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A life & style blog written by Bash Harry, a 21 year old perfectionist with little to say but much to do. Let's talk beauty, fashion and intersectional feminism.

contact: bashharry@heybash.com

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Tuesday, 9 April 2019

Why I Ran Away To Venice

Call it soul-searching or a spontaneous adventure. 
It was more likely an outburst spurred by frustration.

It could've been any country, any city in fact. My mind wasn't working right, and I was so desperate to do something stupid. The night before, I looked at Oslo and Copenhagen. Anywhere cheap and pretty would have sufficed. Instead, I settled on a romantic round-trip for one to Venice.

A few days later, I took the train to Bristol Airport and sent a quick text to my parents as the plane took off. They weren't happy. Only when I landed in Italy did I realize, 'holy shit, I'm all alone.'



Perhaps the title is hyperbole.

I had nothing to run away from except crippling stress and frustration, and the need to do something with my life - a void that has yet to be filled. Calling my trip a quick getaway or holiday would be more realistic, but my melodramatic self refuses that. I ran away from my problems and that was that.

What had caused me to go to Venice was an amalgamation of problems. Most of them due to my own senseless decisions. I made mistakes, I was wrong and I was alone. Loneliness when you thought you were loved aches. There was a kind of guilt. I was shamed, deserted and in my head, I deserved it.

You can only take so much at once.


I don't condone running away from your problems, but taking a break helps.

God knows we need it sometimes.

What was an impulsive opportunity became one of the best trips of my life. It was cathartic. Venice was beautiful as expected, and I left calmer than I had been for the last few weeks. I walked along the narrow streets, ate amazing Italian cuisine and learned how to take better self-portraits. Most of all, I learn that loneliness isn't necessarily a bad thing.

Sometimes, it can be a wonderful friend.


I don't regret solo traveling at all.

If possible, I recommend solo traveling to everyone. Learning to love your own company is forced upon in a new place. I'm definitely going to do it again, preferably with a better state of mind. Perhaps Paris or Malta once exams are finished.

Until then, I'll just keep dreaming of Venice.

Where are you off to next?
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Wednesday, 13 March 2019

How To Remove Milia (Those Little White Bumps)

My skin isn't too bad.

For the most part, it is clear with a few spots here and there. One thing that remained persistent over the past few years is my milia. These small white bumps on my nose and underneath my eye seem to grow regardless of how often I exfoliate. 

I met with Tao Skincare Clinic to see how we can remove them.


Milia are small white bumps formed when skin flakes or keratin are stuck underneath the upper layer of the skin. They aren't usually painful, they're just there. They've been there for a year now, no matter how much I exfoliated. 

While I had them when I was younger, they became more pervasive since coming to the UK. Most likely due to the weather and forgetting to wash my makeup off often as I should. Since there was no way to remove them at home, I decided to see an esthetician.


They literally put me under a microscope. 

Each pore and imperfection noticeable as I laid flat on the bed. "They should pop right out," she said, brushing her fingers against my skin. It wouldn't hurt, just little prickle. 

We used needling at first. We prepped the skin first, cleaning the area with a cotton pad. Then, she took a sterilized needle, sharp to the touch, to prod the skin. I could feel the scratches, like a prick. A shard of glass pressing against the skin. 

Once the skin was crossed finely, she applied pressure to the cyst. Gunk oozed out underneath, leaving a small dot of blood. 


Some seeds were difficult to remove so she used electrolysis. Another needle hooked to a machine that poked under the skin, zapping a bit of heat to disperse the cyst. It sounded terrifying, electrocuting yourself in tiny heat strokes. I've never felt anything like that. The tingling sensation around the skin wasn't painful but I did hold my breath. 

Afterward, she cleaned everything up with witch hazel. In just under twenty minutes, we were done!

Before & After

I had some scabs for a few days but nothing too obvious. Rather, just a bit of redness that faded away. It's a subtle change but made me feel relieved, as the bumps were pestering me for the past few years. Thanks to Tao Skincare Clinic, I feel so much better.

For more info, you can go to their website here or contact them at 01392 273 860. 

with love,
Bash.

*provided a complimentary procedure
in exchange for post*
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Monday, 4 March 2019

Why I'm No Longer Talking To White People About Race


*insert 
'you're so racist to white people' 
comment here*

"We're living in a post-racial society."
"I don't see colour."
"You're exaggerating."

I am not writing this for white people. I am writing this for catharsis.

The acceptance I am not going to please everyone, especially those whose ideas are already set. I am too SJW, too PC, too feminist. I've become so desensitized that they aren't insulting anymore. I find those people ignorant.

I'm making mountains out of molehills. It's not a big deal. Stay quiet, stay complicit.

"You're doing this for attention."


It's scary to know you feel different because you are different.

They don't see color because they never needed to confront their race. Worried that the color of their skin affects reality's perception of them and vice-versa. I walk a dangerous line every day, trying to fit in without erasing my Muslim and Asian identity - just enough that I don't get called a terrorist on the streets anymore.

"No, you're prettier without your hijab."
"Take that thing off."
"You don't really believe, do you?"

I hear people comment at the expense of us. My first reaction is to shout and cause a scene. Instead, my lips are tight and they stay silent. I can't challenge people who have made up their mind. It cannot always be me who educates the uneducated. It's mentally exhausting to explain basic human morality to people who don't want to listen anyway.

When someone looks at me, they think Asian. They think immigrant. They think 'you don't belong here.'

That's fine. I don't want a place that doesn't want me.


For my law modules and my own commitment to read books written by women of colour this year, I've been reading intersectional feminist literature. One book that came highly recommended was Why I'm No Longer Talking To White People About Race by Reni Eddo-Lodge. The stories of Black struggles in the UK hidden in history.

I am not black. I will never learn fully understand their struggles in an ever-divided society, but I can relate. The colonization of Brunei, the White Rajah of Sarawak, and the lasting effects of colonialism. We will never know a life without British invasion because we still reel in the effects.

The past is the past, but we are still affected now. That doesn't change. Systematic oppression and casual racism still strong, and the rise of racially-motivated attacks are ignored by the public. I can't keep screaming or else I'd lose my voice.



There's no point to this post. It was written after finish a good book, and having one too many conversations where there was no conclusion. Rather than attempting to reaffirm bias, stop instead. Challenge the bias and listen to the minority.

I will start talking when white people start listening.
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Friday, 1 February 2019

I'm Still Alive


I'm still here, still breathing, still alive. Just tired.


I'm growing a bit more tired every day. 

School life, personal life, and professional life seem to clash every other day. It's a perpetual balance except everything's falling and the metaphor is all wrong. I know I complain too much. My therapist thinks so too but she phrases it differently. Figure out what you want out of life, give yourself space, take a break. So I did. 

And I hated it. 


I'm not suited for a quiet life. 

As melodramatic as it sounds, boredom is my worst fear. I realised that after three months of silence on this blog. I wanted to write but lacked inspiration, I didn't have to write, I needed the space. I crave the silence but I know if I had a day of nothing, I'd grow anxious. I would start another side-hustle whilst learning how to juggle and do the splits. I'd make myself busy.

Not a good idea for someone who is physically, emotionally and mentally, a f*cking mess.


Look.

I know I'm a mess.

I once cried to models at an ASOS photoshoot I organized because I thought I hadn't eaten the whole day, only to find a half-eaten veggie wrap in my schoolbag. That was my dinner in the evening and breakfast the next morning.

I'm the most functional dysfunctional mess you'll meet, but I'm still a mess nonetheless.

Work is piling up, law school makes me cry, graduation is looming over me, and don't get me started on relationships. My life is crumbling. I'm barely clinging on with chipped nails gripping at the edges. At least I'm still here and alive.

Sometimes, I think that's the best thing I do now.


"I'm still alive and I have to stay alive," has been my main mantra since I was nineteen. I don't know if that's a good thing anymore.

I'm about to graduate. That terrifies me. It's the time where I need to find a place in this world, wherever that is, or else I'm going to float through as I have the past three years. I'm not ready at all. Staying alive is great, I'm breathing and I'm okay. I just have to start living again.

God help me.

How was your 2018?
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