The night is for times of solitude, for thoughts and pondering. 

I use the hours before I fall into slumber to recount how my day panned out. I recall the words I spoke to my friends/classmates/family and think about how my actions impacted on those around me. This self reflection is very important to me. This analysis helps me to develop as a person, to know what makes me tick. 

I consider what I could have done differently with my day: whether I should have left the house earlier to catch my bus, whether I needed to buy another pair of shoes, whether I should have complimented a stranger on their hairstyle. Endless possibilities arise and I find myself lost in the midst of these ‘what if’ situations. After all, the day has passed. The night has come, and soon the sun will rise again. As a new day dawns it is the perfect opportunity to start afresh, to begin again.



Last night at 03:57 I finished reading Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince. I had set up camp in my bed and was prepared to finish the rest of the book in one sitting (I was already just over half way). In those few hours of my life I experienced so many different emotions and feelings through the hands of that book.


Having watched the film previously I knew the storyline, I knew that the death of Dumbledore was hidden within. The build up to this point was executed so well in words. I particularly enjoyed the passage leading up to the murder, especially Draco and Dumbledore’s conversation. Dumbledore’s serenity and calm tones versus Draco’s angst and fear was touching. Reading the death of a well loved character is always difficult to fathom, and I am not ashamed to say I shed tears when it happened. I read the last 100 pages or so with tears in my eyes, welling up when the phoenix finished his song and left Hogwarts, sniffing my way through Hagrid’s emotions at the funeral.

The character development is fantastic, with the relationships and bonds between Harry and his friends, also Dumbledore’s trust of Snape. Tonks and Lupin’s ‘back story’ is novel and refreshing and placed well near the end of the book.

J.K. Rowling writes in a way which attaches you to Harry, Ron and Hermione. She creates this world of magic where you feel included and central to the story. I think this is my favourite Harry Potter instalment so far and eagerly anticipate the next one!


I like old book stores that hold hundreds, maybe even thousands of books. The shelves seem to hold life and joy and I can feel that emitting out to those perusing the books. I found a book shop today filled ceiling to floor with books of all genres, shapes and sizes.

 I could easily spend hours on end in book stores but have to limit myself to purchasing only a few books each time.

I purchased Sherlock Holmes (The Complete Illustrated Short Stories) today. It consists of 56 short stories written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and illustrations from The Strand Magazine. As it is a fairly chunky book I will be reading it at home as a bedtime read, maybe a short story a night.


‘Once you begin to acknowledge random acts of kindness – both the ones you have received and the ones you have given – you can no longer believe that what you do does not matter.’

Dawna Markova

Like the popular saying goes, ‘It’s the little things that matter.’ Every encounter with a stranger: every smile, every compliment, every please and thank you is worth acknowledging.

When you notice all the small things, they no longer stay so minute. They swell and grow and become an integral part of your interaction with others. They make you analyse your own behaviour, your own impressions on others. Putting a smile on your face can easily reflect onto someone else. Holding a door open for a stranger can make them believe they are worth something. Paying a compliment to a friend can give them the boost they need to get through the day.

These little things are important and deserve to be acknowledged and not taken for granted.


Ever get those feelings of apathy? Like nothing in the world matters, like you have no interest in what is going on in the world around you and that nothing concerns you.

Sometimes I feel extremely detached from the world, so uninvolved with my surroundings.

Isn’t it strange how you can live in a place that is constantly busy and active yet have no part in it?


Independence is a strange thing. It can be exhilarating and fresh to do whatever the heart desires, to do or not do as you please. Independence can also be sorrowful and uneasy, procrastination becomes a close friend in times of independence.

At the first sight of independence I thought ‘Great!’

I can do as I please: sleep late, wake up late, eat whatever I want at whatever time I like, go out all day, spend money, travel, explore. Seemingly endless possibilities loomed at every corner.

Reality: sleep late, wake up feeling awful having missed half a day, eat junk which makes me sluggish, go out on little sleep resulting in grumpiness, spend spend spend, no energy to travel, no motivation to explore.

Independence is a strange thing, while it is so freeing it is also restrictive, while it is packed with opportunities it is also riddled with negative outcomes. How free is too free?