What if I just skipped Christmas?...

What if you can just say to everyone: 'Sorry, there'll be no Christmas cards from me this year, I won't buy any presents, I won't be putting up a Christmas tree and I won't spend Christmas Day with my family eating myself to death, so please just skip me this year!' True, you may miss on the office Christmas party but there'll be other occasions to drink like a fish and make a fool of yourself in front of Jane from HR and Tom from Finance by calling them 'lesbians'. Sure, everyone will think you've gone crazy and try and talk you out of it but only if you stand by your decision, maybe you can feel liberated by the fact that you don't have to become a victim of the Christmas season and follow all the other zombies sweating around Topshop in search for a present for your teeange cousin who you haven't seen since she was in diapers...

Ok, maybe I'm a bit harsh. After all I do have a family who I love spending Christmas with and I do love making a fool of myself at the office Christmas party. I also do like the lights on Oxford Street (though this year they are a bit disappointing - I mean umbrellas? really? what's that got to do with Christmas?...) and man I do like a nice Christmas turkey (or pork, if I'm in Romania, for that matter!). But what I hate about it is that Christmas has become an almost unbearable marketing pressure. To wear the best outfit, to buy the best presents, to get the perfect roast, the loveliest decorations, the best tree, the most prestigious looking Christmas cards, a boyfriend to visit eachother's families with etc etc. 


I don't remember when I stopped liking Christmas. Maybe during the only year my dad brought home a real Christmas tree and we decorated it like all the other families do. Because after that year I felt we ought to have Christmas like everyone else. Only it never happened again. My parents got divorced, we moved away, I grew up, left my country, spent many Christmases away from home, some of them working, some of them just alone in a London which gets eerily quiet on Christmas Day... I guess I spent too many Christmases that didn't match the marketing picture perfect I always thought Christmas should be to care anymore. I became numb to Christmas! But somehow, without realising, I kept trying. If only I tried harder with each passing year, if only I went home often enough and had my Mum put up a Christmas tree for my sake, if only I did a good deed on Christmas Day, if only, if only... But everytime something went missing. Either a cancelled flight, or a cold house, or a party I didn't belong to, or a guy I was waiting to get a call from... Somehow Christmas was always going wrong. 


But not this year. because I finally realised I don't care! I don't care about Christmas, because it is not me. Sure, I go along with it, but I don't feel it belongs to me. My life so far didn't have a lot of Christmas in it so this is me: somebody who'd rather run away to a hot place and sip on pina coladas while others are waiting for Santa and play in the snow. I'll let you in a little secret though: the moment I stopped caring, my life just filled up with all the Christmas in the world! Despite not planning to go home this year, a friend offered me the opportunity of a free plane ticket and it looks like I will, after all, spend Christmas with my Mum and perhaps the rest of my scattered, crazy but adorable family. Despite toying with the thought of being true to myself and skip this whole Christmas business, my lovely flatmate who is the most passionate supporter of the holiday season I've ever met, set up on a mission to get me all Christmassy and I find this very sweet. 

I think perhaps, besides it all, I am a Christmas person. Because it's not about the marketing of it, the decorations, the Christmas cards, the office party, the Christmas tree, the perfect setting and the perfect family affair etc, it's about the people in my life and yes, I can say it now, this is probably about the best Christmas I've ever had!

A healthy bit of sadness

Source: creattica.com

I wonder if sometimes we're not  meant to be a bit sad, if there isn't a healthy level of blues we just have to go through in order to function properly?... Have I been too busy keeping myself positive and energetic to the point that it is actually wearing me out? Am I too afraid of being sad?...

Ever since my teenage years. I've been a victim of my own mind, my own anguish, my own worries, my volatile self-esteem. Until now... Until about a year ago when I discovered that I have the power of controlling how I feel and I decided I would only feel good about things. And this is what's I've been dilligently doing: pumping my levels of positivity like an athlete getting ready for the Olympics, relentlessly, thruthfully, continously. Even when I ought to feel sad, I won't allow myself to be so anymore, because there is no way I would go back to feeling depressed and demoralised.

But when against my best intentions and my efforts, a diffuse sadness still creeps in, I wonder whether I shouldn't just let it happen. My body starts aching, my energy levels are low and yet I still refuse to surrender. I force myself to keep up with  my exercising schedule, to attend all the social events which holiday season forces upon us, until I realise my body is sending me signals. That perhaps I should stop. Just feel miserable for a little bit, feel the holiday blues, or anything of the sort. Yes, the nights are longer and the days are shorter and, yes, a little bit of sadness is okay.  And being tired of having to go out everyday for some social comittment or another is also okay.

Clearly one extreme won't compensate for the other, so as long as I don't allow too much sadness in my life, I'm sure that an okay bit of it would only do me a world of good. So maybe I should listen to my body, spend a day in bed, take in al the vitamins I can take and wallow in it as much as I can, because, tomorrow is another day and I know I will smile. After all, it's only a healthy bit of sadness...

What's so special about Goa

I've been meaning to write a post about my holidays in Goa for a long time now. First I had to get over my jetlag. I might have to blame it on the winter too, but I have to struggle to stay awake past 9.30pm these days. So most of all my blogging has been on hold.

I really wanted to write about Goa not because it is a wonderful exotic destination - which, despite its understated charm, hardly is - but because during this trip I've learned a few very valuable life lessons.

First of all, going to Goa and hoping to find the idyllic  beaches and hospitality of Thailand, is a huge mistake. A mistake which I made. A second mistake was trying to tell myself that I wanted the same thing from a holiday as my friend who I was travelling with...

Some people go on holidays to rest and reflect. I go on holidays to be active, try new experiences, new cultures and reflect, all at the same time. I know it's important to be able to allow yourself to stay still and become one with the Universe (call me a cliche, but this is what I thought I'd do in India!) but not when you've gotten into an exercising schedule and a comfortable routine, it's not ideal to let go. Unfortunately for me, apart of swimming there wasn't much to do in Goa...

What I learnt about myself two days into my holiday, in a very quiet and rural part of South Goa, Patnem, not being able to stay still and 'beach' myself the whole day long, was that my active nature needs to stay active, that I love my daily routine, my morning cup of coffe, my jogging by the Thames and the hustle and bustle of London. I learnt that I actually love my life!

What a shocking conclusion. I remember the times I used to go on holidays to run away from my life and instead of enjoying my days away I would fear the moment I had to go back. I would wrap myself in holidays blues for weeks and weeks after I'd gone back.

Anyway, so here I was, a few days already in Patnem wondering what was all the fuss about Goa. Not much, I thought... Not after you've been to Thailand... Despite its flocks of annoying tourists and increasingly even more annoying backpackers (the kind that bother you with questions such as 'Don't you wanna get shitfaced??'), Thailand's reputation is well deserved. Friendly locals, excellent food and out of this world beaches...

The other thing that makes Goa so different from Thailand is that local men seem to be particularly interested in European girls and will not make an effort to hide it. We've experienced local male attention from the owner of our resort and his brother, until it became clear that we had to leave. To be fair, for 2000 rupees a night (which is a lot for India) all we got was a dark and wet room which made it impossible to stay up after dark and where I showered on a few ocassions with a frog.

After a fleeting adventure in North Goa (assuming that all beaches were as nice as Palolem, we risked going up to Candolim beach), I became convinced that Goa wasn't really the land of beach hopping but more the land of stay where you feel safe. Candolim was a sight from Independence Day with people lounging on the beach while on the sea you could clearly see the profile of several huge oil tank ships. I would have taken a picture of that impossible sight if I wasn't too busy crying with frustration and disappointment. So back to Palolem we went. This time in a different beach huts resort serviced by Nepalese people - all in their best behaviour!

Sunset in Palolem Beach

My second week in Goa was as serene as this image. Because I finally let go of the frustration that there wasn't much to do, met some lovely people, learnt where the best places to eat where (believe it or not I couldn't wait to get back to London to have a nice curry), started a routine of swimming every morning, discovered the only place where you could get real coffee from and started appreciating that I was in fact in Goa.

What makes it so special then? The dolphins (the do exist and some lucky people even swam as close as 5 metres away from them), the silent parties, the English restaurant (Ourem88), the laughter with friends you've just made but feels as if you've known them all your life, the perfect weather, the two old toothless guys who sell pineapple and coconut, Sonia, the funniest and most gifted sales lady in Palolem, the guy from the corner shop who sold us cheaper water, the tuk-tuk driver and his dog Happy, the sunsets (oh the sunsets!), the lime and mint juices, the sound of the waves, the night sky adorned with palm trees tops, stars and a full moon.

What makes it so special is what you make of it. This is the most valuable lesson I've learned after Goa: that despite all the little annoyances one might encounter on holiday (and it is of course a valid lesson in everyday life too), it's really up to us in the end to see the silver lining and make the most of it! Don't be put off from going to Goa. You may discover your own life lessons...

When did I turn into a cynical feminist?...

 Source: leeraloo.wordpress.com

'...as women have climbed ever higher, men have been falling behind. We've arrived at the top of the staircase, finally ready to start our lives, only to discover a cavernous room at the tail end of a party, most of the men gone already, some having never shown up – and those who remain are leering by the cheese table, or are, you know, the ones you don't want to go out with.' (Kate Bolick: why marriage is a declining option for modern women, The Observer, Nov 2011)

Today I woke up feeling annoyed. Not lonely, not sad, not victimising myself, just annoyed. I suddenly realised it was terribly unfair for a girl like me, with all the qualities that one could possibly want (and a few flaws which only make me more charming, of course), to be alone. Alone for so many years, despite all the efforts, all the positivity, all the trying and all the dating I have possibly invested in being able to share my life with someone. I think I may have been more succesful if I planned to kill a person than to find someone to love and share my life with. But that's not the most annoying thing about it. The most annoying thing is that I have grown as a person, I became perfectly capable of dealing with my emotions, I matured in a way that only rare wines can, while all the men around me have remained the same, or in some cases even regressed.

First of all, let's all shed a tear for all the men that had their hearts broken... Get over yourselves! I have had my heart broken more times than I can possibly remember and, still, I pieced it back together and went back into the world with more hope than ever before. Do not talk to me about not wanting to get hurt. Talk to a professional!

Secondly, let's all feel supportive of the guy that hasn't learned that manners can be very useful in society. Such as: 'It was nice seeing you!', 'Thanks for a lovely evening' and 'I don't know what's gotten into me to kiss you when I have baggage to sort out and, hey, I am not even sure I can talk about it so I am just going to leave and never talk to you again!". Even that would be better than nothing.

What I find really annoying is that I get it. I get exactly what's going to happen with every single guy I meet. There is no surprise, no expectation, no mistery. I can count on each and every one of them to blow it. Some sooner than others but the result is always the same. And it hurts me that I even reached this conclusion because I realised today that I turned into a cynical feminist. I swear I didn't mean to...but I did. And I feel sorry already for that poor sucker with the best intentions who won't even know what hit him just because he is a man... Shame.

To say or not to say...

Source: http://www.diabolika.posterous.com/

Him: 'I'm still not over my ex. Don't think I am ready to see anyone at the moment'

You (Trying to be really cool and pretend not to care, because nobody likes a hysterical woman, right!?): 'No worries. I totally understand...'

What you really want to say: 'You inconsiderate prick! Winding me up with hundreds of explicit text messages that were supposed to lead somewhere, wasting my precious time only for you to realise you are so vulnerable and don't want to get hurt!! What about me, you moron? Did you think that maybe I have feelings too???!

Him: ......................... (Total silence after having chased you around to go on a date and you finally agreed)

You: ......................... (Total silence because you don't want to seem weak but it's eating you inside)

What you really want to say: 'WTF!!?'

Him: 'I just didn't feel there was a spark...Sorry.'

You: 'Fair enough. Nice to meet you anyway.'

What you really want to say: 'And when were you going to tell me that, you dick? Before or after you went missing? In fact, thanks a lot for not bothering to tell me. I sooooo love going on dates and not hearing back!'

Him: 'I am actually seeing someone at the moment and it wouldn't be fair on you.'

You: 'Thanks, I appreciate your honesty.'

What you really want to say: 'And you went out with me because...?'

You: 'Are you not having a good time?'

Him: 'No, no I do. Well, maybe not the best night i've ever had...'

You: 'Let's try to make the most of it then, shall we?'

What you really want to say: 'Prick!' and leave

To say or not to say... This is the question... When is it a good idea to say what you really think?

I mean, the result is just the same isn't it. Whether you say anything or not it doesn't change the fact that many of these people do not consider the fact that their actions have consequences and that yes, they may affect you. After all, you are a human being. You do have feelings. Feelings that need not be repressed...

Call me crazy but I've been saying what I think for a while now. It hasn't necessarily changed the situation to my advantage, nor did it suddenly made the other person realise how inconsiderate they were and apologise so I felt better. None of that crap. Some even became really defensive and had a go at me.

You'd think people should be capable of realising that any feed-back is valuable feed-back and that if sometimes you project a certain image, intentionally or not, and get comments about it, it means that perhaps you can adjust your attitude to improve that image. No need to take things personally. I like feed-back, I love becoming better, be a better me. I wouldn't know how to do that if I didn't listen to people telling me what they felt about me. I think it's only fair I should do the same. But I don't cease to be amazed by how many people out there are so full of themselves and take any criticism as a personal offense.

Not sure if it makes me feel better telling someone that their behaviour hurt me and that it really wasn't cool. I suppose it does, because it is the truth and it helps expressing feelings into words so you can then let go of them. The other person may even be evolved enough to take it as positive criticism. Yes, it may not be as dignifying as ignoring the situation and leaving the scene in solemn glory. But until I am capable emotionally to let go of a situation without feeling the need to express my anger or my frustration I will continue to do so. To say, I say!

When in Goa

I clearly haven't been on holiday for a long time. It's taken me about 2 days to get over the home sickness if anyone can believe. I organically missed London and my life balance that I've finally managed to obtain. And here I was in India, in a tropical paradise, not being able to sleep at night...
I've clearly forgotten how it is being away learning to trust a new environment. Everything seemed threathening and the usual London background noise that I've grown so accustomed to suddenly has been replaced with scary bird cries, dogs howling at the moon and helicopters (random, I know!). All these in a wet and mucky night where mosquitoes and strange night creatures rule.
We are in Patnem in South Goa, an area known for being the quieter sister of North Goa. It's also the beginning of the season when shacks are still being built and the beach looks almost deserted. It takes time to adjust to this quiteness, it's almost like a rehab retreat. It took us a couple of days to discover Palolem beach and realize that relative civilisation was in fact only about 10 minutes away.
It's nice though. Probably the best time to come. Prices are still lower and there are very few rowdy people to spoil your mood.
What I really like about this part of the world is that people are not just nice, they're absolutely hillarious. Shopkeepers are pushy and yet so funny that you're happy to buy what they're selling, take their picture and learn their names. The tuk tuk drivers are having a laugh when they see how scared you are that they might run over the cow parked in the middle of the street. The yoga teacher is happy to do some free meditation as it helps him practice too. And the 'resort' people are all running inside the bungalow to catch the frog that scared the pants out of me when I was in the shower. It's the little things that suddenly made me feel like home in Goa. And now I can sleep well and wake up early tomorow morning for my yoga class and who knows what else tomorrow brings...

My life in coffee cups

The Holiday Coffee

Italian coffee outside Spanish Steps in Rome

The Week-End Cofee

Coffee at Le Pain Quotidien at Borough Market

The Everyday Day Coffee

Really bad coffee at my desk..

Happiness

Happy to say I have a new mindset and I find myself these days living in a state of an almost permanent beatitude and enjoyment. As if I was permanently high without the next day headaches and lows.

I confess it didn’t happen overnight - it took roughly about a couple of years of intense training of the mind – but I am amazed at how one day it simply just took off and I am now blissfully enjoying the benefits of having a ‘spotless’ mind without having do anything about it but rejoice.

I have been living all my life in a self built cage and raged around about the limits of my humanity, about how much I wanted to achieve in my lifetime and how little I was given to fight with, about how other people have more than me, about how I can’t find love and how I am the ugliest and fattest girl on the face of the Earth etc etc. You name it and I would have complained about it. Loving to hate is an incredibly attractive feeling which I grew terribly accustomed to…Because complaining was easy, it justified my being miserable.

And aren’t we miserable perhaps because that’s what we have been trained to do all our lives? How we’ve been taught to dream about achieving things and suffering when we fail to do it within a certain timeframe, about how we SHOULD look, feel, talk, think, exist, but we always somehow fall short?...

Not sure about you, but I grew up with a sense that tragedy was waiting for me just around the corner and when I least expected it would come and suck me into a deep black hole and if only I kept looking out for it, being constantly alert and aware that it might happen any minute, I could at least congratulate myself that I saw it coming when it did indeed occur (not occurring wasn’t a valid possibility in my mind).

Until one day when you wake up feeling you’ve had too much to eat the same dish and decide to make a change. When that happened to me, I started reading a lot of self-help books and although, at first, they all sounded like unrealistic babble, one day I stopped thinking ‘this is not what real life is about’ and started feeling. I still think a lot of them are written in a metaphoric/childlike way that don’t always resonate with my logic, but having forced myself through various I did find that I could extract the main ideas and apply them to my own life. You’ll never find the exact same situations to exercise your new found inner skills, but extrapolation is a powerful tool. The moment you start feeling the effects of the positive mentality on your own life, you bring it to the next level and good things just start happening.

When I say that I don’t mean I suddenly became filthy rich, found a gorgeous man to whisk me away to a tropical paradise and marry me, of course, wrote a book, won a Booker prize and successfully launched my own styling business. Although now I am convinced all of the above WILL happen one day because I decided they will, I don’t live my life waiting for the day when I will finally start living. I am happy right now because I am living right now and enjoying the ‘right now’. Whether it’s sunny day or a cold and rainy day, I stopped judging, I just acknowledge what is and enjoy what I can from the ‘what is’.  It works miracles…

I learned a very important lesson: happiness, as much as unhappiness, is a matter of habit. And I am grateful I forced myself into the habit of being happy.

But as I was writing this, I received the ‘bad’ news that my Indian visa application was returned and that I had to re-apply within only two weeks to my departure (whoever tried getting an Indian visa, and especially as a non-UK citizen, knows what a pain in the backside this process is!). Naturally I got very annoyed and almost been put off going at all, however I decided that the fact that my application was retuned is still just a fact and that it is up to me if I decide that I ought to get upset and make a big deal out of it or just acknowledge it for what it is and just go down there again and re-apply. I decided for the latter and within minutes my whole body relaxed and I felt incredibly calm. It's common knowledge that there are things in life outside of our control and influence but knowing that indeed I have the power over what I feel about it, does indeed make me carry on this happy feeling day, after day, after day....


And as Abraham Lincoln said: 'Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.'

The day my ass was grabbed twice

The most notable thing about last Saturday is that my behind received a lot of unwanted attention.

Setting no 1: a young couple - very close friends of mine, who recently bought a house and renovated it completely (with a modest styling contribution from myself) - were hosting a housewarming party/barbeque where I was the only unmarried lady. As to be expected, a compact group of children were playing in the background making the usual noises sometimes covered by shrills.

The day was lovely and I was getting drunk on champaigne. Rather than being tedious, I was feeling great and slowly slowly let my guard down, being my usual loud self.  Almost unnoticed at first, one of the guests, a dad to be more precise although not sure where the respective mum was as I never asked, started flirting with me quite obviously and soon I started to feel slightly uncomfortable. Despite my habit, I decided to play with the children and - believe it or not! - I found that jumping around, going in circles holding hands until one falls, screaming and picking them up to the sky can be incredibly therapeutic. I was having a lot of fun until the dad came sniffing around like a wolf catching the scent of pray and asked me if I didn't mind giving him a tour of the house. Not wanting to be outraged by something that was yet unconclusive, I agreed and started walking up the stairs when suddenly I felt his hand on my behind. I turned around and said: 'And what exactly is that supposed to mean?' only for him to answer sheepishly 'I thought it was the bannister!' Well, I never thought my ass looked like the bannister!

Setting no 2: the same day, somewhere in club in Shoreditch. The usual Saturday night crowd, loads of drunken kids and very loud music. I went out for a fag break and started up a random conversation with a very loud Aussie who just descended into town. I guess I have the misleading habit of being ironic in a subtle way, as I think he took my irony for interest in hitting it off and became brave enough to grab my ass. 'Honestly?' I said, 'what was that for?' 'That's because you didn't want to be in the picture' (his friend had just taken a snap and I had covered half of my face with my hand). 'I have no desire for my face to appear all over Facebook on people I harldy know profiles, if you really must know' I said and turned around. A few seconds later I felt another touch of my bum. 'And what exactly are you trying to achieve with this?' I asked exasperated! 'Nothing, speak to you later!' and he disappeared.

After last Saturday, I have only two things to say: 1) my intense going to gym must have paid off!; 2) I really wonder why do men feel the need to grab your ass and can't even explain why?...


Other than that, a lovely autumn day with falling leaves and sunny spells.

Life in a date free world

Life in a date free world is better than I ever thought it would be. It's almost as if, as often New Age philosophy claims, when you stop resisting a certain situation, the very same thing that frustrated you in the past, just disolves before your eyes.

I don't remember the last time I felt so carefree and so pleased with my life. Having no romantic expectations whatsoever definitely really pays off. No more a la Bridget Jones nightmares in the middle of the night of me as an old spinster, devoured by Alsacians.

I hardly ever check my phone anymore because, hey, there's no guy I am anxiously waiting for a text from, I have time for my friends, I don't do hangovers and I am enjoying my Power Plates sessions more than I used to enjoy a good Mojito and a cigarette on a hot summer night. It's pure bliss.

In fact, I do believe that things happen in a certain way to stear our mentality onto the right direction and perhaps I did have to reach dating bottom to finally get to this conclusion: that nobody can ever give you what you can't give yourself!

I find it increasingly interesting though how many people are fighting the same demons. I thought I may well be the only unlucky girl in the world that has to go through awful romantic situations while the world around me rejoices in honeymoons, houses in the country and dogs, children with embarassing names and plump cheeks, engagement rings and Facebook relationship status updates. But it turns out that there are many like me. Some still trying hard until it kills them, others accepting their shelf life, other just publicly laughing about it on Bad Date.com. Even Stylist featured a few pieces on the subject, sign that it is indeed becoming a generalised issue and, perhaps unfortunately, a bit of a norm...

I recently came across this hilarious blog of a really cool girl who is writing about her internet dating experiences. Check it out, it's brilliant: The Racontourist!
I must say I admire her enthusiasm but it may very well be due to the fact that she is still only 25. I am on my way to become a 32 year old with a toned bottom and a bag full of 'I can't be bothered anymore'. That is because I really can't be. I've done it already, I embraced the possibilities of Internet dating, pub flirting, club pulling, I tried every weapon in my arsenal until I ran out of amunition. And you know what, I am truly glad I did. So I can spend my time on better things!

Like going to the gym and taking pleasure in it rather for than doing it because it will make me look better for others (it's because I want to like myself!), looking in the mirror and not seeing myself as someone who has failed to comply with the rules of society but as someone who has succeeded in surpassing them, enjoying every day come rain or shine, and being able to look at a handsome guy and think 'So what!'

Can't get better than that? ;)

Why not colour?

I have a problem with colour. Or to be more precise with the lack of it...

Despite the growing trend of bold colours in fashion this year, I still sense some kind of apathy in people when it comes to embracing colour in their everyday look. I remember noticing one day at work that there were a few people in the kitchen all wearing black from head to toes, including myself. I found that depressing. Why is it that people find no courage in introducing colour in their wardrobes, that they always play it safe? It's boring... Just look around on the tube and count how many people are wearing colourful clothes. Look in your own closet and take out all the coloured items you have. Let me guess: not many...

Why is that? Well, for one - and this is one of the most frustrating thing - colour is not readily available. High street brands have a remarkable tendency to only market a limited set of colours each season, with grey and black being promoted almost exclusively by popular brands such as All Saints. I am also one of those people who are a bit obstinate against wearing uber fashionable items (including colours) as I have an egoistic intention of distinguishing myself a bit from what's too 'in', so I generally avoid the hype colour of the season, unless it's a neutral. Sometimes I give in though, especially if it's an item of clothing/colour I've always loved and which becomes popular and available to buy. I wish I could make my own clothes though... It would make my life so much easier.

Anyway, going back to colour. It's widely known that each colour of the spectrum has a certain psychological association, meaning, feeling about it. For instance blue has been know to have a calming and cooling effect and aid intuition, green is the symbol of renewal and harmony, yellow symbolises optimism, orange stands for happiness and social interaction, purple is a deeeply spiritual colour and red stands for life, energy, enthusiasm etc. We are all different people and we all have a different message for the world around us but I wonder why do we all keep choosing to say the same thing over and over again? Black, grey, brown, black, white, black, black, black, grey, brown...

In a world where colour is abundant (nature is known to have a magnificent display), we, busy people of the 21st century, still shy away from it...

But perhaps in the human world, when it comes to colour, it's like everything in life. Some people prefer a background role and they tend to pick neutrals to camouflage themselves in the environment, while others are not afraid to show off a bit, like Christina Hendricks in Mad Men. I am not sure which one of them I am... Colour still quite scares me... All these years of living in the background I guess...

Dating myself

I am one of those people who's been on lots of dates. Most of them bad dates. As dates tend to be. Bad...

I am aware that the planet is full of individuals that never had to go through the 'experience' (it's a word I decided to use after intense deliberation) of dating: people who through some kind of miracle meet people without having to date, or link one relationship to another seamlessly and effortlessly as if it's the world's easiest thing to do. I've not been one of these lucky people. I've always felt like I had to struggle to get into a relationship. As if I had a bloody civic duty to make it happen...

Ever since I became old enough to be interested in boys, I got it into my head that I wasn't attractive enough so I had to make myself more appealing. This slowly developed into a habitual reaction of over-functioning in the presence of a man I was interested in and brought along rejection. And with every rejection I tried even harder. I've been a prisoner of a vicious circle I have been working hard at creating myself for years.

Countless bad dates and the same empty feeling later, until one day when it all became simple and clear due to the world's worst hangover.

It all culminated with the date where the guy took me to a strip club, suggested renting a hotel room and, after I refused, told me I've got issues. And that was just after the guy who didn't bother to let me know he didn't feel the spark. And he followed the guy who interviewed me at Starbucks over a mug of peppermint tea and concluded the date by telling me he would have a think and let me know. And then there were the no showers, the late cancellers, the 'let's just say I'm not having the best night of my life 'guys and of course the time wasters.

But I took it all in with a smile on my face and just tried again, with boundless enthusiasm. Until the most recent fiasco which was followed by an intense and unbearable hangover. That hangover must have been a divine intervention as it sort of brought me back to reality. The moment I managed to sleep off that horrendous feeling, I decided I will no longer date anyone but myself. Simply because time spent with myself it's always time well spent and because I seem to be the only one who treats me the way I deserve. And since so far dating hasn't brought me anything but hangovers and a general feeling of self loathing, I put together an emergency recovery plan which includes weekly alcohol intake counting, regular exercising and healthy eating.

I've been doing that for almost two weeks now and it's been great. My general well being has improved dramatically and no longer feel the need to try too hard. I no longer feel the need to try at all. Dating myself is really easy, I have nothing to prove: I already know how great I am!

Split friends

It's a new expression Kenny and I came up with recently. Like split ends, but with friends. Those friends that 'split' over time and who you need to cut out of your life.

Of course, it's a natural process and not even a sad one. Aren't we all just passangers, we hop on and off stations in life? Sometimes we can be friends with people that happen to be in our lives at a certain stage in life and we must let them go when the time comes. Nothing wrong with it. People accept this natural process without thinking. There aren't many main characters in one's life, the vast majority of people surrounding us are extras and secondary actors.

With split friends though, it's never easy. They always like to remind you how much they've done for you during your so called friendship and how much you still owe them. You can't just cut them off - you really have to struggle. They will keep coming back to your life and ask for their money back. As if friendship is something you can measure.

People have different ways of showing friendship and that's basically what it's all about. The meaning of friendship is that is represents a selfless relationship between two people that feel affection towards eachother and share common beliefs, attitudes, styles and opinions. The moment someone puts a price of friendship they split!

I used to fall into the trap of split friends and tried to make a mental list of things that I had also done for them, until I realised that it is absolutely besides the point. All you really have to do with split friends is take a big scary scissors and cut them off!

I take it back...

I sometimes get carried away with writing about something that's on my mind at a certain moment in time. It takes a certain combination of circumstances to make me reach one conclusion or another. After writing my last post, I got to thinking about it... And I realised I got it all wrong...

I got it all wrong when passing judgements about one kind of man or another because the only one who thinks that is... ME. Yes me, I am making this a reality in my own mind.

At the end of the day, the 'didn't feel a spark' guy is probably right. What's the point of wasting one's energy? If there ain't, then there ain't. I somehow always believed that there should be some courtesy between daters. I've always thought about things too much, decided to give people chances just because they seemed nice and that maybe the spark would come later etc etc. And things ended up with me placing them in the first category and not understanding why the second category was acting the way they did. So I kind of want to take it back. There is no such thing as categories of men, there are only bad decisions...

'I didn't feel a spark'

My recent dating experience revealed that there are usually two types of men you are more likely to encounter: those you can't get rid of and those who 'don't feel there is a spark'.

Those you can't get rid of have been quite blessed by nature with the ability to observe just quite how much of a gem you are, what amazing woman just landed in their back yard, how talented and how cool you are, and by associating themselves with you, they hope that some of that 'coolness' will rub on. They are of course intelligent men with a lot of common sense, however, they lack that manly energy that any woman of any kind find irrestible and attractive. They bear no mistery and would do anything they are told. They do not know how to crack a flirtatious joke and they possibly have a slightly lower self esteem than their counterparts. Their fashion sense does not excel but they somehow manage to put on a decent outfit a woman would be inclined to ignore if unable to admire. They can be bearable for a while, until they become exasperating. Eventually, they will have to be let go and do some work on themselves.

The 'I didn't feel a spark' type are even worse. They are usually tall and well built, good looking lads with strong genes. Not necessarily extremely cultured, but quite performant when it comes to body building. Inclined to listen to the instinct of natural selection, the woman would be willing to close her eyes to a flaw or two as long as they act decent and they make her feel desireable. But surprisingly (or maybe not!) these kind of males do not know how to make themselves pleasant. They go by the rule: 'If she ain't perfect, why bother!' and - possibly - feel minimised and emasculated by the woman's intelligence and wit. They always prefer the back door at the end of a date and never ever get back to you after the date is consumated. When prompted, they have the barely minimal decency to reply 'I didn't feel there was a spark'... In these circumstances, some women may feel inclined to carry a box of matches or a Zippo lighter in their purses in an extra effort to bring a spark to a date. It seems that it is not enough for the woman to be reasonably pretty and proportioned, funny and charismatic throughout, always ready with a joke and an adventure story because the 'I didn't feel there was a spark' guy needs a bloody bonfire.

Or at least these are the results of a few months' survey, concluding that rather than going on a date, a woman is better off with a good book and a bottle of Shiraz! Resigned with the thought that clearly there aren't many men who have been endowed with charm, good looks, intelligence and common sense all at the same time, she is better off staying away from the dating jungle for a while. At least until that exceptional person (if he does exist) finds his own way into her life.

I heart London

'If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put foundations under them.'
Henry David Thoreau

It is not for me to judge what happened. Don’t get me wrong, I do judge the people that provoked this abominable destruction - their acts are profoundly immoral and unacceptable in ANY society - but I do not feel entitled to propose a theory regarding why they did what they did.

Some say it’s pure vandalism, some say it’s because the looters come from underprivileged background, some say we should blame the Government for closing their eyes to an ever growing social problem, some say it’s the lack of proper parenting and education or even human rights abuse. Whatever it is, it happened and it did teach all of us a few lessons.

When I first came to London, I was overwhelmed by its diversity. I found it almost scary back then and it took me many years to grasp the fact that despite its apparent heterogeneity, London has a huge soul shared by the millions who chose to live here, in probably the most amazing city in the world. Despite the tragedy we all experienced in the last few days, Londoners came together to stand up to the revolting, senseless riots and looting, cleaning up our streets and standing together to protect the city we deeply love and respect. We all backed up our Police officers in an effort to put a stop to what seemed to get out of rational control and people like the old woman telling the looters off outside Debenhams in Clapham or the Turkish men in Dalston fighting the looters away to protect their shops really brings back the faith in the humankind. I saw hundreds of messages on the Malaysian student Ashraf Haziq, who got robbed when injured, Twitter page: #getwetllsoonashrafhaziq.

And that really means a lot. It means that together, any wrong can be turned into good.

It is not my place to say what needs to be done. There is a lot to be done by the Government and we should make sure this happens. We should all not let this lesson get by unlearned. We should do whatever we can, united, to keep the spirit of London alive. And as Mahatma Ghandi said: 'We must become the change we want to see.'

Last tango in Paris

The (in)famous Bertolucci, 1972, film with Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider.

The story without names. It's all about living the moment, really living it. No need for history and personal stories to take the mind away from the present. The history, the baggage is ignored, it has nothing to do with te liberating (or enslaving?!) power of nameless sex. When names are asked, guns are being shot. It's all about the mistery. Once the veil is lifted, reality doesn't match the fantasy.

I am obsessed with the soundtrack and can't stop thinking of Jeanne's outfits. It was 1972 and her yellow mini dress, her fur collar white coat and fedora hat are more timeless than ever. And so are all her other outfits. There's a sordid and yet alluring sexiness about this film. So very Paris, so very noir...

Exciting new designer: Zelia Horsely

I only came accross Zelia Horsely's jewellery when I was working on one of my styling assignments. I had a brochure from London Jewellery Week and started browsing through looking for inspiration. As expected, not many designs stood out for me - I am quite difficult to please when it comes to jewellery, I have a tendency to dismiss pieces that do not break some kind of rules and yet obey the rule of estethics - but when I saw Zelia's chain collar, I knew I'd stepped over a gold mine.

I instantly used it in my assignment - it was a mood board for one of my favourite characters, Elizabeth Bennet of 'Pride and Prejudice' - and decided to find out more about this exciting designer.

And what I found was to take my breath away. In all her unique pieces, Zelia manages to create a happy marriage between industrial and finesse, between bondage and femininity, between the ego and the alter ego. There is a dominatrix and a Lolita in each and every piece and every single one of them has a story to tell. I have a feeling Zelia has found a way to talking to the woman of today, the woman who increasingly needs to be all in one.

Bitesize Rome

One day

I can honestly say that no words can be enough for 'One Day'. It's made me laugh out loud without embarassment (I always thought laughing on the tube while reading a book can look a bit ridiculous so I am a little self conscious about it, but really it's like pretending you don't like snogging in public until you're with someone you really like and then you don't care who's looking) and it's made me swallow down tears and curse that my station's up and all I want to do is keep on reading, and reading and reading.

I like to think of myself as a select reader. I don't pretend to like a book just because it's a classic or because it's in. I only like books with soul, books that talk to me, that are telling me something, that are making me laugh and weep inside as if I was made or words, and ink and paper.

I also like to think I'm one of the fortunate people who's life has been blessed and enriched by a number of exquisite, beautiful and impactful books. 'One Day' is well high up with the best of them. From classics like Charles Dickens and Dostoyevski, Gogol and Hugo, to wonderful and incredibly talented contemporary authors like Salman Rushdie, Milan Kundera and Khaled Husseyni.

I must confess that despite being reluctant at first to read books that have sold millions of copies worldwide (I am yet untouched by the Stieg Larsson trilogy, the Harry Potter phenomenon or the Da Vinci Code - although mind you I do like the genre as I devoured 'Foucault's Pendulum' of Umberto Eco in a matter of weekly commutes) , I have fallen hopelessly in love with some of them. Probably the best example is 'Shadow of the Wind' which I read with an unsatiable hunger and the thought of finishing made me very very sad. I also really, really loved 'The Kite Runner' but after reading 'A Thousand Splendid Suns' I felt even more adoration for the person capable of putting such a tale into words. I was bewildered by how a story can be so excruciatingly tragic and yet ever so tenderly told.

'One Day' is even more special because in a very deep sense it talks a lot about me. I know we all see pieces of ourselves in the characters we love, but I am still shocked of how much of Emma Morley there is in me...

I've always worn spectacles and dreamt about making the world a better place. I have always been clever and even a bit arrogant about it, but with no confidence in me as a woman, whatsoever. Like Emma, I've been a singleton for almost all my life, but a good friend to have around. I've always fancied being a writer and like Emma (or maybe an earlier version of her than the accomplished writer she became later) I started a lot of projects and finished none. Like Emma, I like to think that I am funny and I believe I was blessed with an excellent self-deprecating sense of humour. Like Emma, I can just decide to go to Paris if I so wish but never do...

Anyway, like I said, we all see pieces of ourselves in the characters we love. But there's more to Emma than pieces of me... So if you haven't read the book yet and decided to sleep with it under your pillow too, get to know Emma. She's an amazing woman and a faithful friend...

Amy, it's not even cool...

When I heard the news yesterday, I was a bit shocked. Just for a split second. It's like receiving some news you're expecting. There's a moment surprise. But then it's gone...

And that's the saddest thing about it I guess: the whole world knew it was going to happen one day. It's not even cool anymore. The world is tired of another talented young person killing themselves in drugs, pills and alcohol. It's so uncool that I am struggling to feel something about her death. I can't... How come other celebrities with amazing voices manage to be successful and lead perfectly normal lives. Being rock'n'roll these days is not a pre-requisite to being famous.

What are these people even angry at? What's the trauma that they are fighting to drown in drugs and alcohol?

I've been thinking about this for quite a while now and it's not a great surprise that our generation is drowing itself in drugs and alcohol. It's because we have never done anything extraordinary, have never been through something terrible, have never had to struggle, fight a war, live in poverty, worry about food and shelter, you know, this kind of things... Our generation is desperate to feel something... Or at least that's my theory. And when I look at Amy's life all I see is a beautiful girl with heaps of talent and nothing but a bright future. How did she get where she did? We all know the story, it's been all over the papers, but the real question is why did she allow herself to get there? Low self esteem, bad influence, the need to feel something?... I don't know, all I know is that this just isn't cool...

I will give her a moment of thought and will pray for her soul. But the one before the horrible tatoos and the bad skin, before the missing teeth and the breast implants, before she lost all her curves and dignity... For the beautiful Amy we would have all loved if only she stayed...

O Roma mia!

It's safe to say (and hardly anyone could argue) that Rome is the most beautiful city in Europe. It lives, it breathes, it's been there almost since the beginning of time. It's almost scarily beautiful.

It's my second time in Rome and I am grateful I got the chance to see it again and still keep my convictions. Despite the 'Roman centurion' tricking me into taking a photo with him for 2 euros or the Romanian woman asking for money on the pavement in Romanian (!!) it didn't spoil it for me. Because I hardly did any of the touristy stuff and I think that's important. Otherwise Rome is reduced to the same thing - a race agaisnt the clock to tick all the sights on the list which I believe makes her majesty the city of Rome frown a little bit down on the little bit too zealous tourists.

Instead I took pleasure in strolling aimlessly when I had the chance and eating. It may almost sound like a cliche (especially since I read Eat Pray Love already twice) but the food really made me close my eyes and imagine I'm in heaven. And the cold limoncello. And the cheap squares of pizza from the take away shop. And the gelatto (did you try the pistacchio one next to Fontana di Trevi - well you must!!), and the espressos and the Monte Negros. And even the tramezzinos from the coffee shop downstairs for goodness sake!

Somehow unexpectedly though, this time I didn't imagine myself living behind one of the windows with a charming display of fresh washing in Trastevere. See, I used to do that a lot. Everytime I went somewhere on holiday, especially in hot climates, I would try to imagine myself how it would be to actually live there. And on my return I would linger a bit on the idea that maybe one day I'll go back there for good. And despite the freezing cold waiting for me back in London, I didn't even get upset. I don't know what happened but I somehow came to the conclusion that every place has its share of misery. At least I got a bit numb to the level of misery I experience in London and that's these days pretty bearable. If I'm honest, the only way we could probably avoid the misery would be living everywhere for 3 months at the time. Before the misery settles in... The misery of rain in London, the misery of being way too hot and the traffing being a bitch in Rome, the misery of being too busy in New York, the misery of being too quiet in my home town... You might as well stick to the misery you're used to. So no, I didn't fantasise about living in Rome this time but I did plan to go back. Hopefully over and over again...

There are many films featuring Rome, but somehow my favourite is "The Roman spring of Mrs Stone" - the old version with Vivien Leigh and Warren Beatty. There's something there: something which starts like a promise and ends up in misery... When I found myself in front of the Spanish Steps I could almost imagine her somewhere on one of the roof terraces embracing Rome with all the heart. Let is be a while until misery settles in...

It's all in the details

I noticed that I write less and less frequent on the blog. What started as a self-therapy and a very personal blurting it has now become something else all together. Mainly because I feel less and less the need to talk about personal issues. Surely because my personal issues have been replaced in time by personal goals and personal interests.

I would love nothing more but to talk about these newly found passions but to be completely honest they keep me very busy. So I find it very difficult to gather some time and write and when I do I want it to be something of substance and something that the readers will benefit from. And that's why I would like to give this space a bit more structure and a bit more thought. It kind of started as a public journal about 4 years ago but I see it now as more of a way to share my ideas, interests, passions, things I like and things I am good at.

So I would like to declare as a kind of manifesto that this blog will still be a journey of public self discovery, but on more levels and layers.

For now, suffice to say I volunteered to help a friend decorate her new house and I am very excited about it. This may actually be my very first project and I like nothing more that browse around for wallpapers, furniture, chandeliers, mirrors, paints and fabrics.

For now I will finish with sharing this amazing wallpaper from Dedar Milano - www.dedar.com - which I just happened to come accross. Will be very happy to share more of my project as it progresses. Keep you posted :)

Family ties

It's been a long time I have been living on my own. It's been many years I have been living in London, away from my country, away from the little family I have left there. All my visits have been usually short and tempestuous, hardly ever benefiting from spending quality time with my closest. But these days I have been reminded about all that I have been missing all these years...

My mother and my cousin (to whom I am so close that I often and fondly refer to as my little sister) visited me for the first time since I took up the challenge of living abroad and granted me one of the most rewarding experiences of my life up to date. Because I have been unable to share the everyday realities of my existence in London with my closest and dearest, I have always felt like a huge bridge that was between us needed to be crossed in order to align the two worlds I have been living in almost simultaneously for the past 8ish years...

I have been given an amazing gift and their visit has been heart filling. From the fact that I saw my mother enjoying every moment of it to the cuddles and the jokes we've shared, from their daily discoveries of a city I adore to the night to the Opera where my mum and I went to see Tosca, I have been experiencing joy and laughter and an incredible feeling of peace. As if they have given me blessing for the life I chose to live. My life and my choices have been validated and all my efforts compensated. But above all, I suddenly stopped feeling alone. If every once in a while I get surrounded by sadness and loneliness, I now realized I am not and will never be alone. I do have a family, I indeed have been blessed and even though the road to getting where I am now hasn't always been smooth, I am truly grateful for everything I've got and profoundly happy that being a daughter is yet another thing I am unable to fail...

I thought it would be stressful but it has been accomplishing. The two of them are getting along so well and have enojoyed their London experience so much that none of my initial worries materialised. In fact, now that they are on the plane back to Romania, I can't help but cry a little, missing them already, and start making plans for when they will come again. And who knows, perhaps one day, I will have my family with me and all these lonely days will have become a thing of the past, a thing of the past I will look back upon and smile... Because everything happens for a reason and every experience is what makes a life.

Womanity

I was recently astounded by how good Madonna looked at the Met Gala this year. Wearing a long figure hugging Stella McCartney dress, she looked amazing. Why was I surprised? After all,Madonna is and has always been a beautiful woman...
Well, because it's the first time in a very long time she has embraced her femininity. Sporting a lovely slightly fuller figure and a beautifully retro curled hair, she showed what she really is: a beautiful woman in her 50s.





There is no shame in that. I love how some women grow old gracefully assuming the time that has passed and taking pleasure into showing the world a few wrinkles, a few streaks of white hair and even a few extra pounds. They wear it all with pride. I absolutely love every time I get to see someone like Sophia Loren or Helen Mirren. This is why perhaps I was so struck by Madonna's last appearance. She has finally decided to show the world who she really is and the world seems to like it.

Back in 2009, at the same event she came flaunting a much younger Jesus Luz and a Luis Vuitton outfit (as seen on the catwalk), which unfortunately, didn't become her in the least. It seemed as if she was trying so hard to be and look younger that it actually enhanced the fact that she is an older woman who ought to act her age.





Perhaps we should all take some learnings from this. Most of the times, it is ok to embrace your womanity, love what you hate about yourself and allow yourself to feel and look what you really are. If you don't believe me, judge for yourself.

Here's a selection of few of my all time favourite ladies:

Christina Hendricks of Mad Men




Always demure Helen Mirren



Timeless Elizabeth Taylor



Iconic Marilyn Monroe




Amazing Meryl Streep





Sensual Kate Winslet



Mediterranean beauty Sophia Loren




Ageless beauty Audrey Hepburn