I AM THE AUTHOR?

Who holds a pan? I do!

I'm the author of my life and I choose this world to be my altar. Forever straggling to stay on it with my both feet, extracting confidence from within and be bold at the same time. Being creative in my fun, not caring if I look ridiculous, must learn to love a fool in me. Let my soul be free even when I feel tinni tiny, so tiny, anyone one can fit me in a pocket and take me where I don't choose to go. But I must keep fighting for my integrity and stay true through all the endings, hoping some of them will be disguised in new beginnings.

Constantly waiting in fear I missed something. A sign, a joke, a dream forgotten. I write in fear of forgetting, so one day I'll convince myself I held the pan, I had control over what was meant to be. When I only write of happy days, praying the bad and ugly won't matter in so many years and will be safe under the carpet that I nailed to the floor.

It is a fountain pan I am holding. Curving my 'g's' and 'y's' beautifully. Like love, ink isn't endless. Having to choose what to make last till the end of time, making me nervous. Questioning how important is the now? Very? Wait for the next now. Maybe I am just greedy? Reminding myself that expectations and assumptions are the thief of joy. Making sure to count my blessings.

Remember, remember, remember. Isn't that living in the past? Or just a search of what was it, and it was good. Does it matter at all? Yes, it does, in my books, in my diary.

Sitting on the end of the world, to be quite exact, the second southest point, deep into the ocean, that I turned my back to, ignoring the wave swellings, they don't mean anything to me, yet. And still wondering who is holding the pan?

All the things that I believe never fail to amaze me and that is why I think I'm ill.

I USED TO DO THIS AS A CHILD

ONLY IF FOR A NIGHT

I know I should stand and fight. I know its expected of me to concentrate and be practical. Witty and gracious when needed. Strong and delicate at the same time.


But when the night comes...I don't want to stand, I don't want to have to fight. I want to lie down next to you and let my guard down. Let the sky be so black against my white night-dress. Let go off the day and of all that is about and what it was supposed to be. I want to be naked, egoless and comfortable. Only if for a night, everything could be gameless and easy and for you to think me beautiful when most vulnerable. For you to want to lie next to me and just be. Like that. 


Just for a night which has nothing to do with the way I walk or talk, or ocean, or the mug I left on the coffee table to be knocked down by the wind because I refuse to close the door. Or the way I see you. Instead, it has everything to do with re-birth, an amazing tomorrow and a chance, once more, to be better. 


At night I analyse, re-live the day that just expired by the sun hiding underneath the horizon, I think about all the things I have to do by the raising of the same sun. Watching my life unfold in front of my eyes, demanding to know if I am happy with it, while I just want to fold, press my knees against my chest. Not go into the depth of my childhood and when it all began and why. Dark in my room is shoulda, coulda, woulda have done/do color. How I should stop smoking, of all the countries I could travel to,all the loves I should have made, something about running to, about rise and fall, how are stars and the bones I am made of the same color, all the dances upon the tables, all the things I wanted to say but it was too late, all the things I have had said when should have forced a patient smile and nod my head. 


At night I want to give myself to gravity's way and feel weightless, feel the tidal pull. Spoon me, listen to the night-its one of the sounds I like best. It's almost similar to the sound of a seashell's twist against my ear, when really is the whooshing of my blood. Wait for the dream to come, sooner if not before. Only if for the night could be all clear as day. 


Only if for a night I could be without my cloths and colors I choose for that day, without my attitude, without the spectrum, feathers and all that is chocking me when awake. Without answering, explaining and excusing, without moving out of the way or politely asking for more space. My bed, my space, my place. 


Each morning the only solution is to stand up and fight. Choose happiness if I had my way, if I was my own God.


But only if for a night I could just be. Just like that. 

DOUBLE EDGED SWORD

I am a whole lot of people, trying to be one person.

Sometimes I am only yours melting all my desires into one, and that is to get to know you. Sometimes I am not leaving but distancing myself. Sometimes I am a loner and I like it then the best. Sometimes I am a dreamer. Sometimes a realist. Sometimes a pessimist, but most of the time an optimist. Sometimes I feel beautiful, sometimes I feel rejected by the whole world. Sometimes I am a happy creature, but sometimes I cry. Sometimes I am a shadow talker, sometimes I scream and yell. Sometimes I am high, sometimes gravity has its way with me. Sometimes I breath life in, sometimes I feel like exploding. Sometimes I am my own superhero-girl, sometimes I am my worst enemy. Sometimes I am a lover, sometimes a bitch. Sometimes I am a writer, sometimes I am just tired. Sometimes I work hard, sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I love, and sometimes I need to be loved. Sometimes I don't shut up and rarely listen. Sometimes I am hiding, if you find me, come and get me, by waiting we are growing further apart. Sometimes I am good in maths, sometimes I suffocate in the aftermath of what I have done. Sometimes I am a mystery gone wild, sometimes a pending engagement. Sometimes I am the answer, sometimes a problem, still I do it all. Sometimes I am good. Sometimes I am wrong. Sometimes I say 'there is so much more', sometimes 'fuck off'. Sometimes I am in the moment, sometimes I want to be somewhere else. Sometimes I brighten the day, sometimes I am fading fast. Sometimes I am OK with drawning, the other days I swim for my life. Sometimes I believe I write for you, sometimes I don't know why I write. Sometimes I stuff my eyes with wonder, the other times I am seeing all the wrong things, searching for the flaws. Sometimes I am a carer, sometimes I am a killer and a thief of joy. Sometimes I am the host, sometimes a guest. Sometimes I am a political animal and sometimes a smitten kitten, sometimes I am not your baby. Sometimes just an animal. Sometimes I am a waitress, sometimes a customer. Sometimes I am my own.

Sometimes, most of the time, I just don't know.

Sometimes I don't care.

STANDING IN MY OWN TRUTH

 My makers gave me a difficult name. A name that insists on the full use of the tongue. A name that allows me not to trust the ones that cannot pronounce it. While all of the time I thought it was my folly. Its just the word, so I forgave, excused myself shyly, explained countless time, tried to make them understand, worried about first impressions, whether they liked me. It's just a word and with words there is always a loss. How are we expected to tell the truth with only 26 letters? Is this why I give my body and throw my lips against yours, so I won't need to apologize for who I came to be named?

I am a barer of the name that demands you to tell me nothing but the truth.

And to tell you a little secret...I am going to name our daughter a difficult name too.

WHAT BECOMES HER?

Poster says 'WORK HARD & BE KIND TO PEOPLE', I am kinda working and am hard to people. I know that my darling & me will have a strange life, but for now...baby be good, baby be gone.

In the process of translating dreams into plans, somehow I have forgotten night-terrors are dreams too. I am awake in the later one. I remember when I used to be a Mistress of Nowness-when I ruled the world, when I was bigger than life when now, I cannot wait for now to expire, shoulder high.

I am not comfortable with the shades of grey filling the skull not playing for the same team. Making the eyes believe that everything they see is the blackest thing they ever saw. There is no hood in sisterhood of direction I want my thoughts to follow and of what I yell. Maybe 'to the sea'? Where there is horizon for I could once again feel like the center of the universe? Stop the cosmic storm breaking my knees.

Whatever you are 'self-actualization', I am not calling you a ghost, but stop haunting me. I am game, let's play! But stop biting the beautiful imagination out of me. Be whatever color but not silver, for there won't be linings. Instead, profess beauty, plain and magical into my life also, amazing grace and moment's gaze would be much appreciated .Give me a sudden thunder, so I'll know I am alive. But don't send me love, I wouldn't know what to make of it.

Could the answer be 'try a little less'? How could I ever give up? I want to be forever young, how am I expected to say goodbye forever? Am I expected to stare at the black hole and do nothing about it? Or could I please, curl up and become one? A heart full of things, but who shall I tell? Allure me to an answer for my mind is a razor blade. Can someone's paradise blow me away?

Where can I hire am octopus? I need a hug!

I'll prove I can take it on my own...                             Silence

THIS TOO SHALL PASS

I don't know who 'me' is lately. It's hard, it's weighting me down , it's confusing, it's negative, it's unhappy, it wants to cry all the time, eyes heavy, it's chaos, it's not pure like I used to be, it's unlike 'me'. Living on borrowed skin.

I feel alone, not lonely. House is full of children and pets and parents and food and friends, comers and goers. Our door is always open, like a church portal, everyone is welcome and mum and I love playing hosts. It has been this way since they invented doors to close, but not in our house, not in my house. I wouldn't know any other way, but I don't have alone time. And when I am at home because I cannot be happy not even in the sun, I haunt for lesser evil. It exhausts me. Why does my heart feel so bad?

I cannot sit and just be. Once I ran towards me, now I am running away. Get in touch with whatever I call 'my muse'. I cannot hear her from the screams of my life. She is not loud but she is always right. I cannot feel her.If I saw anything great, it was long time ago. Haven't kissed anyone in a long time. Rather, I feel negative arrows pressing me from all the directions, poking every inch of my body, crushing my will, I am kneeling now, my head bowed, ashamed. There is nothing sweet about me now. I am disgusted by myself how can I blame you for not wanting me now? 


With whole word against me (for that is how I feel) there is nothing to hold on to, to pull me up. I've got only myself and I do not know who me is! My eyes shut hard from the pain, unable to see the light. My head at my feet, cannot look up to see the salvage. My arms tied behind my back, can't reach. I'm biting my tongue, can't express, can't explain...sitting there crying. 


Now I've got only dark to shine, burning bright. 
But this too shall pass. 

ONE IN A MILLION

I am able to love without agenda, without any reservations, without the fear of getting hurt, without the fear of loosing you and that part of me that you shall become. I can get over anything and anyone, time is always on my side. So many are too cynical, too angry, too hurt, too cool to fall head over heels. To let another swipe them of their feet. While my feet are merely touching the ground waiting for the whole body to be lifted and thrown down the waterfall.

Don't worry of my heart breaking. Because it doesn't, it only ever bends. My mind is always on my hearts side. I don't care what the captain says, I follow my heart. My ears don't hear you, your compliments, your sweet talk that will eventually undress me, but only listen to my intuition and what the tummy wants.

I am aware of what choices delivered me here. I know who's the boss of me. I know how I came to be under. But I cannot be forever down, nothing is forever. Whilst my brain will create new memories and new neuron pathways that will get stronger by each day. And when I am down for a long time, the only way is up up up. Devotion rushes out of me like lava, burning everything in site. After my love there is nothing left expect the echo of my emotions, fading slowly. I write LOVE in Caps. Plus, I have the luxury of leaving.

I know how to seduce, I studied the history of female leg. And when is breaking over me, I just lie down and cough my crooked soul onto my pillow and take time to develop another one. That is why you'll never sleep in my bed and that is why I always love as for the first time. Time without consequences. You might think me naive and  innocent, couldn't be more wrong honey.

Even if you are cold to me, its sweet for the sinner like me. You might be playing hard to get, hot & cold, it amuses me and drives me towards you. Yeah, that is my weakness, also weak arms. But I've got too much self-respect to be anyone's second choice or to stand seeing through you while you are incapable of making a decision, polite inconsideration of my future with you. I don't have time, or patience for a man of that sort. That's the darkest side of my heart and that is my defensive mechanism which I am not planning to put down. Although I am too honest in my self-acceptance to have any walls or prejudice for the next one to come and meet my open gates. 

All of the time I have a feeling that I am meant to do something extraordinary and I choose you to acquire. You should be a lucky one.

I am very lucky to be able to love again and again. I am truly blessed.

COLLAPSE INTO ME

Once and for all, I ask you not to fall in love with me. I want you to collapse into me, to jump without checking the temperature of the water first. It is OK if you are scared, that is the only way to be brave. And I need you to be brave with me, I need you to have the courage to treat me like a woman.

I know you've been hurt before, also that you hurt too. But I don't care if you do it to other. Do shut up! Every time it rains, it stopped raining! I want us to be the only couple that is able to make love across the crowded room. I want to lean over you, just out of the shower, my hair falling over your face, smelling familiar, leaking light, warming your smile. Close your eyes so I can kiss them.

I want to give you everything. I carry in me everything I will ever possibly need and I need you to take that and cherish it, let it become your cloths that will soak into your skin, and your skin soak into the bones of you, and the marrow and the dust that shall become of it, I am always on my way back. I need you to find everything that you have been searching for living inside of me.

I want you not to be scared to join me, to come home to me where I'll thank you and change your idea of heaven. Change it to be our bed, the sheets and me. I want to talk to you in that bed and fall asleep whilst. I need us to have good sex and loads of it. I like being alone in that bed of ours, but I think I'd like it better if I was alone with you. Forever would be fine with me, with you.

And every time you go away, I don't miss you, I miss us. I don't love you, I love us. I need you to realize that  before me you were merely surviving and that we should start living together today! Will you understand if I don't mourn the loss of what I was before you? 


I need you to go with me to the gallery and kiss me in front of a real big painting. I need you not to fall in love, I need you to take me and I ask you to give yourself to me. 

LOVE IS NOISE AND EVERYTHING ELSE TOO

I speak the truth, it is not always kind, and I am not sorry. But there is more to the spaces screaming of what I do not speak. It is another story here, another one in my clenched fists, and yet another in what I do. I write to empty my skull, put down issues so they won't paralyse me. I write to remember because I can not stand the thought of forgetting the all I have seen, the all I have heard. I wish never to forget but to shine in the afterglow of my words. I wish for many things. Nicest things.

Yes, it might be about you, but is for me.

Give me a cigarette, for what I wrote last is vulnerable in my head. Its what makes me weak. It is not what I said. Touch me to hear me. Kiss me behind my knees, its what makes my legs run. Its what makes me strong. I spilled the words and now my fingers are too wide apart to collect them and put them back in the safety of my left front lobe. Go on pretending I never thought of it, ever. Keeping my issues strong too.

It is another story of my smile. Of the dinosaurs's and gardens in my head. Old fashion movies, is just the piece of me. It is another story of my eyes that are the greenest springs and fear what they cannot see. It is another story of how I found strength to get up the eighth time and commit the nine crimes. But that doesn't define me. We all make mistakes. We are all made of the same stuff, the same stars.

It is what you want to hear. What you want to see. I cannot blame you for it, or judge your invalid cinema of ridicule your shows for I didn't feel anything when attended to what you wanted me to see.

It is the connection when all is quite. Can you sit alone with yourself? Can you sit in silence with me forever ago and know what I am feeling, behind the noise of what we might say? Words can hurt. Don't make me cry, make me laugh. Touch me to hear me.

Can I really explain? I try, I try, everyday. It is never the whole truth, it will never be.

Maybe this all doesn't make sense, doesn't mean anything. Fuck you, they are MY words and I will never stop!

DOES YOUR HEART NEED HOLDING?

Does your heart need holding? I stretch my arms. My hands are soft in all the right places. My fingers can hold and protect your heart better than your crushable ribcage. You can trust me. I can love you endlessly.

If you ask me what 'Love' is, I might use tiny words to describe it like 'Me', 'You', 'Forever' and I will always fail. But you can lend me your heart to hold it up to the stream of light and let it warm you up whole. If you ask me Love, I'll answer Love.

If you need a shoulder to cry onto, I will offer you all my body. If you need your waves to crush, I will be your proud Lighthouse. Still and quite, hard-headed, lighting the way for all your ships carrying hope to come safe into the harbour, to home. I can be your beach with soft send where you can fall from the far above when you look into the mirror reflection of my eyes, the abyss of the dark rooms behind those eyes calling your soul. The hypnotised effect of my stare from the admiration for you.

If you need ideas, I'll spread my thoughts out to sun, and walk you through each one of them. If you need a house, we have four hands together. If you need life, I have a womb. If you need a magic word, there isn't one. But there is will and no ego, and there are tears of honesty, and gold of the laughter, and pictures of memories.

If you need a direction, I'll point you to your feet. Look at what your body had made. Look at your hands, look at me now standing naked and humble before you, but never look back. Because we only have this moment. And now and now and now.

Just tell me you need me and I'll stay and fight.

TODAY'S LEVITATION

A blank page full of opportunities. Lies there. It is just there, quite and inviting. An infinitive space for secrets and truth to withhold and keep. A place for every thought to expand and form. Official now for eternity. Can't go back, can't erase it, can't make it disappear or pretend it never occurred. But there is always another page, even more promising, like a tomorrow.

A love song, a broken prose? A journal log telling of the colours of the sky of that Tuesday? Or a box where all he wrote is. Asking to save him, to come back for him. Forgive me.

It is not that there is not anything for me to speak of, it is the fear of what I might tell. I'm alone? How broken I am and naked in your arms? A letter bagging you to stay? Or how strong I am,  fighting the dark? But what's the use, you won't be honest with me.

When I was a child I always knew why, I knew what to write, no prejudice of what is real. No pain. Every day then was something new and exciting, while now I am documenting the patterns of my behaviour, trying to chart it in order not to fall in a well of desperation again. Now for the love of God, it's sunny outside!

Damn you!

Oh, why is it more natural to feel this way and write of this stuff, why is it harder to write when high on dopamine? Damn me!

All that will make me better it is on my disposal, I am only in my twenties sucking on the resources of the world not paying taxes, but I just want to stay in my bed, hungry. I don't want to feel better, I do not deserve it, not yet anyhow.

I know I need to suffer, I need to know I have to pay, also I know I am going places. It is all leather and rust. Ageless and old.

WHY DO KIDS DRAW MONSTERS AND ADULTS DON'T?

This is not based on any truth of any kind, backed by no research, supported by no facts.

I've just came across the above title that most probably, hopefully, is complimented with an article that is backed by scientific facts and actual proof (whatever I mean by 'actual proof'). But this is my theory that answers this inquiry. My process of thought.

A kid draws monsters as they have no knowledge or previous experience of consequences. Yet the basic awareness of such is present. The worst thing imaginable that can happen to a kid is to be abducted by or eaten by monsters if misbehaved.With no insight into the 'real' world, this is the only world possible to them. Monsters are their ultimate suffering, a hell designed for children.

Since the child could distinguish colour and recognize the voice of its mother reading at bed-time, more often than not they are fed on stories where Good fights Evil. So, from the very first understanding of the world, children are equipped with knowing of the existence of good and bad. A sensible parent would not introduce the bad of the world by stating (here to say, everything a parent speaks it is the only truth), there are some bad people, which look and behave as mummy and daddy do, but by introducing fairy-tale monsters. They differ from people, they might be bigger in size, definitely uglier and most scary. Hence, the first child's fear it is the fear of monsters.

As every fear is there to control the scared, parents (all parents at some point in time) do manipulate it to their advantage. To get their kid to calm down, go to sleep, not wonder off and much more. Sometimes, to protect them too. Since I can remember, I was mortified by the idea of bugs. During the thunder-storm, I would jump in lap of mum, dad, grandmother, whoever was the closest and to calm me down, they used to say, 'There is nothing to be scared of, nothing will happen to you, to us. That noise are just bugs riding their mopeds to work. Yes, they are driving too fast, they must be late.' And it did used to calm me down, I wasn't scared of thunder-storm any longer. But, most certainly, the mental images of bugs on mopeds, and what kind of jobs they had were storming my brain.

I believe, if I had to draw a 'not so nice weather', the master piece would depict large bugs on even larger mopeds flying above and sideways around my house. Maybe, even if the appointed subject was not 'not so nice weather'. I (a kid) would still choose to draw this picture. This would be something I'd vividly remember.

For a child the only happiness is in its family and home. The togetherness, safety and too much love. Monsters are the only ones who could take that away from the child or remove the child from it.

Since the beginning of time, there always was something designed or created to be feared above ourselves, something/someone bigger, mightier, something we can not control. Religion is one such invention. A need to believe into that something bigger, try and trust that things do happen for reason due to Him, Her, It acting in mysterious ways. If religion or anything of that calibre was not invented, we would only be left to fear ourselves, our own kind which would lead to self-destruction.    

BETWEEN TWO LUNGS

It took millions of years for evolution to build me a rib-cage. To protect my heart. One of my lungs sacrificed  its size for my heart to be stationed there, comfortable, warm and un-harmfully hugged. When it sacrificed its area it also sacrificed the volume of my breath intake to feed my every dividing cell. I remember when I had gills and a tale. In those days everything started to grow rapidly in order to surround my heart, and hold it there in the middle, biting the life into me.

It is soft and fragile. It is no bone and filled with no marrow. But with a red liquid containing iron. The iron that collects oxygen from my masochistic lungs. Making my chest go wider with every breath I take. With every hope.

My heart, all tender and sweet has been bruised by ones before you. I know how a bruise forms. Also, it contains secrets and heartaches. It holds too, a corner, a very small corner for the sins I will never commit but somehow thought of already. It contains my loses and my prides. From when the boy across the street cut my Barbie's hair, when I got the school certificate with top marks, when the organizer of the tournament put the gold medal over my head leaving it to hang over my not yet developed girl boobs,  to when he left me crying and dancing alone to the songs of the past. It contains my regrets and dreams. When I realized I would not get into university to strongly believing that my hands are shaped to hold and re-live another person's heart. It contains all my 'what ifs' and my insecurities. My loves.

Evolution took such long time to make my anatomy as fit for survival as for feeling the pains and tickles, heat and colds. It made my chromosomes combine perfectly and all my enzymes find their match. My helix makes a beautiful spiral and my atoms float and let float through me wonderfully. I am perfect and there is no one truer than me than myself in this body containing this crooked soul coated with the skin that is resilient to the winds and the sun.

I may be made from flesh and blood, add here H2O, but don't forget that my heart is pumping  iron through all my body reaching every limb, every tip of toes and fingers, all the way up to my jealous brain. I may be flesh and blood but I am stronger than I think I am, and no matter how many times I fall, I will rise again.

My heart is my source, my life, my everything and what does make you think I will serve it to you on a silver plate? My ears can disappoint and let your words undress me, but you'd have to posses the skills and wear a halo of my hero to win my heart and illuminate me whole.

And only then I will be your lamb.

LANGUAGE IN WHICH 'ME' IS CAPITAL

i learned English, so i became. My dreams and daydreams are reviling themselves in English before my inner eye. My thoughts are forming themselves in English. i am in love with the language, with the words and the sentences they make and voids they fill in me. Like the sea fills the voids of the earth. What water gave me is what paper gave me too. Life. Self. The self i am so sure of, for if i had to understand it or explain it, is like water slipping through my fingers. Forever trying to catch it, banding my back and the sound of it breaking under the weight of the feeling. Forever searching.

i learned English and i learned that me has to be capital 'I'. So I became. I became capital, self-important, egoistic, selfish and kind. The only way I can be. I can only be selfishly kind. No return of the same does not hurt me. Because the I is like a temple that lets light through the windows withholding the Venetian glass, dressing me in all divine colours, painting my story where I write people in and write people out. Forever trying to catch the light and trace its points to their origin, but it splits and bends. Mirrors on the walls for the light to reflect. Maybe I am not ready for the answer. Forever searching.

I am the narrative. The only way I can be. Filled with words not facts. That is how I can create and change. How I make my realities which are not matter based and nothing is relevant. Where creatures can steal time, shape it and have a leap year every year. My sense is making itself and my body is silence I keep breaking.

Words help me express. Unyielding structures of my emotions. Writing them down, I empty my skull. Words keep making me who I think I might be. When I read a verse of a genius that seems indifferent to judgement and criticism but cares only of getting his message across, butterflies in my tummy go mental. When I hear profoundly spoken my eyes tear up. I too discovered the beauty of the language that fills the pages of all the books I keep putting against the walls, on the stairs, in the shelves and on the high of my wardrobe full of drawers containing secret compartments. I changed as a by-product of Shakespeare and many before him and those after him.

I love in English. First time I fell in love was in English. Now, I can only say 'I LOVE YOU'  and mean it. Be fully committed to those three words. And now, I love an English man.

ONE HAPPY GIRL

Didn't give a shout for a long time so here is a scream. A recapture of past events, and today's.

Honestly, last few weeks have been crazy busy with social gatherings and outgoings, making empty excuses to myself how I should enjoy my full calendar and write later whilst the guilt of 'writing comes first, friends, cinema, etc afterwards' was doing my head. Then I reminded myself that I do not have guilt and should enjoy the moment and do what makes me happy, as I have always.

I made a schedule for my writing and am trying to stick to it, its a good one! I am trying to catch up on Book  Club readings and still read what I want. We went for a dinner in THE best Indian restaurant on the island with Jo, Drew, Camila & Paddy. I made the worst birthday cake for E. Heart-attack on a plate. Waste of sugar and pinabutter. Was an awesome afternoon. Had a fall out with my man and he got me flowers. My first flowers! Screamed 'surprise' at Denise's surprise birthday party which came handy as I couldn't make it to her birthday lunch the next day. At the party was too honest when speaking how a girl's brain works. Mattias was shocked.  He learned something. Attended Runway fashion show in support of my best Jo. She was fabulous! Attending the show actually made me feel something. After the shows were over, live band played-new kids with the kicks- I like. Felt that was the place I wanted to be in that moment. Went for over-due lunch with Pavli. By the way, started writing for her again. And did my first interview with her.On Tuesday last week wore my best dress and made my man fall in love with me again. Cindarella had shoes, Tea has THE dress. We went to a Thai restaurant, waaay overpriced but my prawns were evil delicious. And a drink at MedAsia afterwards. On Friday was E's birthday party. Danced my night away with Jo & Ana like in the good old days. The next day was St. Petrick's where I got the chance to wear green trousers. Watched my first game of rugby and fell in love with the sport. What took me so long! Managed to date a captain of the rugby team and still didn't know that the ball was egg shaped and that they don't score 'touch-downs', also there is an invisible line called 'bridge' or something in those lines. #10 of England's team. Yam! On Sunday was Inga's wedding. Can't believe one of us actually did it! She was beautiful and my boyfriend told me I was beautiful too. Bought me a diary.

But not all is fun & games. Yesterday was bad & ugly. A blue day for me. I felt broken, empty and blaaah. What I love the most about days like that is having that someone to turn it and make it better. S took me  again to that Indian restaurant and afterwards we just lied in bed, listening to the radio and laughing. Now, I fell in love again. Plus today, as I am off, went for an early coffee with Milja and got some much needed vitamin D which made me feel alive once again. The return of enthusiasm and will to celebrate life and its little wonders. A will to run for the president of T's club where I am the chairman too and the only member where  I campaign on taking over the world with positive thinking and kindness. Waiting for summer to come when summer is already in me!

I feel so happy today! I feel like me! I feel like I am in love and in love with the feeling. If I had wings I would fly!

I AM YOUNG, POOR & HAVE A GOOD TASTE

As much enjoying being the title, giving me the opportunity to be creative, re-design, think twice, having something to dream and live for to achieve, there is one BIG regret that wakes up with me and goes to sleep with me.

'I'm fine, I'm fine. At moment I took a break from Thailand, so I went on a holiday to Cambodia. Nice weather, you know me..enjoying the walks. But I am calling to see what did you manage to do about your University. Are you going to school, are you studying?' Let's journey back and trace the origin of my relationship with my grandfather, which words were these. There's none! He never calls. Doesn't even remember my birthday, let alone something else. But we are not going to expand here on his selfishness but the tragedy of me not getting on and becoming an academic. Being the biggest and for now the only regret.

Apart from no knowledge of English language at time when I had to do the exams on that tongue, many other unfortunate events played their part. Neither into these we are going to go any deeper, no point of victimizing myself over the incidents that I'm not able to change.

Due to the undesirable pride I could not tell my grandfather that one of the main reasons for my sudden stop of schooling was the lack of money, which by the way, he has too much of. Instead, I assured him that I am preparing  to read English Language and Literature. Second best after Medicine-which will never happen. Only thing I have from my passion of being a surgeon is the actual jealousy over others in the field.

The shocking phone call did make me sit down, catch my breath and re-examine 'What the hell am I not doing anything concrete with my life and why, oh why am I not exercising my brain and studying something?!' Knowledge is free. If I wanted to learn something, it is available to the young and poor with a good taste, just have to try harder. The phone call haunted me.

Until! At work, I tripped over a big bag filled with books. Somebody forgot it, left it? For me? I dived into it. After finding out whose books are those, I called Tim and asked if I may have them. It was a positive.

Universe answered back by giving me exactly what I needed. 'Modern Criticism and Theory'- Lodge & Wood, 'The short Oxford history of English Literature'- Andrew Sanders and 'The Cambridge Encyclopedia of Language'- David Crystal.

If he calls again, the answer will be 'I am studying English Language and Literature', although have a feeling he'll call in 10 years asking where his great-great children are!

DAY DREAMING...WISH YOU WERE HERE

INSPIRATION- I can't write when I am happy

When started this little chronology of random, beautiful, me being a flaneur in world of words and self expression,prime idea was for it to be a happy place. With happy thoughts and positive thinking and 'all the extraordinary days and ideas'-still got them though. Refusing to write when even slightly unhappy, tired or moody. Being afraid it would be as dark as the colour of the beast, whiny, too deep with no sense to it. Endless inquiries about the state.

But I had to try it, had to see it for myself how it sounds. Until I write it down I don't know what I think, therefore no rytham or colour is visible to the thought reflection. And that is how firstly I ate caviar and cried, This answers that question, I just haven't met you yet, She could tell by the way he was standing came about. Writing it, was as natural, more honest therefore meaningful, emotional more complete and not as random. Putting it out there, staring at the 'publish post' button and actually pressing it, felt reviving, freeing and scary, all at the same time.

People (3 of my friends and my mum) responded to it. Most importantly, I enjoyed writing the truth and saying how it is without any prejudice. It came to be clearer to see, going 'back there' and writing in that 'blaaah' state than when am euphoric or immeasurably frenzy. And now...don't even bother thinking of writing when happy. Useless-waste of time which I devour.

When I am happy I think its forever, as a butterfly thinks it has a forever. The gland drowning in dopamine, foggy unformed stolen ideas going nowhere fast. Unrealistic perception of what is around me and helplessly feeling lucky.

But that is not an excuse. I will, I must, learn how to divorce myself from that unwanted, unnecessary state- happiness, in order to produce magic or

tragedy, then go back to being a smitten kitten that I only know how to be.

THE MOUTH AND THE KNIFE

'If you cut your hair, you can travel Europe.'

I woke up instantly.

Aia came into my dream, out of nowhere, and said the above. My eyes wide open, I turned my head and there lies my man, a complete work of art-'I can't just go to Europe'.

What is it that I need to let go off?

Chocolate, Cigarettes, apparently Long Hair, Warm, Good Days and sunny Tuesdays are just some of my addictions and habits. Aia meant, or I think she did, if I manage to get rid of one-ain't no stopping us now.

I wish I knew how to leave pieces of myself behind in order to feel the sun and rain fully. If I obtained something already, that is not me anymore, for I grew and deepened for that much, hence I don't need it anymore as it is now part of who I was. So, hanging onto what exactly? For me to fully comprehend and understand this is like helping a Retard to know God.

No, I do not want to become a mightier self, don't want to control me, I want to be free and do as I please. Though, Aia's 'message'/ 'order'/ 'advice' is hanging above me head in a shape of a green question mark. Don't know where the green colour came from?!

...Maybe if I just colour my hair? Nope, as I am sure mummy and daddy gave me this colour to match my eyes. Or just cut it a little bit? Maybe...

Universe will give me an answer in matter or some time and that would be exactly what I need. Whatever the answer would be, am just glad that I got to question and reflect, and self-obsess a bit more. The doubts over my addiction come knocking on every locked door.