That Girl from Derwent dwells on the value of religion this Christmas.
That Girl from Derwent has learned a few more things about prejudice since moving up North.
That Girl From Derwent reckons if you're going to be offensive, you should find a better reason.
That Girl from Derwent considers why it is that some words have wider implications than others.
Or at least, that was how I thought when I woke up. Since then I've gained a little perspective.
Somehow, I think Osbaldwick has become the centre of my epiphany. I'm sure anything next to Tang Hall should produce that level of deep-thinking but that's the way it turned out. I've discovered that things don't necessarily happen the way you expect them to. But, when they happen, however they happen, it's always for a reason.
It was when I was trekking back from Osbaldwick in the fading day with a couple of ridiculously heavy bags that I learned a few things. I'd been at a friend's house for a Sunday roast, which had been divine – what is it about other people cooking for you that makes it taste so much better? Whatever it is, this boy is a genius with food and walking through the peaceful village of Osbaldwick, with the late afternoon sunlight over the fields, it seemed like the perfect end to the perfect day.
But I had a lot on my mind. I'd had a reminder that morning that there were many people with bigger problems in the world than mine, and it had made me realise that I shouldn't be so petty about my so-called “problems”. I realised that we can get ourselves into such black holes that we think that our problems are the worse thing in the world, when in reality they are simply minor blips on the radar of world issues.
I've been struggling with a friendship since coming back to university. There's someone who I became really close to in the summer term last year, and I had, perhaps naively, believed that the long summer wouldn't change anything. I hoped that we could come back to York and pick up where we'd left off: cue lengthy deep conversations at obscure hours of the day and plenty of banter.
But it hasn't exactly turned out like that.
Before Sunday, I had been thinking that things in my life were a bit rubbish. I was annoyed – at a friend, at the way things had turned out. And at myself.
Yet I worked a few things out on the long walk home in the sunset.
Firstly, that just because something is difficult, doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. It doesn't mean it won't be worth it. Staying friends with the culinary genius hadn't always been easy – but I stuck with it and he's now become one of my best friends. I never could predicted that, and now I can't imagine otherwise. Lately, I've not been sure how to deal with the situation; sometimes I think it's just too difficult and I'm tempted to give up.
But it's always worth trying. It's always worth figuring out when to give space and when to make to effort to talk. Because if you do, when it does work out, it will feel that much better.
Like with carrying the heavy bags back from Osbaldwick. It took me far longer than it should have. I got a bit lost upon the way. The bags were a bit awkward and really heavy. I now have sores on my palms from the handles.
But I worked out a way to carry them.
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