Sara

Category: Uncategorized

  • For the freshers

    (Dispatch from the Front Lines of the First Year)

    The beginning is loud. Not in volume — though, yes, there will be music pounding through thin flat walls — but in texture. A hundred overlapping invitations, WhatsApp groups, welcome emails, and the whispered terror of making a wrong move before you’ve even unpacked your toothbrush.

    The university experience is marketed as a sprint: race to make friends, race to join societies, race to “make the most of Freshers’ Week” before the clock runs out. But like most races, it’s worth asking whether you actually want the medal.

    But as one seasoned survivor advises:

    “Don’t force yourself! You don’t need to go to EVERY event to make the most of freshers! Go to the ones you feel up to.”

    You will be told — repeatedly, and with a sort of manic cheer — that these are “the best years of your life.” This is partially true, but also a pressure cooker. Your best years do not expire at twenty-one, and if you spend Week One quietly finding the library rather than headlining the club circuit, the ghosts of university past will not haunt you.

    Friendship, for example, is not a speed sport. You might not “mesh with your flatmates” immediately (or ever), and that is not a tragedy. One respondent offered the quiet comfort of perspective:

    “You will always be able to find other people who you can go out with and find best of friends. Everything will work out… you don’t have to join them to enjoy your uni life. If first year wasn’t your favourite, don’t just quit — you will probably find your place in second year.”

    The first weeks will be strange. You are away from home, possibly for the first time, trying to assemble a new identity from IKEA furniture and a kettle you’re not sure belongs to you. There will be wobbles. There will also be small, startling proofs of your own resilience:

    “Whilst it’s such a scary feeling being away from home for the first time, it is also such an experience that teaches you a lot about yourself, your own strength and resilience. So when it feels rough, just keep going and keep sticking it out.”

    Practical wisdom also emerges from the pragmatic:

    “Jump into absolutely every opportunity you get! Make the most of everything. Build a super good routine early… it really helps in the colder months to have a habit. Never be afraid to ask for help.”

    The moral, if there must be one: Freshers’ Week is not an exam. You are not being graded on volume of events attended, number of people in your phone, or intensity of your enthusiasm. The task is not to “win” university. It is to find your own way through it — slowly, if you must — and to make space for all the unsolved, unfinished, unpolished parts of yourself.

    Or, in the words of those who have already crossed the starting line: take it slowly, keep showing up, and don’t forget to breathe.

    For those who prefer their advice in the less cryptic and poetic format, here’s a list of advice from me, and others who have survived the freshers battle.

    • I would advise you join at least one society, you’re gonna have more free time than you realise.
    • Don’t worry too much about putting yourself out there, if you’re staying in halls, a bored flatmate is bound to come knocking on your door at some point during freshers
    • take every opportunity, you won’t regret it
    • don’t be afraid to have a quiet night in, you will get ill if you don’t let yourself rest

    And finally:

    “Be careful, the woman outside Dorothy’s is actually a bloke.”

    And she’s kinda mean.

    xoxo Sara

  • What Rainer Maria Rilke Taught Me

    I didn’t meet Rainer Maria Rilke in a classroom. Not really. He didn’t arrive with footnotes or flashcards or a neatly formatted reading list. He showed up quietly, in a reading recommendation on Kindle. So I indulged.

    “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart
    and try to love the questions themselves.”

    I wasn’t looking for a life lesson that day. But there it was — gently radical, like most truths are.

    Rilke taught me that not knowing is not a failure. That living in the in-between — the ache, the stretch, the fuzziness of not-yet — is not only tolerable, but beautiful. Necessary, even.
    That’s a hard thing to accept when you’ve grown up craving clarity. When your search history reads like a crisis, when your heart aches for answers in neat bullet points. When your life feels like a draft you’re too scared to submit. But Rilke wasn’t interested in quick resolutions. He wrote with the slow grace of someone who understood that people are not puzzles to be solved. We are fields to be tended. He wasn’t promising comfort. He was offering permission.

    Permission to be without rush, to write without haste and to exist and feel in the now.

    “I want to beg you… as well as I can,
    to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart…”

    It’s the “beg” that undoes me. The urgency in it. Like he knows how hard it is to be soft with yourself. Like he knew I’d read that line at 2 a.m., jaw clenched, wishing someone would just tell me what to do with myself.

    He taught me that solitude isn’t loneliness. That there’s a difference between being alone and being with yourself. And that “with” is the harder one to learn.

    He taught me that art doesn’t need to be loud. That feeling deeply doesn’t have to look dramatic. That your inner life — your questions, your longing, your quiet — is worth tending to even if no one claps for it. Above all, he taught me this:

    “The point is to live everything.
    Live the questions now.
    Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it,
    live along some distant day into the answer.”

    There’s no map. Just the walk. No answer key. Just the aching, luminous, bewildering now.

    And if I’m honest, that sometimes scares me. But at other times, it feels like a kind of grace.

    So I’m trying — slowly, imperfectly — to live the questions. To sit in the fog. To hold space for the not-knowing. To let life unfold without needing to narrate every twist and predict every plot. To be a little more like Rilke. And a little bit more like myself.

    Rilke’s writing is not a big flashy book on a shelf. When I found him, he was the only copy, small, beige, almost unnoticeable. It must have been fate or God or whatever you believe in, that saw I needed someone to teach me how to live slowly. To let questions sit and simmer. To let the answers come to me instead of chasing them.

    I don’t need to know right now what job I want after Uni. It will come to me.

    I don’t need to know right now where I want to live in the future. It will come to me.

    I don’t need to know anything right now other than where I am, who I am and what I am doing. It will all come to me.

    Thank you Rilke.

    xoxo Sara

  • June, and all the media I consumed in it

    As a chronically online 19 year old and someone who needs background noise for just about anything, I consume a lot of media. Here’s the games, books, movies, tv shows and YouTube channels I consumed.

    I – Games

    Having finished Uni quite early, I currently have a lot of time on my hands. Time that, last month, I used to play the sims and Disney Dreamlight Valley. Both of which I have in and out phases of finding them entertaining, which I think is quite common. I’ll play the game intently for 3 or 4 weeks straight and then won’t touch it for a month or two.

    The Sims for me is very therapeutic, It’s calming – most of the time – and its mindless. It also makes time pass very quickly which was exactly what I wanted. Some people don’t understand the the enjoyment and I honestly couldn’t explain it. It actually kind of odd if you think about it. It’s a life simulator, but most people never make themselves, build houses they would never live in, and do things they would never do. But then is that the point? To experience the unimaginable through fake little characters on a screen that you can control? To become the werewolf or mermaid or vampire you always wanted to be? Either way, it’s fun and I’ve been playing it since 2019 so I’m very acquainted.

    Disney Dreamlight is a similar concept but you have less control over what happens. It’s a good time waster and a decent break from the sims because instead of having to chose the pathway of each individual character in an elaborate story, you play as yourself and complete quests to develop relationships with other characters and complete the storyline.

    The graphics of both games are very pleasing to me, I prefer this semi-cartoonish look to the realism that they try to go for in other games. Overall I just like playing games as a time passer, even tried to play F1 23, was very bad, crashed lots and wouldn’t really claim to have ‘consumed’ it as a media so it only gets a mention.

    II – Books

    June’s reading list was a bit spotted and speckled, it had a mixture of non fiction, poetry and romance. A bit like shopping for fruit, wine and a mystery skincare item.

    I started and finished ‘Cowboy’ by Kandace Siobhan Walker as a part of a poetry book swap with a friend from Uni. Her debut collection felt a bit like someone whispering secrets into a tin can and the end of a string. I was sad to part with this book after reading and annotating it because it was just so good. It was elliptical, sensual, and sharp enough to cut paper. She makes so many comments and arguments about neurodivergence, sexuality and girlhood that just makes any girl my age feel seen and heard. I might have to get a second copy for myself because this was a 5 star.

    I also started reading ‘Come Ride With Me’ by Simone Soltani — a romance that unfolds like a long drive with a stranger who might just change your whole internal weather. I can’t say much about this book since I’m only 90 pages in but so far so good. The main characters are witty and funny, and their first encounter had me in giggles one second and mouth-open shocked the next.

    The last book I started in June was ‘Bitch: A Revolutionary Guide to Sex, Evolution & the Female Animal’ by Lucy Cooke — a science book with claws. She talks about the zoological aspect of what it means to be a female in the animal kingdom, correcting myths on evolution and calling out the male scientists that chose to ignore the complex beauty that is the female form. Again, I can’t say much because I’m not that far in yet but I have high hopes for this book.

    Movies / Tv –

    This was, unexpectedly, the month of Jeremy Clarkson. I watched Clarkson’s Farm Season 4 and The Grand Tour. The man just has a charm that works perfectly as background noise.

    ‘Clarkson’s Farm’ was unexpectedly tender. There’s something disarming about seeing a man yell at cows while trying to save his soil. It’s actually the first season of the show I’ve watched and thankfully you don’t really have to have watched the earlier seasons to figure out what’s going on. I love the personalities of everyone involved and – hot take – I admire everything he’s doing for British farming. His farm has been a bit of a controversial topic, but I think that his mission to only sell British grown products and all the awareness he’s brought to the struggles of British farming is incredible. Increased awareness always puts the government in a difficult position which is exactly what we want if there’s a chance at policy reform, but even then, it probably won’t be enough. Either way, I think its amazing all that he’s tried to do and people need to give him less hassle for making a profit from all the awareness he’s raising, because at least he’s doing something. Plus if you watch the show he spends a lot of money on this farm so he can’t be making that much profit.

    I also rewatched ‘Bob’s Burgers’, my comfort show of choice. There is no problem in my life that cannot be temporarily softened by the basic animation style and funny little scripts. It’s good background noise, funny, easy to follow, and occasionally actually gets kinda deep with the messaging.

    And then there was ‘The French Dispatch’ — viewed not for the first time, but with renewed appreciation every time. Wes Anderson’s little museum of melancholy and whimsy felt more relevant than ever. I watched it slowly, like sipping tea in a room full of strangers who all secretly know your favorite poem.

    Some films you watch.

    Others you inhabit.

    The Internet –

    This month’s YouTube consumption was a patchwork of low-stakes joy and long-form parasocial companionship.

    Life with Hope offered gentle, blurry domesticity — perfectly imperfect mornings, quiet skincare, confessions made in bedrooms lit only by fairy lights. It’s not about watching someone’s life; it’s about remembering how to romanticize your own. I especially love her pocket and regular filofax, they’re so pretty that I want to make my own, hopefully she’ll come out with some kind of tutorial as to how she got it to look that way.

    Lilsimsie continued to scream her way through builds in The Sims 4, occasionally unleashing chaos upon unsuspecting digital families. I watch a lot of her videos, there’s just something about her big energy that’s oddly calming.

    Sydney Graham and Amazingishgrace both delivered content that made me want to rearrange my furniture, re-curate my bookshelf, and journal in cursive. They are archivists of soft-girl living — content creators who make “being alive and slightly tired” look like a spiritual aesthetic and I’m always here for it.

    Wrap-up –

    June was a month of curated joy — games played in quiet hours, books started with hope, shows rewatched like comfort food reheated just right.

    Nothing revolutionary happened.


    But something important did.


    In the midst of deadlines, long-distance longing, and uneven weather, I made time to delight.


    And perhaps that is enough.

    See you in July. Bring snacks

    xoxo Sara

  • Wes Anderson, The Artist

    Its no secret that I love a Wes Anderson movie, I’m not even there for the plot, they’re just the most beautiful thing to look at. The colour palettes, the symmetry, the dialogue, its all just so visually pleasing, I could go the rest of my life only watching his movies. Now, I am not claiming to be a film expert in any way shape or form, but I do have some form of analytical skills and I have watched these movies many times.

    Let’s start with the obvious, Wes Anderson’s cinematic style is iconic. Every frame is an art piece within itself, the pastel pink hotel, the mustard yellow tracksuits and the dollhouse-like sets. The symmetry, overhead shots and slow pans create a sense of order within a film that deals with quite complex emotions, he uses this visual control to pull together multiple chaotic narratives.

    This shot from The French Dispatch, for example, pulls together two quite different characters who, for most of their scenes, are battling against each other in a political war. Yet in the picture, Anderson uses the symmetry to create a cohesive image without taking away from the character’s personality. To me, its perfect, their postures, the colour grading, the use of the jukebox light to pull the eyes to the front of the shot. Just from this you can see how well Wes Anderson draws you attention exactly where he wants it to be with the simplest touches.

    Wes Anderson movies, at their cores, are about people falling apart, lonely geniuses, dysfunctional families and misunderstood misfits, all damaged in the most human ways possible. Even in the more whimsical settings of Moonrise Kingdom and Fantastic Mr Fox, the character’s emotions are painfully real. Two kids trying to find a place in a world that doesn’t understand them and a father and son both trying to be more than people say they can be… almost too relatable? I mean, don’t we all have moments in which we feel misunderstood… that overwhelming dread that the people who doubted you were right… the want to be more… but maybe that’s just me.

    His characters often speak in a flat, almost rehearsed tone, like they’re reading straight from a script without processing what they’re actually saying. But that’s what makes it work. The emotional detachment in their voices contrasts with the rawness of what’s being said, creating a kind of vulnerability. The lack of dramatics gives you space to feel the weight of the moment on your own terms. When someone in a Wes Anderson film confesses love, regret, or loss, they don’t usually cry or raise their voice. They drop their feelings into the conversation like they’re commenting on the weather, and somehow, that hits harder than any emotional outburst ever could.

    Another thing Wes Anderson mastered is creating nostalgia without sentimentality. He doesn’t make films about the past, he makes them through the past. Using old record players, vintage clothes, outdated letters, all to create a world that feels timeless and just out of reach. It’s nostalgic without being rose-tinted and the stories often focus on characters trying to recapture something they’ve lost, and failing. He manages to create this sense that time is moving forward without the characters, and they’re aware of it, and it kinda hurts. It reminds me a lot of the feeling grief brings, like your world has stopped but everyone else’s keeps going… and it hurts.

    Overall, watching a Wes Anderson movie is almost like intruding on someone’s personal dream, they have so much heart and emotion without the dramatics of big acting. As someone who struggles with watching movies because I either find them too overwhelming or not stimulating enough, Wes Anderson is perfect. They even have the autism seal of approval from my friends. The scenes are beautiful and moving and I just cannot get enough, thank god he keeps making more.

    xoxo The Bueno Dispatch

  • Bring back the 90s

    As someone born in the early 2000’s I’m probably in no way qualified to say this but… bring back 90s culture. Specifically British 90s culture. There’s just something about it that hits different to me, I long to experience it and I know at least a couple of friends who do too.

    Before Spotify crawled its way into everyone’s lives and took all our money, music was a culture. There was no algorithm to pick what you should and shouldn’t like, you had to pick a side, Oasis or Blur, and it wasn’t just about the music, this was politics. Britpop made itself a national identity and music wasn’t just background noise for a long car ride, it was everything. Music was culture, it was gritty, raw controversial and it meant something. The songs on the radio were about more than just sex and heartbreaks, it made you actually feel something. Not to mention the rise of the girl band, The Spice Girls themselves were a cultural force to be reckoned with, they made friendship bracelets trendy and proved that five girls in platform heels could do amazing things. So yes, absolutely bring back 90s Brit culture if it means being able to live through the music scene that they had.

    It wasn’t just the music too, even the TV shows were better. There was no doom scrolling or skipping adds, and as any other early 2000’s kid will know, there was nothing better than hearing someone yell ‘its back on’ when you’ve gone to the toilet during an ad break. 90s British tv gave us low-rev graphics, slow and strange masterpieces. Somehow the poor quality makes them better, the low budget makes them feel more comforting. I don’t feel as strongly about it as I do music, because I am a victim of the hour long Tik Tok scroll, but I absolutely think that 90’s tv would raise our kids better than some random American yapping on YouTube any day.

    Everything in the 90s just had more meaning, the music, the tv, and the fashion. British fashion in the 90s didn’t try to be perfect or fit an aesthetic, it just was. Now, I’m not saying that flared jeans, crop tops and mini backpacks are my style, but it was organic. Styles came from underground and rose up with everyone from the council estate kids to the celebrities putting their own twist on the current trend. Britain in the 90s had a uniform and it was bold, effortless and a bit rebellious. They were trying to prove something, and it didn’t matter what it was because at least they were doing it with conviction. Most people now have all these opinions and goals and do nothing with them, teenagers only focus on being validated and conforming to what others want them to be rather than expressing themselves freely and fighting for that freedom to do so. People have lost their passion and the pattern of the trend cycle reflects this. The 90s trends lived a full life while recently, the trend cycles are exhausting, constantly switching from one thing to the next, never actually exploring all aspects or experimenting with making it individual to you. The result, everyone dresses the same. Not literally, but figuratively, some people pick a certain ‘aesthetic’ and stays with it, others don’t and follow the consumer trend, buying and wearing what the people on their screens are telling them to, but this changes so quickly that one day everyone is wearing converse, and the next everyone is in stores paying a stupid amount for three different pairs of Crocs in all different colours. Granted, bad example because I have two pairs myself, but for me its practical for work, I have my reasons I promise.

    Either way, die modern trends die, all hail the fashion culture of the 90s.

    Lastly, bring back boredom. Before we all had phones, when you were bored, you had to actually find something to do, and not stare at a little screen until you fall asleep. Boredom bred creativity, people made art, mixtapes, kids made up new games, there were drawings and clothes and music being made simply because they didn’t have Tik Tok, YouTube or Instagram to rely on. They had the patience to wait a whole week for the next episode and they built stuff with their hands just to have something to do, and honestly, I think this made them a better society than we are. We may have better technology, but that doesn’t make us better people, we’re less compassionate, less accepting (despite all this preach about accepting everyone no matter what), less creative and less human. This new tech may make our lives easier and supposedly better, but our struggles are a part of the human experience and we’re kind of ruining that for ourselves.

    So absolutely, bring it all back, bring back the music that made you scream the lyrics like they mattered – because they did. Bring back the dodgy but charming tv shows that aren’t just in it for the views. Bring back fashion for the self over fashion for the masses, and bring back the boredom that sparked something real. We don’t need five-second trends or AI generated algorithms telling us what to like and what not to like. We need a culture that feels lived in, a messy, bold, unapologetic culture. The 90s were messy and definitely not perfect, but they were real, people actually lived their lives for themselves rather than for the validation of others.

    Bring back Britain in the 90s… but maybe leave all the bad bits behind.

    xoxo The Bueno Dispatch