MY FIVE POSSESSIONS

ONE This is a German Dagger from the Second World War. It was given to my father to dress up as a Roman Centurion when he was very little, the man who gave him it is long passed, but my Mam and I have still kept this hidden behind some sheets in the airing cupboard. I looked up the history of it to try and see if there was a value, it used to be a regular German Navel Dagger, but the top of it was cut off and the Swastika was screwed onto the top. I would for it to be valued one day.

 

TWO My Nan's ring. At her funeral, the women of the family were allowed in her bedroom to take a piece of her jewellery. The ring doesn't fit, and it's not something I would ever wear because of the sentimental value. I think it's one of the most beautiful things that I own and it means a ridiculous amount to me. I hope that one day I mean as much to a lot of people as my Nan did.

 

THREE A cheque for one billion pounds from someone I was friends with in college. We don't speak anymore, but I am planning on living until the 18th of December 2099 so I can cash it and live the rest of my life in complete and utter luxury. I will be 110 years old.

 

FOUR A hat that Irene made for me. Irene was a little old lady living next to my Nan, she didn't have any children of her own so took it upon herself to "adopt" me as a grandchild. I would visit her and her sausage dog Lucy and she would get me presents. For my eighteenth birthday she bought me a small leather camel decorated with red felt. I still have that as well. While I was studying abroad in America she learned that it was very cold in South Dakota so took it upon herself to make me a hat. This is the hat. It didn't fit at cut off the circulation around my head. This photo was me showing my mother on webcam. We were both crying in hysterical laughter, I loved Irene to bits, she meant so well and it was always very much appreciated. FIVE You've had the shittiest day. Why must people insist on getting their children baked beans if all they're going to do is throw them on the floor for you to clean up? They must think now and again about how hard done by waiting staff are. Not ever waiting staff. You are the Summer Staff . With a fifteen minute break on a full day, a day of cleaning, cleaning and more cleaning. You hate this job but need it, of course you do. Saving money and waiting for a real job to come around the corner. You waste a sweltering hot summer by standing serving ice-cream and telling children off for climbing on the dinosaurs. You waste a sweltering hot summer in the steamed kitchens, the moisture clinging to you as you accidentally spray yourself with boiling hot washing up water over yourself for the hundredth time. You waste a sweltering hot summer by watching other people waste it by being at Wookey Hole Caves. This day you've done all these three things and now you're onto cleaning the ballroom-come-restaurant. Beans. Beans everywhere. As you're on your knees after a toddler has spilled orange juice all over the floor, you wipe your brow, only to wipe it with the dirty dish rag you've been using to clean dirt on all the tables. A brown, disgusting smudge over a face of contempt. You really hate this job. Then all of a sudden, a tap on your shoulder. You turn around, and a young girl, dressed in pale green with brown bunches in scrunchies is standing beside you. You expect she's going to tell you she just dropped her dinner on the clown or something, but she hands you a card. A pink card with blue italic writing on it "The money which comes your way you spend wisely, although some may not think so. We cannot all have immense wealth and this does not always bring happiness. A kind person like yourself has true friends. The smiles on the faces of loved ones is ample reward for a few pennies well spent." She probably didn't even realise how much that meant to you, and how you still have that card blu-tacked to your mirror and you look at it every day, as you now step out to a job that you actually don't mind. Probably because it doesn't include anything to do with beans.

These possessions are in no order of importance. It would take me forever to decide, and then I'd change my mind again.

MY FIVE SONGS

ONE

Tim Minchin - Drowned. This may be my favourite song of all time, when all others chop and change I can always listen to this and love it. Tim Minchin is a musical comedian and that's how I grew to love him, I've seen him live with an orchestra and was blown away. This him doing serious, and he can do serious very well. I am adamant that this song will be used if I were ever to get married somehow. I will find a way to get it in there somehow. To me it is the most beautiful song that exists, and that's simply it.

TWO

Les Miserables - Bring Him Home. This song has the most emotional meaning for me. It started generally with my love of musicals and it always struck a nerve. When my father passed away my mother asked if we could use it as his song at the funeral. This happened during my GCSEs at school. My music GCSE exam was about a week after the funeral and the final song we had to analyse was "Bring Him Home". I had to sit and listen to the song three times in a row and then write an essay about it. My music teacher, who was at the funeral as he knew my father, came up to me and asked if I wanted to leave. I didn't. This song reminds me of so many things and makes me remember my determination and, quite frankly, how strong I can be in situations like that. It makes me proud that such a fantastic song was chosen to represent my father.

THREE

I Gotchoo - Bowling for Soup.  You know how every couple has "songs"? This is my boyfriend and I's. Most of the lyrics don't make sense, but it's upbeat, happy and I love it. A lot of this album I always felt represents Rob and I. There's a song about seeing somebody in December and then not being able to see them again until Summer and another song about being half way around the world, being just a day behind. This is exactly what happened to us when I chose to go to America to study, and we still stayed together strong. This song in particular is our favourite, the lyrics of the verses have no particular meaning to us like the others, but the bouncy happiness of the entire song really reflects what we're like as a couple.

FOUR

Gregory and the Hawk - Boats and Birds. Coming the end of this list, I've realised all the songs chosen have all got sappy, soppy reasons behind them. I guess I'm just an overly sentimental person. Especially here, we have song five. This is Cole's song. She wrote this on a letter before I went to University and it has been our "song" ever since. We've planned to have tattoos based on this song and it will always remind me of her.

FIVE

Calamity Jane - Black Hills of Dakota.

“Take me back to the black hills
the black hills of Dakota
to the beautiful Indian country
that I love.

Lost my heart in the black hills
the black hills of Dakota.
Where the pines are so high
that they kiss the sky above

and when I get that lonesome feelin'
and I'm miles away from home...”

To stand and watch a sunrise over a snow topped mountain for the first time. A pinky, purpley mixture of glorious hues blending together to create a smile of the morning. There is no one else around to see it but that doesn't matter. This sunrise is not theirs. This sunrise is for you. You could be watching this in a far less beautiful place than right here. You start to cry. You feel a little silly admitting that now, crying at a sunrise like you're in some sort of stereotypical movie moment. But if a crew were filming and captured that specific shot, establishing sunrise, zoom in on face, of tears, they wouldn't be capturing a girl desperately missing her family or a girl that was somehow strangely offended by the sun. They would be capturing a scene in which a thousand dreams were realised.

In a small, clandestine cabin, situated directly opposite a ski slope you wake up to most perfect view you have ever opened your eyes to. You feel very cliché talking about it. The scene of your first Thanksgiving, and hopefully not your last. It seemed like you were there forever. It seemed you were there for two seconds. But in reality you're actually in the Black Hills for four days.

You are staying with a friend from college, Scott, and his family. They are an amazing family. A gran, a granddad, a mother, a father, an aunt and uncle both couples with two children each. They are a perfect nuclear family, totally reflecting the ‘typical American’ view. You know many people would argue with you describing a nuclear family as perfect, but to you it is. Sure, they have their little spats, but it was full of love and happiness – truly what a Thanksgiving is all about.

Scott however, does not fit the bill, and labels himself as the 'black sheep of the family' He wears baggy jeans with hand-sewn patches on, one dread-lock in his pink hair, a vegetarian, gay, atheist anarchist. When thrown in with a family of 'stereotypical' Americans, you can imagine the fun to be had.

But, even beyond this, you find yourself becoming jealous over the long weekend but the jealously slowly ebbs into longing and then into an aspiration. This is what you want. You’ve got it all planned in your head. You're going to have one boy and one girl. You even have the names picked already. You can imagine them sitting by the log fire, chomping on turkey or playing endless card games in a small hill cabin next to a ski-slope. Of course in reality you live in Wales and this could never happen, but you can dream. Even so, spending time with this family helps you come to terms with a lot of things that you miss about your life back home. The things there are practically the same as back home, the food, the culture, the language – but with slight differences. Pronunciation is a little different. Food taste, a little different. Card games, a little different. Different rules, different styles, different times.

It's so bizarre to change time zones by driving a few hours in a car and not even changing country or state. Scott’s uncle, Ray, although slightly crazy, is really into history and geography so it's taken for granted when he starts conversations the entire six hour drive. He keeps saying “Scott, you have to go to the badlands” , “to Sioux City” , “to the Mall of America” , “to a baseball, basketball, football game” “to...” listing about three thousand historical locations. Fortunately, that weekend you cover a few of the endless places he listed to Scott. When you arrive it's very late, pitch black, ice. An old car slowly chugging its way through mountains until you finally reach your destination.

They all immediately fall into bed; or onto the settee in your case, which had been lovingly smothered in blankets and pillows by Scott’s grandmother. You wake with the morning and are surrounded by bright white. You imagine you've died and woken up in heaven. The snow. You have never seen so much snow in your life. It is magic. Clean, crisp, untrodden snow. You take hundreds of photos, more than people would ever want to be shown, but you're in awe. The contrast of dark pine to the cool, clear white covering the surrounds. Fresh and new. Everyone goes about their day as normal but you find yourself wrapping up warm and sitting out on the balcony and watching people ski down the hard ski-slope, aptly named ‘Little Hope.’ You hold your breath every time someone attempts to go over a little bump and pray to yourself that people who fall will get back up again. That the hand of God would just float on back and scoop them back up onto their skis or snowboards straight and tap them down safely. At least that's what Trey thinks.

Trey is a creationist (also Scott’s cousin) and he is quite the character. He has funny little lines he says all weekend, his favourite one would be shouting ‘Praise the Lord!’ after the majority of nice things he sees. “Look at that sunset, Praise the Lord!”, “This turkey is fantastic, Praise the Lord!” etc. However, your favourite quotation that you will always treasure from him was when you were out driving to Deadwood and you commented on the amount of dead deer there were strewn across the roads on the way: “You’d think natural selection would have stopped deer stopping at headlights and getting themselves killed, Darwin… Phffst.” Scott's face of desperate silence towards me begging please don't say anything keeps you fully amused until the end of the weekend.

It was rather funny that Scott all weekend is reading a book on how religion is flawed and his mother keeps commenting about it to provoke a religious debate. Luckily one does not ensue. You have no idea what you would say, but you're sure that the trip would end with either a very sceptical agnostic or an extreme creationist in a casket. Funnily enough, Trey has overtly religious views when they suit him. He didn’t seem to feel at all sinful when glugging his straight vodka from a water bottle or gambling $150 away at the casino in Deadwood.

You are underage so you can't gamble. Another thing you found strange. The legal age in Wales is eighteen. Scott isn’t into gambling much either, so you take a walk about the town instead. You find the old and new Salon number 10, where Wild Bill Hickok died. You then run into some Chinese tourists who want a photo taken. Scott takes the camera, and they start profusely shaking their heads, they want a photo with Scott and you. You ask why and they just giggle and run off. You imagine they want photos with a group of Americans. You feel like an imposter and you wonder if you could find that picture somewhere on Facebook. After that, you still wander around looking at the odd signs in the windows ‘No Motorcycle Colors’ , ‘If anyone is wearing apparel deemed as inappropriate and will start debate/conflict you will be asked to leave the premises.’ You would love to see a motorcycle gang. They would absolutely petrify you. But you still would love to see one.

You buy a big snuggie ‘Deadwood’ jumper for your mam as a present. She's a huge Deadwood, the TV show, fan so you have to take lots of photos of things to show her. The place does surprise you though, you expect it to be still rather in ‘olden times’ tradition, but it is filled with neon, garish, casino lights and there's a multitude of gambling houses. Some things are still there though, Salon number 10 and a few museums. It takes all your efforts not to burst into songs from the musical Calamity Jane the whole time you're there.

Thanksgiving dinner. It was the best food you eat you had started living in America. The look. The smell. The everything. Casseroles, turkey, stuffing, gravy, vegetables, fruit salad, pumpkin pie and Cool Whip (You suppress your urge to quote Family Guy). A glorious feast fit for kings, queens, dukes, duchesses and the like. But settles for you. You are sat at the ‘kids table’ along with Scott, his sister and one of his younger cousins, but you don't mind scootching in close and eating, the food is good enough to forgive this.

Three hours later, bellies full, and it is Christmas Day. The house was decorated for Thanksgiving in the morning. It then suddenly switches mid-afternoon time to Christmas, because Scott’s family spends it with one set of Grandparents and Thanksgiving with the other, and with that alternation comes Thanksmas or Christgiving, whichever one you prefer. They all huddle next to the roaring fire and exchange gifts. You think at this point you'll be overlooked, but it's pleasant enough watching from the outskirts. You are shocked when suddenly an emerald green box is placed in your hands by Scott’s parents.

They have bought you a few simple Christmas decorations. A Santa and Rudolph to hang up. You're then handed a flat wrapped gift from Scott, you unwrap it to find a ‘mix tape’ CD with songs that you both love and have sung together, the headliner being Downtown by Petula Clark, or new ones that he thinks you'll like. You smile.

The next day, you are thrust awake, far too early by a creationist sitting next to you and booming a rendition of ‘Rise and Shine, and give God the Glory, Glory!’ at your face. Trey then said two words you've been wanting to hear all journey. ‘Mount Rushmore.’ You get up quickly and get ready. Donning your far-too-big-for-you University hoody and snowboots. A mistake, you find later, when the weather turns hideously glorious outside. You have a really good all-American breakfast with the not so American, French toast. Scott and his sister pile heaps of syrup, peanut butter and cool whip on theirs. It slightly disturbs you and you tell them so. They call you weird for eating yours plain. You will never understand the Americans and their eating habits.

You heap into two cars and head to Mount Rushmore. About an hour long drive, so you get to hear lots of fun stories about the family, and learn a bit of history. You are told specifically, about three or four times that National Treasure 2 is wrong. There is no lake behind Mount Rushmore, no matter how many people believe in it. Rather like Jackalopes. Mount Rushmore is the first typically tourist thing you see, with the faces dynamited into rock and the shadows casting over, so you can only clearly see the two presidents on the ends. The main thing that shocks you though, is the size. It's so... small. It is obviously huge. But when looking at it you are a little underwhelmed compared to how is it depicted in movies and pictures. Maybe because it’s on a big hill. You're told the same effect happens with the Statue of Liberty which unfortunately you don't get to see due to lack of money at the end of your stay. That and the whole distance thing.

The day afterwards it's finally time to go home. You squeeze back into Scott’s rather cramped truck, as it's filled with leftover thanksgiving goodies and Christmas presents. You face the snow and start the drive home. Constant billboard signs begin, advertising ‘Wall drug’, ‘5 cents coffee and Wall drug’ and ‘Oh, No! You just missed Wall drug!’ Scott’s Uncle is made to turn around and head there to show ‘the foreigner’ what it is actually like. The most kitschy, horrendous place that is not worth the fuss and the less said about it the better.

That night, before you go to bed, you log into your laptop and do your regular social network check-up routine. You receive a message off your boyfriend Rob. ‘You've been celebrating Thanksgiving, so I thought I'd let you know what I'm thankful for. You.’ It makes you laugh because most of the time his idea of romance is watching the bloodiest horror film out at the time, and he is never that soppy, but it also makes you terribly homesick, you have not been forgotten back home. Not shocking you however is a message you read from your best friend Cole “Hey bellend, stop being all up in America and chuck some love my way sometime soon.” and though mildly insulting, you know she cares. It makes you start to think what you're thankful for.

This Thanksgiving comes at the perfect time because it actually makes you appreciate everything that you have. Even if it isn’t as ‘perfect’ as the family you have stayed with the past four days. You are thankful for your mam, who is always working so hard and supports everything you do, even if that means letting you go and travel half-way around the world. You are thankful for your brother for being the classic infuriating brother, but to be an amazing one at that, who you know will always be there for you and will be a substitute dad. You are thankful for Cole and Rob who stick by you through thick and thin, through every bad decision, through every ‘one more drink’ that turns into twenty and

for being the best people to define the quote ‘You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your friends,’ yet actually becoming a part of it. And you are extra thankful for Scott and his family to let you share their holiday, their home and their love. We need a Thanksgiving back home. It wouldn’t hurt a lot of people to realise what they actually have and to cherish it. You have no idea how much the little simple things mean until they’re gone.

“So take me back to the black hills
the black hills of Dakota
to the beautiful Indian country
that I love"

I'm going to be unconventional to my "List of Five" rules and post another song right at the bottom of this list. Purely because I want to show that I'm not a complete sops. This song I just like. Mainly because I can dance like a moronic chipmunk on acid to it:

PENDULUM – BLOOD SUGAR

MY FIVE TATTOOS

ONE

This is the second tattoo I have, it's on my back. The idea behind having tattoos put on my back, is if I ever start hating them, they're on my back so I don't have to worry about them. This one I had done when I was out in South Dakota, and for you linguistic nerds out there you will see it's the word "Dakota" written in IPA (the funny writing next to the proper words in the dictionary). This is because I studied IPA while in Dakota! It was done using the "Stick and Poke" method of tattooing for free by one of the friends I made there. A needle is wound against a stick, dipped in ink and the tattooist repeatedly stabs you with the needle over, and goes over the tattoo a few times. It took a long time and was a lot worse than, the now, normal way to do tattoos. Put simply: it hurt.

TWO

Now, for the clever folk of you out there, you'll see that this is not a tattoo. Well done. It is in fact an origami boat. I want it for two reasons, the first is, my late grandfather was amazing at origami and had a small following, was in magazines for inventing pieces and was known as the main expert of the "Spring Into Action" a difficult and very time consuming piece of origami. I want lyrics written either in the boat or below it for Cole, for the plan that we have to represent our song "Boats and Birds" by Gregory and the Hawk.

THREE

For some reason, I really want a tattoo of a birdcage. I have no specific sentimental reason, but if I were to have this in particular, I would have the birds flying into the cage, which is what I've wanted, to show them finding a "home" which is something that I am doing.

FOUR

This is a tattoo I am definitely having done. It will be very small and on my wrist. It's my favourite word, the "schwa" and it is my favourite noise "uh", the noise of indecisiveness, which I am a big ball of.

FIVE

Your first tattoo and you're nervous. You've thrown up. A lot. That's only the nerves. You're violently ill with a cold and you're hocking up a lung every time you cough. But you are determined to get this done. You chose what you wanted a few months back, drew it out all pretty-like and now you're here. Sitting in “Dye-n-Pie's” tattoo parlour in Swansea. Your illness takes over again as you struggle to breath.

“I'm not doing a tattoo if you keep coughing” Pie looks at you indignantly and waves you in. You assure him that you will not cough at all when you get it done. Well done you. When you first step in he looks you over and starts complimenting your skin. He apologises that it sounds creepy, but as a tattooist it the thing he notices. You have candle wax skin, that's so pale it will take to colour really well. He says he's the same. He shows you a tattoo on his arm and has you guess how old it is. You say maybe four, or five-

“Thirty years” he interrupts, smiling proudly. The red of the tattoo brightly showing off, matching his flushed cheeks.

You give him the design and he starts, it's not like you imagined.

The buzzing makes your stomach jolt but you sit there clutching the chair you're on. It hurts, obviously, it's a tattoo. However, it doesn't hurt the way you assumed it would. It's a sharp vibration, a bearable pain. It's then you understand how people can become addicted to the ink and you're already thinking of more that you can have. It's only a little tattoo so it doesn't take any longer than thirty minutes. Plus you never coughed. Well done. Go team you.

The main reason you get this particular tattoo is because it's what you doodle all the time. Eyes. You could go deep into it and say it's the people that have passed looking over you, or it shows the time a psychic told you that your “third eye was very open”, but you never really think of any of the reasons when you get it done. Then a small Japanese symbol meaning “Dad”. The fact you have it in Japanese bugs you a little bit, even immediately after having it done. You find it will irritate you more in the future when people keep asking “What's the X for?” Also, you'll not be looking forward to the time a woman shouts “but you're not Japanese!” at your face. She's not wrong. However, you will never regret having that tattoo done and you love that it is a permanent part of you.

MY FIVE FUTURE DREAMS

ONE

To get my father's name actually written on his headstone. He deserves it and everybody deserves their closure. To have a grandmother say “It's fine because we know he's there” doesn't cut it. I want people to know who's there long after all of us are gone.
TWO

To have a normal family. With emphasis on the word normal. I want an average, working parents, children-filled, happy household. I know these days "normal" isn't necessarily a word you should use, but normal to me is just- easy. No problems. No complications.
THREE

I want my mum to be happy. Just that.
FOUR

To sing on stage somewhere, like I used to.
FIVE

You sometimes get that feeling, well, always get that feeling- that you're meant for something more. A lot more than this, everybody does. But you get this feeling almost constantly and it drives you insane. A voice in your head warning you of imminent death. That’s why you're awful at doing nothing. Or just sat watching T.V. Always having to do something. Keep busy and you won’t get that constant reminder of “What is the point of all of this?” You don’t expect that it’s just you. But you'd suppose if everyone was like it they'd all be panic-struck crazy people. You worry way too much. Way too much. You won’t do certain things in fear of what people would think or say. Most people just don’t interest you. They all seem so normal, whatever normal is. Normal is boring. Therefore, "people" bore you. They like going out, drinking, having a good time. That’s too… what’s the word? Too… generic. Too regular. Routine. God, You hate that word. Routine. You want unexpected, unpredictable, unreal and other words beginning with ‘un’. That’s who you are. Un-normal.. Not average. Well, at least you don’t want to be. But you're going down a route that's so predictable it's scaring you. You are scared. Of everything. You have a weird thing with eyes you'd like to get over – won’t watch people touch or do anything to them – makes you retch just thinking about it. You won’t go on fair rides because you can't trust anything that comes out of the back of a van. Wooden roller coasters – too rickety and shaky. Log Flumes – too wet and high. Blood – too gross. Hospitals –weird smell. Being alone. Death. Life. You are scared. Life itself – the concept, the miracle. You can’t comprehend how miraculous it all is. Think about it. Think about your life. The good times, the bad times, the boy/girlfriends, your mam and dad, your schooling –or lack of-, your friends, your life. Your own world. And think how big all those memories seem. Not quite the right word, ‘big’, but…how important these things are to you and how big your world is. Now think of the actual world itself. There are billions of people on it. And these billions of people all have that same type of world you do in your head. It’s not even real to think how many memories and experiences are going on right now. How you could even be writing and reading this just fills you with awe. How people are able to recognize the symbols of language. Constructing. You don’t feel like anyone appreciates it as much as you do. That’s why. That’s the whole point. I just don’t understand anything. You say you want normality. But safety is too safe. And thinking about it now… You don’t think you want to.