from my perspective, I feel like I have lost the meaning of life a little bit. I’ve learnt that everyone really is different. And I don’t just mean by size or shape like we’re taught when we’re small- I means we’re all SO different. And I find that such a beautiful thing. I believe that’s the thing that makes the world go around. Some people say it’s love, some say money, I say, quite controversially, that it’s differences.

If everyone in the world was all the same, this giant floating rock we have found ourselves living on would be even more boring than it already is. Everyone would have the same interests, likes, dislikes, hobbies, goals… you get the idea. If the world was like me, cows would of taken over the world by now due to overpopulation alone. I hate beef. But, chickens would quickly find themselves extinct. I love chicken. I would eat it with every meal if I could. And if this philosophy was true, so would you. So would everyone else. Everyone’s homes would be copy and paste replicas of each other. In my case, every home would be a monochrome minimalist-inspired heaven.

The stores would sell out in seconds of the only one pair of pyjamas I wear. Or the one pair of jeans that I might as well name Goldilocks as they fit… just right. There wouldn’t be a single doctor, nurse and god forbid, dentist in this world. They’re my biggest fears. I don’t go to them, and I defiantly wouldn’t become one. Everyone would be self loathing, introverted writers who may occasionally dabble in painting when they want to feel more… quirky. The streets would be bare because I never go outside.

But luckily for the world, there are people who hate chicken, and love beef. There are people who hate the colour white, and would rather fill their homes with endless colours and clutter. Everyone is a different size and shape and so my Goldilocks jeans might fall off you, or contrastingly, not go past your knees. There are people who hate writing, people who hate art, and don’t have a creative bone in their body. But that’s okay. Those people are usually the ones to change the world through their mathematical and scientific breakthroughs.

And there are even some dark, twisted, psychopathic humans on this earth who get sweet blissful pleasure from ripping teeth out of peoples gums. I hate you. I don’t know how you sleep at night. But, nevertheless, you exist. Like spiders, you can stay away from me, and we will not have a problem. If everyone was like me, we wouldn’t be living in those heavenly monochrome utopias I spoke of. We would have handed them over to the spiders and moths who took up residency in them and we would have NOPED right out of there.

There are so many possibilities in this world. When we’re born, it’s like the universe spins a wheel, planning out our life step by step- year by year. Some will be doctors, some lawyers, some will have 5 kids, some will have none. Some will get divorced, and some will never even get married. Some believe love is a myth, and some sell their bodies to men who don’t value them for the beautiful people they are. Some are given anything they want, daddy will buy them a car at age 16. Some have to choose between being warm, or fed, every single harrowing winter.

Some want to live in the city, some love the people, the noice, the hustle and bustle. Some love the country, the smell of… well, cow poo. Some love the isolation, the tranquility. Some learn to drive, some would rather walk. Some will not even get to be born, their lives ending before it even begun. Others may be born with sleeping eyes that may never open. Some children may get sick and die, other children may hide in a kitchen cupboard as their parents fight for the 5th time this week… and its only Tuesday.

Some kids are mr or miss popular, the coolest kid on the playground. While other kids ditch school each day, they would rather feel the wrath of their parents yells than deal with the monsters lurking within the souls of the bullies at school. Some kids drop out of school, move to London or LA, to try and make it big. Chasing a dream that they secretly know may never come to fruition. Some stay in school till they’re 25, just to make their mothers proud when they come home with that weird hat and a diploma.

Some people choose the life of crime… and some live that life, without the privilege of a choice. Some people murder, kill, steal or stalk. While some may found their happy place in a zen garden at the bottom of their yard. Some people hate cleaning, and some people are like me, and like cleaning more than almost anything else on the planet. Bet you’re glad you didn’t have my life now, right?

There is no rule book to life. People use to see the bible as the rule book, but over time, that turned from roles, to guides, and now, to only a select few. But for everyone else… how do you know that your life is the right way? You don’t. And that’s because there is no right way to live. There is not right kind of house, nor is there the right amount of possessions to go in it. There isn’t the right type of colour to paint your living room, or the right amount of kids you want. There isn’t a guide on how to exist. People are simply placed onto this earth without warning and after our 18 year long free trial, simply expected to go into the great unknown and live. We cannot pass our life to someone more experienced, no matter how scared we get, and no matter how much we don’t want to live it.

All people from before us can do if give us advice on how they lived their life, but still, no one said that was the right way to live. You’re simply handed the equipment in the form of your mind and body, and its up to you what you do with it. Its up to you what you use your mind for, good things, bad things, or anything in-between. But good or bad, you’re the only one who will reap the benefits or consequences of that.

The life you live is yours. And the life you may have given to someone else, is theirs. Please don’t expect them to live via your rules, because your rules don’t exist. You created a new life, not an extension of your own, remember that. What your idea of “wanting the best” for someone is, might not be that way in their eyes. You may guide them, but don’t control them. And in turn, whatever you want in your life- you have to go and get it. Things won’t be handed to you, usually. If we have dreams, for most instances, they will stay as dreams unless we take the steps needed to at least try and make them a reality. I’ve had people tell me their dream is winning the lottery- yet they don’t even buy a lottery ticket.

Their excuse? “I wouldn’t win it anyway”. Sure, winning the lottery is very unlikely, but it isn’t impossible… unless you don’t buy a lottery ticket. If we try at something, sure we may fail, but we would get further than if we never tried at all, and I guess in the grand scheme of things, that has to count for something, right? We are all humans, we all come into this planet the same way, and some of us are born with a mighty brain or wallet, but we are all just bones and skin and a brain, we are our own machine that we can turn into anything we dream of. And not all of us will want to be the same thing, and I think that in itself is the most magical work of art.

I moved out in the middle of 2022. As I’m writing these words, I have been here for just over two years… I celebrated it with a cake and everything. Simply because I never thought I could do it, but I did, and I’m still doing it. When I first got my keys and ordered a new bed, my mum was sat in my hallway, my dad asked how we were doing with moving in all my stuff so my mum took a picture of me in that moment. I was in the middle of building my bed, and I simply put my thumbs up. For the next two years I have recreated that picture the best I can with my tripod and camera, I will add the pictures here.

And well, that brings us, finally, to the past two years… What have I been doing? I went to Australia. Everyone knows that though, but, if anyone noticed I took down most of my Australia diaries. They are still on my website, they’re just private now. The people who knew I went, knew I went and they’re the only people who need to know. I am trying to get into the habit of just living, and not always sharing. I love making these longer posts every few years, and I love recording my entire itinerary of Australia, but I just want to keep both of those things separate, I guess.

When I moved out in late May 2022, I didn’t even get much time to be in my new home, as I was in Australia by that September. When I came home from that first trip though, I felt… empty. Australia had always been my goal, for as long as I have been writing here, now what was a meant to do? So I booked another trip there and flew back just after Christmas, in the early months of 2023. I came home in April 2023, and since then, I have felt a little lost. When I say “I haven’t done much since”, trust me, I really mean it. Maybe that’s why most of this blog entry has been me chatting about nothing, because there wasn’t much else to talk about I guess. I spent the summer predominately at my parents house, half to do with a neighbour I have that causes me… issues, and secondly because I was simply having a hard time taking care of myself. Which, may come as a shock to long time readers of my posts, the last time I made one of these longer update-style posts, I was doing so well. I don’t really know what went wrong or when it went wrong.

I went on a few smaller trips in England, some with my family and some alone. I went to a concert, the first one I had ever been to alone, the day before flying to Australia to the first time. It wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be, and actually was really fun. Then fast forward back to 2023, I went to watch Dean Lewis alone. I was close to not going, I really wasn’t feeling up to it. But it was like the heavens heard me, and his supporting act was a VERY small TikTok artist who I loved, but no one had really heard of, I don’t know the chances of him being Dean’s support, but the universe was on my side that day because it was something I didn’t want to pass up. These concerts were in Manchester which meant I had to stay in a local hotel that night which I never really enjoy, and doing that made me realise that my anxiety disorder has actually been getting worse over the last year, I don’t know why, nor do I know what to do about it.

I have, since late 2022, been making Youtube videos. I started them when I came home from my first trip to Australia, I wanted to just record my life for my girlfriend to watch them, but I never even made them public. I made videos of me paining and cooking and anything in-between. When I went to Australia the second time, I told her about them and so she wanted to watch them so I made them public. When I came home, to distract myself I kept on making them, once a week on a Sunday. I would record through the week and make it into a video with a cute little thumbnail every Sunday. As we got deeper into 2023, looking after myself became harder and most days I wouldn’t even get out of bed, so my usual daily vlogs uploaded once a week would no longer work, so I changed it to once a month, on the last day of the month which worked for a while.

I was able to, on good days, get a few videos done, they were not my best work and my effort and video quality was already slipping into the gutter, but if I could make three videos in the month, that was three months I was able to take a break. But it was a really toxic mindset to have, I shouldn’t have been forcing myself to do anything that I didn’t want to do, especially because it was meant to be a hobby, it very quickly became… not a hobby. So on the last day of the year on 2023 I made a video- pretty much explaining that I was going to take a break. Which, now, in June of 2024, six months later, is still true. I simply make videos, when I want to. I bought some new backpacks (a post about them will follow this post), so I made an unboxing video for them, as well as my new laptop, I do some craft videos, but on my schedule and that’s that.

I try to not make these update posts sad, they’ve never really been sad. Some have had a slightly sad undertone or back story, but I have no other way of writing this if I want to be honest. The end of 2023 was, some of the worst months of my life. There was nothing in particular that made it so dreadful, it was just, many smaller things and combined with the colder weather which we ALL know I hate, made for some awful months. October and November were when I first noticed my mental health really slipping. I have been on a waiting list for a very intense form of therapy since early 2022. I was having issues with my memory and well, I still am. I, earlier today, forgot what number my house was. I went to see a brain doctor who told me that it was all mental health related so I have been on the waiting list for Step-4 for almost 3 years. There only caveat is I’m not allowed to seek any other mental health treatment in the meantime, or I’m pushed right to the bottom of the waiting list again, so coping is very hard.

Mid December, I was trying to keep myself busy and one day I was about to start painting. For context I had one of those beds that you can lift up from the bottom and you can store things like boxes or spare sheets under the bed, so I lifted my bed up to get out my box of paints and… CRASH! My bed… exploded? The bars and wooden slats that the mattress was sat on all… caved in on themselves. It was 8pm at night and so I temporarily fixed it, as in, if I rolled over, I would have fallen through the bed… And I told myself I would dismantle it the next day.

So I did just that. Despite popular belief, it was far easier to build the bed than it was to dismantle it. Both I did by myself, and dismantling it sounded more fun than it actually was. My parents came to collect the bed and there I was, a week before Christmas, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. And we all know here that the Alex from 8 years ago would have loved that- and in the right circumstances, I still would, but it is a completely different story when your bed is taken away from you. I decided that night after dismantling my bed to go out for dinner, just so I didn’t have to look at that pesky floor mattress anymore that day.

Once I came home I obviously went to shower to wash off all the outside germs off me, and that was when I noticed… my hallway heater wasn’t working. *sigh*. This exact thing happened the year prior, in between my two Australia trips, my bedroom heater just stopped working one day. I did report it but it was ignored until the day I was literally at the airport in February. Long story short, it never got fixed. By the time I came back in April they refused to fix it as it wasn’t a “season priority”? Alright then. So I left it alone, my apartment is small, the hallway could easily heat the bedroom and hallway, as the heater in the living room/kitchen was still working. But now, my hallway heater had conked out too. The day after my head broke? Great. I reported that, as well as my bedroom one again.

My parents, for the mean time, brought a portable oil heater to my house. Ugly looking thing- didn’t match my homes aesthetic at all, but I was too cold to care. Then, the 22nd of December- yes the VERY next day after this, I decided to do some laundry. Now my washing machine has been making some… worrying noises for weeks prior to this, which I reported and, you guessed it, was ignored. Anyway, on this day, my laundry was 4 minutes away from finishing, after about 10 minutes I noticed all was quiet. “Ah it must be done!” I optimistically said to myself. Now, if you can already see where this story is going- congratulations, you’re more of a realist than I’ll ever be. Upon looking at my washing machines screen, however, it read “ERROR” and all my clothes were all still submerged in water. Great. For a good 10 minutes I went in between trying to start the washing machine as well as just pathetically sitting on the floor staring at it, like that was going to do something. I am not the early 2000s Matilda and my eyes do not have super powers, sadly.

I turned it off at the wall and just… waited. I don’t know what I was waiting for it to do exactly, but when I heard it beep, I simply… got excited and yanked the now unlocked door wide open. Oh. Yeah. It was still full of water and well- now my kitchen was, too. I closed the door just as quick as I opened it, now with water dripping down the machine, puddled on the floor and seeping up my socks. And I did what any responsible, independent adult would do in this situation… I called my mum. She said she would send my dad over, who wasn’t able to fix it. He can usually fix everything… great. So all I could do was report it with my landlord.

It was an emergency, right? All my clothes were swimming in their filth-juice. The email I got back from my landlord/estate agent? “Sorry, I’m not in the office right now due to Christmas closure! I will reply on my return, January the 5th!” Um… excuse me? January the what?! I wasn’t leaving my clothes swimming like that so it was a team effort, but me and my dad rescued my clothes and emptied most of the water out of my washing machine. Mother had to do my laundry all over Christmas as I came back home to a cold house, as the electricians wouldn’t be able to make it until January too- as well as the bed company, so on the floor is where I spent Christmas AND new year.

I had officially, in that very moment, I sat in my cold bedroom, on my mattress in the floor, grasping a black garbage bag full of laundry, the loneliest I had ever been, hit the lowest I’ve ever felt in my entire life. “It won’t be like this next year, I promise” I said to myself in that same dusty mirror that I mentioned here, all those years back. After I had escaped from such a bad situation and found myself back in my parents house with nothing other than, again, a mattress on the floor, a backpack full of clothes and my trusty mirror.

*mirror falls off the wall within the same week, breaks and puts a hole in the wall* … I wish I was joking. I learnt how to plaster walls that day.

Christmas was nice, as far as Christmases go. I had everything I needed that day- although far away. January… Which started on a Monday- made my little perfectionist heart go pitter patter with happiness. One by one, my new bed, my new heaters, my new washing machine, all arrived at different points within the month. It made me feel a bit happier, but I had, all of a sudden, started feeling… disconnected. Now, I don’t really know what I was, and probably do still feel, disconnected from- I don’t have any friends locally- but in the time I spent on my very cold floor bed, made me reflect with myself as we all know I’ve done many times before- and I realised there wasn’t a moment that went by in a day where I wasn’t looking at a screen.

I don’t have many friends, so this screen time usually isn’t texting anyone. It’s usually YouTube, Netflix- or, you will all hate me for this considering the entire community I have here, but *whispers* Amazon. There. I said it. I was addicted to Amazon… and all of amazons… products: A ring doorbell on my apartment door when no one knocks on my door, security cameras in almost every room in my house, fire sticks, an Alexa in every room. Yes- even the bathroom. The hallway. Every. Room. I was obsessed. She (Alexa) would do everything for me- and as the weeks and months passed- WITH me. She’d turn on my lights every morning and sing me my favourite song as my alarm. She would tell me the weather, my schedules, she would turn my tv on, remind me to find my keys, to lock the door, she’d turn on my bathroom light in the middle of the night so I wasn’t walking into a dark, monster-ridden room to pee. Everything.

When I Had A Digital Detox

“What in the black mirror bull- is this?!?” I said to myself one early February morning, after my daily trivia games with her (Alexa). Absolutely not. Nope. My best friend- and right now, my only irl friend, was… technology. I have always spoke against this very thing. I had lost who I was out of sheer loneliness. So, within a flash, I decided: I’m going on a tech declutter. This wasn’t like my normal declutters. This was robot and screen focused. First, the televisions. I never watched them- not really. I tried to take pictures through this process but looking back at them now, months later, there’s not much to show.

Above are some boxes I got to package all my Alexa’s and my security camera into, as I was selling them. Second picture is my… living room tv? I think? Moments before the dude came to pick it up from gumtree (it’s like Craigslist but in England lol).

Here are my many packages ready to be addressed and going to their new homes, on top of what was my old tv unit (which my parents now have in their dining room). And secondly, that’s my fire stick being put back to factory settings. Although, due to eBay buyers being well, eBay buyers… the sale for that fell through so I still have it, under my bed. Thought it’s handy to keep for airbnbs & hotels, under the right circumstances.

Realising the first picture doesn’t make much sense. But this was my living room just after my parents picked up my… their tv unit. And a small cameo of BabyGay the garden gnome in the bottom right corner. Hey dude, lovely to see you. And the second picture was the amount of extension cords that were now rendered useless due to the amount of technology I had… detoxed. Maybe I should have took an after picture, eh, the sofa is against the wall now, that’s about it.

Last lot of pictures from February/March time. The first picture was my bedroom once my security cameras, my Alexa’s and my television had gone. The last picture, and most controversial- I downgraded my phone. More for the nostalgia than anything. I missed the home button on iPhones. It’s not forever, but it’s small and cute and fits in my pocket and I can text with one hand so- win win. Also never pictured it, but I obviously sold my switch, some I no longer had a TV to dock it too. I bought the handheld version, the Switch Lite, in its place though.

During this time I was also, somehow, making a mad amount of YouTube videos. And by a lot I mean, by early march, I had prerecorded enough videos- all between 30-60 minutes long each, to cover me for one video a month until SEPTEMBER. I don’t know where I found that kind of energy. I wasn’t sleeping much, like, for 4 days I didn’t sleep at all. Maybe 2 hours maximum. Wasn’t intentional- I don’t know what happened I just wasn’t tired. I also deleted my amazon account, I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would, may not be forever, just for now.

Anyway- life started to pick up after that. Not by much, but I’m getting there. It’s early June as I’m writing this. Next week I’m going on a trip with my mum, we go every year, it’s a nice. Tech wise- I still have my laptop and camera and phone and iPad and… nope that’s it. And my Switch Lite, which I rarely play. It’ll be easier for trips and planes and all that, it all will. And I love going on that plane.

I want to make one of these every year- I found minimalism in January of… 2017? 2016? It’s becoming blurry, but I do aim to make one of these posts, long or short, interesting or boring, some time between new year and my birthday each year. Circumstances and life permitting. If there really isn’t ANYTHING to talk about, I won’t pressure myself, I’ll just make my usual posts and add in the small updates there.

My next post will be a review on the Pakt bags I bought like… in February, which took me a month to unbox them. It’s currently my most liked and viewed video in my YouTube channel. I’ll be sure to link it in my next post, which I aim to have out by the end of this week, but that really is a stretch. We all know what I’m like.

Stay safe, much love-

Alex xox