On Europe

A little boy, reaching up at a world map. Trying to understand Brexit. More on my blog, Our Story Time.

This blog post is an edited version of an essay that appeared in Afterthoughts, my monthly letter to my subscribers. With the EU elections last week it felt like a good time to share this again. My inbox went wild after I originally sent this went out, with so many people telling me they felt the same way, so I thought I’d share it here. If you’d like to sign up to Afterthoughts, you can do so here.

Brexit is confusing me.

It’s happening, it’s not happening; I don’t know.

I simply can’t understand it, or rather, I can’t understand how we got here, to this point of calamity. To this sort of indifference we are verging on, the point at which we begin to stop caring because it’s white noise we’ve learnt to get used to, because we’re glossing over the articles and turning the news channels and carrying on as normal because there’s no resolution in sight anyway.

We all thought this would never happen, but it did, and then Trump happened too. Good lord, 2016. But what does it all mean? Well, I don't know. Perhaps it was meant to happen this way all along; we just didn't see it, or didn't want to. Maybe all Brexit means is that we are incredibly naive. 

It's hard to fathom now but at university, as a wide-eyed literature undergrad, I joined the Young European Movement. We were hardly activists but we were inspired. We listened to lectures about Europe being a place of promise. We watched French movies like L'Auberge Espagnole and we lived for our Erasmus years and we wrote that quote - "Je suis français, espagnol, anglais, danois. Je suis pas un mais plusieurs. Je suis comme l'Europe,  je suis tout ça. Je suis un vrai bordel" - inside our planners, because we believed it. Because we wanted to. That quote - “I am French, Spanish, English, Danish. I’m not one but many. I’m like Europe, I’m all of that. I’m a complete mess” - was made for the Erasmus intake of 2002.

Back then, we wanted Britain to join the Euro, not because we truly understood what it meant economically but because we thought it symbolic in some generous, gesture of a way. To be a part of something.

Those undergraduate years inspired me to study European politics for my Masters at a place called Sciences-Po, a political science institute of some acclaim in Paris. I studied what I thought was going to be my future, Europe, while sat in the same halls that Macron, Mitterand, Sarkozy et tout and even Proust and Dior once studied in. (Honestly, I have no idea how I got in).

This was a place seeped in history, politics, privilege; the accomplishments of mostly men celebrated, though there were those of some women too. Though the elitism was not lost on me, at the time, I still thought it held promise; even for me, even though my background or my heritage had no reason to bring me there. I remember walking through those security-guarded gates and those grand halls often in a daze. I felt like I was a part of something, which was all I had ever wanted to feel.

But despite all that, despite what I thought I'd learnt and studied and understood about Europe then, it all means nothing now. Because how did we get to this point, this vrai bordel? I read the papers but can make neither head nor tails of who says what this time. It's as if the confusion is purposeful, designed to make us feel like it is out of our hands anyway.

But there is one thing that I have read lately that sort of does make sense to me, and I'll share it here, with no other remarks other than to say: I read this, I underlined it, I understand what she means. For in her essay, Fences: A Brexit Diary, found in her collection Feel Free, Zadie Smith writes: 

Much has been written since about the shockingly irresponsible behaviour of both David Cameron and Boris Johnson.... That two supposedly well-educated men, who have presumably read their British history, could with such utter recklessness throw into hazard a hard-won union of three hundred years’ standing - in order to satisfy their own professional ambitions - appeared that morning a larger crime to me, than the severing of the decades-long European pact that actually prompted it all.”

Such utter recklessness.

We thought it would never happen, and yet it did. So, tell me, what does that say about us, that we never saw this coming? 

Reflections on inclusivity

an open door in a brick wall leading to a courtyard of fairy lights

It has been over three months since I wrote this: Why Simple Living And Minimalist Lifestyles Need To Be More Inclusive. In between the poetic prose you might stumble upon on my blog, I also wrote something important that made people think. So much has happened since, mostly around Instagram, that I wanted to take a moment to consider what it all means.

It took a lot for me to put that piece out there. After it went live, I picked up my phone and saw all my notifications roll in. It felt like my hand was stuck to a block of ice, skinning off the tips of my fingers and stinging my palm. I had no idea how people would react. As a measure of this nervousness: I used to come on Stories every single day talking quite happily about this, that or the other. I haven’t spoken on Stories since the day after I posted my original inclusivity piece three months ago now.

But that doesn’t matter. That piece was not just about me. It was about speaking up for people like me, from different backgrounds, heritage and colour, who sometimes find it hard to nudge a foot in doors which seem to open easily for others. It happens in traditional media all the time. It also happens in social media; we know that, now, more than ever.


There’s a belief that was instilled in me as a child, which is that true goodness is the kind of goodness that doesn’t shout about it all the time, because you’re doing it from your heart, not for appearances’ sake. My parents used to say this about things like giving to charity, and so I guess, having been brought up this way, it’s normal I believe it too.

I was thinking about this, about doing things from your heart and not for the sake of appearances, when the lack of inclusivity in lifestyle niches was fired up again in the crafting and making circles back in January and then more recently, regarding representation in the social media feeds of one particular slow living/ slow fashion brand. So many people spoke out, it felt like Instagram was on fire.

Those days were strange and furious and they were also deeply hurtful and outright offensive for so many people, many of whom I consider to be online friends. Now those days have passed and things are relatively calm, I find myself wondering where everyone is and what they are doing. I’ve been wondering if lessons that were learnt on Instagram because of the hard work of a dedicated few, might be spilling into our offline life too.

Being inclusive, standing up for fairness and believing in change doesn’t always have to mean putting yourself in the line of confrontation if that’s not what you feel you can do. I understand that because I too have chosen on occasion to show my support in other, quieter and less visible ways behind the scenes - so then you might keep an eye out for, say, offensive messages that need reporting urgently, or maybe you’ll check in with those brave voices on the receiving end of vile attacks instead and ask them what they need. This is human. Caring is human. This matters too, more than putting out a post because you feel you should.

When the issue of representation and inclusivity came to a head on Instagram in late January, someone asked me: “Would we even be talking about this if we were to meet?” and I guess, maybe, no. It’s easier to write about issues so deep and complex because writing brings perspective whereas, in person the chance to be misunderstood is greater when there’s no distance between you (or at least, in my experience).

Even small changes in the way we think and act online could make a difference to the way we treat each other when we are right there, face-to-face and palm-to-palm, breathing in the same space. In time, these little acts might simply become habit, second nature. Small changes don’t always require big confrontations and they don’t always require validation either.

So if you can’t figure out what you want to do or say on social media when it comes to inclusivity, or feel you should say something because everyone else is - then don’t. You don’t have to say it just because. I would argue that what matters more is what you do in your life away from your phone. I would argue that while it’s great that you diversify your feeds, it matters more that you read important books and articles on race, or email your kid’s school to see what you can do to help make the books in their library more diverse, or correct your mother when she makes a stereotypical comment about black guys at the bus stop or make the effort to maybe talk to the mum at the school gates in the hijab who smiles at everyone, but no one actually ever includes.


Something else I was brought up to believe is that your intention matters (some of you might recognise this as an Islamic tenet) and I hold onto that too. I hold onto that, even if it sounds naive or like it’s not quite going far enough.

I am not sure if everyone’s wanting to do better has ended up into actual doing but I hold onto this belief that intention matters, even when I routinely see articles and blog posts promoting and linking to the same faces, the same friends, the same businesses, the same voices.

I hold onto that belief of intention even when I wryly notice those with influence who act as if only now after all this have I’ve earned the right to a response whereas before I didn’t. I don’t think I was ignored on purpose; I just wasn’t seen. Never mind. I know that believing in intention might not sound good enough, but I remain optimistic. I hold onto the belief of intention, because what is there without hope?

I’m willing to be patient and perhaps you’ll have noticed that small things are shifting and people are thinking. It’ll simply take time for circles to widen more generously in order to let others in. It will take time, too, for influential bloggers and podcasters to stop before they link to only share the work of their friends and the people they love but also then think: Who else can I get behind? Who else’s work can I share or promote, who doesn’t look like me? Who else is doing a brilliant job, but has to work harder to be seen because she happens to be of a different background? Who else’s voice may I amplify?

Time, that’s all.


I stand by everything I originally wrote. I still and will always believe that the more we listen to each other, the richer our everyday lives will be, even when it comes to social media which has such a hold on our lives and reinforces more negative stereotypes than we think in ways both subtle and strong.

Because - as I’ve written here before - I believe that when we make the effort to speak to people with different voices and different backgrounds, something special happens, even when we do not reference our difference continually.

We understand each other, the ups and the downs, a little more. Subconscious prejudices might one day disappear. We make connections. We might even make friends.

All of this is why I am passionate about connecting people to their writing voice (yes, I’m linking to my work), because the right, well-chosen and well-crafted words have the power to open minds and educate, yes, but also to enchant and inspire and to leave us wanting to hear more, know more, read more and more and more. Because, for a moment, lost in those sort of words, we may even begin to see the world a little differently.


The Problem With Performative Allyship

Redefine Pretty


Representation Matters (She Flourished)