Comhairle na nOg, your mental health

Hey everyone,
Sorry I'm late, so today me and and another one of the girls from they youth media group went to Comhairle na nOg meeting. Comhairle na nOg is a youth council and they are all around the country. They are a council that help the voice of young people to be heard. Today we did a workshop on mental health which I found very interesting they talked about things such as that our mind doesn't actually live in the present its either the past or future, they then got us to close our eyes and concentrate on our breathing for 5 minutes this is very difficult because it requires us to concentrated on the present which our mind hates. Our mind will always try and focus on something else like the noises around you or the homework that's due tomorrow so after you read this I want you to try concentrating on just your breathing for 5 minutes and see for yourself how difficult it is.
so that's me for the day guys and girls hope you enjoyed reading talk again soon,
Penny

P.S. Feel free to contact anyone from youth work Ireland if you are experiencing any mental health issues  they are there to help and support you. Also please check out  Comhairle na nOg monaghan website: www.monaghanyouth.ie .    

Sorry I'm Late, I Suppose

I'm not sure what I'm going to talk about today. What's going on in my life at the moment, you ask, wanting to give me inspiration as to what to write? Well, nothing much, to be honest. All I can say is I was in Spain up until twelve yesterday (Friday).

Spain?

It's lovely, especially the little place I was. I have to hand it to them, the Spanish have the resilience to give in to learning English with perfectly articulate words while firmly remaining delved within the Spanish roots. The place I went to was probably the most anglicized of the lot, and yet all the natives spoke their own language with the utmost pride, not giving in for one moment to the Englishness that seemed to pervade the crisp, cultural, sweetly scented scene of Torremilinos in Spain.

Spain in October?

The weather's nice, albeit the low lying fog that settled over us like a thick, unsnuggly, rather annoying duvet sent my mind to the suspicions that it wasn't going to be the sunny break of doing nothing that I yearned for since fifth year settled in. Then, after a humid evening, Wednesday morning opened up the refreshing air, cold but with a crispness that didn't send you searching for your coat.

Spain's Population...?

By population, most teenage girl's minds snaps straight to the gorgeously tanned boys that roam the beach with their swimming trunks hanging lower around their delectably tanned fronts... The masculinity echoing waves of sauciness that send women into a hot flush as they breeze past.... The smugness of their hint-of-a-smile and the confident look in their eyes that sends any woman within a five feet radius spinning in a drooling, melted mess on the floor. Or beach. Or Jacuzzi. Or wherever you happen to be.

However...

The teenage girl's mind didn't anticipate the sea of swimming, tufty grey hair that sits on the top of a balding man. Blotched skin, like thick, wrinkled leather that sits on their faces. Some mahogany -resembling that old, tan-coloured, leather couch we all have come across in a home, the one that everyone refuses to sit out of principal. These had exactly the same stature when sitting down, although not as comfortable. Others were that pale, greying colour that leaves them looking drawn and bulgy eyes and their mouths, just seem to be puckered continuously. Or as I recently encountered, stuck open and rounded like a gawking goldfish.

I'm not talking about those uber-sexy, brown-golden haired, handsome Spanish boys with their piercing, liquid-gold eyes.

I'm talking old, decrepit men, walking around on their shiny little Zimmer-frames, inching this way and that, causing road blocks and numerous accidents. You want man-boobies? I got them everyday!

Nah, in saying that, I didn't mind. My thoughts were elsewhere, in the quiet murmurings of my own vivid imagination, creating perfect scenarios of things I want to happen. Something I spend a bit too much time doing these days.

It was nice to get away, to see a different country, and anyone who has been to Torremilinos would never trade it up, the people are lovely, it's quite anglicized. You wake up in the mornings and wander outside and embrace the crisp, October air with your nostrils, welcoming its refreshing feel into every little bronchiole. The sea is an idyllic myriad of forty shades of blue, and the shimmering gold and silver. The sand, a perfect, sandy colour of pleasant gold and the weird, pineapple-like trees floating above us, against the sky.

Was I happy to be back?

Undoubtedly. I don't think I could've stayed longer. Not only fifth year's burgeoning duties or my parents and their annoying ways (especially felt because of the absence of a certain older brother), but because I felt I was missing out. Even if I wasn't, the only place I wanted to be then was home.

Home.

I know I'll end up leaving the nest eventually, and frankly, I can't wait to get gone, even if it's only to Dublin. But right now, my life and everything in it is here.

And you could NOT get me to go away with my parents again.

So the next time I'll be shuffling abroad, you ask?

We'll have to see, but at the moment, I'm thinking France. Namely Paris, but maybe inter-railing would be a good start. Lots of variety and very fetching boys to ogle in a variety of places.

Now, back to the homework I've been avoiding... Anyone else notice who procrastinating against one thing will make you do other things you previously were avoiding? Life's funny like that....


Peace out, Y'all,

Arma.

The Scottish Play

Ye all may have heareth of the Scottish Play, that which is known as Macbeth,
A cursed name so full of evil, but good in it, all the same,
A play, a lesson and a message,
All brought together in one,
Macbeth is the play that us Leaving Certs are studying,
And with haste, be it done.

Yada, yada, yada. For anyone living outside of Ireland, us teenagers have to sit at least seven exams for what we call the Leaving Certificate, or the Leaving for short. And of course, in English, my favourite subject, or at least one of, we have this long, arduous course to get through, full of indecipherable Shakespearean language, daunting symbolistic poetry, a novel that is bound to be as boring as watching paint dry...

We started off on that, which is probably the most hated out of all that is in the course..... The Shakespearean Drama. Ours? Macbeth, or "Macbeth" as we must refer to it, when speaking about the play's name.

I expected it to be dull, rendering me half-asleep every time we opened the book to try and nudge our way through the almost hieroglyphic language that is Shakespeare.

Call me pleasantly surprised when it wasn't like that at all! I love reading "Macbeth", well maybe love is a bit strong, but a lot more than I could have hoped!! It's a nice play to be studying, full of mysticism and intriguing supernatural powers that are in play, but mainly it is reading into the play and its meaning that gets me every time.

English, is just one of those subjects that just keeps on exciting me day after day.

Hope you are all well, and settling back into school!

I also have to say how envious I am of the college students! D: Arrrggh, begone with you all and your freedom!!

Arma.

Pogonophobia (The Fear of Beards)

Taz here.

Phobia's have always been something of an interest to me. They reflect upon us-who we are as people, what we've done, how life has effected us. On the day of our birth, we're not handed phobias like gifts-here you go, have some claustrophobia, no no I insist, and your aunt brought some nyctophobia as well-we develop them. In fact, we're born with only two fears; the fear of falling, and the fear of loud noises.

For those who don't know, a phobia (according to thefreedictionary.com) is a "persistent, abnormal, and irrational fear of a specific thing or situation that compels one to avoid it, despite the awareness and reassurance that it is not dangerous." Pretty much, it's a fear of something that doesn't make sense. You know you're being silly-the spiders smaller than you're fingernail, it's harmless-but that doesn't mean you're not going to run away screaming if the spider lands on your desk. The fear of spidies, by the way, is dubbed arachnophobia.

So how do we get phobia's then? Practically every single TV show seems to suggest that they are developed based on our childhood experiences and environment. Which is true-so yeah, TV can be educational. Another cause is traumatic experiences-following a car crash you might find yourself fearing being in a car. (amaxophobia) Following a bad bout of depression during which you sharpened pencils everyday, you could have a phobia of pencils. (aichmophobia) One of the most common reasons, which doesn't make it into the media because it's not half as exciting, is simply a fear of the unknown. A lot of phobia's spring from just not understanding or being unable to fathom the object or instance of a fear.

Interesting stuff, right?

I myself, am luckily not suffering from any phobias. I used to be terrified of spiders, but overcame that by forcing myself to pick up and name any spiders that wondered into my path. (Yes, my parents asked who I was talking to) Needles, however, while not bringing me to phobia level, are a serious threat. There pointy presence leads me to dramatic near-fainting experiences in which I hastily sit down, clutch my inner wrists and wish I wasn't so aware of my knees. I admit my reaction isn't typical.

But no chance will that hold me back-I have great intentions to give blood when I'm older. I'll just work from what I know works-I'll adopt stray needles, give them names and a good cuddle, and send them on their way. What could possibly go wrong?

What about you-Do you have any irrational fears?

The Rain in Ireland Stays Mainly Everywhere (not in the plain)

Taz here.

Most Irish people hate the rain. 

With good reason, I guess. It's wet, and cold, and you can't hang your washing out, or even go out for that matter. Kids don't play in it, you don't tan in it, and when it comes as you're on the sidelines of a football pitch? It sucks.

(Apparently)

Everyone says the rain is awful. They moan and groan and intone that it's a holy terror and god forbid we get a bit of sun for once. It's the topic of an infinite number of conversations-all of which conclude the rain is just horrible.

Personally I think the rains pretty awesome. 

And why wouldn't I? In my head, rain equals warmth. Coincidentally, it's currently pouring rain from the (figurative) heavens outside my window. I'm seated on a swingy-chair in my warm room typing away at my clonky old PC, a cup of coffee at hand. I'm comfortable. I'm cosy. I'm other nice descriptive words beginning with c which if I were bothered to think of and type out would create some nice alliteration. Point is, even though I can hear the wind and rain bashing against my window, I'm somewhere safe.

Rain, to me, acts as a physical representation of wealth. It reminds me that I'm very lucky in life, that I have comfort and security. I'm not living on the streets, or in a slum. I don't need to cower into somewhere relatively dry(er) when rain comes. I don't need to beg or scavenge for scraps of food. And assumably, if you're reading this, neither do you.

It puts things into perspective, doesn't it? It's all well and good to complain about the wet and the cold and how miserable it is, when we're going home to a heated home. And maybe you think I'm a downer for thinking like this, but to me its uplifting. Not the fact that others are wet, of course, but the fact that we're dry. It makes my grateful, and happy, and all of that other soppy stuff.

Now if you'll excuse me I think I'll go for a run. And quite literally soak up the weather of an Irish summer.

Referendum to be YET ANOTHER Lisbon Treaty?

Yes, I know, boring topic of conversation. Mind blowingly boring topic of conversation, but as you may know if you're living in Ireland (or even if you're not, you can see how we're doing) there is another referendum to be voted on.

And everyone immediately sighs forlornly and thinks back to the last treaty that the E.U. pushed our way eagerly like the Irish do with food to their guests. Only, unlike food, this wasn't an inviting plate of toasty warm stew, it was cold, bland and spit-it-right-back-out nonsense you get at your school canteen.

No one remembers the last treaty joyfully, I suppose you could say it was catsatrophic. Everyone voted no and so, in an effort to please the E.U., the Government forced it down out throats again. This didn't end well, to say the least -the Irish, of course, threw on their defensive scowls and sarcastic mockery and even those who had voted Yes, began saying they were voting No.

It went through. May I suggest something went wrong in counting those ballots.....?

But on more recent topics, we have the new plate of food pushed our way, surprisingly more appetising looking, like that one time you try the canteen just once more and you think, this might not be so bad. Well, now that I am of an age to actually understand all this economic non sense we got ourselves into, I thought I might as well try and explain it to you.

But first, I had to understand it. Easier said than done, may I say.

I looked it up on the internet to say the least, like I do with everything I don't understand, (A bad habit to say the least, especially when you're an impressionable first year....) and I read through it. It was more inviting looking than I first thought it would be, to tell you the truth.

So I worked my way through it, reading over stuff twice and thrice over just so that I wouldn't make any fumbles in explaining it to you. It's called the Fiscal Stability Treaty and honestly, it doesn't seem so bad. If you support slashing government spending with a Spanish machete meaning that hospitals, schools and all those employed by the government will suffer.

I suppose you could say in response to that, the government doesn't spend much on hospitals and schools anyway, which is a fair point seeing as all hospitals seem to be closing down one by one. People may also say, good enough for those civil servants! Doing nothing and getting paid more than the ministers, another good point on which nearly every Irish person feels inclined to mention every political conversation.

However, it's not as bad as you'd think despite all the impending cuts if it does go through.

To put it straight, Ireland's in a bad way. Seriously bad.... I mean we need a Youth Cafe and the situation Ireland is in is worse than that. We spend too much and our government income just isn't sufficient to cover all this. E.U. , who may not be the most sympathetic of councils at the best of times, are forcing us to pull in our belts and make those cuts so that maybe we'll get out of this slump.

So, the big question -Yes or No. Those who are eighteen and over will all be stepping into those booths; a pen and paper in hand, but those pens may be the most powerful tool they have in that moment. As they finally closed over the curtain behind them, they'll stare down at the ballot paper. Bite their pens. A sweat might break and finally they'll check a box.

Yes.

or.

No.

So, which is it.....

Cuts in spending close to that of a machete-yielding ninja that will at the least help us out of this crisis or increasing debt upon increasing debt and life staying like this, floating in a bad situation and getting worse.

Now, this blog is too long, so go vote or tell people to vote, OK?

-Arma

Follow Your Heart.....

 Follow your heart. 

    That corny line that makes everyone cringe... And yet,  there has to be some truth in it -maybe not in love life terms but even for me, in ways of my future career. The one I've been agonising over since I was about nine years old. It's probably unusual for a teenager to fret so much about what they want to do in later life, but I don't care -it's a thought that frequently haunts me. OK, "haunts" is a little but too dramatic but it gives us the same message. I'm not even sure why, but I know that I just don't want to end up ina job I hate. And so, it comes back to the same old thing -passion or practicality? 

    For parents it's easy; they want their child to have a job and a stable income. It's for a good reason, I know, but sometimes it leads you into a job you hate and who wants that? I don't, and that's why I'm constantly warring with myself over what I should or shouldn't do. It could turn out badly, but I think it's important to follow your heart. I'm the kind of person who firmly believes "What's for you won't pass you" which is to say, "everything happens for a reason", but sometimes I can't even trust things to turn out the way they should in case I fail. 

   It's stupid, I know, but I like to do well, as everyone does, I'm sure, but for me, it's more of a need. That's why it has took me so long to embrace what I want to do instead of what I should do. As my music teacher said, there's no jobs in anything at the moment and if you love something you'll find work in it, no matter what it is. This in mind, I've finally given into the feeling that has been gnawing at me for quite a while now -the feeling that seemed to shout "Do music, you loooove mooooooosic..!" And so, without setting it in stone, that's where I'm headed for now.  

    Maybe from that. I'll still end up in journalism but even if I don't, I'll take It in my stride and find work in the music industry in something I find that I love -music production, performing, teaching, even, though I'm not mad about teaching, to tell the truth. But I think I'll also incorporate English, because I love English, it's nice and interpretive and although sometimes the whole "there's no wrong answer" can be said to be annoying, I love it anyway. The same with music, you could put me in a music class knowing absolutely no one and I'd end up not caring in most cases because I love it. 

    This in mind, nothing's set in stone, so it could change. It might not, but we'll see, and if you're having the same doubts that I am, I shall say to you, do what you want and believe that you are good enough without anyone else having to tell you. Once you believe you can do it, you will succeed. 

   And on that note, I'll leave you for this week! I'm off to watch Pretty Little Liars, my new steadfast obsession. 

Peace out, 

Arma.

This Week On Random Ramblings...

It is Tuesday 24th of January; 24/01/12 in Ireland but very confusingly 01/24/12 in America, which always dashes my hopes when I have to catch up with television series over Sidereel. But apart from the next episode of Vampire Diaries being released this week, I have other news. Exciting to me, sending a burst of delight pumping through my veins straight from the heart when my mind takes a turn back to the imminent arrival of the new edition to my life. That would be a piano, if you are wondering.


Now, you may ask me (and rightly so) what's so great about a piano? Or maybe you're sharing in my joy, knowing how anxious I must be feeling in the present moment, without any other such thing on my mind apart from the wondrous beauty about to grace my life. I have no way of knowing whether you are the puzzled or whether you've been through what I'm going through right now unless you comment, so I will continue.


To give you a little background, I started piano at about the age of seven or eight and since then I've dutifully practised every night (give or take). Now, it wasn't intentional despite how boastful that sounds -I was an ignorant child in the way that I didn't really question anything I was told to do by superiors adding to the fact that I have this annoying and irrational mechanism of my personality that gives me a desire to please the elders. Such practising paid off, as it usually does (keeping in mind  'practise makes perfect', which unfortunately is true), I am now finishing up on Grade Eight with the Royal Irish Academy of Music -it's not a prestigious school, it's a music board, for those of who think I may be some sort of elitist.


My over-generous aunt decided to buy me a piano, because recently I had resolved to save up for a digital piano -wanting to upgrade from my barely-in-tune third-hand piano. She saw how much I came to love piano over the years and deemed me good enough, with recommendation from my piano teacher, to receive such an expensive but undeniably useful and invaluable gift. So, since Saturday I have been awaiting this magnificent beast.


The man in the shop, with a grin once he saw how shocked and taken aback I was by all of this, said that it would be "mid-week before we deliver it, probably Wednesday or Thursday" and that they would "ring one or two days in advance". Monday evening, after school -"Did they ring about the piano?" But my father shook his head as he did earlier today. And so, it is not coming tomorrow -Wednesday.


I know this, but for some reason I still harbour this uplifting feeling of hope in my heart that tomorrow I will come home and my father will say "Your piano arrived!" And I would fling my schoolbag away and run down to hug this symbol of promise to my breast, savouring in the knowledge that it is mine, and mine only. I would then sit down and play through every song I ever learnt, to test each one in its crisp, clear, piano sound. It's sort of comparable to the feeling you get on Christmas Eve, the anxious waiting before the present reminiscent of childhood dreams in which you check guiltily to see if the present somehow have come before the due date.


And such, is still the feeling that runs around within me; I chose to share it with you because it would help somewhat to relieve at least a little bit of the pre-piano tension and excitement within me. I say a little bit, because my face still lights up whenever I think of it.


Thank you for reading or enduring my random (and decidedly long) stream of thoughts,


Arma.

pets

So for Christmas my sister and I decided to get my mum a dog as her present (don't worry she knew about it first). But she has her flaws; she is not house trained which is annoying because we have to clean the mess up, she has gotten a bit better now. She also eats everything; she put a small hole in one of my tops and one of my sister's dresses and so far has chewed all her plastic food containers. But she is so cute that she is easily forgiven and when she's calm, she can be so sweet, like when ur standing in the kitchen she lies down on ur feet. So that's my blog for the week hope you liked it.
Talk soon
Penny ;)