[Feature!] : ” Marriage; A history: From sentimental value to financial-fuelled fulfilment “

The royal wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton has sparked acts of British tradition and support, but to what extent do we value the true significance of marriage?

For over a century, Britain has seen numerous changes to the monarchy, constituted by a procession of royal engagements and significant weddings. The earliest recollection remains to be the marriage of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1840, a majestic and yet simple ceremony that centred on the directness of vows and the delights of young love. In a break from tradition, the future King George VI’s marriage to Queen Elizabeth in 1923 became a public affair. Therefore, in regards to the conventions of a royal wedding, the 20^th century saw a slight deviance in routine, representative of more to come. 88 years later and the prediction is proved correct as the country anticipates the arrival of a new marriage: that of the son of much-loved Princess Diana and Kate Middleton. But what changes has the advance in century brought with it?

The royal wedding has ironically provided an insight into the depths of marriage, focusing on how it is received by a worldwide audience. What was once a symbol of the simplicity of love is now an exhibition overshadowed by insignificant ring alterations and fashion choices. It seems that such a distinct social event has started the debate of ‘marriage morals’. Whatever the arguments, for or against, it is clear that the life-long commitment has had a re-vamp in meaning.

“To have and to hold, from this day forward…to love and to cherish”. The vows echoed by the Roman Catholic Church, repeated as a sign of commitment. Cherished as a symbol of love. Honoured as a sign of sincerity. It was during the late eighteenth century that people began to adopt the notion idea that these vows were the sole reason for marriage; love. American author Stephanie Coontz offers the idea that in the past century, people became aware that they were free to choose their marriage partners on the basis of love. I would’ve agreed that this reason would suffice. Clearly not.

In 1999, The National Statistics table recorded that 108,488 of marriages in England and Wales were re-marriages, accounting for 41% of total marriages. There are two possible explanations for such a high figure. The first being that marriage is no longer regarded as a life-long commitment and therefore the escape clauses can be easily called upon when all else fails. If a marriage was considered as highly as first established, then I’m sure couples would not be so quick to re-marry. The alternative cause is that first marriages seem more appealing to those daring to make the commitment, and yet this forces me to re-address the ‘why’ question.

The first marriage encompasses the ‘fairy tale’ ideal. To the bride: the fantasy of becoming princess for a day, the focus of all attention. The groom, the best man, the maid of honour, bridesmaids and ushers all pale in comparison. For the groom, it is assumed that he wishes to complete the fantasy as the ‘king’, destined to complete the fairy tale ending. This ending ironically falls short of a simple ceremony. The 21^st century view of a wedding is not complete without a £21,000 average UK budget, grand venues, an extravagant wedding dress and more importantly, a handful of carefully selected wedding cakes. It’s understandable, that a wedding is not to be tackled lightly, but it seems that the value of marriage is overshadowed and somewhat hidden under the weight of financial theatricals.

The royal wedding has become a prime example of the misguided course of this financial extravaganza, evident in two aspects. The first being the wedding ceremony itself. Three potential dress choices, royal hairstyles and celebrity guest lists are at the top of the list when it comes to the ceremony. The variation of optional vows is yet to be mentioned or discussed. Traditional or Non-traditional, the question remains unknown. The cost of the wedding however is not a mystery. Estimated at £12 million, the royal wedding is set to exceed more than half of the cost of Princess Diana’s. A difference of 30 years does not compensate for such an obvious increase in cost, does it? The royal wedding, however, is not the only culprit of the masquerade. Supported by current reality TV shows, Living TV’s ‘Four Weddings’ sends the message that image is everything when it comes to getting married. Judged on venue, wedding dress, food and overall experience, the average viewer is led to believe that materialistic objects are crucial.

The second distinct aspect is also money-orientated, but in a very different way. Smiths news said that publishers will be looking to “capitalise on this one-off event”. Are we right in assuming that companies are using a sacred ceremony as a means of making a profit? A total disregard to the purity of a ceremony that will substantially change the lives of two people. Instead, the reality is a copious amount of commemorative merchandise: royal wedding gift boxes, coins and the unexpected ‘Will Wale’s Stag-do T-shirts’, all appearing to return a profit.

There is no dispute that April 29^th has done the unimaginable. Bringing together a divided nation, giving us something other than doom and gloom to focus on. It’s all smiles and cheers when you look at the ‘pretty picture’, but what lies beneath the colourful lines is a slow deterioration of the modern-day marriage. When the lines eventually fade, what will we be left with? A blank canvas that holds nothing in value nor meaning, unchangeable and ruined for centuries to come.

[MyFiction!] : Short story – “Changes”

A single leaf falls from an oak tree as the green hues change to golden blends. Grey skies and harsh winds replace those endless days of sunlight and warmth. Chills run through hands and feet and hearts and cause even the most unlikely to hide away from the frills of season change. Autumn is most definitely here.

And yet no-one knows this better than Belle. A young girl who notices that the sun no longer shines and therefore those around her no longer have hope. The fruit seller on Maple Street no longer winks at her as she walks to school, cheerfully wishing her a good day. The old man who spends hours sitting on that bench, feeding the ducks and swans that fill the lake hardly notices her now as she calls out his name. Her favourite art class no longer brings her fulfilment as Miss Johnson fails to see the good in anything when the weather changes its course. Change follows change and yet Belle never questions these changes as she already knows the answer. Instead she enjoys the wind and appreciates the rain as everything seems so much clearer after it’s fallen.

For Belle has always been brighter than the average child; able to sense when something’s wrong and when people act differently. Some may say she is unique whereas others may suggest she is just awkward. She would say that there isn’t a name for what she is. She’s just Belle. She warms to people who are giving and kind and repels those where cold chills their heart. Just last year, her mother introduced her to Edward; a strange man who had a distinct dullness in his eyes. Edward came round on a regular basis, generally in the mornings straight after Belle’s Dad left to go to work. She would hear her Dad’s car ease slowly off the drive and shortly after that the door bell would ring twice. Her mother would call upstairs telling her not to worry and then Belle would hear them whispering quietly before entering the kitchen. Belle would leave for school and when she came back Edward was no longer there. One night whilst the she was seated at the dinner table, she asked her Mum why Edward came round so often and yet didn’t make any attempt to talk to her.

“Because there is no need for Edward to make conversation with you Belle. He has a job to do and that job is to make sure the garden is kept to a specific standard. Nothing more, nothing less.”

She smiled at Belle and then continued to eat her food; making no further eye contact with Belle nor her dad. And that was that. Belle never questioned Edward’s constant re-appearance nor did she raise the subject again. She had already decided that she had no specific reason to dislike this Edward, but that did not stop her from thinking he was an unusually cold and sullen man. It was at this point, that she concluded that her house was no longer a home and that Edward had most definitely welcomed the frost into her family. This frost created small but noticeable cracks in the family unit, gradually pushing her Mum and Dad further and further apart. Weeks went past whereby not a single word was uttered; months whereby her Dad was hardly seen. She just sat and watched as her Mum became reserved and her Dad became a stranger. She listened cautiously as her Mum became enraged after he sauntered in after weeks away, unable to provide an explanation for his absence. It was as if with the autumn, he had been stripped of his warmth and loving nature only to have been replaced by a hard-hearted stranger. Belle wished with all her heart that the Dad that once cuddled up to her in front of the fire would return. She wished that he would take charge and order Edward out of the house and in turn bid farewell to the squabbles and arguments, the sniffles and tears.

But nothing was ever done to resolve the problem. Six months pass and Belle packs away her warmest clothes in cardboard boxes. Pile after pile of woollen jumpers and extra thick socks, plump coats and woven hats. Instead she unpacks her favourite top and cardigan along with an assortment of sandals and shoes. She smiles as she clicks the clasp on her sandals, illuminated by the light from the sun at her window. The sun glistens and fills both her and the room with a comforting natural glow. The house is unusually serene as she leaves for school, the quietest it has been in months. She walks down her road, happily humming to herself as she enjoys the slight warmth the change has brought. Instead of withdrawing from the wind she basks in the beauty of the breeze and inhales deeply. When she finally reaches the school gates, she runs into the school building, eager to start a new day. Today’s topic is on Seasons and she listens intently as the Science teacher explains the importance of this transformation. She nods her head at every detail spoken, and writes hastily in answer to each question asked. She receives praise from the teacher and a special certificate representing hard work. The school day ends and to Belle this is a reason to celebrate for there may just be some hope left. She rushes home to tell of her discovery but returns to an unusual scene.

The windows have all been opened, allowing for a gentle breeze to circulate throughout the house. The scent of a freshly mown lawn and the bark of an oak tree waft in and find comfort in nestling in the empty spaces of the house. She walks a little further into the living room to find her Mum and Dad talking quietly on the sofa. Her Mum’s hand rests gently on his and they turn as they hear Belle approach.

“Oh Belle, I’m so glad your home from school. Come here and sit down next to us, we have something to tell you.”

She smiled at Belle with such brightness that Belle walked over and sat in between them without question. Both her Mum and Dad move closer to her, enveloping her in two different hugs. They sat back and look at her meaningfully.

“Your Dad and I have come to a decision that will make us all much happier. You see, there comes a time in life when things are bound to change. But change doesn’t always have to be a bad thing; it can be a good thing. It is going to be a good thing. For all of us. You see, what I’m trying to say is, your Dad and I have decided to separate. Do you understand what that means Belle?

“Yes. You won’t be together anymore.”

“That’s right hunny. But I want you to understand that it doesn’t affect the love we have for you and it never will. You have to understand that we want what is best for you and that means a change for us. It will be better. I promise.” She hugged Belle closer and kissed her on her forehead, squeezing her hand as she went.

They all rose together, caught in a tight embrace before Belle’s dad announced he had to leave but would be back in time to tuck Belle into bed. He smiled at Belle and her Mum before opening the door gently, when an unnaturally bright burst of sunshine enveloped the room. Belle raised her hand to shield her eyes but she could still feel the warmth at her fingertips. Just as a gentle breeze escaped from the door, Belle sat down on the last step of the stairs. She thought of the past eight months and how so much had changed. She remembered the feeling that autumn brought and the way the cold had felt. The chills that had entered her house and now that had left. Instead replaced by a spring breeze that fills the house that is now a newly built home. She had discovered that as suggested, change can only be deemed as natural. Just as the season’s change, so do the events of life and so Belle continued to appreciate this evolution in acceptance that both should not be rejected but readily embraced.

[MyFiction!]: Short story – “The Woman in the Mask”

She walks with an air of finesse about her, the heels of her open-toed sandals knocking at the stone below in perfect harmony. Knock. Knock. Knock. A car pulls up and parks on her side of the pavement. The guy in the back seat rolls down his window and points at her. He curls his finger as he does so, a sign that he wants her to come closer. He wants to talk to her. The arch of her eyebrow rises, ever so slightly as she acknowledges his call. She contemplates him for what seems like a second, before fastening the last button on her camel coloured Mac so that it engulfs her neck entirely. He’s still staring and pointing and waiting. She stares back. People pass by and stare at them. The beautiful looking lady standing in the middle of the street staring at the dirty looking man in the back of the police car.

A policeman returns from a cafe holding two coffees and a bag of iced doughnuts. He gets into the car and passes the two coffees and the bag of iced doughnuts to the man in the passenger’s seat. He adjusts his rear view mirror and sees the back window down. He says something to the dirty man staring out of the open window. He winds it up, slowly, and sits back in the seat. The car pulls away and drives off down the street. She shakes her head at the car in the distance and puts her hands in her pockets.

***

She begins, again, to walk. A distant tune can be heard from the open door of a record shop. She hums in perfect tune, adjusting the sound at just the right notes. She continues to hum all the way down the street, even when the tune can no longer be heard. She reaches a pedestrian crossing. There’s a woman standing in front of her. She has headphones in and a white iPod in her hand. Her teeth grind at the chewing gum in her mouth as she rocks and taps her foot to an anonymous beat. She plays with something in her hand and looks to the right where she sees a green bin. The miniature man on the black box flashes green. She shrugs her shoulders and lets a chewing gum wrapper flutter to the floor. She crosses the road, leaving the beautiful woman standing in the same position. She looks uncomfortable. She tucks a strand of glossy, auburn hair behind her ear and crouches down to pick up the wrapper. Her tight bun remains in tact as she crosses the distance to the green bin. She drops the wrapper into it.  She pulls a small, clear bottle out of her pocket and squeezes it gently onto her palms, rubbing them delicately.

Behind the bin, stands an abandoned shop. An abandoned shop covered in three identical posters, lined up side by side. The Red Rooms. Red Rooms. The Red Rooms. The beautiful woman stares at the posters. A tear appears on her cheek. She turns and sees the miniature man on the black box flash in the distance. She hurries to cross the road and turns left.

***

Her heels meet cobblestones. They no longer knock. Instead they beat. Still harmonious. Her slender arms reach out across her frame, pulling herself closer. A cough comes from the shadows. A haggard old man sits amongst heaps of dirty rags. A sign is propped up in his hands. Spare change please. She doesn’t stop but already holds two coins. She tosses them into the plastic cup at his feet. He nods his head. He looks into the cup. She is at the end of the alley and turns left again. The second alley is narrow. She twists her body gracefully as she manoeuvres down the tight space. She searches for anything that may obstruct her course and rip at her tights. They’re nude in colour. An exact match to the tone of her skin so that her legs gleam in just the right light. They remain in tact. She reaches a brown door with no bell. She knocks twice. A squat man answers the knock and opens the door. He smiles. He has three teeth missing but she smiles back. She passes him as she walks in, nodding at the woman at the desk. More women. She unfastens her coat. More doors.

Music and bright lights seep in from a side door at the end of the hallway. A petite woman stands looking at the beautiful woman. She holds out her hand. The beautiful woman unfastens the last clasp of the Mac and slips it off. She places it in the hands of the woman and squeezes her gently. She breathes in deeply and grasps the handle of the side door. She pushes. She walks on a bit further and then stops. She slides her hand across her hair, making sure it’s in place. She adjusts the strap of her bra. A sequin falls to the stage floor. She waits for her signal. A cough. She hears him say her name. Loud applause. Hooting and whistling and banging of fists on tables. Her legs move one after the other as she passes the man and enters the bright lights. Her hands follow her curves as the applauds get louder. More banging. She reaches the centre and grips the hard, cold metal. She flicks one heel around the pole and twists and turns and twists.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

*Wipes dust of laptop*

I hadn’t realised I had neglected the blogging world for so long! (Last post currently stands at 28.02.11..That’s shameful even for me)       I am my own worst enemy in the sense that I planned on maintaining this blog as at least a monthly update and have failed. *tear* – - Cue melancholy music.  I blame the perils of being a second year student and my lack of time management skills.

I failed to realise how hard it would be to keep on top of my academics as well as having a social life. Of course I heard through the grape-vine that it would be difficult: “Second year counts towards your final grade and therefore naturally will be gruelling”…”Your second year is double the work my friend”. I would say I had trouble fully digesting these words of wisdom. The grapevine was clearly NOT that helpful. Instead I was left pulling my hair out in the middle of my bedroom, surrounded by endless piles of literature and scrap pieces of paper. Rushing to complete all coursework before the due date was near enough impossible, especially when presented with the overwhelming notion of failure.

BUT..and yes it is a big BUT..my great mother taught me that nothing in life is free and that anything worth having is worth fighting for. Result: I have successfully progressed into third year with a decent set of module grades Hoorah for the English maniac!! *3 cheers would be much appreciated*

Now this leaves me with the summer break. Time to enjoy the comforts of home living, cooked meals and old friends. That doesn’t mean that I am allowed to forget about university. It just means I learn from my mistakes.

I, Rebecca Mai Renwick, hereby declare that I CAN have a social life whilst preparing for my third and final year in Brutal Brunel.

Things learnt in helping me with my multi-tasking determination-ness (So not a word I know. But what the heck, I’m not being graded on this ) :

• From Antonia..

Purchase a DIARY. For DIARY = ORGANISED LIFE.

Example numero Uno

• From Monica..

There’s no point being in this world just to be here. If I’m going to tackle life head on, I might as well make a difference. If I’m quoting her directly, I would say:

“I wanna die knowing I’ve left my mark in this world”

The mark doesn’t have to be an enormous one that is potentially life changing. It can be a mark as small as the one on your right shoe that you made last week after kicking a ball too hard. Either way, you’re happier within yourself for doing what you wanted to do. That’s good enough for me

Sooo I don’t want this all to be about WHAT I WILL DO.

But WHAT I HAVE DONE.

I’ll be signing back on when I have more to tell you..(Gonna go write to the RSPCA now. They might just want some help from little old me in the press department. Fingers crossed peeps!)

Mighty fierce Dc Martens

^^ I’m going to use THESE to help me squash/attack/kick/annihilate any bug/fly/creature who stands in my way!! *Muhahhaaaaa*

PEACE & Love.

Memoirs of a Pissed-Off Female

In memory of a distant ex. Inspired by a real-life relationship disaster. Terms and conditions apply.

Currently recovering from one of my many ‘reflective day dreams’, I sit and wonder why we put ourselves through it. ‘It’ being the emotional and physical roller coaster we go through when ‘involved’ with the male species.

At the tender age of 19, I have had my fair share of disastrous relationships (if you can actually call them that) and yet I fail to learn from my mistakes. Time after time, I land myself in a state of vulnerability (something in which I’m sure most girls can relate to) and find myself asking the same question: “Why are boyfriends so UNABLE?”

Maybe a little advice from K.M can answer my question??

Kate Millet (author of Sexual Politics)

Characteristics of each gender:

• THE MAN: Aggression, Intelligence, Force, Efficacy.
• THE WOMAN: Passivity, Ignorance, Docility,”Virtue”, Ineffectuality.

To a certain extent, I agree with her analysis. The man alone possesses ‘cold’, harsh qualities which render him helpless when faced with female companionship. Aggression faced with a woman’s passivity; epic fail. Force coupled with ignorance; both repel each other. Now imagine this. The aggression, force, passivity and ignorance served with a home made side helping of love; DISASTROUS.

I hear the angry rant of hundreds of boys, so I cover my ears with earmuffs and continue. I use the word disastrous because boys do not have the ability to adopt female characteristics; the female mentality. To put it plainly: We snuggle, we cuddle, we cry, we weep, we don’t sleep, we fret, we worry, we give, we don’t take, we trust, we believe, we don’t see, we bleed and yet we STILL love unconditionally. We accept him for his faults and he accepts no responsibility. Instead he hurts, he shits, he spits, he angers, he frustrates, he waits, he creates excuses, abuses, confuses and yet he STILL takes what he doesn’t deserve. A females love.

Some of us are aware of this. Some of us are not. Some are willing to admit, some are willing to submit. I am willing to accept it and fight back. Not against them, but by reaching out to you (my fellow females).

If you found yourself able to somewhat relate to my musings then I urge you to sit and evaluate as I will do.

This started as an evaluation of boys and ends as an evaluation of self. Boys will be boys and they will continue to do so until they realise the error of their ways.

Girls will become women in their understanding that regardless of whether boys are unable or not..

WE

ARE

ABLE.

Being in a relationship has the potential to be okay, but believing in your strength as an individual has the potential to be BRILLIANT.

I end on a change of title.

 

‘Memoirs of a Newly Accepting Female’.

Be realistic: Go for the impossible!

A quote from Paulo Coelho that pretty much sums up my inspiration for ‘blogging’.

You may ask why this quote in particular. I would answer “because it states exactly what I should be doing but what I am not” (I hope you understand what I mean, if not, rest assured all will be revealed.)

As an individual, I haven’t really pushed any boundaries in life. I would walk to the edge of a cliff, but be sure to stay well within the ‘safe zone’, afraid of falling off the edge. I have found that this technique isn’t working for ME. So I’ve decided to let myself fall off the edge, into the depths of the unknown. To allow myself to explore the endless possibilities that are out there, waiting for me.

So I start blogging. A small step but a significant one. To me, it’s the road to much more to come. Today blogging, next week para-gliding over the Indian Ocean (a bit far fetched I no, but you get my drift). There isn’t anyone stopping me from achieving what I want but ME.

Now that nothing stands in my way, ‘the world is my oyster’ and I’m going to take full advantage. Just as Paulo helped to inspire me, I hope I have made a small impact into assessing what, if anything, is holding you back from fulfilling your dreams or even conquering your fears.

Belief. Will. Perseverance. That’s all you need.

Good Luck.