Recently, I’ve become weirdly obsessed with 2007-2012 Britain (especially whilst being at uni and experiencing a very different social life going into my 20s), and I think it’s because people used to just exist a bit more.

just less aware of themselves all the time.

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Lately, I have found myself deeply disturbed by how aware everybody (and myself) seems of themselves all the time.

Not aware in the healthy sense, but in this almost hyper-visual, performative way where people seem unable to simply exist without simultaneously observing themselves existing. It feels as though every experience now passes through an invisible filter before it reaches us fully. Every outfit becomes a statement. Every interest becomes an identity. Every moment becomes something to document, curate or translate into a version of ourselves that feels coherent enough to present to the world.

And maybe this is why I have become so fascinated by old photos from 2007-2012 Britain lately.

Not because I believe life was objectively better then. People were still lonely. Still insecure. Still searching for themselves. But when I look at those blurry Facebook albums, overexposed flash photography outside pubs, groups of friends crammed together in dimly lit smoking areas, there is something almost painfully human about them.

Nobody looked composed enough to become an archetype.

People looked unfinished.

And I think what unsettles me most is realising how rare that has become.

Recently, it feels as though everybody is trying to become somebody before they have even allowed themselves the time to simply be a person first. The internet has transformed individuality into something strangely uniform. Everyone is trying to become niche, but the pursuit of niche identity itself has become mainstream. The same “obscure” films. The same carefully detached personalities. The same digital camera aesthetics are attempting to recreate a kind of accidental coolness that once existed precisely because nobody was trying so hard to manufacture it.

And I do not even write this judgmentally, because I recognise myself within it too.

I think we are all afraid of becoming ordinary now.

But I have started to wonder if our fear of ordinariness is actually masking something much deeper.

Because to be ordinary today is often treated as synonymous with being replaceable. There is this unspoken pressure now, especially online, to transform yourself into someone endlessly interesting before you have even properly lived. Everybody must possess a distinct aesthetic and a refined worldview. A perfectly articulated identity. Even authenticity itself has become something people consciously perform.

And perhaps this explains why so many people my age seem exhausted all the time.

We are no longer simply encouraged to live; we are encouraged to optimise. To heal ourselves quickly. Monetise ourselves quickly. Become successful quickly. Become emotionally intelligent quickly. Settle down quickly. Even youth itself now feels scheduled and managed, as though wandering too long or remaining uncertain for too long has become a personal failure.

What fascinates me most is how differently youth once appeared to be understood. When I look back at the late 2000s and early 2010s, I see an era where incompleteness still seemed permissible. People drifted more openly. They embarrassed themselves publicly. They made mistakes without immediately transforming those mistakes into carefully framed lessons or “growth.” There seemed to be a greater acceptance that your twenties were not supposed to represent the polished conclusion of your becoming, but merely one chapter within it.

There is an old story about Alexa Chung telling Alex Turner, “You’re young. Stop reading dictionaries and go to the pub,” and strangely enough, that sentence has lingered in my mind for weeks now.

Not because going to the pub is some profound act in itself, but because the sentence represents something about youth that feels increasingly endangered, permission to remain unfinished.

Today, it feels as though people are expected to arrive at adulthood already fully formed. By twenty-five, you should apparently possess emotional maturity, financial stability, a healthy routine, career direction, self-awareness, relationship clarity and a perfectly regulated nervous system. Online culture speaks about becoming as though it is something linear and efficient, something achievable through enough discipline and optimisation.

And I think this pressure intensifies during periods of instability.

The current political and economic climate in Britain has created a generation deeply anxious about the future. People cannot afford homes. Cities feel lonelier. Third spaces are disappearing. Nights out feel financially irresponsible. Hustle culture frames rest as laziness while other corners of the internet romanticise hyper-traditional lives built upon impossible standards of femininity, domesticity and perfection. Everybody seems to be searching for certainty somewhere.

But perhaps this is why people romanticise older eras so intensely now.

Not because those years were free from suffering, but because they appeared less hyper-conscious. Less psychologically managed. There is something deeply comforting about seeing old photographs where people are laughing too hard with all their teeth showing, staying out too late without turning it into content, ruining their sleep schedules for meaningless conversations outside pubs, dressing badly, saying the wrong thing, falling in love with people who were wrong for them and simply allowing life to happen without constantly translating it into self-improvement.

Sometimes I wonder if what people truly miss is not the aesthetics of the past, but the ability to exist without endlessly witnessing themselves exist.

And perhaps this is why so many people feel strangely detached from their own lives now.

When every moment becomes something to analyse, optimise or narrate, it becomes increasingly difficult to actually inhabit the present fully. We begin to experience ourselves almost from outside our own bodies, constantly evaluating how we appear rather than surrendering to experience itself. Even joy now often carries an undercurrent of performance.

I think about how many people are afraid to look ugly in photographs now. Afraid to laugh too loudly. There is this constant instinct to remain composed, detached and self-aware at all times, as though genuine vulnerability has become embarrassing.

But some of the most meaningful moments in life are inherently uncomposed.

Falling apart slightly at 2 a.m, talking to someone you barely know. Missing the last train home because a conversation became too absorbing to leave. Becoming too attached to songs, places or people despite knowing they may eventually disappear from your life. Allowing yourself to love things before fully understanding whether they will last.

And maybe this is what troubles me most about modern self-awareness: it often disguises itself as wisdom while quietly preventing people from fully living.

Because there is a difference between reflection and self-surveillance.

One deepens life. The other distances you from it.

I think many people now protect themselves preemptively from embarrassment, heartbreak, uncertainty and failure by attempting to over-curate their identities into something controlled and coherent. But in doing so, they also protect themselves from spontaneity, intimacy and surprise. We become so afraid of making mistakes that we accidentally sterilise our own lives before they have even properly begun.

And perhaps that is why older eras feel so emotionally charged in hindsight. Not because people were happier, but because they appeared more willing to risk themselves socially, emotionally and aesthetically. They allowed themselves to be unfinished in public.

As I approach twenty, I think one of the hardest things I am slowly learning is that stability may never arrive in the complete and permanent form we imagine it will.

There is this fantasy that many people carry that one day they will finally become fully certain of themselves. That eventually they will wake up emotionally healed, financially secure, deeply fulfilled, entirely confident in their relationships and completely at peace with who they are. But the older I get, the more I suspect that life does not really unfold that way.

Human beings are constantly changing.

Our desires change. Our beliefs change. Our friendships change. We outgrow old versions of ourselves repeatedly throughout our lives. And yet modern culture often treats uncertainty as though it is evidence of failure rather than evidence of being alive.

I think this is partly why so many people feel paralysed now. We have become terrified of making the wrong decision because we are frightened that one mistake may permanently define our lives. So instead of living openly, many people attempt to perfect themselves endlessly before fully participating in life at all.

But perhaps a meaningful life has never belonged to those who managed to avoid mistakes.

Perhaps it belongs more to those who were willing to risk embarrassment, vulnerability and uncertainty in exchange for genuine experience.

You are allowed to look horrible in photographs sometimes.

You are allowed to laugh too hard and show all your teeth.

You are allowed to ruin your sleep schedule for nights that mean something to you.

You are allowed to make mistakes in relationships. You are allowed to not know what you are doing yet. You are allowed to change your mind about who you are becoming.

And maybe there is something deeply beautiful about remaining unfinished.

Because when I think about the people I love most, none of them are memorable because they appear perfectly composed. They are memorable because they feel human. Because they possess contradictions. Because they have moments of awkwardness, emotional excess, uncertainty and sincerity that no amount of curation could ever replicate.

Perhaps the very things people now try hardest to conceal are often the things that make them feel most alive to others.

Because life has never really belonged to the people who managed to control it perfectly. It belongs to the people who allowed themselves to experience it fully despite its instability.

And perhaps the beauty of being alive has always existed there.

There will never be a version of life where everything finally becomes fully stable, fully certain or fully resolved before you are allowed to begin living it.

So run free.

With Love, Always

Dija.

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The line, “If I live too long, I’m afraid I’ll die,” has been resonating with me all day, ruminating over a paradox that has always fascinated me but struggled to articulate: the realisation that all good things come to an end, and how our fear of this inevitability can prevent us from fully experiencing the beauty and joy of life. This lyric perfectly captures something about the way we experience our most beloved moments, all while emphasising that unending self-doubt between wanting a long and satisfying life lived vs. acknowledging it can be over any moment now.

As I think over that line, the very essence of it confuses me. We often envision our lives as a series of peaks and valleys, with the hope that the peaks will extend as long as possible. Yet, this same longing can be overshadowed by a profound fear of the eventual decline, the loss, and the inevitable end that accompanies a long life. But the idea that we must drag it all out further, to a large degree activates our own dread of ending.

The fear of losing a grip on life is ever so present in our engagement with experiences. Because we think that happiness and success are fleeting, we find ourselves clinging to these moments of happiness or success with an almost desperate intensity, driven by the fear that these moments are rare and may never come again. This fear can cause us to hesitate, to hold back from fully immersing ourselves in the present, as we become preoccupied with the eventual end. The longer we experience something wonderful, the more profound our sense of loss is when it is gone. This paradox can lead us to question whether it is worth investing deeply in something that we know will eventually end.

"I think part of the reason we hold onto something so tight is that we fear something so great won’t happen twice."

I don't know, I think we are afraid that if something really is as good as it seems then maybe great things only happen once. This is, in my opinion, a perfect example of the ways we insulate ourselves against our fear that indeed nothing can stay except the moving waters as it goes. Instead, we might block ourselves off from life and love completely to remain safe not only from the vulnerability of potential loss but also from any other kind of new experience or deep connection. While it may be a natural reaction, this self-preservation can also keep us from living in the abundance of life. We self-sabotage. We do it to save ourselves from future heartbreak, but in the process, we restrict our ability to live fully and openly now.

Maybe when we remember that everything is temporary, even the things we love most, it can give us greater joy in simply being present. We can choose to ditch the fear of loss and allow ourselves to recognise each moment as its own imagination. This change in perspective is what allows us to fully enjoy the experiences we have, spend time with our loved ones and focus on things that are important to us.

Why self-sabotage plays a role in our lives became clearer to me looking at it from this end. It occurred to me that we often are the biggest obstacle in our path of happiness and prosperity, fearing failure or even fear of the unknown causing us not to recognise success. We may doubt ourselves, hesitate to take risks, or avoid fully committing to our goals and desires. By acknowledging and confronting these fears, we can break free from patterns of self-sabotage and embrace opportunities for growth and fulfilment.

And as I think about the lyrics further, it calls us to face our future anxieties and spend time more in the now. It reminds us to live; that each second of beauty we gaze upon will one day be erased but not before it can ignite our souls. Our life is temporary, and by accepting this fact, we may continue to experience greater meaning in our lives.

And so, to ground my thoughts and feelings as I set about a process of reflection on them, there is one prayer that compels me into the proper posture:

Accepting life’s impermanence is an integral part of the human experience. It can be liberating, encouraging us to cherish each moment and find joy in the transient nature of our existence. By embracing this perspective, we can live more deeply and meaningfully, appreciating the beauty of each fleeting moment while finding peace in the knowledge that all things come to an end.

With warmth,

Deja.

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Defining Law and Morality

To start scrutinizing this connection, it is necessary first to understand the meaning of the terms ‘law’ and ‘morality’. ‘Law’ is a set of rules governing society and its members through agencies of the state and other legal bodies. It is written, and official and gives people an orderly means of seeking remedies and punishing non-compliance.

‘Morality’ is understood not as a categorical imperative, but as a system of values that can define the phenomenon of differentiation between true and false for people and societies. These are therefore highly individualistic and may differ depending on the cultural, religious or even philosophical convictions of the person being asked. Unlike law, morality does not have a code and comes without implemented authority; rather, it depends on the individual’s distinguishing characteristics as well as the societal norms.

Historical Perspectives

Comparatively, law has been historically intertwined with morality. Get the earlier legal codes and legislation like the Code of Hammurabi and the Ten Commandments for they combined moral principles and legislation. These codes were not only about the prescriptions of behaviour but also about the cultivation of the right ethical standards.

However, with the appearance of legal positivism in the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century, the concept appeared which focused on the distinction of law from morality. Philosophers such as Jeremy Bentham and John Austin maintained that the validity of law was preserved only by its procedural rationality as well as form. This view implies that laws, rules and regulations may be legal even though they are ill-suited to moral standards.

On the other hand, natural law theory which has Thomas Aquinas proposes that laws should have their root in moral norms inherent in humanity or divinity. From this perspective, it can be seen that any laws going against core moral standards are considered to be illegitimate and amoral.

The dissonance between the Law and Ethics

It is therefore important to note that there is a lot of tension between law and morality. Conflicts such as these can arise in any number of ways and the nature and source of the conflict is not always immediately obvious Therefore, there is a clear distinction between legal compliance and personal or societal ethics.

The first type of conflict is where individuals act based on their moral stands and end up on the wrong side of the law. For instance, civil disobedience was a key strategy during the civil rights movement for breaking the chains of oppression. For instance, Civil Rights activists refused to adhere to what they considered illegitimate laws with the moral purpose of making those laws change. Such disagreement between personal ethics and legal requirements illustrates the struggle of individual ethics which may go against the law.

The other type is the group moral conflict, which may occur when different groups in society have their moral standards, but these are against the law. For example, religious organisations may be against laws that allow for what they consider to be sinful, for example, abortion or same-sex marriage. Such conflicts demonstrate that heterogeneous morality puts into question the possibility of applying the law equally and how it is hard to design legal frameworks that would encompass a variety of ethical stances.

A far better example is when the majority ethical understanding contrasts the legal environment of the country. Legal systems, for example, before giving women the right to vote or before the abolishment of the racial segregation laws remained far behind societal morality. In such circumstances, the law not only did not impose a moral code agreeable to the majority of the populace but supported a status quo of prejudice and injustice.

Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113 

The famous case of Roe v. Wade that took place in the United States Supreme chieftaincy in the year 1973 is one good case that depicts the relationship between law and morality. In this seminal case, the Court held that a woman’s decision to terminate a pregnancy is protected under the Constitution's right to privacy, thus making abortion lawful across the United States. This was grounded on the idea that the right to privacy extended to a woman’s decision-making over her own body and/or on reproductive matters. Legal and ethical controversy arose around Roe v.Wade because some values of the American society such as personal freedom, physical integrity and, the status of the fetus, were involved in this case. The decision went against the legal standards and ethical principles, and so generated intense debate and striving for its affirmation or reversal. The case shows how law can mirror morality as well as how the two are at times intertwined in a more ambiguous and contentious manner.

The Impact of Legal Changes

One of the ways that the interaction between law and morality changes is through legal amendment. People working for change usually may recommend legal reforms that are more in line with the current ethical standards. For example, multicultural movements that attempt to change criminal justice reform seek to redress perceived moral vices in the legal arena like racism and excessive punitive measures.

Such reforms prove that the legal systems and moral values are not set in stone, but can evolve and change over time. They depict an ongoing process, which has seen society’s attitudes change and adjust, as well as the legal systems change to accommodate the changes in ethical practices. However, the realisation of these reforms is often a complex and controversial process, proving that law and morality are not always easy to align.

So Where Does Law Stand on Morality?

As useful as law is when it comes to ensuring that certain moral standards are upheld, there is more to it. It does not capture all of morality or address other personal attributes and ethical components outside the law. Additionally in a multicultural world with different moral principles, the law must take all these considerations and work within the confines of individuals' freedom while at the same time preventing societal vices.

Law and morality are two subjects that have a strong connection and interdependence in many respects: sometimes they coincide, sometimes they differ, and sometimes they affect each other. Knowing where the law is in harmony with morality, as well as where legal and moral systems diverge, is informative in how justice and ethicality progress in societies. In this, we should admire law not only in its potential to posit and enforce certain moral standards but also in recognising the fluidity of this relationship in formulating a substantiated fair society.

Thanks again for reading! I know this is a bit different from the usual content but let me know if you’ve enjoyed it and learnt something new.

With Warmth,

Deja.

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Today, I find myself grappling with the complexities of love and self-worth as a 17-year-old girl in a world that seems obsessed with romantic relationships. Everywhere I look, I'm bombarded with images and messages romanticising love—movies, songs, social media feeds—all painting a picture of happiness and fulfilment that seems just out of reach. It's easy to feel like everyone around me has found their perfect match, leaving me to wonder if there's something wrong with me for not experiencing the same.

At times, it feels like romantic love is the ultimate validation of my worth as a person. It's as if society has placed a premium on being in a relationship, equating it with success and happiness. As a result, I can't help but internalise the message that being single equates to being incomplete or undesirable. It's a painful reminder that despite my achievements and strengths, I'm still lacking something crucial.

I often think about a quote from the film The Perks of Being a Wallflower: "We accept the love we think we deserve." This speaks volumes about how our sense of self-worth influences the relationships we pursue. If we believe ourselves to be unworthy or flawed, we might settle for relationships that reinforce those feelings. Conversely, if we truly understand our values and embrace self-love, we open ourselves to more fulfilling and respectful connections. This quote tells us that the quality of love we accept is often a mirror of our self-perception, making self-worth a crucial component of our relationship choices. By fostering a healthier relationship with ourselves, we pave the way for healthier, more genuine connections with others.

However oftentimes, I'm reminded of a fundamental truth: self-love will never be a substitute for romantic love. It's a harsh reality to confront, especially when it feels like everyone else has found their happily ever after. Yet, I know deep down that true happiness and fulfilment can only come from within—from learning to love and accept myself unconditionally, regardless of my relationship status.

That's not to say that I don't yearn for love and companionship. Like anyone else, I crave the connection and intimacy that comes with romantic relationships. But I also recognise the danger of placing my worth and happiness solely in the hands of another person. It's a precarious position to be in, one that leaves me vulnerable to heartbreak and disappointment if things don't go as planned.

However, it’s essential to recognise that connections with others are a fundamental part of the human experience. Social bonds and relationships are crucial for our survival and well-being. They provide support, companionship, and a sense of belonging that enriches our lives. Yet, these connections cannot replace the most vital relationship of all—the one we have with ourselves.

Our interactions with others are deeply influenced by how we view ourselves. When we love ourselves, we create a solid foundation for forming meaningful and enriching relationships. Self-love is not just about personal comfort; it’s about self-respect and understanding our worth. Through loving ourselves, we invite connections that align with our true values and beliefs. We start to attract relationships that reflect the love we have for ourselves, rather than settling for less than we deserve.

The quote “We accept the love we think we deserve” articulates this idea perfectly. If we do not value ourselves, we might unconsciously accept relationships that reinforce that lack of self-worth. Conversely, when we embrace self-love, we set a standard for how we expect to be treated. We teach ourselves and others how to honour and respect our needs and boundaries. It’s only by nurturing our self-love that we can truly invite and appreciate the love and connections that align with our highest standards.

Loving ourselves also equips us to approach relationships from a place of abundance rather than neediness. It allows us to engage with others authentically and healthily, without relying on them to fill gaps in our self-esteem. This self-love creates a space where genuine, reciprocal connections can flourish. We become capable of giving and receiving love in its most enriching forms, rather than settling for relationships that do not meet our needs or reflect our true worth.

So while it’s natural to desire romantic connections and to feel their importance, it’s crucial to remember that our relationship with ourselves is the cornerstone of all other relationships. By cultivating self-love, we not only improve our own lives but also set the stage for healthier, more fulfilling connections with others. In the end, it’s through loving ourselves that we can truly invite and experience the kind of love we think we deserve.

As I journey through this formative stage of my life, I'm learning to redefine my understanding of love and self-worth. It's not about finding someone to complete me, but rather finding someone who complements me—a partner who sees and accepts me for who I am, flaws and all. In the meantime, I'm focusing on cultivating a deeper relationship with myself and learning to love and cherish the person I am becoming.

Yes, it hurts to feel like I'm missing out on something so central to the human experience. But I'm slowly coming to realise that being single doesn't make me any less worthy of love and happiness. If anything, it's an opportunity to prioritise my growth and well-being, to pursue my passions and dreams without the constraints of a romantic relationship.

So, while the ache of loneliness may linger, I take solace in the knowledge that I am enough, just as I am. I hold onto the hope that one day, I'll find someone who sees the beauty in my imperfections and loves me for who I am. Embrace your journey, love yourself fiercely, and remember: you are enough, just as you are.

A Prayer for Self-Love and Acceptance

Dear God,

Grant me the strength to love and accept myself,

Just as I am, flaws and all. 

Help me to see my worthiness,

Even in moments of doubt and loneliness.

Guide me as I navigate the complexities of love and relationships, 

Teaching me to prioritise my well-being and happiness. 

Grant me the wisdom to know that true love starts from within, 

And that I am worthy of love and belonging.

Help me to cultivate a deeper relationship with myself, 

Learning to cherish and celebrate the person I am becoming. 

And grant me the patience to trust in your plan for my life, 

Even when it feels like I'm falling short of society's expectations.

Thank you for your unconditional love and grace, 

Even in my moments of weakness and insecurity.

Ameen.

With Warmth,

Deja.

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I’m beyond excited to welcome you to the very first post on here, still struggling to navigate it a bit, but we will get over that.

As a 17-year-old woman of colour growing up in London, my journey has been a tapestry of diverse experiences that have shaped who I am today. Navigating life in this vibrant city has often felt like a rollercoaster—full of highs and lows, moments of connection and times of solitude. Sometimes, the world can feel cold and lonely, and that’s exactly why I wanted to create this space.

Why I’m Here

Through this blog, I aim to build a community where we can all feel a little less alone. By opening up about my own experiences and thoughts, I hope to create a place where you can find solace, share your own stories, and connect with others who might be feeling the same way. Additionally, I hope I can start a YouTube and build my community on the internet to create a corner of the internet for like-minded people.

What to Expect

On this blog, you’ll find:

• Personal Stories: Insightful and heartfelt posts about my life, experiences, and the things that matter to me.

• Creative Insights: A glimpse into my journey toward becoming a filmmaker and writer, including the challenges and triumphs along the way.

• Community Conversations: Opportunities for us to chat, share ideas, and support each other.

I’m here to invite you to join me on this journey—one where we can explore, reflect, and grow together. Whether you’re here for the stories, the inspiration, or just a sense of belonging, I’m so glad you’re here.

Let’s Connect

I’d love to hear from you! Feel free to drop a comment, share your thoughts, or just say hi on any of my social media. Your feedback and connection mean the world to me.

Thank you for being part of this adventure. Here’s to new beginnings and a community where we can all feel a little more at home.

With warmth,

Deja ♡