I remember watching 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' for the first time with my mum, and becoming completely and utterly infatuated with the character of Holly Golightly. She embodied everything I wanted to be - confident, sophisticated and classy - and I fell in love with the film, knowing from the moment I finished watching it that it be regarded as 'One of my favourite films of all time' (with The Great Gatsby, The Danish Girl and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button being the other films I place in that category). I can't quite put my finger on what it was that drew me to the film, but I just knew that there was something special about it - the iconography, the costumes, the storyline - it was just so unlike any film that I had ever watched before.
Then, last summer, I finally found the time to read the book which, as cliché as it sounds, was considerably better than the film. Capote writes in a way which I found very similar to one of my all time favourite authors - F Scott Fitzgerald - and I found myself being more able to understand the character of Miss Holiday Golightly, and feeling more empathetic towards her than I had originally felt whilst watching the film.
Last year, on my 17th birthday, I opened my birthday card from my mum and dad - to find tickets to watch 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' at the Lowry Theatre! I was overjoyed, and that day will forever be regarded as one of my favourites. Pixie Lott conveyed the highly iconic character perfectly, yet for me - I will always regard Audrey Hepburn as the ultimate version of Holly Golightly.
As some of you may be aware, I study English Literature as one of my A - Levels, and for one of the pieces of our coursework we got to choose a novel of our choice, and either write an essay about it, or a recreative piece. The recreative piece seemed the most appealing to me, I love creative writing - and this really did give me the freedom and the excuse to write an original piece of work. Because I tend to write about a hundred words where only ten are necessary, I was struggling a bit in terms of the word count - and in the end had to chop down most of my work.
So, I thought why not put the original version on here? I'm not 100% sure if anyone will be interested in reading this, but I thought it was something a little bit different to what I usually post. (Spice things up a bit, you know). Right, this load of babble is about to come to an end ... so here you go lovelies!
{This is going to be an extremely lengthy blog post, just to pre-warn you!}
Entry number 1
I'm here! I've finally made it. Wandering the quiet streets at 5am and looking into the windows of Tiffany's is everything I have dreamed of and more … yet why do I still feel so cripplingly unhappy? I still don't feel like I'm at home here. All these boxes are littering my flat, yet I find myself unable to empty them, fearing that then I am actually committing to something – and the thought of that scares me like no other. Perhaps all I need is some company. I miss Doc and the children, but most of all I miss my darling Fred. I'm just lonely, that must be why I'm feeling this way.
Entry number 2
I've surrounded myself with company for the past few nights, yet it doesn't seem to have much of an effect on me. I guess it just makes me feel less numb for a while, as if the gentle caresses of a man can warm my otherwise ice cold heart. Having a man in my life isn't the be all and end all – I'm completely aware of that. I just can't remember a time in my life when I've felt this alone before. Female friends aren't something I'm used to, for some reason women don't like me very much. Besides, the men in my life help me afford my new life here. A little powder room money sees me through from week to week. However, remind me to never see Mr Arbuck again – twenty cents is definitely not satisfactory for a woman of my calibre!
Entry number 3
Cat is my new companion. The poor slob without a name, oh how I adore him! I just don't feel like I have the right to give him one, seeing as we don't belong to each other. I'll name him eventually, once find a place where I belong, and where we can fully exist together. Each day I'm growing more and more certain that it's not here. Singing and playing the guitar are things that focus my mind away from my broken heart. I wrote down lyrics the other day which utterly sum up my current situation -
Don't wanna sleep,
Don't wanna die
Just wanna go a-travellin' through pictures of the sky
Entry number 4
I gave poor Paul, who I am now referring to as Fred, - for he reminds me of him greatly – an awful fright last night. Another one of my, how shall I put it, 'companions', turned frightening after consuming enough alcohol to wash an elephant, so I climbed up the icy fire escape and saw Fred lying there looking all cosy. It turns out he's a writer, and I'm going to help him, for he looks like me brother so. My new little project. Perhaps this will help me seek solace.
Entry number 5
Every Thursday I catch the 8:45 and go and see Sally Tomato in prison. This has been going on for seven months, and I get paid a hundred a week every time I visit this dear old man, who I utterly adore. To confirm to Mr O'Shaughnessy that I have been, I leave messages on his answering service telling him the weather report that Sally has mentioned to me. Don't get me wrong, I am not the highly vulnerable and pathetic airhead that they assume I am. I am completely certain that "there's a hurricane in Cuba" and "it’s snowing in Palermo" is code for some dodgy business the two have got going on. I still go and see Sally Tomato because I enjoy my visits, especially when he tells me that he prays for me. It's nice to know that at least someone is watching out for me.
Entry number 6
Tonight I had a party at my place, in another unsuccessful attempt to make it feel more like home. It was almost pathetic the way the men swarmed around me like a pack of bees. However, there was only one man who I had my eye on – Mr Rusty Trawler, a millionaire since the age of 5. Don't get me wrong, I know that this is the easy way out – to marry rich – yet I'm so determined to better myself, and in this world only money will help you do that. Rusty is a good guy, I'm almost certain about that. He has power, status, and wealth – everything that I have always dreamed of having, yet seem unable to. However, there's a dark side to him – a side which I am determined I can change. There's rumours circling about the fact that he is a Nazi sympathiser, and I truly don't want to be associated with that side of him – I'm a bit bone idle at times, but I have morals and values that I will never change purely for the sake of a man. If Rusty Trawler adores me as much as he says he does, the dark side of him will have to leave … otherwise I will.
There's something else on my mind. I'm angry at Fred. I know I complain about Mag but she's got a good heart underneath all her … issues. Yes, I neglected her in her drunken state, but there's only so many times I can hold her hair back whilst she empties her stomach, a literal purge of the bitter emotions that the liquor causes her to possess. Fred should've looked after her. I begged him to. I thought he was one of the good ones.
Don’t get me wrong, women are most definitely not objects which need to be looked after by men. But once Mag delves into the spirits, she becomes incapable of just about anything.
I've asked her to move in with me. I needed some company, and it's nice to have another female around. There's been a massive influx in women campaigning for liberation and equal rights, Mag and I are going to join a club which is only 5 minutes away from our flat. We both dream of a future which sees strong women standing up for what they believe in, and are determined to get the ball rolling so our future daughters can experience an equal society. We’re going to change the world, Mag and I. Watch this space.
Entry number 7
Oh my darling Fred, I am so proud of him. He's just told me the incredible news that his first short story has been published! I know that I am in no position to comment, but I can't help but feel that he should be more commercially ambitious with his writing, but nonetheless this calls for a celebration.
I really would hate to think that I'm sounding bitter here, but I can't help but think how easy it is for men to succeed in this world. His stories are beautiful, but if I were to write something of the same standard, or better, then the publisher wouldn't even consider running it. Yes, my story may be perfectly written and fantastically interesting, yet it's the fact that I'm a female which holds me back, as usual. I'm fed up of it.
As a women, I am limited to being in the movies – merely speaking the beautiful words that people like Fred write. Whilst this is a great honour too, I know that I am not in this industry for my superb talent or powerful voice. No, I am in the movies, and I hope I'm not sounding too vain here, because people like to look at me. I am seen as an object, a pretty thing for your eyes to focus on for a couple of hours, instead of as a voice. People aren't listening, they're just looking.
Entry number 8
I'm sorry I haven't written in so long, so much has happened and I've had a hard time dealing with it all. I'm sick of the men in my life screwing me over. I've known it for a while now, that I need to be by myself – but how would society accept that? Women who are alone by choice get isolated from society, and vicious rumours are spread about them – some even get accused of witchcraft, for goodness sake!
I'm alone again. I belong to nobody, yet belong to everyone, and the thought of that terrifies me. I'm sick of being in a cage, there for everyone to look at and admire, yet never truly want. I admit, I find it hard to let people in, which is why I make up all these tales about a life that is so far from my own, I've begun to even forget the truth.
Entry number 9
This little family I had created for myself crumbled to a pile of dust when Mag suspected the affair between Jose and I. He's the only person who I feel understand me, and I find myself giving him pieces of myself that no one else has ever received. Mag and I talked of improving the world we live in, yet we never considered changing ourselves. We don't need men in our lives in order to feel fulfilled, and the sooner we realise that, the better.
I hope you enjoyed this post, and I'm sorry for how long it was! If you've made it to the end, then thank you so much. :)
See you next week,
Love,
Grace x
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