A rant

When it comes to religion, I'm never quite sure where I fit in. I identify as a Catholic/Jew, as that best reflects my upbringing and feels like the most comfortable fit. I have no problem explaining the somewhat confusing upbringing to people when they ask. I flit between the two and have major respect for both religions and their customs.

But there's a dark side to Judaism. It became apparent to me at a very young age - eight, to be precise. "Jew Girl" became a nickname at school for me. It didn't really feel like an insult at that age and I brushed it off with my childhood naivety. But then I got older, and the true extent of how difficult it is to identify as Jewish became glaringly obvious to me.

Secondary school presented me with a whole host of problems. Most notably, the disgust I would be greeted with whenever my Jewish side became knowledge. It's followed me around ever since - people stating that they wouldn't trust me (because of my Jewish heritage), being told I should have a nose job (it's not that big) and generally being  blamed for every crisis going on in the world right now.

I'm a member of a student forum - The Student Room - and I'm sickened by how often there is a thread created that rapidly degenerates into something along the lines of "OMG THE JEWZ DID IT!!!!!1" whenever a tragedy is mentioned. Not to mention the fact that supposedly educated university students cannot differentiate between Judaism and Zionism (but let's save that for another time)

Enough is enough.

I don't care if you think that Jews are the root of all evil. I don't care if you think that "Jewish noses" are an abomination. I couldn't care less if you believe us all to be Shylock-esque characters with shady ulterior motives. When I care is when you make your disgusting views public and spout them as if they were fact.

People insist that anti-Semitism is a thing of the past. I can assure you it is not. I have many Jewish friends and, like myself, they encounter it on an almost daily basis. A friend's rabbi was spat at in the street. Spat at. In the street. In 21st Century London. Feel disgusted yet? No? The man is 67. So not only was he a man of faith, he was also an older gentleman. Whenever I recount this story, I'm greeted with comments along the line of "oh but it makes no difference how old he is or anything." I'm sorry, but has the world lost it's damn mind? Is it now completely acceptable to treat someone in that manner, regardless of their age or religion? Shoot, guess I missed the memo.

I'm not really sure why I'm posting this. I'm angry, sure, but it's something that's bugged me for a while. Maybe I'm just using this blog as a platform to get it all off of my chest. I'm rambling. I apologise.

I don't live in some fantasy world where no harm ever comes to anyone and where discrimination isn't present. I live in the real world. A world where, if you're a frequent visitor to the internet, it is now completely acceptable to be anti-Semitic. Regular, normal, everyday Jews are attacked and provoked over the Israel/Palestine situation. We are told that the Holocaust never happened (it did. Members of  my extended family perished in concentration camps. Deny it and I won't hesitate to give you a verbal beating). We're told we're shady, deceitful, arrogant creatures who should hide our religion and be ashamed of ourselves.

You know what I say to that?

Fuck you.

Why should I have to hide who I am in case it upsets or offends anyone? Why should my friends at university have to keep their religious status a secret for three years because they're terrified of the retributions? Why should a rabbi develop a fear of leaving his home?

Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'll be shouted down by militant anti-Semites. But maybe, just maybe, it might cause you think for a second before you tell that oh-so-hilarious Jew joke.

I'm sick of it. They're not funny. They're offensive and they cause genuine harm to people.

As your mother said: If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Look! I'm a grown up!

Last year, I wrote a post about being scared of turning 20. In the post (which has since been deleted from that particular blog) I theorised that this would be the decade where I would be forced to grow up, start a career, start a family and dive head-first into old age. I rounded up the post by stating that it was hard for me to say goodbye to my teenage years, and even harder to accept the fact that this is the decade where life gets serious.

I'm a whole year into my twenties now. Last week marked my 21st birthday. It was a monumental occasion for me - my mother could hardly believe that her first born had reached the pillar of adulthood, my sister spent the entire day calling me old, and I became giddy after realising that I could legally drink in America. It became incredibly tempting to run away to Las Vegas without my boyfriend, just to prove a point. (The point being that, because I am two months older than him, I am two months cooler than him)

Despite having a wonderful birthday week full of wonderful family and friends, the fears I'd expressed last June hung over my head like a dark shadow. Paint me depressed and call me Eeyore! I realised that I still don't have a proper career. Instead, I'm stuck in a job that has destroyed my social life, my confidence and my aspirations. I do still have a proper relationship, although like all other relationships we have our ups and downs. I'm still pretty determined that I'm not sacrificing my vagina for a child any time soon, in spite of the fact that almost every friend I have seems determined to force out children like a fashion craze.

I am still crippled by the insecurities of my future. I still have no real career in mind, nor do I have any sort of clue what I see myself doing forever. I do, naturally, fear that I'll drift from job to job until I succumb to either homicidal thoughts or my minuscule pension. But one thing I've realised over the past year is that I'm not alone in these thoughts and insecurities. It appears to be a plague on my generation. We've been labelled the "lost generation" and it's not hard to see why. Most of us lack any real direction - sure, we might be at university, or working in slightly good jobs, and we might have a general idea of where we want to end up, we just have absolutely no idea how to get there.

Unemployment is at a ridiculous high at the moment. Schools are stretched, filled to the brim with teachers who don't have the available resources to help as much as they would like, and teachers who just don't particularly care about the majority of their students. We're consistently told to "grow up, get a real job" and stop dreaming, by people who have become so bitter at giving up on their own dreams. The future isn't exactly shining bright for those of us in our early twenties.

But, unlike last June, I'm no longer paralysed by The Fear. So what if I haven't got a First Class Degree? So what if I'm still figuring out what I want to do in life? I've only just begun having an immense amount of fun in this life. We're here for a fun time, not a long time, and I refuse to allow myself to be dragged down over the fear of growing up. After all, Peter Pan never had to do it.

Twitter: @AmyWhitear

50 Dull Shades Of Grey

Unless you've been living underneath a rock for the best part of this year, you will know that the latest literary sensation is the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy. Written by E L James, the "mummy porn" series follows a young, bright eyed Anastasia Steel as she is mercilessly seduced by the billionaire Christian Grey. It appears to be the book every woman has nestled underneath her pillow: you see it on buses, trains, tubes, and now, apparently, there is a film version on it's way.

Desperate to understand the hype behind the series, I downloaded the entire trilogy last week and embarked upon the 'Fifty Shades Journey.' Now, I'm not a mummy, nor am I desperate for a kinky, erotic fix in my life, but I thought I'd dive head first into the first novel to see if I would have anything to contribute to the numerous conversations my female friends are having about the 'thrilling trilogy.'

I settled down on Monday with a cup of tea and the first book, ready to be taken on a wild, exhilarating journey through the young Ana's eyes. I made it to the end of chapter one and was ready to gauge my eyes out. I forced myself to the end of the book and can honestly say it is, without a doubt, the worst book I have ever read. The 'kinky, boundary pushing' sex scenes were boring, and the love story between the two leads was tedious. I finished Fifty Shades of Grey this morning, and I can safely say I won't be opening the next two in the series.

Having shamefully read the entire Twilight series, it became painfully obvious very early on that E L James started her Fifty Shades of Grey journey as a writer of Twilight fan fiction. The parallels were too blatant to dismiss: the young, shy girl, stuck in the mindframe that she isn't pretty enough or cool enough to ever stand out from the crowd, whisked off of her feet by an incredibly beautiful man who manages to see her beauty and charm despite no one else being appealed by it. And herein lies the problem.

Twilight, in my mind, is an incredibly sexist story. Throughout the series, we are told that Bella Swann cannot survive without Edward Cullen. She consistently needs him to reassure her of her strengths, and hide her weaknesses. There is a desperately annoying scene in the New Moon episode which sees Bella attempting suicide because Edward has left her. It was the reason Twilight ruined any minuscule credibility it had in my mind, and it is the reason I despair at my grown friends holding it up as an incredibly romantic tale. Likewise, I consider Fifty Shades of Grey an abhorrent tale that is basically just Twilight without the Mormon influence.

I am not under any illusions that women will realise just how badly these two series' are patronising them, but I am incredibly worried that the next generation of bright, young women (including my young cousins, sisters, and my boyfriend's nieces) are being raised to believe that these stories are hopelessly romantic. They are not, not under any circumstances. Someone hand these women a copy of Wuthering Heights, before all hope is lost.

Twitter: @AmyWhitear

Get a life? I've already got one, thanks

On a rare evening off work, I settled down to watch the latest of BBC Three’s allegedly groundbreaking documentaries. In the past, we’ve been treated to individuals with freaky eating habits, not-so-informative sex education shows, and mothers and daughters with serious issues. Tonight, it was the turn of Cherry Healey in the form of her latest documentary series HowTo Get A Life.

The majority of the ‘documentaries’ offered up by BBC Three force me to sit there with my head in my hands. They often seem forcefully dumbed down, created by producers desperate to connect with the ‘urban yoof.’ As an ‘urban yoof’ myself, I find these documentaries incredibly patronising and I rarely learn anything, nor do I connect any of them to my own personal life.

I admit that I was a fan of Cherry’s previous documentaries for the channel, charting her stories on losing her virginity, dating, and parenting. However, I can’t really the say the same for the latest offering. The first in this series, titled Single vs Settled, presented us with Cherry pondering whether or not settled life had turned her into a bore. Over the course of an hour, we were greeted with several arrogant individuals with incredibly inflated egos, sleeping their way around town. It is honestly a miracle one of them hasn’t ended up with an STI or unwanted pregnancy.

Cherry’s own admission that she hadn’t changed her relationship status on Facebook to ‘married’ slightly shocked me. She stated that was putting off the change because she almost didn’t want to admit to herself that she was settled, committed, and no longer young, free and single. Is married life really that awful? Must we stop having fun as soon as we reach a certain stage in our relationship? I've been with my boyfriend for almost two years now – it’s a milestone relationship for the pair of us – and, if anything, I feel as if my life has become more exciting.

I'm with an individual who shares most of my interests: nights in with a takeaway and a DVD, nights out to either a restaurant or a cinema, fun days and nights out with our extended groups of friends – both single and those ‘tied down’ – and our mutual sarcastic status. I'm with someone who is supportive and encouraging of my writing, on top of my other personal endeavours. Likewise, I am also incredibly supportive of his education, and will continue to support him until – and after – he achieves his personal goals. The past 21 months have honestly been some of the most exciting months of my life, filled with love, laughs, and incredible memories.

Some of my single friends lament at my relationship status. They are enjoying their lives, being free and able to do whatever (and whoever) they want, whenever they want. They consider my life boring, and I should consider diving head first into their lifestyle. But it really doesn’t appeal to me. After all, is sleeping around with anyone who’s game for it really that exciting or cool? For me personally, the idea of sleeping with upwards of 100 people is absolutely abhorrent. Never mind the fact that it would be ridiculously tiring, I have no idea how you would even fit 100 people into your life, never mind the circa-170 men Bianca has fitted into 22 years of  life. I fail to see how anyone could be proud of that sort of lifestyle: sure, have your fun and enjoy yourself, but knowing that your legs are almost like a revolving door? The idea is absolutely revolting to me. I find it incredibly disgraceful that this behaviour seems far too common in Modern Britain, and even more disgraceful that this sort of behaviour is rewarded with reality TV shows, documentaries, and even book deals.

I know that most people of my age group would find the idea of settling down horrifying, but I find that it suits me. I'm sure that those featured in the programme tonight enjoy their own lifestyles and are, indeed, having fun. Maybe I'm just incredibly old for my age, but I would get rather bored of getting drunk, taking drugs, and sleeping around all the time, fairly quickly. Some may consider my life boring, but it’s my life. And it’s a bloody amazing one.

Twitter: @AmyWhitear

The Great Olympic Fools

If there's one thing hardly anyone knows about me, it's this: as a child, Taekwondo was my life. I joined my local club - a very small one - at the age of eight and rapidly fell in love with the sport. I competed at regional, national, and international level, and won medals at each competition. I was devastated when my club folded, mainly because I'm still here many years later and yet to find another great club that has the proper affiliations.

Not many people are aware of Taekwondo. It's not as well known as it's cool cousins karate and judo. But something has happened over the past few weeks that has propelled Taekwondo in to the mainstream. Aaron Cook is arguably Britain's greatest Taekwondo fighter, having won more medals than most could count over the past few years. He came forth in the Beijing Olympics at the age of 17 and looked an absolute certainty to scoop at least a bronze medal in his home Olympics. Except, that's not going to happen. Because for some absurd unknown reasons, he hasn't been selected to participate.

I never imagined that so many people would care about my little sport. When I mention it to people in passing, I normally have to spend a good ten minutes trying to explain the sport before eventually giving up and just saying, "it's a bit like karate." But here we are. Taekwondo is not only featuring in national newspapers, it's also on Sky Sports News. People with absolutely no affiliation to the sport - and I dare say that some have never even heard of it, nor care about it - are suddenly up in arms at the thought of one of our best medal options being sidelined for someone who, I'm sad to say, doesn't quite match up to the skills Aaron Cook has to offer.

I know there isn't much an individual like me can do. I even doubt a collective army of enraged individuals can change the minds of the selection board. But what we do need to do is raise awareness of this beautiful sport. We need to get more kids involved in Taekwondo. We do need to find a way to get Aaron to compete at the highest level. Taekwondo is more than just a sport - it is a way of life. It becomes second nature. Even now, I find myself counting in Korean, or comparing someone's actions to a Taekwondo movement. By refusing to allow Aaron Cook to compete, the powers that be are doing so much more than just taking away his chances of Olympic glory, they are taking away the very thing he breathes for. I can only hope something changes.

Join the fight to get Aaron to the Olympics. Sign the petition here: http://t.co/E4akK0TF


Twitter: @AmyWhitear

Well hello there...

It's been a while since I updated this lovely little blog. Bad Amy! I admit, I've been too busy for it. How incredibly terrible of me!

A lot has happened since our last meeting. I've gone and got myself a real job! Yes it's still an evil job, and one that consumes my evenings and weekends, but it's a real job with real people and - perhaps most importantly - real money. The funemployment is over, and I admit I have shed an imaginary tear at that thought, but now I can begin moving on to bigger and better things.

On top of that, my months and months of trying has finally led to the creation of Chasing Alice! Not many people are particularly interested in my little side project, but I'm trying my hardest to get people to notice. I'm all for more contributors, or feedback. Alice isn't just for me to chase, there's magic for everyone out there!

Tuesday.

The Boyfriend isn’t here tonight. And my funemployment reached new levels of smugness just now when I realised that pretty much every branch of South London travel is currently affected by manic chaos (person under a train at Norbury, person under a train at Stockwell, Victoria station closed, London Bridge station closed.. How on earth will we cope with the Olympics?!)

Being at home sans Lurch tonight means that I absolutely have the time to do everything I am too embarrassed to do in his company: exercise, militant skincare regime, weeping wildly to West Side Story/Funny Girl/any other musical I can get my hands on tonight. I also definitely get to watch Glee without being criticised (I need some Lea Michele in my life, it’s been too long!)

Although, I know what I’ll totally end up doing tonight. I’ll open a bottle of wine, listen to John Mayer for hours whilst smoking a ridiculous amount of cigarettes, and crying endlessly whilst I listen to ‘Gravity’ on a loop. Until 2am finally arrives and working links for Glee are plastered online, so that I can then spend 45 minutes crying endlessly whilst either listening to Lea Michele serenading me or despairing at how much Ryan Murphy hates me and doesn’t want to let me listen to Ms Lea Michele.

Oh, and I will almost definitely try to teach my cats how to dance. Who needs exercise, anyway? 

There's a light in the darkness of everybody's life

So, Monday night was Halloween. I didn't fulfil my fantasy of stealing a baby for the day to dress it up as a Big Mac but I did celebrate the night by heading to the cinema for a special one-day-only screening of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Unfortunately for me, it wasn't one of the epic singalong, dress up as Magenta type screenings, but it was still bloody amazing. Sitting there watching Rocky Horror in its full-screen glory reminded me of so many things: my love for the movie, the genius of Richard O'Brien, and just how much some of those lyrics shaped my childhood.

Over At The Frankenstein Place is, without a doubt, my favourite song from Rocky Horror. More specifically, the line (and title of this blog) "there's a light in the darkness of everybody's life" is my favourite lyric from Rocky Horror. Yes, Time Warp is fun, and Sweet Transvestite is the best character entrance in a film ever, but that one line has stuck in my head for years (which feels odd to say given that I'm only 20). I think it's possibly because of the positivity of it. Or it could be that it tapped into the emotions a person feels whenever they're lonely/depressed/at a bad point. Whatever it was, it stuck with me for a very long time. And hearing it in all it's Susan Sarandon/Barry Bostwick glory on Monday night has inspired me to do something I've been putting off for a long time. Bear with me, it'll turn up eventually. I'm definitely gonna do it this time.

Until then, keep your eyes peeled ;)

Age is more than a number

I was laying in bed the other night with the boyfriend watching some piece of rubbish on the television when a harrowing realisation hit me. For the past four months, I've steadily grown to accept the fact that I'm 20 years old. It's just one number up from 19, and one number below when I'm allowed to go to Vegas and get drunk, gamble, and marry an Elvis lookalike. But that one fateful night delivered me a crushing blow. I'm not just 20. I'm in my twenties.

I think it hit me pretty hard because the "twenties" are when everything happens. It's when I'm supposed to get a career, get married, sacrifice my vagina and start a family. It's when I have to move out, buy my own food and pay for my own internet. It's when I have to become a proper grown up. I've known it since I was a kid. So now, it all becomes real. I have to become an adult.

That wouldn't feel so impossible if I wasn't chronically childish. Disney makes my world go round. I insist on play fighting with my boyfriend. I can't even get a job, never mind a career. The only "old person" thing I do is bake. I've spent so long avoiding becoming old that it appears to have crept up on me. I might take up knitting now, just to soften the blow.