Student blog: 'A guide to UK slang'

Student blog: 'A guide to UK slang'

Fuse TV Interview in Manchester

Club UK and Postgraduate UK magazines

Club UK and Postgraduate UK magazines

I was interviewed for both of them.  Later in the year another article feature will be published featuring my experience coming to England for an international education.

Book...Open ended

It's more of a musing. And eventually, a direct question I will ask my friends and myself.

What book do I write?

My entire life, and especially in the last three years, my friends and even loose acquaintances, have told me, "I love your writing. Please write a book." And I have replied that I will, and have every intention of doing so. The only thing i have to discover is...what sort of book do I write? Every writer has to avoid being too self-reflective so as to not bore the reader or even to appear too self indulgent. (Which, we usually can be when it comes to writing.) But do I write something about a fictional character I have yet to bond with? Do I write about myself and my adventures? A former banker, single and 20 something succeeding at University Life in another country?

What would you want to see from me?

My Way

To be updated...

Life in the wind

There’s always plenty to be said. This, if you think about it, means there is plenty to be written about as well. Though for some reason I have spent the last two years procrastinating logging onto my blog. Instead, I have spent the last two years living in England. It has kept me quite busy, not just in terms of studying for my degree but also in learning about myself. The first year was euphoria – Everything brightly colored, the sights breath taking and the sounds fascinating. Then slowly the reality of day to day living gently crept up on me and I realized that, in my day to day life, I missed my family being a part of that. I had made the naive mistake of not visiting home until 13 months had passed and home-sickness hit me harder than it would have if I’d gone home sooner. Finally, in the beginning of my second year abroad, I went to see my parents. I was relieved to find everything as I’d left it. A part of me feared that with me gone that everything would be gone or different. But the sight of my Dad at his computer, dogs at his feet and of my Mom on the patio, writing her books made me feel whole again. I might be living away from my family but I was still a part of it. And just like the comfort of an old shoe, I fit right in.



Reassured, I returned to the UK to finish my Second Year of study. I’d spent the entirety of my second year studying full time, participating in a Peer Mentoring program for my School and working every weekend and nights as a waitress in the City Centre. I had made another elementary error … in Math. In my earnest desire to borrow as little as possible for my student loans, I had figured in September to May but had left out June, July and August. So I worked to pay for my rent and living expenses over the summer and through the semester. It was difficult, sure…Here I am ten years down the road and a whole lot more experienced and I was waiting tables again like when I was a teenager. But it proved to me that if you want something enough, you do what it takes to make it happen. I wanted to live in England for the full course of my degree and I wanted to get to know the British culture. And, working shoulder to shoulder with the local staff, weekends and nights, I accomplished that. Covered in sauce.



Before I even thought of beginning my third and final year here at the University, I went back home to see my family. I spent a full month with them and am a better person for it. Going back to my roots has allowed for me to begin fresh this summer. I know where I came from, where I am now and have a good idea of where I want to go in the future. Surrounded by distraction it is easy to get lost in the din of everyday life. Phone calls, emails, news articles, interaction can be, if you let it, a 24/7 habit. And I’m no angel when it comes to being ‘’plugged-in.’’ I was actually surprised when a psychic went to read the color of my aura and instead came up with the name of my favorite wireless network. (Kidding, kidding.) But this summer I began by turning off the phone, limiting my access to an hour at night to return emails and visiting properly with the people who have shaped my character: My mother, my father, my little sister and my grandparents. From them I have earned my sense of humor, my ambitions, my hopes for myself and the humility that comes from someone knowing every success, and every failure, and loving you anyway.



So there you have it. There is always plenty to be said. And, with a bit of effort and a moment to reflect, I will start to tell you all about it on here.

She hides in prose. She dresses in words and lets dangle from her lips poems, lyrics or rhyme. Her eyes sparkle with metaphor and gentle hands grasp tightly onto her pen that allows her to share inner thoughts to an outside world. Dancing with daydreams and sleeping with stories told to her from a fairytale book beside her bed. Lights sparkle at night and she sees memories unfold before her eyes. Swirling in her wake are letters and phrases, a mixture of fonts and colors. Some bold. Some small. Others large and some twisted.

She is a writer and her heart beats with a melody that sings an unheard song. Eyelashes flutter and worlds are created behind brightly shining eyes filled with tears of wonderment at a world so ... beautiful. Sounds rush about her throughout the day and distract from a talent she disguises in many other forms - none of them in the purest, most vibrant or most raw. Energy is her focus - mostly positive, evoking a vibration of love to all who meet her. Pulsing, feeling, walking, reading, writing, typing ... she calls out silently. She calls out silently, hoping someone will answer the call.

Memories of a different time

Why I chose to study in the UK

Here is a link to my experience in the United Kingdom and why I chose to change my life and finish my degree:

http://www.facebook.com/notes/education-uk-usa/student-representative-meaghan-couture-why-i-chose-to-study-in-the-uk/271635856233165

A pulse

A pulse that beats within me says:
Write. Write. Write.
But the voice that governs my actions decides
You don't have the time.

I walk and I read and I plan and I work.
I pay bills and send emails and go places
I'm scheduled to be.
Showing up is the key to success...

But all I want to do is write.
All I want to do is my future...
All I want is to be done

But alas...it's unwritten.

Jungle

Special? Maybe. Lonely, definitely. A path wild with vines and bushes and obstacles because it isn't travelled very often. A thorn sticks from her foot and makes the trip painful with every step. But to stop is not an option. Tears and blood drip along the leaves of passing trees as she grasps trunks and pushes against them to make a dent in this journey of hers. Breathing heavily she remains steady and marches onward. Good things happen, too. Light breaks through the dense wilderness and shines briefly across her face but there is something blocking her from enjoying it. A dark, oppressive mist that gathers around her feet, clouds her vision and even takes away the warmth from a directly shining sun. Stopping is not an option. Whispers come out of the jungle around her, voices and taunts. 'Not good enough.' 'Just go back the way you came. It's easier.' 'Who are you kidding? This path wasn't meant to be forged.' Sometimes she listens. Mostly when it's in the dead of night and the only companions are the dead stars hanging above the dead planet. But still, like the beating of her pulse, she carries onward. Trying new directions, using new tools to cut her way forward, dreaming of the end of this path, praying it will eventually join up with a river or a road or a path less overgrown. They tell her that she's special. Quietly she pounds forward, their words falling on deaf ears. She needs to earn it. To prove it. To feel it. And as she walks onward into the night and listens to the whispers she knows...she's not there yet.

Special? Maybe. Lonely, definitely. A path wild with vines and bushes and obstacles because it isn't travelled very often. A thorn sticks from her foot and makes the trip painful with every step. But to stop is not an option. Tears and blood drip along the leaves of passing trees as she grasps trunks and pushes against them to make a dent in this journey of hers. Breathing heavily she remains steady and marches onward. Good things happen, too. Light breaks through the dense wilderness and shines briefly across her face but there is something blocking her from enjoying it. A dark, oppressive mist that gathers around her feet, clouds her vision and even takes away the warmth from a directly shining sun. Stopping is not an option. Whispers come out of the jungle around her, voices and taunts. 'Not good enough.' 'Just go back the way you came. It's easier.' 'Who are you kidding? This path wasn't meant to be forged.' Sometimes she listens. Mostly when it's in the dead of night and the only companions are the dead stars hanging above the dead planet. But still, like the beating of her pulse, she carries onward. Trying new directions, using new tools to cut her way forward, dreaming of the end of this path, praying it will eventually join up with a river or a road or a path less overgrown. They tell her that she's special. Quietly she pounds forward, their words falling on deaf ears. She needs to earn it. To prove it. To feel it. And as she walks onward into the night and listens to the whispers she knows...she's not there yet.

I miss writing. I really, really do.

School's Out For Summer

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

I think that is going to be my next (and last) tattoo. I have one on my left should blade and one on the nape of my neck...looking in the mirror, one on my right shoulder blade will look complete. Feel complete. Next thought...

Thank god University is out for the summer! I am SO worn out mentally because of that, plus other life things like finding a place to live over the summer, missing my family, bills, second year loans, arguing with little details still tied up in my past. Hoping I did well enough yet needing to keep moving and not look back because I'm the only one making all of this work. I am so fortunate to have found a full time job for my summer break at a wonderful place with a good vibe. I'm staying in a foreign country all by myself - I need a place to make money and work hard but I also need a stress free environment. I've come too far and worked too hard to be somewhere I'm not happy. So I am thankful I've found someplace I feel accepted and encouraged to succeed.

I may get a chance to write more now that I'm not trying to absorb the parameters of consonants, the phonetic symbols of all the languages in the world, whether or not an affix is inflectional or derivational, how children acquire languages, the VOT release of a velarised voiced alveolar lateral approximate (l) or what Grice's Maxims happen to be. I can just - focus on work or a new relationship or ... me. I've not had an opportunity like this or felt freedom like this in a very long time. And I'm truly very happy. My parents are proud of me, my sister wants to follow my footsteps...I'm blazing my own path and while at some points it got dark or lonely or I was afraid...I kept on going and it's been rewarding.

Some free writing poetry and then I'm off to surf the net:

The noise of the evening floats on the air
As she lies down on her bed, her yellow cotton dress
Spread around her like small rays of sunshine spilling from her breast.
Whirs of traffic, the click of the clock, the laughs from upstairs,
The beating of her heart - All sounds that gently reach her ears
And make her smile, taking in a gentle breath and quietly releasing a sigh.

She's done it, a whole year. Thinking back on her path it seems like the
Life of another, not her own. And yet it is her life, her story, her memories.
Some of it so hard, so lonely. Other parts full of joy, awe, love and magic.
This mystery of her life still elusive and mysterious. Her heart on a journey all
It's own with no guide or guarantee that by opening it again she won't get hurt.
The scars of past lovers still ache on cold mornings, the threads of her spirit
Woven together by the hard work of family, friends and her determined nature.

Unsure of what her future holds or how to live her life, she stares up at the sky
And waits for a sign. As a star shoots by, she smiles and the wind gently taps
Against the window. Life is but a melody, a dance, a story. And with hope and a Little bit of kindness...maybe she's finally done it.

Creating

Pen to paper is the most difficult place to begin for a writer. The ideas we have are usually overflowing, keeping us awake at night as we jot notes on little scraps of paper with a penlight. And you would think it would be easy for a poet or a storyteller to use ink to transfer what they see, feel or think onto a blank page. It isn't. Every new beginning is daunting.

Creation is never simple and when it's successful, that is even more rare. That is why we usually attribute the creation of great art, music, poetry, literature - to the gods. Muses. Sprites. It is such a miraculous task that surely no mere mortal alone could perpetrate such an action? Yet that is what writing is...it is the manifestation of what we create in our imagination from our knowledge and ideas. By writing I am not claiming that we achieve equal level with demigods but rather I am giving credit where credit is due: To those people who every day and night break the chains of self doubt, push through the little nagging voices of people who say they can't and just DO. For we are our own worst enemies.

I promise to keep trying. After all...I got this far.