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My Life in MCR

Grief is a strange feeling

September 10, 2018 by admin No Comments
Grief is a strange feeling. In fact I’m not even sure what it is. The dictionary just calls it “sadness or sorrow caused by someone’s death”. But does it just mean the feeling of loss? Or is it more about missing that person in the long term? Does it cover shock too? And why and should we grieve if, as Christians, we know our lives here on earth were only ever designed to be temporary, and that eternal life will be in heaven?

This is what I’ve been trying to figure out over the past few weeks and months, since I heard the news that Emma, a friend from church had been killed in a hit and run in Manchester. On the night it happened she’d spent the night with others from our community group watching England’s world cup game. I wasn’t there, as I’d just got back from filming in London, but where the accident happened was very close to my flat.

Hearing the news the next day via Whatsapp was a massive shock – so much so that my first instinct was to assume it must be about a different Emma that I didn’t know. In those few seconds my brain couldn’t handle the thought that someone so full of life, who less than 24 hours ago had been messaging us all about pizza toppings, could suddenly not be alive anymore. I also had a weird kind of feeling, maybe it was guilt or just trying to make sense of the timescale…but it suddenly seemed very strange that I’d been happily going about my day for the last 24 hours totally oblivious to what had happened. Are these signs of grief, or just symptoms of shock? Who knows…

As I found out more about what had actually happened, turning to newspaper articles to try and piece it all together, I recognised the location of the accident – somewhere enroute to Emma’s tram stop. We’d walked home together the week before, but taken a different route – one that went past my front door. If I or one of the others who normally walked home with Emma had been there, would she still have been on that road at that time? We’ll never know. But even though we know thinking about the ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’ isn’t helpful we still do it. Is that grief? Does the definition also include a need to try to rationalise or look for answers?

And what about crying at random times – like on the train, in the queue at McDonalds, mid prayer, or almost a month later coming home after a night out? What is it I’m crying for? I don’t even know, because it’s an involuntary reaction. I haven’t decided to cry (if I had, it certainly wouldn’t have been in such awkwardly public settings) but my body’s clearly decided I need to either to get rid of something or let something out. Is it grief my body’s trying to get rid of? I’ve got no medical knowledge or opinions, all I know is that for some reason it works. For some reason after a good cry, I feel a little bit better.

Grief is also hard to measure. I’d only known Emma for around 7 months – a relatively short amount of time – so the loss of her from my life is obviously not even a fraction of the sense of loss her family and close friends feel. But we will all miss her, cherish the memories we have, and mourn the loss of time in the future we could have had with her, even if as Christians we know we’ll see her again one day.

We still meet every Sunday at church, and every Wednesday at community group like nothings changed. But Emma’s absence has and will be felt – because in everything from deep discussions to ridiculous banter, Emma was at the heart of it.

I could very easily have never met Emma, but I’m extremely glad that I did. And weird as it may sound, I’m very much looking forward to seeing her again whenever that day comes.

Here’s some of highlights from a weekend we spent in the Lake District with Emma back in May.

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My Life in MCR

When we forget to remember

June 7, 2018 by Louise Sayers 1 Comment
A few days ago we remembered the victims of the London Bridge attack, a year on. A special service was put on in Southwark Cathedral and a minutes silence held to remember the eight people killed, and forty eight injured.

Two weeks ago today was the first anniversary of the Manchester Arena attack. Similarly on that day, a minutes silence was held around the city, to give us a chance to think about the 22 people who were killed.

On both these occasions, I, like probably a lot of other people, ended up thinking back to what I was doing on the night it all happened.

On the morning after the London Bridge attack I remember waking up in Guernsey, drained after completing a massive 40-mile charity walk the day before. Oblivious to what had happened I reached for my phone and then saw the BBC news alert, and the mass email from my news editor asking who in the team could be on the next train to London to cover and report on the horrific events.

On the night of the Manchester Arena attack, even though I was living in Manchester at the time, I was nowhere near the Arena or even the City Centre. Again in fact, I was in bed when I heard the news.

I’d only moved to the city and started a new job (my current job) a few weeks earlier, and with the early starts and long commute I was constantly shattered. I’d gone to bed ridiculously early, but I remember waking up at about 11pm – about half an hour after the bomb had gone off – and picking up my phone to see the BBC News alert. Everyone on Facebook who’d heard the explosion was wondering what it was. At first there was speculation a speaker had blown somewhere in the arena. But it wasn’t long before the horrific reality became clear. People started frantically sharing images of missing loved ones on social media in a bid to track them down. I spent most of the rest of the night live streaming BBC News and keeping an eye on Twitter to try and follow what was going on.

I was due to be off work the next day. But as a journalist it seemed ridiculous to sit at home watching the news when I felt I should be there helping to make it – so I emailed my editor to offer my services. News broke throughout the day, as victims were named, and the police confirmed their timeline of what had actually happened. Manchester was in shock as we all tried to process the fact that it had happened in our city, in a place a lot of us pass by all the time. The reality was dawning that nowhere was “safe”. The fact that going to a concert shouldn’t be a high-risk activity, made no difference. And disgust set in at the way children had been deliberately targeted. But among the shock and sorrow, there was a grit. A determination not to be cowed. I went to St Anne’s Square a few days later to see the thousand and thousands of bouquets, cards, teddies, and balloons laid in tribute. Strangers sobbed together. Biker gangs rode by en mass to try and send the message that Manchester was not afraid.

Until then I hadn’t felt any particular attachment to Manchester. It was just a city, where I was going to be working for a few months, before going back to Guernsey (I didn’t know then that my work contract would be extended twice more). And to be completely honest I wasn’t all that sold on the city’s charms, instead constantly and unfavourably comparing it to my old adopted home of Glasgow. But as I stood in St Anne’s Square, and heard the inspirational stories of love and sacrifice from people doing their best to help, I started to feel part of something. Through the worst possible circumstances I’d come to see the heart of the city. The pride of those who lived there. The defiant outrage that someone should threaten it. And the indignation that young people visiting the city for a fun night at a concert, had been robbed of their right to safely return home again.

I’ve now been in Manchester for a year, and am due to stay here for another. I certainly don’t think I’ll stay here forever. But while Belfast will always be my home, Manchester has certainly gained a place in my affections – something I didn’t expect to happen at all, never mind, for it to happen so quickly.

On the evening of the anniversary I was proud to stand with my choir, and thousands of other local choirs, singing as part of the Manchester Together tribute event in Albert Square, in unity with One Voice. It was a really great event, and it was the bravery of the Survivors Choir (made up entirely of people who were at the concert) performing ‘Rise Up’ that struck me the most. For many of those struggling with the anniversary, it helped give them something to focus on.

But now a week or two on, I’m wondering whether events like this can also give the rest of us an easy way out. A way to feel like we’re doing something to help, without actually doing anything.

It’s easy for us to remember those affected when it’s all over the news, or when big events are held, or on anniversaries. But how many of us are still thinking about the victims now just a few days or a few weeks later?

We’ve been able to move on with our lives in a way many of the victims and their families can’t, and maybe won’t ever be able to.

Many of those who survived these attacks and their families will be forever scarred – both physically and mentally. Even some of those who weren’t injured have been left constantly looking over their shoulder, left scared of going to music venues, or even being in busy public spaces. Some have dropped out of college, or university, because of medical reasons, or simply because their priorities have changed

The real challenge for the rest of us is to remember the families of these tragedies, and others, the rest of the year too. So I’m setting myself a challenge – to not just remember at anniversaries, when a minutes silence is held, or when I walk past a tribute mural. But everytime I take the fact I’m living a happy and healthy life for granted.

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World Gallivanting

Israel in April

May 10, 2018 by admin No Comments

Travelling and exploring other places is something I LOVE! So when I found a fully organised ‘just show up at the airport on this date and we’ll do the rest’ type trip to Israel over Easter, I didn’t even pause before booking it. It’s a country that has been on my bucket list for a while, because it’s interesting for so many reasons – the historical politics, the more recent conflict, and the biblical significance of so many of the places.

It did not disappoint.

As a bible-believing Christian it felt at times a bit crazy visiting places like Jerusalem, Jericho, Bethlehem, Nazareth, and the Sea of Galilee. Because the names seem so familiar you almost feel like you’ve been there before. It was pretty surreal each day, as we checked off more and more places on the biblical checklist imagining what life might have been like for Jesus and his disciples more than two thousand years ago.

What were the highlights?

A lot of them were random experiences that you couldn’t plan for, or predict – for example, stumbling upon a Bat Mitzvah celebration by the Western Wall, with an entire family singing and dancing to this crazy clarinet player in the middle of the street.

Or the downright bizarre moments – like the little Palestinian boy who came up to me, touched my arm, screamed, and ran away. (Our guide thought he’d maybe never seen someone pale and blonde before, and thought I was a ghost).

Or when a camel snogged pretty much my entire face. From the pictures it may look like I’m laughing, but for the record – the experience was not consensual.

But as with any trip or adventure, it was the people I met there, and the group of 50 other Brits who I travelled around with, that made the experience as fun, eye opening, and memorable as it was. I’m sure I’ll go back to Israel again in the future, but with different people, at a different time, it’s sure to be a completely different experience.

In terms of what Israel and the West Bank was like, there’s far too much to say one post, so I’m just going to try and summarise the main things we did in my next one.

Hopefully the video above gives at least some of an idea of what it was like. But, as smellovision hasn’t been invented yet, if you really want the full ‘smells and bells’ experience, you’ll have to go yourself.

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Blog

Hello world!

January 2, 2018 by admin No Comments
No one but my parents might ever read this. But that’s ok. I didn’t start this blog to try and attention, make money, become YouTube/Instagram famous, or try and scam freebies from advertisers (although any freebies would be gratefully received, especially if they involve gym membership, Mini Eggs, or a lifetime supply of Parma ham – which is what most of my money currently goes on each month.)

This blog’s target audience is: me, and anyone else who finds my ramblings in any way entertaining.

The aim is simply to create a record of where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing, thinking, and feeling, and what I hope to achieve. Kind of just like a diary or journal really.

Over the last five to ten years I’ve led a fairly interesting life.

As a journalist I’ve reported on everything from politics (the Scottish Independence Referendum, Brexit and too many UK general elections to count) to sport (2014 Commonwealth Games, and 2017 Island Games to name a few). I’ve got to cover some big entertainment events (including the 2014 MTV EMAs) and met lots of interesting people with interesting stories to tell. I’ve moved from Belfast in Northern Ireland, to Durham in North East England, then to Glasgow in Scotland, to Guernsey in the Channel Islands, and finally to my current base -Manchester in the north west of England. Ive gone on trips to some amazing places all across the world, and made a lot of great friends.

But aside from the photos taken, memories stored, and a trail of occasional social media posts, I don’t have a detailed record of any of it. I’m hoping, going forward, that this blog will change that.

So you get the blog idea. But why make it public? Why not just sit in bed every night scribbling alway in some jazzy notepad I picked up in Paperchase, like a 13-year-old girl? (maybe I’m not as in touch with the youth or today as I think I am.)

Well the one diary I did start, when I was about 10 or 11, was basically just a record of my day at school and what I’d had for dinner each day. Potato waffles were my world back then. But even those mundane scribbling didn’t last long. I wrote about seven entries and lost interest.

I tried journalling again aged 20, during a six-week trip to East Africa. We were told keeping a diary would help us get the most out of our time there. I wrote in it a few times, but there always seemed to be something more interesting to do. Or when there wasn’t, I’d just tell myself- “no need to takes notes, I’ll remember this all anyway so”. Oh, the foolishness of youth. Naturally seven years on, I only have vague memories of where we went and what we did, never mind any of the funny, off-script moments.

So I’m hoping that by making this blog public, peer pressure will force me to keep posting regularly, and push me to achieve the goals I’ve set for myself this year (more about those in my next post!).

I’ll be posting about the highlights (and maybe lowlights) of my life in Manchester, what I’ve been up to, trips I’ve been on, food (I’ve made, eaten, or aspire to make), fitness, and whatever else takes my fancy day to day.

If any of that interests you, subscribe and follow. If not, then Mum and Dad – I hope you enjoy it. Either way I’ll be here, keeping myself entertained.

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Grief is a strange feeling

Grief is a strange feeling

September 10, 2018
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About me

Hi, I’m Louise – a blogger, professional video journalist, singer, pianist, brunch enthusiast, wannabe-athlete, and lover of life -from Northern Ireland, but living in Manchester in the UK.

Louisesayers.com is a lifestyle blog, so unsurprisingly it mainly focuses on things relevant to my life.

I’ll be posting about travel, food, fitness, my life in Manchester, what I’ve been up to, and anything else that takes my fancy day to day.

If any of that interests you, subscribe and follow. If no one else reads it I’m sure my parents will. Either way I’ll just be here keeping myself entertained.

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