The Rebel Queen

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Once upon a time…

That’s usually how all love stories and fairy tales begin or with something equally as cheesy and ridiculous as that well worn phrase we all grew up hearing. The familiar tones of stories with beautiful endings for the perfect couples. The princess always finds her prince. The evil witch always burns. The kingdom lives and thrives under the rule of a happy young couple groomed to be the new king and queen and well, as the story goes, everyone lives happily ever after…

I’m as guilty as everyone when it comes to consuming book after book of these pale painted “romances” which lack substance and paint all girls as weaklings but, what if I told you that with a new age comes a  new story. A story called reality. In this story there is no damsel in distress. On the contrary, this girl was groomed to be her own  warrior. Her armor is not shining but dented, scuffed and worn from the battles she has faced head on. The wars she has worn and the milestones she has conquered have left her with scars she regards with pride. This is no weak princess. Continue reading

Still A Kid

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Have you ever caught yourself saying “when I was a kid…” and then realised, hang on a second I still do that. If you have not, you clearly have hacked life because for me and most of my friends we still catch ourselves being immature and usually bratty kids on, at the very least, a weekly basis.

For those watching us, I’m sure we are a rather amusing sight, if not decidedly annoying. After all, a bunch of college students getting excited over something like skittles or chocolate or dancing in the rain or singing “the wheels on the bus” at the top of our lungs between campuses is not the kind of thing people would expect at med school forget any where else. I still buy those cigar sweets and pretend I’m smoking and pick out all the colored jelly tots before I eat the black ones. I’ve jumped from concrete dividers counting out loud. I still climb into jungle gyms, even though I’m way way over the twelve year old age limit, and play arcade games to win toys I’ll never actually use. As a group of friends, I suppose we take the idea of a wacky Wednesday  a tad literally. Continue reading

My Heart Beat

Every day I wake up and fight with myself to get out of bed and face the dawn with a smile. Sword at the ready to take on the demons waiting patiently to attack. Every day the shadows creep closer and every day I push them further away. It’s a constant battle. A new pain, a new ache and a new scar to prove that each day came and went leaving me as the survivor.

Neil Armstrong said “Every human has a finite amount of heart beats. I don’t intend to waste any of mine”

Continue reading

Written In Ink

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There it was, a blank book. Pristine. Perfect. Untouched.

All the possibilities of the mysterious pages lay unknown to me. It called out to my senses. Whispered promises of stories that desperately wanted to be told. I fell head first into the seat and in a sure grasp picked up the pen and began to write.

The words flew from pen tip to paper.

A story unfolded.

A girl with her eyes bright and a heart full of hope and dreams wandered into the unknown. Braved the sands of time and walked with her head high but like every story there were moments of stumbling. Moments where she was brought to her knees in pain and winded by the gusts of misfortune that shattered every wall she built. But when the storms cleared and she found her way to her place of safety she found the light in her soul still burned. In the embrace of safety she rebuilt her strength and cleared her mind. She geared herself up and made tough decisions then made even harder counter decisions. She evaluated and re-evaluated herself, her destiny and her chosen path.

There were other characters who slipped in and out. Some from old books who stayed at her side and some who were new. Some proved they had important parts in the story. Some were just a moment, a chapter, a supporting character or even a filler. As insignificant to her story as man selling tomatoes in a village miles away from her but there nonetheless. Each with their own story. Each leaving an inky stain on the pages in the book. Their presence documented. Noted. Remembered for what it was.

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And through it all my ink flowed onto the paper, documenting the journey, memorizing the story. the pages dented where I rested my arm when it ached and ink splashes where the pen rested a touch too long. There are tear stains where the words broke me and doodles where I got distracted for a little bit.

Now the book draws to an end. A story told. The pages filled.

This was the story of 2015.

A year I can’t erase or change. Mistakes and failures sadly scribbled and then immediately followed by victories documented as boldly in black ink on the pages of my memory.

A year written in ink.

Tomorrow I shall pick up a pen and once again be enticed to write another book…

Watching the ink dry,

Brokebella.

A Hairy Story

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In the words of Coco Chanel, ” A woman  who cuts her hair is about to change her life.”

Let’s just take a moment to reflect on one of the many topics that seem to boggle the minds of men every where, Woman and Their Hair. See it’s quiet simple really, a woman’s hair is her crown. It’s her statement to the world and whether she covers it all day or leaves it loose for the wind to caress.

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At some point we’ve all been seduced to cut our locks as short as possible without looking like a member of the local boys soccer team… And at other times we’ve grown it so long our mums held us down and cut it by force simply because looking like Rapunzel isn’t very practical for a nine year old who can’t tie her own hair…

For most of our childhoods we experiment with different lengths of hair, fringes, bangs, little tufts sticking up, pony tails at the very top of our heads, hair styles that belong in cartoons and even those dreaded mushroom haircuts. But every woman finds that one hairstyle that she will stick with th

rough the whole of high school. It’s her signature look. Her entire image is built around that hair do.

Then high school ends and we all have this sudden urge to make a change… And guess what’s the first thing we all tackle…

Bingo!

OUR HAIR.

Now the guys are probably sitting there thinking to themselves “why the hell would you do that if you already have a signature look?”

As Chrisette Michele puts it “Truth is, I cut my hair for freedom, not for beauty.” For most of us dying our hair blue, pink or even orange was a sign of rebellion. Chopping half your hair off the ultimate symbol of freedom. For a few days we revel in the light and often healthier feeling hair. Then the next week we realise we miss our long hair…

Why?

It’s simple, we had a routine. A set number of steps that en

sured your hair would look semi-decent every single day of the week. With a new hair do comes new steps… suddenly you have fly aways and cow licks popping up all over your head. Your pony tail suddenly resembles the tail of the chihuahua down the street. And sporting a messy bun is as likely as you riding a unicorn…

Suddenly the new hair cut is a disaster… even though it makes you look like Victoria Beckham. On a serious note though lets be honest your haircut gives you a boost of confidence. A fresh outlook. A sweet new view on reality…. In the end, even when the hairdresser does the exact opposite of what you asked, regardless of how much work it is to maintain your new do it’s worth the drama.

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Because let’s face it, Ariel Meadow Stallings styled it perfectly when she said “Life, Weddings, Relationships, road trips, gardening, making out, haircuts: few of the fun things in life always go as expected.”

So here’s to bad hair days and good hair days. To natural hair and Bleached Hair.

Here’s to expressing yourself any way you see fit.

May you experience:

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And until next time, may your personality be as epic and as sexy as your hair.

Stay Tangle Free And Glossy,

Broke Bella

Live by Lip Gloss

I’m one of those people who either leave the house with a full face of make up or no make up at all, regardless of which day you catch me though I’ll always have lip gloss on. And until recently, no one ever questioned me about my lip gloss habit. Everyone either just accepted it or didn’t pay enough attention to notice it. Then I found a friend who has a keen eye for detail and pretty soon she noticed that I carried at least three different glosses in my bag.

That’s when the questions started. She started asking about lip gloss flavours and colours and formulas. She questioned how healthy it was for me to always wear gloss and whether I ever wore regular lip ice or chapstick. She quizzed me about different brands and products. She basically forced me into explaining my lip gloss selection process and then hauled me off to the mall to demonstrate it. After three long hours, I left the store with three new glosses and all she bought was her regular mint scented lip ice.

Basically, she didn’t learn a single thing from me. Because I don’t have a process, like Vanessa Hudgens said “I just lip gloss. it doesn’t matter if it’s $2 or $30.” I like to feel the smooth, silky feeling of a good lip gloss and the scent of candy or cherries or plain old vanilla even just makes me smile. The best part of a good lip gloss is the taste.

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Let’s face it most people won’t understand the attraction of an amazing lip gloss but for those of us who live by lip gloss we have developed an understanding that the right lip gloss flavour can be the deciding factor of life or death. For example a good lip gloss can decide whether you will have a social life on the day or whether you will be socially awkward and witness the death of your social life on the day.  Lip gloss may only be a pop of colour on your lips but it is also the pop of confidence you need to finally go after all those dreams you pretend to have forgotten.

So maybe I’m not addicted to the lip gloss life, maybe I’m just addicted to the confidence?

Or maybe I’m just making sure that if I die chasing my impossible dreams, I’ll be a good looking corpse?

What ever the reason is, I don’t see me giving up my lip gloss lifestyle any time soon.

So until next time,

Keep it glossy.

xoxo

Ra’eesah

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Confession of a Mascaraholic

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Considering the fact that I actually get a monthly allowance, don’t pay for water, electricity or accommodation and get three free meals a day you would expect me to have enough cash to go out once in while or treat myself to a spa day. And if I’m having a really good month I might be able to actually do all of those things. Unfortunately, those months are few and far between. In fact they’re so rare I sometimes feel like I’d have a better chance finding a rainbow unicorn.

Now you’re probably wondering what the heck do I spend my money on….

Here’s the thing, ninety percent of the time I have no idea what I do with the money. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. The pile of receipts in my wallet tell a different story. Not to mention the overflowing makeup box that sits on my dresser. Basically if I’m not buying junk food, that I actually don’t need to eat because I’m not hungry I’m just bored, I’m buying Make-up. I don’t need it nor do I use them regularly enough to warrant a monthly splurge. Unfortunately, I live by one rule and one rule only:  A girl can never have too many shoes and bottles of mascara.

I learnt at a young age that my light eyes were different to everyone else’s and that many people found them weirdly attractive. So when I discovered the wonders of mascara it was inevitable that I would become addicted. I have fairly long eyelashes but you will not believe how transforming a swipe of mascara can be.

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A little bit of really good mascara can take you from sleepy, puffy eyes to popping Zooey Deschanel wide awake. And while many people are addicted to a single type of mascara I’m not picky. Some say it’s the brush that makes the difference and others say it’s the formula. I say as long as it’s not dry or flaky I’ll use it. Yes, some work better than others but in the end I’m an addict and a hit is a hit right?

Think of it this way, a cocaine addict knows that a certain dealer may have better quality coke but when they need a hit they will buy whatever they can get their hands on right? Similarly,  when I need my hit I don’t care about the formula or the brush. I buy it, try it and then if I hate it, it sits in my makeup bag for the rest of its life. So before I spend every cent I earn this holiday I decided to get some help. In order to do that I have to make a confession:

I am Broke Bella and I’m a Mascaraholic.