Sorry I Missed Today's (05-12) Video!! It Should Be Up Midnight Today :)

maybe all it is, is to find yourself in the eternal mundane of everyday, the sunsets and sunrises, the scratching of pencils and the clacking of keyboards. to lose yourself in the nooks and crannies of life, the swirling of coffee and the chatter of patrons, the choruses of songs and the chapters of books. to know and not know that maybe this is enough.

'the philosophy of adolescence', nini (07-06-2021)

back-to-school thoughts

When I was a kid, the end of the summer holidays always brought around a wave of excitement. As much as I loved the six weeks we got off, going back to school was a whole new level of excitement. Going back to school meant a new start (I think my brain still functions on a September-to-September calendar), seeing friends I hadn't seen in all summer, and the opportunity to reinvent myself.

I would spend hours upon hours watching 'DIY stationery tutorials' and 'What's in my Bag' videos to try and recreate my image in the days leading up to the beginning of the year. I'd collect all my newest pens and pencils (which I would inevitably lose before the Christmas holidays) and pack my bag and anxiously wait for 8am the next morning so I could run off to school.

I couldn't wait to see which teachers I'd have, who was in my classes, and how I'd stack up against the milestones of getting older.

Now - as an adult in university who pretty much hated her last few years of school - the last few weeks of summer are rife with stress. The simplicity of childhood excitement has been replaced with a complicated cocktail of deadlines, money stress, and the pressure to constantly perform.

Yeah, university can be fun. I love my friends, I love my freedom, and I love the satisfaction of achieving my dreams. But the joy of learning that I felt when I was younger often feels crushed beneath an avalanche of essays, group projects, and the constant mental math of wondering where this takes me.

I sometimes think about the younger version of me - who read academic journals for fun - and wonder if I'll ever recapture the carefree excitement of a new academic year.

Maybe it’s not about recreating that feeling but reimagining it. It’s not about colourful pencil cases or new backpacks anymore (although, I love me a nice, new notebook or some cute pens). It’s about finding small joys in the chaos - coffee with friends, a doughnut during exam season - and reminding myself that growth, no matter how daunting, is worth it.

So here’s to all of us still navigating education, whether you are at school or university. I hope that this year is the best it could possibly be, no matter what your best looks like.

dear lizzy mcalpine

On October 25th, 2024, I went to the Lizzy McAlpine concert at the Eventim Apollo (London) and let me tell you, it was genuinely one of the best concert experiences I've ever had. From the moment the lights dimmed and Lizzy took the stage, I felt enveloped in the warm and cosy atmosphere that set the tone for the entire evening.

Lizzy's performance style is refreshingly intimate: I kinda felt like I was third (or tenth) wheeling as Lizzy and her band jammed out together on stage. The set was so minimalistic - which I loved. Lizzy spent the majority of the concert seated in the middle of the stage with her guitar in hand. It felt like she was inviting us into her world, and to be honest, I kinda never wanted to leave.

Occasionally, she would switch to the piano on one side of the stage for 1-2 songs and those moments were particularly magical. You could see the connection between her and her instruments; it was clear she was flexing (not in a bad way) her Berklee education in the way she intertwined the music with the lyrics she was singing.

'Older' has some of my favourite songs ever on it because I feel like I just relate to the complexities of growing older and coming to terms with the end of a relationship. Lizzy's voice, both powerful and delicate, carried the weight of her lyrics beautifully. I found myself completely absorbed in the performance, holding onto her every word, feeling every emotion she conveyed. It was a captivating blend of vulnerability and strength that made the night unforgettable.

In a world where concerts often feel like a spectacle, Lizzy McAlpine's show reminded me of the beauty of simplicity and sincerity. I left the venue not just entertained but profoundly moved by the chance to see her live, I highly recommend you take it.

Love,

Nia <3

i'm doing vlogmas!!

every day in december, i'll be uploading a new video so i hope you enjoy!!

click here if you wanna check out the channel!

look, i didn't want to be a half-blood. percy jackson and the lightning thief - rick riordan

happy 12th birthday to my lil sister! love ya!

my first song on youtube!!

it’s just a demo but i was a bit in my feels about growing up :) enjoy the song! love, n xx p.s. thank you to my dad for filming this clip in 2007

Orange Juice: how it perfectly encapsulates the bittersweet emotion of outgrowing people you once thought would be in your life forever. Knowing that you are leaving your past life behind for something better for you, more fulfilling and still, somehow, feeling extreme guilt for it. @tehenesstehe on TikTok

Orange Juice: The Bittersweet Art of Outgrowing People

Noah Kahan’s Orange Juice captures the devastating, complicated emotions that come with outgrowing people you once thought would be in your life forever. It tells the story of two friends, bound by a shared trauma, but ultimately separated by the ways they chose to cope — one staying behind, one moving on. Through the lens of sobriety, hometown loyalty, and the inevitable drift that comes with change, Kahan perfectly encapsulates the bittersweet guilt that accompanies growth.

The song opens with an invitation: "Honey, come over, the party's gone slower, and no one will tempt you, we know you got sober." Here, sobriety becomes a symbol for change. In a world where drinking is often synonymous with socializing, choosing not to drink can be an isolating experience. The speaker tries to bridge the gap, offering reassurance and, later, orange juice as a gesture of care. Yet, even this well-meaning offering, "there's orange juice in the kitchen, bought for the children," comes with a sting. The comment infantilizes the subject, quietly reinforcing the distance between them. It’s a subtle reminder that even when people try to meet us where we are, they can never fully understand the version of ourselves that has evolved in our absence.

Kahan explained that Orange Juice is about how trauma can either bind people together or drive them apart. In this case, the accident that they endured together creates a permanent fracture. Initially, the subject sought comfort in the speaker's arms, but eventually, pain curdled into anger, and solace was found elsewhere — in religion, in distance, in reinvention. "Now I'm third in the lineup, between your lord and your saviour," the speaker notes, realizing that the connection they once had has been replaced by something new, something unreachable.

The chorus lays bare the speaker’s guilt and self-centered grief: "Feels like I've been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn't think to ask you where you'd gone." In friendships, especially ones rooted in a shared hometown, it’s easy to assume permanence — to believe that no matter what, people will stay the same, stay close. When they don't, it feels like betrayal, even when deep down we know that change was necessary for survival. Here, the speaker is forced to confront the uncomfortable truth: they were so busy waiting that they never considered the possibility that the other person had to leave to heal.

The second verse gives us the full weight of what separates them: the memory of the crash, the graves they pass, the visible and invisible scars. The subject may not have been physically wounded, but emotionally, they were wrecked. Meanwhile, the speaker stayed, becoming part of the landscape of their shared pain, while the subject had to leave to find peace. Distance didn't just change the subject; it changed the speaker too — but neither witnessed the other's transformation.

The lines "that my life had changed, and this town had changed, and you had not" speak to one of the most haunting aspects of leaving home: returning to find everything familiar but subtly altered, yourself most of all. When you grow outside of the place and people you once belonged to, you start to realize that the shared history you once clung to is no longer enough to sustain you.

By the end, when the speaker repeats the initial invitation — "Honey, come over, the party's gone slower" — it becomes clear that despite everything, the desire to reconnect remains. The love, though changed, is still there. Both have tried in their own way, but the distance, once created, is almost impossible to bridge.

In Orange Juice, Noah Kahan doesn't villainize change, nor does he celebrate it without acknowledging its cost. Growing into a better, healthier version of yourself can sometimes mean leaving behind people who once felt like your entire world. And even when you know it’s what’s best — for you, for them — the guilt lingers. It's the bittersweet truth of outgrowing: mourning the past while still reaching for a better future.

umm i'm giving up on vlogmas!!

sorry guys!!

i just think that the content feels rushed and i'm not really a good enough editor anymore to produce the content that i want to that quickly. also, i want to have some time to relax and revise for my exams in january which are a lot earlier than i thought.

i'm going to try and bring back regular uploads in january so i will see you then.

love you.

a lil ode to being 18

today is my 18th birthday!! and once again, i’m in my feels about getting older. so here’s a lil thing i wrote to put some words to the thoughts in my brain.

growing up is weird.

one moment, you're a baby rolling around on blankets and laughing at the silly faces your parents are making at you, the next, you're a teenager, cramming for your a levels that are less than a week away. one minute, you're endlessly babbling about everything and nothing all at once, the next, you're struggling to find the words to say in front of an interviewer who probably determines the next steps of your life.

in some ways, i miss being a little kid - when life got tough, you could just play pretend, santa still existed, and your biggest problem was whether the 'i' came before or after the 'e' in believe, because, trust me, i always struggled with that one.

growing up is weird, because when i was little, i couldn't wait to be grown up - i couldn't wait to be 10, then 13, then 16, then 18. and now that i'm here? well, it just feels like more of the same.

i still feel just as naive as i was 6 months ago. except now, i can drive alone and vote. but at the same time, i feel light years away from the little kid who liked to talk to no one on the phone and sung hindi songs in the strongest british accent you've ever heard. i kinda want to go back.

i want to go back to sitting in my friend's mum's old toyota yaris while she drove us both to orchestra, and playing pretend in the house my neighbours used to live in with the park across the road. playing mums and dads under the table at my best friend's house - the table that he still has because somethings never change, i guess.

i want to go back to when the best thing in the world was pineapple upside down cake with custard, and when the most exciting part of the day was reading time. i want to go back to the bench we used to have our lunch on in school, even if i'm not friends with half the people who sat with me anymore, or back to music class, where all anyone did was chat. i want to go back to agreeing to wake up at 6am at sleepovers and when the only songs i wrote were about how much i missed my friends when they went away for the summer.

growing up is weird because i've been waiting for this day since i was old enough to know what growing up meant. and yet it still feels sudden, like it's been sprung on me without warning. it's like one minute you're one person and the next you're someone completely different, with no chance of ever going back.

growing up is weird, and it's wonderful, and i think i'm ready to keep going.

check out my new birthday vlog!! hope you love it!!

love, n. xx

a lil ode to being 18

today is my 18th birthday!! and once again, i’m in my feels about getting older. so here’s a lil thing i wrote to put some words to the thoughts in my brain.

growing up is weird.

one moment, you're a baby rolling around on blankets and laughing at the silly faces your parents are making at you, the next, you're a teenager, cramming for your a levels that are less than a week away. one minute, you're endlessly babbling about everything and nothing all at once, the next, you're struggling to find the words to say in front of an interviewer who probably determines the next steps of your life.

in some ways, i miss being a little kid - when life got tough, you could just play pretend, santa still existed, and your biggest problem was whether the 'i' came before or after the 'e' in believe, because, trust me, i always struggled with that one.

growing up is weird, because when i was little, i couldn't wait to be grown up - i couldn't wait to be 10, then 13, then 16, then 18. and now that i'm here? well, it just feels like more of the same.

i still feel just as naive as i was 6 months ago. except now, i can drive alone and vote. but at the same time, i feel light years away from the little kid who liked to talk to no one on the phone and sung hindi songs in the strongest british accent you've ever heard. i kinda want to go back.

i want to go back to sitting in my friend's mum's old toyota yaris while she drove us both to orchestra, and playing pretend in the house my neighbours used to live in with the park across the road. playing mums and dads under the table at my best friend's house - the table that he still has because somethings never change, i guess.

i want to go back to when the best thing in the world was pineapple upside down cake with custard, and when the most exciting part of the day was reading time. i want to go back to the bench we used to have our lunch on in school, even if i'm not friends with half the people who sat with me anymore, or back to music class, where all anyone did was chat. i want to go back to agreeing to wake up at 6am at sleepovers and when the only songs i wrote were about how much i missed my friends when they went away for the summer.

growing up is weird because i've been waiting for this day since i was old enough to know what growing up meant. and yet it still feels sudden, like it's been sprung on me without warning. it's like one minute you're one person and the next you're someone completely different, with no chance of ever going back.

growing up is weird, and it's wonderful, and i think i'm ready to keep going.