A question that I always ask myself is where do my intentions come from? Are they purely selfish, or am I overly emotional, unable to separate what I desire from what is right and true? Or am I the result of a society that demands everything and gives nothing, therefore I cannot be held responsible for my lack of empathy? Or am I a combination of all of these things, and so much more, that I haven't yet had the opportunity to consider? 

I tend to have my most existential questions late at night, when I'm on my own. It's not exactly late at the moment, but I have spent more and more time on my own. I have craved my own company and damned those who have got in my way. There are a select few that I allow to be in my presence, but the moment their demands become too expectant I tend to scurry back into my hermit-like ways. I'm not sure where this has come from, or if it has been a long time coming, or actually this is what I'm truly like, as I was hiding behind a sociable facade?

I have all of the questions and not a single one of the answers. 

Since I am now into the second week of June, with only a fortnight left in the Far East, life is going at a tumultuous speed, and I've needed to take myself off to collect my thoughts before the long journey back to the Shire. Of course, I have the delightful pleasure of my Irish Ladies of Corcagh who arrive imminently, to look forward to, and their presence is greatly anticipated. But before they arrive, I have chosen myself as my only companion. That is, until the dark-eyed musician finishes entertaining the masses and I can have him to myself. I need some sort of consistency in my life at the moment, and he has the voice the purrs my name, in a way that only he can. 

Does that make it fair on the other people I have in my life. No. But, since when is life fair? And I have made no promises to break. Rather I have kept myself to myself, allowing my thoughts to cloud my sensibilities, and gone with what I believe are my truest of emotions. I don't know any more. I have been shut down for so long after the Duke of Albany, that I don't know what it is to feel and truly give myself to someone, and I am not yet ready to do that - thought I am finally allowing the thought to enter my mind for the first time in a year.

Love. What fools it turns us into.

D. S. 

There was a part of me that thought my last post would be just that, my last. But then there comes a day or a night where the words flow, and I can't stop myself from pouring out all that I feel, despite being unable to say the words out loud. 

Countries have been travelled since I last wrote; love and joy and frustration have all been experienced, heightened almost, by all too close quarters, and yet, the tenderness and fondness that I feel has not dissipated. Rather, it turns out that I have all these emotions I've claimed to not feel, they were hidden inside me all along and I'm only just coming to terms with the fact that they exist. I have ignored them for so long, easily since the Duke of Albany and I parted ways, and even before then, I was always weary and wary of all that I could feel bubbling under the surface of my skin.

And then someone you care about touches you and all the doubts, the worries, the questions, fall by the wayside, and all that matters is that moment in time. A touch that makes your entire body burn with desire, love, lust, a craving that you didn't realise you had, and aren't entirely sure that you want to satisfy. Or sometimes, it isn't even a touch - a tender look that speaks volumes. It conveys all the emotions that you have yet to admit, and aren't brave enough to utter into the hair that caresses your lips as you silently beg for more. 


For all that I feel, tiredness is something that I cannot ignore. My eyelids flutter against my cheeks, a daily struggle as I try to survive on a few hours sleep a night. It turns out age doesn't agree with me, and I need at least my eight hours to stay both productive and kind. The kindness leaves first once I'm under my eight hours. The productivity wanes under five hours.

I'm so looking forward to going home. I'm looking forward to having to put this year to a close. There is so much to still look forward to here in the Far East, but at the moment, my heart isn't in it. And I don't think it's because I'm ignoring my feelings this time, I just think I'm looking for something a little different. A chaos that I recognise instead of a mess that I'm unintentionally a part of; being home would relieve some of the tension building up in my shoulders. I hope. Though, am I possibly looking forward with rosy-tinted-spectacles? Am I already bored with the Far East? 

How could I be bored when there is still so much to explore? And I will admit that the travelling is something I long for when I have duties that keep me grounded for weeks at a time. And of course, there are similar opportunities back in Europe's beautiful green and pleasant land, but I want to see the world and be at home. How can I have everything that I want? Or is that life's great joke? We shall always want it all, but it is literally, metaphorically and physically impossible. 

Well, I've always been one to say 'never say never'... Whatever will be, will be, and all that, so I shall enjoy the journey. 

D. S.

Apparently it is unfair to equate love with other feelings. Love lives in an ivory tower and calls out for those who are courageous enough to try and search for it, whereas I expect love and I to accidentally bump into each other, realising that we've been living in the same ivory tower all along. 

I am not bitter, nor hopeful. I am just enjoying being me. I want no one in my life who needs more than a friendship right now, and sometimes I'm not even sure I have a friendship to offer. It is much more difficult maintaining friendships with people you haven't known for decades. My Shire Ladies take no offence from weeks without a word, nor do I expect to be filled in with all their scandals until they are ready to tell that story. In this Oriental bubble that I now live, my friends are few, but we see so much of each other that it becomes instantly recognisable if one of us opts out, or chooses to spend time with anyone else, or even on our own. 

What is so wrong with wanting to spend some time by yourself?

The weather is also truly having an effect on my rather more acerbic tendencies, a fog has cloaked the island so that it feels we are trapped beneath a great white cloud and breathing is becoming somewhat of a noticeable struggle. I cannot remember the last time I saw the sun. I think I need to escape, to run away and breathe, so that I can come back and be myself - be kind and caring and compassionate, listening to my friends who need me and allowing myself to feel something, anything, even if it is not love. 


Why do we feel the need 'to love and be loved in return'? Does it give us a sense of purpose? Does it make us feel like we belong? I cannot believe that love is the only reason for our existence, nor that life is without meaning if we don't have love. Not that love is a bad thing, but from what I've experienced, it does blinker you to thinking solely about one other person, and forgetting who you are in the process. 

Love is confusing. Life even more so.

D. S.

What have I learnt since my last post? If anything (which I sincerely doubt) I have discovered that practice truly does make a difference, and my sketches have improved immeasurably since the beginning of the year. It is a pleasant feeling knowing that pushing yourself to do something every day does eventually pay off. 

If only I could be as dedicated with my writing, like I was in Bohemia, but it turns out I have to make choices between my arts, my friends, my work and myself. And truly I have been suffering for I have lost who I am, and maybe that's because I haven't been doing my writing? Questions are all I have, attempts to see what works is all I can do, and only from there can I adapt and develop to this being that I believe, nay, that I know I am. 

I know that I need to make more time for myself, to experience things that I enjoy, for it is all too easy to hide away in my ivory tower, drawing, writing, painting, with no thought to the outside world. But when I hear tales of my wonderful Ladies of the Shire, cavorting in the snow back at home, I not only envy their freedom, but wish I had the opportunity for similar experiences here. 

I miss my friends. Of course I have wonderful acquaintances here and few close enough to hold to the bosom of my heart. Nevertheless, it is not quite the same as having your friends from childhood laugh, reminisce and gossip with a furore that I'm sure only we know how. I don't think I have missed my Marquessa and Baroness, Armiger and Court Jester as much as this since I lived in the Antipodes and had yet to meet anyone outside of my family. 

Love is also a thing that I feel I can no longer speak of. It has left me, leaving only bitter memories of that which I have lost. I am in a confused state, still only worrying about me. The Duke of Albany has also been on my mind more than I care to admit. Indeed he has gone from a a name I barely recognise in conversation, to someone who haunted my dreams only last night. I feel the need to speak with him, but distance is a great barrier. So I shall write a letter, letting him know that he is in my thoughts.

For truly, the only other person to enter my mind, is myself. 

D. S.

The end of another month is nigh and already I am closer to the spring, when the flowers break through the frosty soil and stretch towards the warm glow of the sun. Then I have to look forward to the summer months back in my homeland... Last year still feels like a dream, yet the summer is already approaching at a speed I'd forgotten. It's a wondrous prospect to go back to the Convent, doing something that I love with the friends and family that I don't get to see often enough, but it's astonishing when I think about all that has occurred since I arrived in the Far East. 

Love and loss... Well, more like love and lessons learned, something that I realise I am still in the midst of, despite my loud affirmations that I already know everything. Life and how to react and respond to other people... It seems this is not something I excel at.  I love to socialise, to be the centre of attention, and I crave acceptance from others, even if I am not as interested in giving them anything more than my judgement. I am harsh, overly-critical and not as affected by the idea of self-improvement as I should be.

Yet there is another side to me that I have been cultivating out here in the Far East, one that I haven't had the pleasure of since my time in Bohemia. I write, I draw, I paint. Yes this entry is dripping in upright, self-indulgent 'I', but I can't get myself out of my head. My mind is focused only on my emotions, my feelings, my opinions, my choices and decisions. Though I know I need to be aware of how these actions effect other people. 

I believe I know what the problem is... I am my own worst enemy. I don't look to fix myself, because that would be admitting there was a problem in the first place, and that is something I cannot bring myself to do. That is my biggest lesson, and there is more to learn that what I have discovered so far.

Love... I flit, I flee, I fly. It's an intangible emotion that cannot carry any weight, though people base their entire life decisions on a feeling. I too am one of those people, yet I know I am too scared to completely let go like I have done in the past. If I cannot be my scared, contradictory, paradoxical self, then who am I? What am I supposed to be?

Another question for another lesson.





D. S.

Another year and another Valentine's Day. This time however, though I am somewhere in the midst of something that is remarkably like love, I cannot dwell on the feelings that I have, nor do I really want to. 

That's a lie. 

All I really want to do is talk about love, and my feelings and gush about the other person in my life. But then I can't be critical and sardonic about all the other people who do the the exact same thing... Hypocrisy is an aspect of my nature I'd like to keep disguised for as long as possible.

So instead of telling the world how happy I am that there is someone in the world who gets ME, I shall instead regale you with tales of the Orient ~ my travels have continued to broaden my horizons and I have seen so much more than I could ever imagine. 

I have witnessed women of all ages standing underneath candlelight selling their bodies with a gusto that I generally save only for the bedroom (and the beach, that one time). I have taken part in customs that are still alien to me, but watched and learned with the utmost respect as traditions have surpassed all passages of time. 

The Far East cannot be defined by one culture, everywhere I travel there are snippets of differences that cannot be explained. No one tries to understand what it is that instigates these subtle changes, and it fascinates me to know that there are more places to visit that have no similarities. 

All I can suggest darlings is to travel ~ it opens your eyes, your mind, your heart, to worlds and possibilities that you didn't even know you were searching for. That is my Valentine's message to you... Love yourself and give yourself the life you deserve.

D. S.

To be overtly pensive about the fickle friend that is 'Time' can haunt thoughts at every moment, but to get nostalgic and sentimental about life and the choices that we make or the ones that are thrust upon us... I believe that is less self-indulgent and more necessary so that we can allow some self-awareness to simmer near the surface of our facades that we have spent so long cultivating. 

It seems that nostalgia and creativity are intertwined as I cannot put pen to paper without reflecting on the past and musing about what is to come. 

I suppose I should explain...

I came to the Far East with the Duke of Albany hot on my heels as we discussed attempting to pursue our relationship for a third time. But the powers that be dictated otherwise and he had to return to Bohemia. We have corresponded since then, and while he was here in the Orient I did allow the notion of absolution to cross my mind, but it seems that resentment and bitterness are hard emotions to swallow. That and pride.

So I then had the chance to breathe, on my own, on the other side of the world. It was exhilarating. Is exhilarating. 

There was a gorgeous man who caught my eye and took me on a whirlwind romance that lasted far longer than I intended, but I knew that relationship would be short-lived. As wonderful as it is to be adored, living on a pedestal can be exhausting and far less satisfying than one might think. I have had liaisons and infrequent frissons with other men, but only one has stood out and has the potential to go the distance. 

I am afeared to write much more on the matter. It is far easier to find objective words about men that no longer mean anything to me, but writing about someone who has opened my eyes to who I am. Someone who has given me an insight I didn't realise I lacked?

Words are not precious enough to describe him, nor pencil marks to give him form. Nay, even oils do not do him justice as I have so much to thank him for. And it still surprises me that his heart is mine. How even? Why me? How...?

I daren't question it nor speak above a whisper in case it is all a dream. 

D. S.

My last post was rather nostalgic, and overtly selfish- for the new year I shall focus only on that which makes me happy. Because obviously it is only MY happiness that matters. 

That sounds like me in one of my more petulant moods, though it does seem to be a recurring theme in my life. Trying to make other people happy only ends in dissatisfaction and deflated expectations. However negative I may be sounding at current, I am actually grinning at a song that has begun to play, enjoying the luxury of time to myself to do what it is I love; to write, to draw, to create, to be me.

What Can I  Do? A very good question Rufus Wainwright. What else can I do but be myself? Even if that is occasionally selfish, conceited, arrogant and rude? I have the music just loud enough that I can't hear the outside world, and it's not the song itself that brings me joy, but rather the memories that have clung to the poetical words sung from a mouth more honest than my own. 

Had I spent the time to think or begun to plan my year as so many of my contemporaries have done, I would certainly say that my life has diverged somewhat from the original course I had set out on. But that in itself is why I do NOT plan. How can you guess what life will throw at you? 

Love? Death? Birth? Marriage? Natural disasters? Even those who claim to have a so-called-gift would never bet anything more their name on some of these occurrences that are just that... Inexplicable occurrences. It is a good idea to have a broadly, sketched-in-pencil, vague idea of what you would like to happen in your life. But a concrete plan? 

Foolhardy.

You're tempting Mother Nature to throw her worst at you, and I have no longing to enter into a game of wits with my goddess.

So, this year... Three weeks in and already I am claiming failure. Although I disagree with myself. I feel that the current turn of events (though slightly unexpected) are for the best. A positive influence that I wouldn't have dared to imagine. But then, only time will tell.

D. S.

As much of a cliché as it is to state 'new year, new me' at this time every three hundred and sixty five and a quarter days, I don't feel that urge. I don't feel any different at all to how I felt this time last week. I am more determined to focus on my favoured crafts; writing and drawing, but those are longings that I have all year round. The start of a new year only reminds me that life goes on, and there is nothing at all we can do about it.

I don't want to compromise myself, nor constantly adapt to suit my surroundings. I wish I could accept that I will not fit into every environment, but should rather spend time searching for my natural habitat - whatever that may be.

Anyhow, I have returned to the Far East with a bronze on my shoulders, and a flurry of fond memories, though it is truly wonderful to be home. Yes. I'm home. It may not be my native or natural habitat, but I have adapted the Orient to suit my needs. It is my home. For now. But I felt a huge release and the utmost relief as I stepped foot on the familiarly foreign soil. I have said similar things about various countries, but for the first time in half a decade I'm not considering where I can go next. 

I'm content with the space I am occupying, I just need to figure out how to spend more time doing what it is I love. 

As far as men are concerned, I am doing my utmost to keep them from my thoughts... There are always suitors, whether conjured up from the past, those who I can see and touch and taste in my present, or those that will somehow find a way into my future. I have spent far too many hours and days dwelling on these men. They aren't going anywhere, so I may as well accept that and do what makes me happy.

Another week has passed and I feel even more at home in this foreign country. The sun is low as I write and the moon has a strange glow to it, almost as if I am seeing it for the first time. 

I feel I can at last write about what it is in my heart, and I'm not going to be blase about my previous relationships - for they were meaningful - nor am I going to witter on about a new found love.

I am content with myself, because I am seeing myself for the first time. I have always been aware of my actions and I know how I look to most people, but to the new man in my life, he has opened my eyes, pointing out my effervescent facade within an instant and pulling and eking out the parts of me that I tend to hide. 

We joke that we knew each other in a past life, kindred spirits who were meant to find one another again. It is not such a love that will blossom and bloom, but rather it is a passion that inspires and listens, to help one another grow in ourselves, that will inevitably fall apart. He has experienced so much more of the world that only decades of life can teach, and I am still so young, so naive, despite my worldly claims.

He panders to my moods and whimsies, not out of politeness, but because he sees me hiding behind my brash exterior. He isn't afraid to call me out on my ever so slightly spoilt nature, and we are both confident enough to discuss our foibles. It's a little unnerving, only having known him for a little over a month that I am so transparent. I long to find out more about him, but he is still a little wary of me. Again, this was an insightful comment, as I never considered myself to be untrustworthy...

He is my looking glass, helping me to see what it is in me that he so loves. 



D. S.

A lot is going to change in the next few days, and once again I am in the midst of many goodbyes. No I have not packed my bags and left for some untravelled lands, but rather another chapter is coming to a close. My current position is in a turmoil and I have somewhere new to go, which of course means goodbyes. I have only been in my current position for a few shorts months but there is nothing like routine to make you realise that there are some wonderful people in the world and I am so grateful to everyone I have met. 

Travel is still on the forefront of my mind (and I know that I've said that more than once) and I have taken up learning what I can about the Orient. The language and culture are most fascinating and there's nothing more that I'd love to do than travel distant lands with my other half, the Duke of Albany. 

Indeed another holiday is looming, one that I've written about many times before, and it is a holiday dedicated to love. Love is an ever changing priority in one's life. As a child you think only of the love of yourself, having had it so freely given by parents and family. As you get older and desire men or women, you realise that love can mean power and games and lust and can hurt so much you feel like you can't breathe. 

Then as time passes, eventually you get to know love, and you can caress the emotions that you've got used to over the years and can greet love like an old friend. This love, this comfortable love where passions can ignite as quickly as they long to hold your hand, is a love worth knowing, a love worth waiting for. 

This Valentine's Day I hope that those I love feel appreciated and tell their loved ones how much they mean to them. For that is how I intend to spend my weekend... After I've said my goodbyes. 

D. S.