Retardation

People might think ‘how many fingers did she put into a plug socket?!’ when they see you but they still see ME. Curls, I love you.

I get called Simba and/or Mufasa but seriously, Hakuna Matata (it means 'no worries')! Curls, I love you.

I have to use, and have no, GHDs. 180 degrees of ceramic heat technology struggle to handle you - but 180 minutes would struggle to create the same level of frizzy, unmanageable perfection. Curls, I love you.

I lose rulers and packets of ketchup in your Amazonian mess. Thank you for an original storage device others lack. Curls, I love you.

Sometimes you confuse people on my ethnicity. This permits me with the opportunity to create an alter-ego. Curls, I love you.

Curls, you really wind (me) up.



(Yes, I took some liberties)

My brain talks to me. Seriously, it won’t shut up.

It may just be the most self-less brain in the world - It’s always concerned about me.

‘What the hell have you done with your life?’ it asks, genuinely concerned.

It creates panic and then changes its mind:

‘Don’t worry, it’ll work out in the end’

‘Brain’, I say, ‘stop talking’

I’m pretty sure it’s bi-polar, the number of mood swings it has.

My brain then randomly bursts into song at 3am with lyrics everyone else has forgotten about. I don’t need a radio for a rendition of The Lighthouse Family...

Shut up, brain. I’m trying to sleep!

On it goes singing. ‘What’s the next line?’ it asks, indifferent to my frustrations.

‘You will always keep me flying high in the sky of love’, I say – now bored of the fight and resorting to rolling my eyes and sighing restlessly.

‘Oh by the way, you need to buy some toothpaste tomorrow. Write it down before you forget!’

...Thanks Brain :)

14.02.1991 - 14.11.2010

The last time I ever saw Jasmin she came to my house at about 10pm and we just sat in her car wearing pyjamas. We chatted for several hours until she announced she was hungry so we went to the McDonald’s drive-thru to eat apple pie, the server eyeing our clothes.

Even before finding out she had died, I considered it one of the best times I had shared with her because it just exemplified everything about us: comfort. Jasmin was always the first person I called whenever something went wrong. When we were younger we would just sit for hours on one of those green boxes at the bottom of Vaughan Gardens crying or laughing. I went back there after hearing the news and saw it wasn’t there anymore.

Several months ago we both agreed that if we had met later in life there was no way we’d be friends because our tastes were SO different. I’m relieved I never had to test that theory because I am grateful for those years I got to share with Jasmin. She was my first, oldest and best friend. We saw each other grow up to be pretty much polar opposites and yet be ridiculously similar because we grew into each other.

We often joked about how we were never in sync – when one was strong and confident, the other was timid and nervous. Maybe this happened for a reason – we had to be there for each other. Jasmin always called me her ‘safety net’ and I always told her she underestimated herself; she could do a lot more than she ever thought. And she did. The past year she came out of her shell and threw herself in at the deep end – moving out for university to study for a profession she genuinely wanted, working, and partying.

When we were eating our apple pies in the McDonald’s car park she was talking so excitedly about the people she had met and the things she had done. I just stopped her, smiling, and said ‘you’ve changed...are you happy?’ she just tilted her head in that way she always did, grinned and said ‘yeah’. That moment is my only real comfort now. I know she was so happy with her life when she went - she died at a high point.

I’m proud to call her my friend. Jasmin always laughed so loudly and with such ease (once we sat in the living room with my mother and she was in hysterics, basically ruining a story, trying to explain how her Ba said ‘chicken flu’ instead of ‘bird flu’... It really wasn’t that funny), she was cheeky (phoning my mum with the genius lie of telling her she had arranged a surprise party so I could stay out even later than planned) and defensive (basically beating up another girl she disliked for laughing at her joke, which also made Jasmin the school hero for a long time). She was so fun to be around and made me do things that I would never otherwise (notably go on the Space Mountain rollercoaster in Paris, where she cried more than I did, screaming ‘TEJ I LOVE YOU!’). I knew Jasmin would be an amazing mum as she’d shout ‘put on a jacket!’ when we went out. Then again, she was also a massive party animal and I will always be impressed by her ability to pretend she was completely sober - immediately after singing something ridiculously off-key.

Few people realised exactly how sentimental Jasmin was. One time we went to the park and were running around hitting the trees to make blossom fall down. A lady walked past and Jasmin looked at her straight in the eye and smiled (she always did that with strangers) and then held out one of the blossoms. Jasmin carried on watching the woman as she walked off, and beamed with surprise saying ‘she put it in her pocket!’ That memory is so vivid because it was one of a whole week we had spent together, immediately after an argument which we grew up to laugh about, when my mum asked us ‘aren’t you bored of each other yet?’ and in unison we said ‘no’.

I have no regrets in terms of saying things I should have, Jasmin knew exactly what she meant to me. Ever since the day she got me 3 bracelets and I gave her one back, I haven’t taken them off. I still wear the friendship necklace I got when we were 8 and Jasmin was meant to move to Mauritius. We would randomly text the other one with lyrics or just saying ‘I love you!’ I only regret not seeing her the night before she passed away, like we had planned earlier, and not taking more photos with her or recording her crazy laugh. I have so many stories about Jasmin and could talk about her forever because she’s been at every step.

I’ll never, ever get over or forget Jasmin. I will always love and aspire to be like her as she was the closest I’ve had to a sister. Every time I bumped into a teacher from nursery, primary or high school I’d be asked ‘how are you? ... How’s Jasmin?’ I am so grateful for those years I shared with her. Jasmin’s death has made me appreciate life just that little bit more and I intend on living every aspect of it with more energy and positivity – constantly thinking of her. We will never be alone.



Sometimes drills make wholes
You just have to turn on the power