A long time ago, I learnt the word ‘oxymoron’ and fell in love with the sound of it. In thinking about how best to write this page, it occurs to me that I might have somehow become it.
I’ve just spent eleven years and two months working towards my PhD (including my undergraduate and masters degrees and poverty induced time outs) and now I’m training to be a carpenter. Not because I’ve changed my mind but because my mind is plural and I need to balance the abstract and analytical side with a more creative, tactile, and meditative outlet.
I identify as a woman and have been an avowed feminist since I was five years old, yet put me in a dress and I feel like I’m in drag. Don’t even get me started on high heels or make-up. Also, there’s no such thing as a male feminist, so you can miss me with that.
I have an acute case of wanderlust and have lived in four countries so far, yet I am also a hoarder of books (let’s not talk about my four sewing machines and enormous fabric stash). When I finally get to where I’m going, I’ll have an awful lot of stuff. I don’t know where it is precisely that I am going, but I do know that Britain has never, ever been my home. I also know that when I get there, it’ll be warm, have terra rosa, and have mountains I can see while I’m swimming in the sea.
That’s just three things, but they are important things, and they somehow cover most of the essence of me.
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