I stopped smoking. A habit that I mastered for over twelve years and yet it's as if it never happened. I don't crave. I don't think about it. I have just erased it from my daily life.
Of course it took a great scare to force this to happen, but I am grateful it did.
It's one of those things you keep procrastinating: I'll give up smoking one day, but just not yet, I'll have children one day but not right now, I'll sleep when I am dead etc.
I went to the gynecologist the other day to find out whether it's just my breasts or perhaps there is something really wrong with my uterus as well.
She wanted to know if I was pregnant. I laughed. She also asked if I was trying for children. I laughed again. I guess that she sees more pregnant women that women in their thirties with no real gynecological issue, but the hypochondria in their head. She did ask to see if I wasn't pregnant and I found myself looking at the sample of urine wondering what if I was pregnant... I also noticed a slight disappointment when the confirmation came. No, I wasn't pregnant...
I still don't have the official confirmation of what's wrong with me, but it seems that my lumps are of hormonal origin and the result of me not having had children yet. I guess that there is something really wrong with the world today... Socially, it is becoming more and more of a normality to see single childless women in their 30's and even 40's, however biologically, we are being told off...
Yes, I do find myself looking at children on the street and yes, maybe I did give up smoking thinking about the child I don't have yet...Apparently I have a nice womb...
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Sunday, 24 October 2010
Carpe Diem
Fear... Fear is the worst enemy of humanity. Of my humanity...
Fear eats me alive and makes me sick to the point of throwing up... I contemplate death and the idea of my non-being scares me to madness. As a human being, I realize how irrational I can be.
A couple of days ago, I decided to go and get the doctor to check some strange pain I felt in my breasts for a couple of weeks. I was sure he would just tell me there was nothing to worry about and just send me home with some paracetamol. He looked at me blankly and said I had lumps on both sides and that I should get them checked. Although that was probably the most reasonable thing to say in the world, I felt as if he was signing my death sentence... I went out of the clinic's door and couldn't shake off the idea I was going to die...I went to work and everything felt surreal. I wasn't there... It was Friday and all I thought about was how was I going to live until I get checked... To try and calm myself down I went to the yoga class at my gym but everything went from bad to worse.
I went to the gym, took off my clothes and started to fold them nicely as in a very important ritual. I suddenly had an image about my uncle's pijamas when he was in the hospital, before he died and I remember thinking that soon the pijama will lie untouched as he will no longer be around... A fear overtook me and I started to cry in the middle of the changing room. I looked at my clothes and a sinister idea took shape. I tried to ignore it and went into the studio. As I was performing down facing dogs and warrior ones, I looked at my body and felt an incredible love for it. I contemplated my hands moving in the air as if they weren't mine and wanted to squeeze them tight, kiss them and hold on to them for as long as possible, as if I had to say good bye to them...
On my way home, I saw a woman with a baby in a buggie. I felt I ran out of air and dashed out of the tube hyperventilating and crying at the same time. I felt I was going to die right then and there... I cried thinking that I was going to die and I was going to die alone... It wasn't until later on that night when I managed to recover a bit of my rationality.
I was told that I was probably still dealing with the sudden loss of my uncle. I remember that I had bought some parsley while he was in the hospital and kept it in water. When he died, the parsely was still in the glass of water. I remember thinking that even the parsley lived longer than him...
I guess I am dealing with a very strong irrational fear. I strongly love life and I would do anything to hold on to it. But then again, who wouldn't?... We would all give anything to live, we would all realize we would have wished to live our lives better, more intensley, more importantly... Carpe Diem has become almost a cliche and we all live away telling each other over a glass of wine "Life is short!" but how many of us really believe it? We all bloody think we're going to live forever...
How do I deal with my fear? I do what I can... I pray... I go out and see my friends... I go to the Opera. I go climbing and I make sure I reach the top even though I am scared of heights. I try and be brave and tell myself I will be all right against all my irrational instincts that almost make me faint of worry... I tell myself that if I am given the chance to life, I will make sure I will waste no time and love every minute of it.
I have never really liked my breasts. Too big, to heavy, not perky enough. But you know what, I love them more than anything right now and I pray for them. I promise to never think a bad thought about them ever again!
Oh, and one more thing: fear made me stop smoking!! So maybe there is something good out of this after all...
Fear eats me alive and makes me sick to the point of throwing up... I contemplate death and the idea of my non-being scares me to madness. As a human being, I realize how irrational I can be.
A couple of days ago, I decided to go and get the doctor to check some strange pain I felt in my breasts for a couple of weeks. I was sure he would just tell me there was nothing to worry about and just send me home with some paracetamol. He looked at me blankly and said I had lumps on both sides and that I should get them checked. Although that was probably the most reasonable thing to say in the world, I felt as if he was signing my death sentence... I went out of the clinic's door and couldn't shake off the idea I was going to die...I went to work and everything felt surreal. I wasn't there... It was Friday and all I thought about was how was I going to live until I get checked... To try and calm myself down I went to the yoga class at my gym but everything went from bad to worse.
I went to the gym, took off my clothes and started to fold them nicely as in a very important ritual. I suddenly had an image about my uncle's pijamas when he was in the hospital, before he died and I remember thinking that soon the pijama will lie untouched as he will no longer be around... A fear overtook me and I started to cry in the middle of the changing room. I looked at my clothes and a sinister idea took shape. I tried to ignore it and went into the studio. As I was performing down facing dogs and warrior ones, I looked at my body and felt an incredible love for it. I contemplated my hands moving in the air as if they weren't mine and wanted to squeeze them tight, kiss them and hold on to them for as long as possible, as if I had to say good bye to them...
On my way home, I saw a woman with a baby in a buggie. I felt I ran out of air and dashed out of the tube hyperventilating and crying at the same time. I felt I was going to die right then and there... I cried thinking that I was going to die and I was going to die alone... It wasn't until later on that night when I managed to recover a bit of my rationality.
I was told that I was probably still dealing with the sudden loss of my uncle. I remember that I had bought some parsley while he was in the hospital and kept it in water. When he died, the parsely was still in the glass of water. I remember thinking that even the parsley lived longer than him...
I guess I am dealing with a very strong irrational fear. I strongly love life and I would do anything to hold on to it. But then again, who wouldn't?... We would all give anything to live, we would all realize we would have wished to live our lives better, more intensley, more importantly... Carpe Diem has become almost a cliche and we all live away telling each other over a glass of wine "Life is short!" but how many of us really believe it? We all bloody think we're going to live forever...
How do I deal with my fear? I do what I can... I pray... I go out and see my friends... I go to the Opera. I go climbing and I make sure I reach the top even though I am scared of heights. I try and be brave and tell myself I will be all right against all my irrational instincts that almost make me faint of worry... I tell myself that if I am given the chance to life, I will make sure I will waste no time and love every minute of it.
I have never really liked my breasts. Too big, to heavy, not perky enough. But you know what, I love them more than anything right now and I pray for them. I promise to never think a bad thought about them ever again!
Oh, and one more thing: fear made me stop smoking!! So maybe there is something good out of this after all...
Sunday, 17 October 2010
Being single
I have been single almost all my life. With the exception of a 4 years long relationship, which ended almost 3 years ago. But that's probably the exception that proves the rule, as they say.
In high school, I never had a boyfriend. I told myself I was a bit of a misfit and preferred to spend my week-ends reading literature than going out to the local disco (which, truth be told, was a real dump). I didn't lose my virginity in high school, which is probably a good thing. Not that it changed much - I was a bit of a naive late bloomer by the time I was in my twenties. Perhaps it would have been better if I started the dating game earlier. I would have been more equipped and probably looking back I would have been easier on myself, cutting myself some slack on the account of having been really young and immature.
But in reality things went a bit in a different way. I found myself in my twenties, knowing next to nothing when it came to boys. All I knew about them was that I liked them. Thank God, I was no lesbian! Everything else, was really wrong! I couldn't see bad news coming my way, even if they had it tattooed on their forehead. I was so blissfully unaware of the fact that things didn't happen like in fairy tales and that there were dating rules to follow and a commonly agreed coding system, that I truly believed that if a guy liked me, then he probably had the noblest intentions. And I suffered! I suffered profusely every time I got hurt. And I kept asking myself what was going wrong, without the faintest clue...I had such a bad impression of myself that I was terribly grateful to anyone that found me attractive. I didn't recognized my own power, even if it hit me in the face with a hammer.
So I remained single for most of my early twenties, until somebody decided I was girlfriend material. I didn't quite have a say in that, I just accepted it. For some reason, I used to think that things should just happen to me and I should just take them. Not for one second, did it crossed my mind that I could have a say in my love life.
After a few years, I realized that I wasn't quite happy and decided to take a risk and be single again. After all, I was in my late twenties and I should have known better by then. A couple of years later and I found myself making the same mistakes I used to make when I barely knew how to kiss. So it turned out that many years later, I was still as disabled as I was in my teens. Staggered by a string of disappointments, I kept crying myself to sleep and becoming less and less hopeful. I thought I would end up alone...
Strangely enough, I have spent such a long time being single, without learning how to be single and enjoy it. Having a conversation and a mouthful of chocolate with one of my closest friends the other day, I had a revelation. Actually two: 1) that too much chocolate can make you sick and 2) that I have only really been single for a year. Yes, that's right. He suggested that I have been single for two (not too mention all the other years before that) and that only in the last year I started to want to have a relationship (so beacause I wasn't supposedly looking for a relationship before, it doesn't count as being single!?), when in reality, ever since I have known myself, I wanted to be with someone. It was the idea of being in a relationship (some kind of childhood trauma, I am sure) that excited me, rather than being with someone because of who that someone was... Does it make sense? I was chasing a dream, a chimera, a notion. I wanted it so badly and at the same time, I wanted it to come my way, nice and easy. And all this time, I have forced myself to get something that was virtually impossible.
In fact, for about a year now, I have really started being single. I have given myself time, thought, care, I spent time with myself, I thought a lot, I got to know myself, I did things I enjoyed, I spent time with friends that are dear to me, I have improved the quality of my time, prioritized, went up in my career, travelled, exercised, ate goo food, went to see good movies, laughed a lot, flirted, enjoyed. Anything that came my way. And only since then, I realized I was ready to share all that with a special someone. And I have also realized that I am in no hurry. I want to find that person that will take me as a whole and live life with me, without pressure, with fun and excitement and peace. And I am giving myself time. Time to be single.
In high school, I never had a boyfriend. I told myself I was a bit of a misfit and preferred to spend my week-ends reading literature than going out to the local disco (which, truth be told, was a real dump). I didn't lose my virginity in high school, which is probably a good thing. Not that it changed much - I was a bit of a naive late bloomer by the time I was in my twenties. Perhaps it would have been better if I started the dating game earlier. I would have been more equipped and probably looking back I would have been easier on myself, cutting myself some slack on the account of having been really young and immature.
But in reality things went a bit in a different way. I found myself in my twenties, knowing next to nothing when it came to boys. All I knew about them was that I liked them. Thank God, I was no lesbian! Everything else, was really wrong! I couldn't see bad news coming my way, even if they had it tattooed on their forehead. I was so blissfully unaware of the fact that things didn't happen like in fairy tales and that there were dating rules to follow and a commonly agreed coding system, that I truly believed that if a guy liked me, then he probably had the noblest intentions. And I suffered! I suffered profusely every time I got hurt. And I kept asking myself what was going wrong, without the faintest clue...I had such a bad impression of myself that I was terribly grateful to anyone that found me attractive. I didn't recognized my own power, even if it hit me in the face with a hammer.
So I remained single for most of my early twenties, until somebody decided I was girlfriend material. I didn't quite have a say in that, I just accepted it. For some reason, I used to think that things should just happen to me and I should just take them. Not for one second, did it crossed my mind that I could have a say in my love life.
After a few years, I realized that I wasn't quite happy and decided to take a risk and be single again. After all, I was in my late twenties and I should have known better by then. A couple of years later and I found myself making the same mistakes I used to make when I barely knew how to kiss. So it turned out that many years later, I was still as disabled as I was in my teens. Staggered by a string of disappointments, I kept crying myself to sleep and becoming less and less hopeful. I thought I would end up alone...
Strangely enough, I have spent such a long time being single, without learning how to be single and enjoy it. Having a conversation and a mouthful of chocolate with one of my closest friends the other day, I had a revelation. Actually two: 1) that too much chocolate can make you sick and 2) that I have only really been single for a year. Yes, that's right. He suggested that I have been single for two (not too mention all the other years before that) and that only in the last year I started to want to have a relationship (so beacause I wasn't supposedly looking for a relationship before, it doesn't count as being single!?), when in reality, ever since I have known myself, I wanted to be with someone. It was the idea of being in a relationship (some kind of childhood trauma, I am sure) that excited me, rather than being with someone because of who that someone was... Does it make sense? I was chasing a dream, a chimera, a notion. I wanted it so badly and at the same time, I wanted it to come my way, nice and easy. And all this time, I have forced myself to get something that was virtually impossible.
In fact, for about a year now, I have really started being single. I have given myself time, thought, care, I spent time with myself, I thought a lot, I got to know myself, I did things I enjoyed, I spent time with friends that are dear to me, I have improved the quality of my time, prioritized, went up in my career, travelled, exercised, ate goo food, went to see good movies, laughed a lot, flirted, enjoyed. Anything that came my way. And only since then, I realized I was ready to share all that with a special someone. And I have also realized that I am in no hurry. I want to find that person that will take me as a whole and live life with me, without pressure, with fun and excitement and peace. And I am giving myself time. Time to be single.
Thursday, 14 October 2010
I'll take the Nice Guy!
It's only when really important things happen in your life - like re-watching an old episode from Grey's Anatomy - when you realize how much you've changed.
I was deeply involved with watching an episode when Meredith has to choose between McDreamy who broke her heart and Finn, the vet that made her feel special, and she ends up choosing McDreamy. "Why, Oh, Why", I cry nearly choking on my thai curry. "Choose the Nice Guy!", I shout, still fully aware that not only I am watching a TV show (not real! d'oh), but I am watching an old episode and everything has already happened. I also remember that the first time I saw this particular episode, I was happy she chose Dr. McDreamy Shepherd. Because at the time, I believed in passionate love and butterflies in your tummy and some other pain inducing self-delusional crap.
And for those of you who also know a thing or two about Sex and The City, the same happened when Carrie had to choose between Aidan and Big. I cheered for Big all the way in the past, but now if I had to give Carrie a personal, honest and life changing advice, I'd say: "Go for the Nice Guy! Go for the guy that keeps you warm at night and makes you feel like you are the most important woman in the world and hurting you for whatever reason is absolutely inconceivable..."
But out of the TV drama and back to reality. Truth be told, it's probably the first time when I notice this shift in my attitude. I used to find nice guys boring and unsatisfactory. Because I used to dream about totally unrealistic and romantic stuff like: stargazing with my lover and talking about the meaning of life, reading poetry to each other naked, riding into the sunset on a motorbike, falling sleep under the stars, making love on the beach and all sorts of other semi-cliches, half nonsense projections. None of this idiotic daydreams ever happened, however plenty of unmet expectations and disappointment have come my way. And only because I was looking for the Bad Guy, the guy that was making my inside flutter and made me feel really special... for a day or two.
It's been a while though (thank God) since this type of characters have made an impression on me. I am pretty knowledgeable these days (nothing can beat experience, ey!) to be able to avoid them as much as I can. And as much as I am avoiding the "Look at me, I am so cool" type of character, I get more and more drawn towards the guy in the corner, that says nothing but means a lot!
And yes, you do get sometimes a combination of the two (or maybe a fake Nice Guy?...) and, yes, you do make a mistake thinking he was for real, because dating the Nice Guy isn't supposed to make you feel insecure and bad about yourself... And yes, there is nothing wrong with that since once again you are convinced that only the Nice Guy is the real thing... Because the Nice Guy will only take out the best in you and love you (as Darcy nicely puts it in front of Bridget - yes, another film!) just the way you are...
I was deeply involved with watching an episode when Meredith has to choose between McDreamy who broke her heart and Finn, the vet that made her feel special, and she ends up choosing McDreamy. "Why, Oh, Why", I cry nearly choking on my thai curry. "Choose the Nice Guy!", I shout, still fully aware that not only I am watching a TV show (not real! d'oh), but I am watching an old episode and everything has already happened. I also remember that the first time I saw this particular episode, I was happy she chose Dr. McDreamy Shepherd. Because at the time, I believed in passionate love and butterflies in your tummy and some other pain inducing self-delusional crap.
And for those of you who also know a thing or two about Sex and The City, the same happened when Carrie had to choose between Aidan and Big. I cheered for Big all the way in the past, but now if I had to give Carrie a personal, honest and life changing advice, I'd say: "Go for the Nice Guy! Go for the guy that keeps you warm at night and makes you feel like you are the most important woman in the world and hurting you for whatever reason is absolutely inconceivable..."
But out of the TV drama and back to reality. Truth be told, it's probably the first time when I notice this shift in my attitude. I used to find nice guys boring and unsatisfactory. Because I used to dream about totally unrealistic and romantic stuff like: stargazing with my lover and talking about the meaning of life, reading poetry to each other naked, riding into the sunset on a motorbike, falling sleep under the stars, making love on the beach and all sorts of other semi-cliches, half nonsense projections. None of this idiotic daydreams ever happened, however plenty of unmet expectations and disappointment have come my way. And only because I was looking for the Bad Guy, the guy that was making my inside flutter and made me feel really special... for a day or two.
It's been a while though (thank God) since this type of characters have made an impression on me. I am pretty knowledgeable these days (nothing can beat experience, ey!) to be able to avoid them as much as I can. And as much as I am avoiding the "Look at me, I am so cool" type of character, I get more and more drawn towards the guy in the corner, that says nothing but means a lot!
And yes, you do get sometimes a combination of the two (or maybe a fake Nice Guy?...) and, yes, you do make a mistake thinking he was for real, because dating the Nice Guy isn't supposed to make you feel insecure and bad about yourself... And yes, there is nothing wrong with that since once again you are convinced that only the Nice Guy is the real thing... Because the Nice Guy will only take out the best in you and love you (as Darcy nicely puts it in front of Bridget - yes, another film!) just the way you are...
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Breathe away
I light another cigarette and breathe the smoke deep into my lungs. I know it's not good for me. I also know I badly want it. As if I try to punish myself for something. Or as if I am trying to reproduce a cliche, maybe a scene from a movie. It all feels wrong but, hey, there are so many wrongs in my life that a lousy cigarette won't make a difference.
Guilt creeps in instantly because I remember the pleasure of breathing. I remember how I tried to concentrate on my breathing the night before and joy filled me together with the air coming in and out of my lungs. And then a sense of peace overcame me and for a few minutes I forgot my silly worries. I remembered that I was alive and that a whole future was still laid in front of me, unwritten and inviting. I remembered that no matter what, I am part of a plan that will take shape with or without me worrying about it...
However, now I am drinking a Mojito and really craving that cigarette. While I am puffing away, all the wondering came back and became stronger and stronger. What if, what if...
I throw the cigarette butt away, wanting to do the same with these stupid thoughts. I start wondering what colour my lungs would be by now... Then I think about "what if" again. Then I decide to think about something really trivial to take my mind off things and realize it isn't working.
I start breathing consciously and my lungs, my heart and myself really become one... I really wish I took more care of this precious body I was given. It really isn't mine to trash... I tell myself, yet again, that I won't be touching any more cigarettes from tomorrow!
Guilt creeps in instantly because I remember the pleasure of breathing. I remember how I tried to concentrate on my breathing the night before and joy filled me together with the air coming in and out of my lungs. And then a sense of peace overcame me and for a few minutes I forgot my silly worries. I remembered that I was alive and that a whole future was still laid in front of me, unwritten and inviting. I remembered that no matter what, I am part of a plan that will take shape with or without me worrying about it...
However, now I am drinking a Mojito and really craving that cigarette. While I am puffing away, all the wondering came back and became stronger and stronger. What if, what if...
I throw the cigarette butt away, wanting to do the same with these stupid thoughts. I start wondering what colour my lungs would be by now... Then I think about "what if" again. Then I decide to think about something really trivial to take my mind off things and realize it isn't working.
I start breathing consciously and my lungs, my heart and myself really become one... I really wish I took more care of this precious body I was given. It really isn't mine to trash... I tell myself, yet again, that I won't be touching any more cigarettes from tomorrow!
Saturday, 2 October 2010
Why would you get a cat if you really want a dog?
I came across a very old post the other day about dogs. It was a funny post about me always seeing myself as an Eglish Bulldog kind of person and my annoyance at the fact that a dog compatibility website recommended me cocker spaniels and papillons (which I found at the time to be very ugly).
I have always loved dogs, I have loved them almost as frenetically as they love people. With dogs there are no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, no reasoning, no arguing, just pure love. The kind of love that needs no justification and validation.
At this point though, I feel the need to explain a bit the term "love" and why I chose to use it in certain context. Some people might argue that Love is an absolute notion and it is what it is. Such as the love that a dog is feeling. It just is. Based on the fact that humans have a twisted way of "loving", I have decided to use the same word (and I apologise, as it is not entirely correct) - "love" - to describe a relationship between individuals (usually of the opposite sex, but not limited to) that have feelings of "love" (and now I am talking about the absolute notion) towards each other, but different other emotions associated with, such as fear, jealousy, too low or too high self-esteem, cruelty, distrust, desperation etc.
I have always wanted a dog because I am attracted by how dogs love. Their love is unconditional, pure, wholesome. I looked back at my old post feel amused by my superficiality towards Papillons. A dog is a dog...
Quite often I see myself trying to transfer my "dog love" into the human world and being remarkably unsuccessful into attaining what I am looking for. Is is perhaps because, as Miguel Ruiz was metaphorically wondering in "The Mastery of Love", if someone really wants a dog, why would they get a cat?...
I know it to be true (and more often than not I am completely blind to the obvious), but I would end up wanting someone who is not the person I imagine him to be and that will never change. I am just obstinately trying to train that person to be the dog I want him to be and getting really frustrated when that wouldn't happen. I would blame everything and everyone (but especially myself) for having failed, when in reality all I was trying to do was to change a cat into a dog...
I have always loved dogs, I have loved them almost as frenetically as they love people. With dogs there are no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, no reasoning, no arguing, just pure love. The kind of love that needs no justification and validation.
At this point though, I feel the need to explain a bit the term "love" and why I chose to use it in certain context. Some people might argue that Love is an absolute notion and it is what it is. Such as the love that a dog is feeling. It just is. Based on the fact that humans have a twisted way of "loving", I have decided to use the same word (and I apologise, as it is not entirely correct) - "love" - to describe a relationship between individuals (usually of the opposite sex, but not limited to) that have feelings of "love" (and now I am talking about the absolute notion) towards each other, but different other emotions associated with, such as fear, jealousy, too low or too high self-esteem, cruelty, distrust, desperation etc.
I have always wanted a dog because I am attracted by how dogs love. Their love is unconditional, pure, wholesome. I looked back at my old post feel amused by my superficiality towards Papillons. A dog is a dog...
Quite often I see myself trying to transfer my "dog love" into the human world and being remarkably unsuccessful into attaining what I am looking for. Is is perhaps because, as Miguel Ruiz was metaphorically wondering in "The Mastery of Love", if someone really wants a dog, why would they get a cat?...
I know it to be true (and more often than not I am completely blind to the obvious), but I would end up wanting someone who is not the person I imagine him to be and that will never change. I am just obstinately trying to train that person to be the dog I want him to be and getting really frustrated when that wouldn't happen. I would blame everything and everyone (but especially myself) for having failed, when in reality all I was trying to do was to change a cat into a dog...
Sunday, 26 September 2010
Autumn smells of irreversible change
I don't know when this summer has gone? I don't even know when September has gone...
All I know is that the air is getting crispy and, should it not rain, it is actually nice and refreshing. I like wearing woolly scarfs and big knits and smell the spicy air that suddenly reminds me of the change in seasons.
I always associate autumn with nostalgia and this season nostalgia is even more poignant. I realised that my life as I knew it until now has gone... Even when I compare my life now with how it looked merely a year ago, I am amazed by how different it is...
I used to take things lightly and lived only for nights out. These days I am worn out, I work a lot more and go out a lot less.
I do less with my week-ends and many of my friends are not accessible anymore.
Last year my family was still the same way I left it, this year we are one member short - my uncle passed away.
Most of the people I know are settling down or going away. I haven't yet managed to settle down nor went away.
I live in a different house than last year, but surprinsingly, I have the same haircut as I had around the same time last year.
I am finding it hard to say goodbye to my old perspective on life, but it seems that I can't fight the change. It is taking over...
Last year I found it difficult to spend a week-end without something to do or somewhere to go. This year I spend most of my free time alone, going to the cinema, window shopping or daydreaming by a mug of cappuccino. Not sure if it's necessarily a good thing, but I am getting accustomed to being by myself most of the time.
Last year I didn't think about Christmas, now I dread it. Unless I'll be home for Christmas, which is a question of snow and airport authorities.
Perhaps I learnt to let go since last year. I learnt to be a bit more patient and let things happen. I also learnt that I can't spend my life complaining.
The only thing that seems to stay the same year after year is the fact that I am by myself. With my only real love in life so far: my books...
(Which reminds me, I had a sad revelation on the tube the other day when I saw an ad for one of the E-books which said: "Think about the book you want to read and read it"... A book that it's only a touch of a button away...Not only that the pleasure of holding a real book might soon become history, but the idea that you can read any book you want at any time, appauls me. Where is the pleasure of going out there and get a book? Searching through the hundreds of used Amazon books and waiting for the postman to bring you the book you so wanted. Or spending hours in Waterstones marvelling at the books that look at you with a life of their own, feeling like a kid in the candy store...)
It smells of wet leafs and Lemsip. But I can't complain. I had a good year.
Perhaps change is not such a bad thing after all.
All I know is that the air is getting crispy and, should it not rain, it is actually nice and refreshing. I like wearing woolly scarfs and big knits and smell the spicy air that suddenly reminds me of the change in seasons.
I always associate autumn with nostalgia and this season nostalgia is even more poignant. I realised that my life as I knew it until now has gone... Even when I compare my life now with how it looked merely a year ago, I am amazed by how different it is...
I used to take things lightly and lived only for nights out. These days I am worn out, I work a lot more and go out a lot less.
I do less with my week-ends and many of my friends are not accessible anymore.
Last year my family was still the same way I left it, this year we are one member short - my uncle passed away.
Most of the people I know are settling down or going away. I haven't yet managed to settle down nor went away.
I live in a different house than last year, but surprinsingly, I have the same haircut as I had around the same time last year.
I am finding it hard to say goodbye to my old perspective on life, but it seems that I can't fight the change. It is taking over...
Last year I found it difficult to spend a week-end without something to do or somewhere to go. This year I spend most of my free time alone, going to the cinema, window shopping or daydreaming by a mug of cappuccino. Not sure if it's necessarily a good thing, but I am getting accustomed to being by myself most of the time.
Last year I didn't think about Christmas, now I dread it. Unless I'll be home for Christmas, which is a question of snow and airport authorities.
Perhaps I learnt to let go since last year. I learnt to be a bit more patient and let things happen. I also learnt that I can't spend my life complaining.
The only thing that seems to stay the same year after year is the fact that I am by myself. With my only real love in life so far: my books...
(Which reminds me, I had a sad revelation on the tube the other day when I saw an ad for one of the E-books which said: "Think about the book you want to read and read it"... A book that it's only a touch of a button away...Not only that the pleasure of holding a real book might soon become history, but the idea that you can read any book you want at any time, appauls me. Where is the pleasure of going out there and get a book? Searching through the hundreds of used Amazon books and waiting for the postman to bring you the book you so wanted. Or spending hours in Waterstones marvelling at the books that look at you with a life of their own, feeling like a kid in the candy store...)
It smells of wet leafs and Lemsip. But I can't complain. I had a good year.
Perhaps change is not such a bad thing after all.
Saturday, 18 September 2010
Remember the forgotten
Forgetting...One of the most merciful qualities of the human being... If we didn't forget, we would carry around millions of images from the past, making us drag through our days distracted by the heaviness of memories.
But what do you do when you are trying to remember. And more importantly, what do you do when you are trying to remember something that you wanted to forget and buried it down in the subconscious? What do you do when you are shovelling through layers of memories and realize that the past almost has a life of its own that is no longer yours...
I woke up in the middle of the night a few nights ago and startled at remembering certain things. I realized then how hard I tried to bury all of them somewhere where nobody can ever find them, especially myself. I wanted to forget and start anew but something always triggers them coming back to life and haunt me. They say we all have certain patterns and by identifying bad habits and avoiding them, we may be able to escape the curse of falling in the same traps over and over again. But scooping back through memories is a hard task especially when youbelieve that no matter what you do, there's no avoidance falling in the same holes. As if it's already been written in your DNA.
Being in denial however, doesn't put a stop to making the same mistakes. I used to be completely oblivious to the implications of bad habits that root from deep inside our beings. When I realized that I had to take trips into the darkness of my own undesired memories, I took a great step towards a possible redemption. But being in the process of identifying the triggers and looking for possible solutions is a scary place to be. I might decide I want to forget all about it...
But what do you do when you are trying to remember. And more importantly, what do you do when you are trying to remember something that you wanted to forget and buried it down in the subconscious? What do you do when you are shovelling through layers of memories and realize that the past almost has a life of its own that is no longer yours...
I woke up in the middle of the night a few nights ago and startled at remembering certain things. I realized then how hard I tried to bury all of them somewhere where nobody can ever find them, especially myself. I wanted to forget and start anew but something always triggers them coming back to life and haunt me. They say we all have certain patterns and by identifying bad habits and avoiding them, we may be able to escape the curse of falling in the same traps over and over again. But scooping back through memories is a hard task especially when youbelieve that no matter what you do, there's no avoidance falling in the same holes. As if it's already been written in your DNA.
Being in denial however, doesn't put a stop to making the same mistakes. I used to be completely oblivious to the implications of bad habits that root from deep inside our beings. When I realized that I had to take trips into the darkness of my own undesired memories, I took a great step towards a possible redemption. But being in the process of identifying the triggers and looking for possible solutions is a scary place to be. I might decide I want to forget all about it...
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Walking the line
I don't suppose it's totally abnormal for me to go back and re-read my own old posts. I sometimes lose faith in what I have said in the past and need to refresh my position.
It is certainly not easy to walk the line every single day. It is instead so easy to get distracted from the clear goal of your existence and start believing all those rumours in your head. I know, I do it every day...
I tell myself sometimes that I am not happy when I have absolutely no reason not to be. I also tell myself that I am not smart enough when all it takes is just a bit of concentration. I tell myself some days that I don't look pretty enough when all it takes is a large smile and a bit of make-up. I sometimes believe that I don't like certain people when they haven't actually wronged my in any way. It's all those rumours in my head. It's all those voices I hear everyday and that I chose to listen to.
That's why it's not unusual for me to seek guidance from my own words. I do believe that we are not necessarily the owners of our ideas, but a medium through which they come alive. And it probably takes a certain frequency of thoughts to be able to receive the great ideas and a clean soul to express them as accurately and as beautifully as possible. Perhaps today is one of those days. When I chose to listen to my heart who is kind to me and forgiving. Perhaps it's a cry for help and by expressing it I already find the power to keep walking the straight line. I can only hope to keep forgiving my mistakes, making less of them and adding more inspiration to my stream of thoughts.
If anyone out there finds a bit of good advice in here, then you're not the only ones: I do as well... And I don't even find that strange at all...
It is certainly not easy to walk the line every single day. It is instead so easy to get distracted from the clear goal of your existence and start believing all those rumours in your head. I know, I do it every day...
I tell myself sometimes that I am not happy when I have absolutely no reason not to be. I also tell myself that I am not smart enough when all it takes is just a bit of concentration. I tell myself some days that I don't look pretty enough when all it takes is a large smile and a bit of make-up. I sometimes believe that I don't like certain people when they haven't actually wronged my in any way. It's all those rumours in my head. It's all those voices I hear everyday and that I chose to listen to.
That's why it's not unusual for me to seek guidance from my own words. I do believe that we are not necessarily the owners of our ideas, but a medium through which they come alive. And it probably takes a certain frequency of thoughts to be able to receive the great ideas and a clean soul to express them as accurately and as beautifully as possible. Perhaps today is one of those days. When I chose to listen to my heart who is kind to me and forgiving. Perhaps it's a cry for help and by expressing it I already find the power to keep walking the straight line. I can only hope to keep forgiving my mistakes, making less of them and adding more inspiration to my stream of thoughts.
If anyone out there finds a bit of good advice in here, then you're not the only ones: I do as well... And I don't even find that strange at all...
Monday, 23 August 2010
The mathematics of existence
You know you have made an important step towards happiness when you can slow your pace down and even let go of things... One of the principle of Buddhism is to avoid getting attached to things/people as we are not the owners of them. We are only the owners of our feelings towards that thing or person and the only thing we can do is enjoy and rejoice in its memory, once it's gone...
Milan Kundera said in Slowness that speed is directly proportional with the power of forgetting and that slowness is directly proportional with the memory. We live in world where the speed is a sine qua non quality, but does this makes us a generation of amnesiacs?... Quite possibly so.
He calles this relation between speed and forgetting, and slowness and memory the existential mathematics and I tend to believe it is true.
In order to ensure the balance of the life equation we must foremost take things slowly, breath into the present (like in Yoga) and rely on the the stability of the memory rather than expect things to turn a certain way to avoid disappointment.
I noticed that most of my past frustration was generated by the impatience I was treating every situation with. I wanted answers right then and there, I wanted things to happen then and there, I wanted results there and then. Nowadays I have learned that it is far more pleasant to place the seeds of future circumstances and pick the riped fruits only when they are perfectly ready to be enjoyed, at their peak.
I noticed that the level of my patience is directly proportional with the satisfaction I get afterwards and I found out that I finally learned to let go. I can always rely on the strongest memories and indulge in them really slowly...
Milan Kundera said in Slowness that speed is directly proportional with the power of forgetting and that slowness is directly proportional with the memory. We live in world where the speed is a sine qua non quality, but does this makes us a generation of amnesiacs?... Quite possibly so.
He calles this relation between speed and forgetting, and slowness and memory the existential mathematics and I tend to believe it is true.
In order to ensure the balance of the life equation we must foremost take things slowly, breath into the present (like in Yoga) and rely on the the stability of the memory rather than expect things to turn a certain way to avoid disappointment.
I noticed that most of my past frustration was generated by the impatience I was treating every situation with. I wanted answers right then and there, I wanted things to happen then and there, I wanted results there and then. Nowadays I have learned that it is far more pleasant to place the seeds of future circumstances and pick the riped fruits only when they are perfectly ready to be enjoyed, at their peak.
I noticed that the level of my patience is directly proportional with the satisfaction I get afterwards and I found out that I finally learned to let go. I can always rely on the strongest memories and indulge in them really slowly...
Thursday, 12 August 2010
Where the truth lies...
The truth is that after turning 30, I started seeing the world with different eyes... It wasn't that before I wasn't aware of my surroundings, but as if by magic, I was able to look at my life objectively, as if stepping out of my body and contemplating it, rather than being stuck in it.
There is a lot of scientific evidence to explain the reasons why it happened and I am also not falling short of mystical ways of coming up with conclusions.
Reading this week's Stylist, I came across an interesting article about "quarter life crisis" and why so many brilliant musicians died aged 27. It seems that turning 27 can mark a turbulent time for people, with the brain going through an interesting transformation around that age. According to Dr. Daniel G Amen quoted in the article, a process called "myelination" occurs and nerve cells are being wrapped in myelin to provide insulation. If the process is disrupted with drink or/and drugs, the person is more vulnerable to depression and impulsive actions. Which brings me to the subject of depression...
Depression is a disease, a biological condition that affects the brain and it can be triggered by events, lifestyle choices, or genetic factors (though not very commonly). Sometimes it is something that builds up over time and it can, why not, start during childhood and erupt when the person is already an adult. Depression has been treated lightly and generally people have perceived it as a weakness rather than what it really is: a disease. The subject is, in certain cultures, quite a taboo.
According to the Toltec Master Don Miguel Ruiz, we are born perfect, happy and intact, but from the moment we learn how to speak and understand the power of the words, we start building up a "tree of knowledge" in our brain, that is made of common beliefs fed to us by parents, relatives, teachers, public figures etc. These common beliefs are not necessarily true (the author actually calls them lies) and we use them to make sense of life and produce judgements. So far it doesn't sound so bad, but the main concern of believing in the Tree of Knowledge is that it comes with a distorted image of the self: we should be like this, but we're not. We grow up with the image of perfection of what we should be and we're not, denying the reality that we are already born perfect.
Many cases of depression are triggered by this "I should be happy, but I'm not", "I should be rich, but I'm not", "I should be beautiful, but I'm not", "I should have children but I don't", "I should be married, but I'm not", "I should be free, but I am not" and the list is infinite.
This is the territory where science and mysticism meet. Depression episodes can be treated with chemicals, but the long time management of this fearful enemy, must be handed in to the people preaching inner happiness as a sine qua non condition for living a long and depression free life.
I have been depressed on this blog one too many times. If I hadn't, I probably would have ended up taking anti-depressants sooner or later... If I am to believe myself (though according to Don Miguel Ruiz, we shouldn't believe ourselves as we tend to proliferate lies from the Tree of Knowledge), I will reach this conclusion: I have suffered from depression for a very long time, with many lapsing episodes, probably ever since I was a teenager. Depression has been one big constant in my life and, due to my understandable ignorance, I have always blamed external factors (things I didn't have, not being in a relationship, not having the perfect job, being a foreigner in this country,,the weather,anything I could have thought about really) for my mood swings and lack of living enthusiasm. Luckily I've survived through all that and being able to complain about it on this blog has proved cathartic, perhaps it even saved me from far worse scenarios. If I am to believe myself, reading and being spritual had given me a completely new perspective and perhaps I don't exaggerate in saying that it has offered me a second chance to life. Perhaps my brain stopped producing myelin as well and that, combined with an improved drinking habit, may be the reason why turning 30 has actually completely shifted my perception on life.
Or maybe none of the above. Who knows where the truth really lies... I may be full of lies picked up from the Tree of Knowledge. I know one thing to be the truth though: I am perfect!...
There is a lot of scientific evidence to explain the reasons why it happened and I am also not falling short of mystical ways of coming up with conclusions.
Reading this week's Stylist, I came across an interesting article about "quarter life crisis" and why so many brilliant musicians died aged 27. It seems that turning 27 can mark a turbulent time for people, with the brain going through an interesting transformation around that age. According to Dr. Daniel G Amen quoted in the article, a process called "myelination" occurs and nerve cells are being wrapped in myelin to provide insulation. If the process is disrupted with drink or/and drugs, the person is more vulnerable to depression and impulsive actions. Which brings me to the subject of depression...
Depression is a disease, a biological condition that affects the brain and it can be triggered by events, lifestyle choices, or genetic factors (though not very commonly). Sometimes it is something that builds up over time and it can, why not, start during childhood and erupt when the person is already an adult. Depression has been treated lightly and generally people have perceived it as a weakness rather than what it really is: a disease. The subject is, in certain cultures, quite a taboo.
According to the Toltec Master Don Miguel Ruiz, we are born perfect, happy and intact, but from the moment we learn how to speak and understand the power of the words, we start building up a "tree of knowledge" in our brain, that is made of common beliefs fed to us by parents, relatives, teachers, public figures etc. These common beliefs are not necessarily true (the author actually calls them lies) and we use them to make sense of life and produce judgements. So far it doesn't sound so bad, but the main concern of believing in the Tree of Knowledge is that it comes with a distorted image of the self: we should be like this, but we're not. We grow up with the image of perfection of what we should be and we're not, denying the reality that we are already born perfect.
Many cases of depression are triggered by this "I should be happy, but I'm not", "I should be rich, but I'm not", "I should be beautiful, but I'm not", "I should have children but I don't", "I should be married, but I'm not", "I should be free, but I am not" and the list is infinite.
This is the territory where science and mysticism meet. Depression episodes can be treated with chemicals, but the long time management of this fearful enemy, must be handed in to the people preaching inner happiness as a sine qua non condition for living a long and depression free life.
I have been depressed on this blog one too many times. If I hadn't, I probably would have ended up taking anti-depressants sooner or later... If I am to believe myself (though according to Don Miguel Ruiz, we shouldn't believe ourselves as we tend to proliferate lies from the Tree of Knowledge), I will reach this conclusion: I have suffered from depression for a very long time, with many lapsing episodes, probably ever since I was a teenager. Depression has been one big constant in my life and, due to my understandable ignorance, I have always blamed external factors (things I didn't have, not being in a relationship, not having the perfect job, being a foreigner in this country,,the weather,anything I could have thought about really) for my mood swings and lack of living enthusiasm. Luckily I've survived through all that and being able to complain about it on this blog has proved cathartic, perhaps it even saved me from far worse scenarios. If I am to believe myself, reading and being spritual had given me a completely new perspective and perhaps I don't exaggerate in saying that it has offered me a second chance to life. Perhaps my brain stopped producing myelin as well and that, combined with an improved drinking habit, may be the reason why turning 30 has actually completely shifted my perception on life.
Or maybe none of the above. Who knows where the truth really lies... I may be full of lies picked up from the Tree of Knowledge. I know one thing to be the truth though: I am perfect!...
Friday, 6 August 2010
You are here and this is now
One of my favourite books is "Life is elsewhere" by Milan Kundera. I love many authors and I hold many books dear, but Kundera has a really special place in my heart. There's something effortlessly elaborate about his digressions, about the way he not only raises important life questions, but it does it in a way that is neither simplistic nor too precious.
I felt attracted by "Life is elsewhere" straight from the title, almost as in a Jerry Maguire "You had me from hello" kind of way. Because the moment I saw that book I understood what was it that effectively drove me across Europe, what was it that made my decisions for me and what was it that made me see life in a blur when I could have seen it crystal clear from the very beginning. It was the fact that I have always believed that life was elsewhere...
When I was around 20 years old I invented this notion called "Authentic Moments". I realized back then that not all moments in life have the same intensity. Most of our days are dull and uninteresting but sometimes, when everything is right, when all the characters and the settings are aligned, when the planets are coordinated in such a way that you happen to be in the middle of it, right there and then, the moments become full of meaning, intense, there's a sense of plenitude and happines about those moments and they become authentic. I was quite proud of myself for having realized that and after reading a lot more since, I also realized that my idea of authenticity is not entirely new, it relates to the Existential Truth, the Idea, the pure notion of what life stands for, that is to be found in many philosophies and spiritualities.
The way this discovery has influenced my life is not without significance. From the day I reached this conclusion, I have set myself high standards: I expected my life to be as full of Authentic Moments as possible and I would get easily disapointed if that wouldn't happen. I started blaming my country and have decided, without a trace of regret, that life (with her plethora of authentic moments) was definitely elsewhere. And I set off looking for it. And the journey lasted for 7 years. It may very well be a magic number as, once the 7 years passed, I felt the pressure lifted off my shoulders and suddenly (perhaps suddenly, but surely not out of the blue, as I started reading and studying a lot about balance and inner peace quite a while ago) I realized I have been looking for life in the wrong place.
Life is here and now and it's not going off anywhere else. I won't find it on an exotic island more that I can find it right here in (windy these days) London. Life is always with me, wherever I go. It's not going away and it's not staying behind. It is with me all the time and by realizing that, I finally started living.
No wonder I was torn between going home and coming back to London without a resolution. I have always expected something to happen at home and put my mind at ease as much as I eagerly awaited the return to London in the hope that this time something great and magnificent was going to happen for me... The good news is: it doesn't matter. I can be anywhere in the world and life wouldn't be elsewhere - it would be with me.
And to prove that I mean every single word I am writing, is that, probably for the first time ever, I am not complaining about the London weather and I don't feel that I want to spend every day off in a different country, with different people, under different auspices. I am staying at home, quietly, with no pre-plans for the week-end and absolutely enjoying every minute of it! And my life has as many Authentic Moments as I want it to have, I can make myself as happy as I want and I am more excited about being alive and doing mundane things than I probably ever was. I can watch a romantic movie feeling warm and fuzzy inside instead of cynically thinking "that is never going to happen to me" and really looking forward to spend half a day tomorrow in a cafe all by myself with a large latte and a book of Spanish grammar. Life couldn't be closer than here and now!
I felt attracted by "Life is elsewhere" straight from the title, almost as in a Jerry Maguire "You had me from hello" kind of way. Because the moment I saw that book I understood what was it that effectively drove me across Europe, what was it that made my decisions for me and what was it that made me see life in a blur when I could have seen it crystal clear from the very beginning. It was the fact that I have always believed that life was elsewhere...
When I was around 20 years old I invented this notion called "Authentic Moments". I realized back then that not all moments in life have the same intensity. Most of our days are dull and uninteresting but sometimes, when everything is right, when all the characters and the settings are aligned, when the planets are coordinated in such a way that you happen to be in the middle of it, right there and then, the moments become full of meaning, intense, there's a sense of plenitude and happines about those moments and they become authentic. I was quite proud of myself for having realized that and after reading a lot more since, I also realized that my idea of authenticity is not entirely new, it relates to the Existential Truth, the Idea, the pure notion of what life stands for, that is to be found in many philosophies and spiritualities.
The way this discovery has influenced my life is not without significance. From the day I reached this conclusion, I have set myself high standards: I expected my life to be as full of Authentic Moments as possible and I would get easily disapointed if that wouldn't happen. I started blaming my country and have decided, without a trace of regret, that life (with her plethora of authentic moments) was definitely elsewhere. And I set off looking for it. And the journey lasted for 7 years. It may very well be a magic number as, once the 7 years passed, I felt the pressure lifted off my shoulders and suddenly (perhaps suddenly, but surely not out of the blue, as I started reading and studying a lot about balance and inner peace quite a while ago) I realized I have been looking for life in the wrong place.
Life is here and now and it's not going off anywhere else. I won't find it on an exotic island more that I can find it right here in (windy these days) London. Life is always with me, wherever I go. It's not going away and it's not staying behind. It is with me all the time and by realizing that, I finally started living.
No wonder I was torn between going home and coming back to London without a resolution. I have always expected something to happen at home and put my mind at ease as much as I eagerly awaited the return to London in the hope that this time something great and magnificent was going to happen for me... The good news is: it doesn't matter. I can be anywhere in the world and life wouldn't be elsewhere - it would be with me.
And to prove that I mean every single word I am writing, is that, probably for the first time ever, I am not complaining about the London weather and I don't feel that I want to spend every day off in a different country, with different people, under different auspices. I am staying at home, quietly, with no pre-plans for the week-end and absolutely enjoying every minute of it! And my life has as many Authentic Moments as I want it to have, I can make myself as happy as I want and I am more excited about being alive and doing mundane things than I probably ever was. I can watch a romantic movie feeling warm and fuzzy inside instead of cynically thinking "that is never going to happen to me" and really looking forward to spend half a day tomorrow in a cafe all by myself with a large latte and a book of Spanish grammar. Life couldn't be closer than here and now!
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Out with the old, in with the new
There are periods in life when nearly everything changes. I have recently been through a gigantic "out with old, in with the new" stage and it feels as if I changed skins or refreshed my blood. It wasn't all pretty, some of the stuff were quite hard and I am surprised how well I coped with it all and somehow emerged stronger, calmer, wiser, healthier and, against certain circumstances, happier.
You normally expect this type of things to happen with the New Year resolutions period, but you never know when it hits. Perhaps when you are mentally ready to take the plunge. For me, everything was set, as if by a superior being, in such a way that every single step I took was a natural follow-up of the previous one...
First I changed jobs. I have felt an unsettling urge of such a change ever since the year started and I began feeling that professionally I wasn't going anywhere. As much as I loved working in my old place, I had to listen to my instincts and my gut feeling kept telling me I wasn't going to make it too far there. I changed jobs in May and, though heartbroken, I survived the shock of moving from an extremely fun environment and from an office in the vibrant Covent Garden area to a small office, on a residential street in Hammersmith, practically on the other side of the city. By changing jobs I took a bit of a industry change turn and I had to struggle to pick up on the specifics of the pharma and healthcare... Yet another sector I knew next to nothing about to add to my varied portfolio... Three months later and I am still trying hard to settle into everything but my objectives are much clearer now and I am grateful I managed to train my mind into putting things into their real perspective, rather than expecting an immediate satisfaction.
Then I had to move house. I calculated that in seven years of London, I moved house 8 times. So a little bit over a house per year. Apparently, according to some studies, moving house is one of the most stressful changes in a person's life. It is common knowledge also that the place where you live has to be a sort of a sanctuary where a person feels safe and enjoys moments of relaxation and calm, a retreat from the craziness of everyday living. 8 houses so far and none of them has been a real home to me. I find myself puzzled whenever on holiday whether it is worth me buying a souvenir I would just carry around London moving houses for the rest of my life... A need of a home is growing stronger by the day and I finally decided looking into buying. I don't know where to start yet and when it will be finished but I have finally agreed with myself that, in all fairness, London is my home now and I might as well have a home here after all...
In the meantime, I have found a lovely place to live, which ticks all my boxes (quiet, central, clean, modern, en-suite shower, great flatmates, safe and with an outside patio). Looking for a place to live was as expected the nightmare from hell and I felt much under pressure as moving out date was drawing closer, until I decided that compromise was not an option. I had to temporarily live at a friend's house until finding the right place and being able to move, but it was worth the wait and the effort. Luckily, I got by with a little help from my friends.
They say personal issues come from childhood and, though in the recent years I have learned to love myself and forgive myself and accept myself for what I am, perhaps residues of my self-inflicted self-loathe were still to be found floating around my molecules and decided to take a journey back to childhood and see what I would find. When back to Romania in July, I took a try and surrounded by familiar objects and the specific energy of the place, I lied on my back, closed my eyes and went back in time... I found a scared little me in a grey knitted suit (I remember that suit from a Polaroid photo taken many years ago in a hotel by a German tourist, which my mum had knitted for me) crying in the corner of our old apartment by the Black Sea, thinking that the future will never look bright again... I mentally took the child version of myself into my arms and assured myself that the future does look better and that it will all be all right. With tears running down my cheeks I have made peace with the past, allowing the present to unfold at its best.
Last but not least, a family medical emergency introduced me to the stress of being in and out of a London hospital, of looking the suffering in the face, and watching the painful spectacle of the human being deprived of dignity by the sickness. I had the chance to look around me and realize how incredibly lucky I am and stop looking at my petty worries as if there was no tomorrow...I know I should have done it a long time ago, but there is no better way of acknowledgment as seeing it with your own eyes... I also had a chance to reflect a lot about the algorithm of suffering and eventually I could only reach one conclusion: there is no logic to why some people suffer more than others, why some live happy fulfilling lives and others have nothing to eat, why some live to see 100 and others die of cancer, and the only way to fight this "injustice" is to properly celebrate every single day of life for what it is - a miracle and a blessing!
So this is me now, with a new vision and a new plan. To be happy! No matter what. To look at my life and say: I did all right! To look at my problems and say: will I really care about this a few months from now?... To acknowledge what I want and patiently wait for it to come my way without being frustrated for not having it on the spot. To spend more time with the loved ones and tell them more often that I love them. To love. Everything and everyone around me. It's the only way...
When asked recently how do I manage with so many changes I stopped a bit and thought about it. Then I said: I got used to change...
You normally expect this type of things to happen with the New Year resolutions period, but you never know when it hits. Perhaps when you are mentally ready to take the plunge. For me, everything was set, as if by a superior being, in such a way that every single step I took was a natural follow-up of the previous one...
First I changed jobs. I have felt an unsettling urge of such a change ever since the year started and I began feeling that professionally I wasn't going anywhere. As much as I loved working in my old place, I had to listen to my instincts and my gut feeling kept telling me I wasn't going to make it too far there. I changed jobs in May and, though heartbroken, I survived the shock of moving from an extremely fun environment and from an office in the vibrant Covent Garden area to a small office, on a residential street in Hammersmith, practically on the other side of the city. By changing jobs I took a bit of a industry change turn and I had to struggle to pick up on the specifics of the pharma and healthcare... Yet another sector I knew next to nothing about to add to my varied portfolio... Three months later and I am still trying hard to settle into everything but my objectives are much clearer now and I am grateful I managed to train my mind into putting things into their real perspective, rather than expecting an immediate satisfaction.
Then I had to move house. I calculated that in seven years of London, I moved house 8 times. So a little bit over a house per year. Apparently, according to some studies, moving house is one of the most stressful changes in a person's life. It is common knowledge also that the place where you live has to be a sort of a sanctuary where a person feels safe and enjoys moments of relaxation and calm, a retreat from the craziness of everyday living. 8 houses so far and none of them has been a real home to me. I find myself puzzled whenever on holiday whether it is worth me buying a souvenir I would just carry around London moving houses for the rest of my life... A need of a home is growing stronger by the day and I finally decided looking into buying. I don't know where to start yet and when it will be finished but I have finally agreed with myself that, in all fairness, London is my home now and I might as well have a home here after all...
In the meantime, I have found a lovely place to live, which ticks all my boxes (quiet, central, clean, modern, en-suite shower, great flatmates, safe and with an outside patio). Looking for a place to live was as expected the nightmare from hell and I felt much under pressure as moving out date was drawing closer, until I decided that compromise was not an option. I had to temporarily live at a friend's house until finding the right place and being able to move, but it was worth the wait and the effort. Luckily, I got by with a little help from my friends.
They say personal issues come from childhood and, though in the recent years I have learned to love myself and forgive myself and accept myself for what I am, perhaps residues of my self-inflicted self-loathe were still to be found floating around my molecules and decided to take a journey back to childhood and see what I would find. When back to Romania in July, I took a try and surrounded by familiar objects and the specific energy of the place, I lied on my back, closed my eyes and went back in time... I found a scared little me in a grey knitted suit (I remember that suit from a Polaroid photo taken many years ago in a hotel by a German tourist, which my mum had knitted for me) crying in the corner of our old apartment by the Black Sea, thinking that the future will never look bright again... I mentally took the child version of myself into my arms and assured myself that the future does look better and that it will all be all right. With tears running down my cheeks I have made peace with the past, allowing the present to unfold at its best.
Last but not least, a family medical emergency introduced me to the stress of being in and out of a London hospital, of looking the suffering in the face, and watching the painful spectacle of the human being deprived of dignity by the sickness. I had the chance to look around me and realize how incredibly lucky I am and stop looking at my petty worries as if there was no tomorrow...I know I should have done it a long time ago, but there is no better way of acknowledgment as seeing it with your own eyes... I also had a chance to reflect a lot about the algorithm of suffering and eventually I could only reach one conclusion: there is no logic to why some people suffer more than others, why some live happy fulfilling lives and others have nothing to eat, why some live to see 100 and others die of cancer, and the only way to fight this "injustice" is to properly celebrate every single day of life for what it is - a miracle and a blessing!
So this is me now, with a new vision and a new plan. To be happy! No matter what. To look at my life and say: I did all right! To look at my problems and say: will I really care about this a few months from now?... To acknowledge what I want and patiently wait for it to come my way without being frustrated for not having it on the spot. To spend more time with the loved ones and tell them more often that I love them. To love. Everything and everyone around me. It's the only way...
When asked recently how do I manage with so many changes I stopped a bit and thought about it. Then I said: I got used to change...
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Ghosting with High Fidelity on The Beach
My favourite reads of the last few months have probably come into my life with some kind of reason...
It started with The Beach of Alex Garland, which I have read after coming back from Thailand. I didn't devour it as it was dense and tense, and rough and spicy, and exotic and random, and funny and cruel... But I loved it. I specifically remember the bit about the amnesic effect of the beach (when you are in paradise, you forget all about the world, all about your family and friends, all about your normal desires and it all becomes a needless state of beatific reality) and how little it had in common with the movie.
Accidentally, High Fidelity of Nick Hornby fell into my hands and filled my commute with laughter. I read it with a bit too much haste, but I couldn't help myself. It was as good as a cupcake with a large latte. Actually no, make it black coffee with no sugar - a bit of bitter sweet unromanticised love drama... Nothing to do with the movie at all...
I found Jennie Erdall's Ghosting in the Pound Shop. Thought that would be a random buy. But it turned out to be a good book, which reminds me of my own aspirations to write... It is a beautifully written tale, with deliciously chosen words, which unfolds as a unobtrusive melody and really make me think of how little I know about writing still...
I wonder what do they all mean in my life?... The Beach talks about a spoiled paradise and how futile is to believe in recreating a perfect society in a dream location, advising us to just go back to living our normal lives - we're better off. High Fidelity talks about settling/or not in a relationship... And about music and a lot of pathetic stuff. Ghosting talks about writing and how everyone should write for themselves. I am still to find out their meaning in my life. Perhaps there isn't any. Perhaps they are just wonderful books that make my life a little bit better!...
It started with The Beach of Alex Garland, which I have read after coming back from Thailand. I didn't devour it as it was dense and tense, and rough and spicy, and exotic and random, and funny and cruel... But I loved it. I specifically remember the bit about the amnesic effect of the beach (when you are in paradise, you forget all about the world, all about your family and friends, all about your normal desires and it all becomes a needless state of beatific reality) and how little it had in common with the movie.
Accidentally, High Fidelity of Nick Hornby fell into my hands and filled my commute with laughter. I read it with a bit too much haste, but I couldn't help myself. It was as good as a cupcake with a large latte. Actually no, make it black coffee with no sugar - a bit of bitter sweet unromanticised love drama... Nothing to do with the movie at all...
I found Jennie Erdall's Ghosting in the Pound Shop. Thought that would be a random buy. But it turned out to be a good book, which reminds me of my own aspirations to write... It is a beautifully written tale, with deliciously chosen words, which unfolds as a unobtrusive melody and really make me think of how little I know about writing still...
I wonder what do they all mean in my life?... The Beach talks about a spoiled paradise and how futile is to believe in recreating a perfect society in a dream location, advising us to just go back to living our normal lives - we're better off. High Fidelity talks about settling/or not in a relationship... And about music and a lot of pathetic stuff. Ghosting talks about writing and how everyone should write for themselves. I am still to find out their meaning in my life. Perhaps there isn't any. Perhaps they are just wonderful books that make my life a little bit better!...
Monday, 28 June 2010
When everything is starting to make sense
I find myself sometimes thinking about things. Surely spending time alone has helped. It was the kind of period when I kpt on cleansing myself. Sometimes when life's too busy, you realize you carry so much waste around, simply because there is no time to discard it and with people always around, it's a hard thing to do. These days I feel like I'm going through all sorts of stages and every day brings me closer to where it want to be.
I now look back at my life and realize I am the kind of person who believes in one great love, the kind of person that truly believes in a life long relationship and wants it with such a passion that it sometimes seems unreal, the kind of person that has always wanted that. Some people marry young, due to circumstances or simply because they didn't know any better, and by the time they're in their 40s, they want out of that marriage. They secretly wish to live the single life, unattached, sleep with different people anytime without a sense of responsibility, they want to taste life for themselves, they want to find out who they are. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be in a relationship, I wanted somebody by my side, to make me feel less ugly, less undesirable, less disatvantaged, I suppose I secretly wanted a father figure to give me the sense of security I've never had when I grew up. Somehow, I never got what I wanted, but the kind of life other people may wish for: freedom and total flexibility (they only things I own are my clothes and my shoe collection..). I now find myself at 30 years of age looking at other people and wondering how do they do it? How do they meet? How do they decide they are made for one another and decide to share lives? I am dumbfound by the mistery. And even after so many years of going through a lot by myself, of having proved to myself that I am capable of being my own father figure, I still look at young couples on the street wondering how come they found eachother the same way I used to look at other kids' fathers thinking how come they were so nice...
I try to believe that my hippie existence has a higher meaning and that I must use my flexibility as best as I can, but all I secretely wish for is a lovely little house and a bunch of kids... Oh but I bet that once I have that, I'll be running away to South America to try and save the rain forest, or at least what's left of it... By trying to bring the stability he has never offered me into my life and not finding it, I am afraid I have become my father. A restless soul, never happy, never really free...
(Disclaimer: these recent posts are a mix between reality and a study for future writing. Do not take it all seriously, don't call the ambulance, I am not mad :) not yet... )
I now look back at my life and realize I am the kind of person who believes in one great love, the kind of person that truly believes in a life long relationship and wants it with such a passion that it sometimes seems unreal, the kind of person that has always wanted that. Some people marry young, due to circumstances or simply because they didn't know any better, and by the time they're in their 40s, they want out of that marriage. They secretly wish to live the single life, unattached, sleep with different people anytime without a sense of responsibility, they want to taste life for themselves, they want to find out who they are. Ever since I can remember, I wanted to be in a relationship, I wanted somebody by my side, to make me feel less ugly, less undesirable, less disatvantaged, I suppose I secretly wanted a father figure to give me the sense of security I've never had when I grew up. Somehow, I never got what I wanted, but the kind of life other people may wish for: freedom and total flexibility (they only things I own are my clothes and my shoe collection..). I now find myself at 30 years of age looking at other people and wondering how do they do it? How do they meet? How do they decide they are made for one another and decide to share lives? I am dumbfound by the mistery. And even after so many years of going through a lot by myself, of having proved to myself that I am capable of being my own father figure, I still look at young couples on the street wondering how come they found eachother the same way I used to look at other kids' fathers thinking how come they were so nice...
I try to believe that my hippie existence has a higher meaning and that I must use my flexibility as best as I can, but all I secretely wish for is a lovely little house and a bunch of kids... Oh but I bet that once I have that, I'll be running away to South America to try and save the rain forest, or at least what's left of it... By trying to bring the stability he has never offered me into my life and not finding it, I am afraid I have become my father. A restless soul, never happy, never really free...
(Disclaimer: these recent posts are a mix between reality and a study for future writing. Do not take it all seriously, don't call the ambulance, I am not mad :) not yet... )
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