Inspire

My motivational collage
(sourced via bing images and created with photovisi)

A few days ago I decided to turn my life around. I am not sure when and how it became totally clear to me that this was it! The decision I've been postponing for the whole of my life was finally made. I wasn't going to sit around anymore, complain about men, weather, people on the tube, lack of motivation or whatever else; I was going to take active part in creating the life I want for myself. And I know it's going to be a long and hard journey but I am finally ready to embrace the change and deal with all the obstacles, the set-backs, the disappointments, the rejections, the fear...

Because not doing so it's something I won't be able to live with. I have reached the point when I am clear about how a meaningless life would made me feel. I've been through that already, I've experienced the lows of denying my true nature, trying to be who I'm not, trying to pursue for myself other people's dreams, blending in, looking for comfort, being scared! Like when I was on top of the mountain looking down with the fear of being rejected by the slope, for not being good enough. The only thing I am scared about is not to do what I now set out to do.

I am not entirely sure where this new found energy came from but I suspect there was a series of factors that brought it along. The Hunger Games, the dumping, the cold and the rain, the need for something greater, the reminder of who I used to be...

I used to be the teenager who wrote poetry and secretly 'admirehated' Mircea Eliade for training himself sleep only 4 hours a night when just a highscool pupil so he can read and write more, the teenager who was consuming some of the world's greatest literature with no or little interest in going out and partying with her peers, the teenager who had very big dreams and was regularly writing in her diary 'I don't want to die with a mediocre soul'. And it suddenly occurred to me that I don't know what happened to that teenager. She tried too hard to save herself the pain of failure and became just like everybody else.

And here I was, reclaiming my teenage self and deciding that fear was no longer an option. I took a few deep breaths and closed my eyes. The problem with becoming your true self is selecting which individual activity you are going to pursue. And after letting some of the options dance in a circle inside my head, I eventually saw them aligning into what seemed to be a word. I concentrated to try and read the word and smiled when I finally could make it out. It was INSPIRE!

Therefore, everything I will ever do from now will be to inspire and be inspired. My whole life will revolve around inspire and with your help we will inspire each other. I am planning to ask a few of my friends who have proved to be an inspiration themselves to give us some insights to share with us all so we can be inspired and inspire others.

So this is the first step. Making the decision. The rest will naturally follow.

Stay inspired!

The boy with the bread

'The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread'  
Mother Teresa. 

I know I've been going on and on about the Hunger Games the last few days and I risk sounding like a broken record by now but there are not many  stories that moved me so deeply and shook me to the core as much as the Hunger Games did. To the point that I am almost upset this is only the product of a very talented someone's imagination and not a real story (minus the violence and the destruction, of course, but there's already plenty of that going on in the world as it is).  To the point that I am amazed how Suzanne Collins did such an incredible job with the characters, how she made them almost legendary, how she gave the world not only a page turner but also a deeply moving story with an ultimately very strong social message.

I can count on my fingers the books that have poisoned me with such an intense emotion, consumed me and burnt me to the point that I almost wanted to disintegrate from my present and live forever between their pages.  I think I can name just a few: Pride and Prejudice, A Thousand Splendid Suns, Shadow of the Wind, One Day... There are probably hundreds of other books I truly enjoyed and appreciated, but which didn't leave me empty and still shaken the moment that last page turned. Hunger Games did...

It's because of the boy with the bread. I mentioned already a few days ago that I fell in love with a 17-year old fictional character: Peeta Mellark, the boy with the bread.  I've been thinking about it since: what is the one thing I can say about this character, the one word that says it all and it's the one truly necessary quality for me to fall hopelessly in love with someone. It's because he's noble. Yes, noble is the word, because it means so many things: distinguished, moral, honest, of excellent character, principled, worthy, dignified, admirable, courageous, high-minded. All these in the same person,  a normal, gentle, strong, friendly and approachable person. That's the most attractive thing in the world to me. And I am glad I finally figured it out.

I feel so inspired by his character (and many others from the book) that I am almost afraid to take a look at my life and realise I am not noble. At least not at the moment... Don't suppose you can call yourself noble just by living your normal life, not hurting anyone, but neither doing anything amazing for someone else either, just following your everyday routine, not really being fully aware of the things and people around, engulfed in your own thoughts about your own self. I don't think I can call myself noble and that's a truth I have to face...


I've been looking at my life for a long time now. Turning it and tossing it around without figuring it out what I am looking for. But I think I found the answer. I need to step out of my comfort zone and become a noble person, someone who cares, someone who inspires, someone who gets closer to the truth. I am yet to find the expression of that, but having mentioned to one of my good friends the other day how engulfed I was in the Hunger Games and how I wished so hard for me to be capable of inspiring such feelings in people she said I was already doing that... That surprised me because I never thought much about my blog posts. I always thought they were some kind of therapeutic expression of my feelings and emotions. But she said: 'We all feel this kind of things, but we can't all write about them the way you do...' I thank her for that. She may have awaken something in me..Some sort of hunger... 


'So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. 


I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave, last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir inside. Only one that made me want more (...)


And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.'


('The Hunger Games - Catching Fire')

The relief

It came to me as a sort of a surprise to realise that although I've recently been dumped in a rather inconsiderate way, I feel better than ever.

Yes, it took a few days of feeling sorry for myself. Generally speaking my bruised ego didn't want to let go of the fact that a guy actually decided he couldn't even be bothered to dump me. So no phone call, no text, no e-mail, no pigeon, no smoke signals, no post-it, nothing. And I am a bit too experienced in the matters of the heart to start thinking he got hit by a car or had stroke (though, now that I mention, maybe he did have an accident or a stroke...) so I had to accept that he was dumping me in the worst kind of way, the silent way. Considering he confessed he had no tolerance for arguments, I reached the only possible conclusion: he avoided me hoping I would go away all by myself. Which I did.

I realised that being with a guy who made me feel insecure most of the time, not knowing how much I really mattered to him, was a torture. A torture which I gladly accepted in return for the good times we did have together. But a torture is still a torture and since being silently discarded of I feel as light as a feather. I feel that despite everything, all I really need to care about is myself and if a guy is not making me feel like the most amazing and adored woman in the world, he's really not worth the effort.What a relief!

May the odds...

Call me a hopeless romantic but I am reading the Hunger Games and more often than not my eyes are full of tears. I live this book so intensely that sometimes, when drowned in it and magically transported to the universe of hunger, death and repression, but also love and courage I must remind myself that I still do live in the real world.
I'm only half way through and I think I am in love with Peeta. I am so in love with Peeta and his quiet reliability, charming nature strong presence that I totally forgot about the guy I've been dating for two months, who texted me about a week ago that he would call me later and never did contact me again. Nor answered any of my calls... 
I'm so madly in love with the idea of a man who would sacrifice himself for me because I matter that much to him. And who would hold me at night in his arms with such protective intent that my episodes of waking up in the middle of the night with a sense of loneliness, desperation and hollowness (which sadly occur sometimes) would totally dissipate as if erased from my memory.
I'm almost surprised how many feelings get stirred inside of me while reading these books. I thought I had grown bitter, that I developed a protective crust around my soul which stops me from feeling anything anymore and that the only thing left for me to do is to look distrustful around and expect the next guy to do the same and get away unpunished. I almost thought I'd end up writing another bitter post about how coward and rude break-ups should be punished by law, how I deserve at least a bit of respect and how people should not just look at me and shake their heads saying 'That happened to me so many times in the past too...' as if it's normal!
Instead, I don't care. Because none of these men who can't look you in the eye (or at least press the send button) and say what they have to say to you clearly and honestly ever were men. Expecting them to act as they ought to it's as if you'd expect a donkey to win horse race. They just can't. And you can't be upset with a donkey for not having been built like a horse. Or get upset with the rain or the cold for making you feel miserable. They just exist... Your feelings are your own responsibility though...
So what are my feelings then? My feelings are that I am ok. I am ok and I know what I am looking for. I am looking for a man. And if there aren't any more out there, I'll just have to do with the heart warming image of an imaginary Peeta, but certainly nothing less than this...
Oddly enough I went to see the Hunger Games (the movie) with the same guy. And while I was entirely enchanted by the story (even by the brutality... after all, isn't it all a metaphor or the world we live in today,  yet we carry on eating or little sandwich on our lunch break when somewhere else in the world people have to fight for a piece of stale bread, without feeling overly appalled?...) he looked totally unimpressed. While I was hoping to share my enthusiasm with him all he wanted to share with me was a bored comment of how late it was and how the film was not well executed. Looking back, that's when I probably realised he wasn't the guy for me and yet I let another couple of weeks go by before facing that reality. Next time, promise I'll trust my instincts. They're never wrong. They are invaluable for survival... And may the odds be ever in my favour!

A tourist at home

It happened eventually. I got to that point when my visits in my home country start to resemble to any other trip in the world. There is a clear disconnection I now experience when I return for family visits.

I felt like that when I arrived in Bucharest at evening time a few days ago and despite the fact that I've seen it all before, after all I spent nearly 6 years in this city, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I'm just a tourist. Yes, there is a sense of deja vu, but sometimes I get that when I visit the same place a few times. A vague familiarity and yet a certainty that home is somewhere else.

I am restless every time I visit. Like I am a murderer returning to the crime scene. There are a lot of hidden memories that start creeping up when I return home and sometimes I just feel like I want to run away. I am more convinced now that I have to skip Christmas this year and hide somewhere random, like in the jungles of Vietnam maybe. Strangely, I feel more at ease venturing around the world and losing myself in the crowds. It just occurred to me that this must be the feeling people who are born in the wrong body must have... Like a stranger with their own kind...

I am enjoying the time I spend with my family. I still have a family and I cherish these precious moments: they are still alive and healthy and (here's when I can't help but thinking about the passing of time and that they won't be around forever) that they love me and I love them. But that doesn't stop me from looking forward to going back to where I no longer feel like a tourist or like an intruder: home, to London...

What is love?

I recently realised that I know absolutely nothing about love. I know I've been writing about it, whining about not finding it, looking for it, expecting it to come my way, all these things, but I don't know the first thing about it.

This only occurred to me recently and the reason is I have been dating someone for longer than a month! Yay, congrats to me! Seriously, it's not even funny, it's such a new thing in my life and it looks like I am learning as much about myself as I am learning about him.

I am learning that having been single for almost 5 years (yes, my dears, almost 5 years!) turned me into a selfish person. I want things to happen the way I want them (after all, I've been waiting for so long, I might as well get what I want and how I want it!), I want him to do the things I want and jump to conclusions because of my past experiences etc. I am also learning that I am pretty traumatised person and somehow I keep expecting things to turn out for the worst, despite everything going pretty smoothly. And that, to a subliminal level, I am creating scenes and starting up arguments only to prove myself that I was right: things would end up badly sooner or later. That, despite thinking that I am selfless, I actually only really care about myself and what the other can give to me...

Hard things to swallow...  But I realised that by facing this reality I may still have a chance to find out what love is. For now I am catching glimpses of it: liking someone despite their shortcomings, accepting that not everything and everyone is perfect (least of all me!), that things don't always go the way we plan, accepting I am not always right and that perhaps we should give the other person a chance to surprise us with some love instead of always expecting them to let us down...

The fear of falling

A bit over a week ago, I was sat on top on the blue run at the Mottolino mountain in Livigno, Italy, and contemplating the very steep slope at the top of it. It was the last day of my ski trip and I really wanted to go down that slope like a pro. But the moment I looked down, a great panic made my heart shrink and get all the way up to the bottom of my throat. I was paralized with fear. Not a totally unjustified fear if I am to take into account the ski accident from 10 years ago which left me with a broken elbow and two surgeries, but still just fear. It wasn't like I couldn't move, like I didn't know how to plough and turn my way down, but it was all about the fact that I was afraid of just going for it!

Although - slowly and painfully - I did go down that slope twice a day or two before, this time it felt like I had run out of the little courage I had left. I closed my eyes, said a prayer, put on my skis and reluctantly reached for the edge. I slowly watched in terror as I was sliding down the slope, but when I realised that all my body was shaking and that I was simply terrified by the look of that slope, I had the revelation that I had to give up. I took off my skis and frustrated left the slope, with cold tears running down my cheeks.

I spent the next 20 minutes crying silently under my googles and hating everyone who casually and elegantly went down the slope, all the while gathering courage. I tried to visualise how I would do it, thinking of the technique I had to employ to ensure a safe descend and generally just trying to positively make myself do it. I was desperate to do it, I felt like such a failure of not being able to. I am not the one to step away from a challenge, I always push myself, I always like to achieve the things I want to and yet sometimes, a self preservation instinct becomes stronger and my body and mind refuse to do what I tell them.

I was getting cold and the more I was thinking about it, it became obvious, that the less likely I was going to do it. Defeated, I dragged myself to the gondola and went back the cowardly way, crying my heart out all the way back. Unable to admire the beauty of the scenery around me, all I could think about was why? Why was I so afraid when I have been through probably more risky situations before, yet I went in without blinking. Somehow, between bitter tears, I had a revelation: we are always afraid of the unknown. And in this case, I didn't know that I was safely going to reach the end of the slope because experience had taught me that going down a steep slope ends up in broken bones.

But probably what I didn't want to admit to myself was that I didn't really know how to ski. The truth is I never took skiing lessons and, as with many other things in life, I thought I'd get away with it. I learnt it all by myself and since I am a self-taught nature, I assumed that if I just do it enough times, one day I will excell. But in all honesty, sometimes you just need to go back to basics and get it right. After that it's just a matter of practice...

And with this I realised that I wasn't afraid of falling, I was afraid of admitting to myself that I didn't know how to prevent myself from falling...

Truth be told, in everyday life, I find myself on the top of a steep slope more often than I'd like to admit. The extension of my fear is more present than I ever thought it would be. I recently started seeing someone and I already feel I don't know how to 'ski' my way into it. I have broken so many 'bones' down that slope that the thought of arriving safely at the end of the love piste seems like an impossible dream. Whether I decide to slide down and break a 'bone' again or just wait frustratingly on top of the mountain gathering courage and wishing to do it, but not being able to, it's all a very difficult game. Maybe I should go back to basics and learn the love game all over again...

The simple things

Sometimes it really doesn't matter that it's cold and grey. Sometimes, you just become present and aware of the beautiful everyday surroundings. I am a bit disappointed that I fail to see that more often...

On Valentines Day I went to a comedy gig, left slightly early and made my usual way down from Charing Cross to Embankment when I suddenly felt elated. I felt an eerie sort of happiness which I didn't know where it was coming from. But I knew: it was the beloved walk towards Embankment Tube at night. I realised I love this walk... As I was passing an Italian restaurant I remembered the dinner I had there with my friend Liluna when she came visiting last year, the pub where I had drinks with my friend Michael on a cold winter Friday a year ago, the tea at Starbucks with Aga, the really bad date which took place at Gordon's Wine bar and the park just on the left hand side where I brough Mum last summer.

And above all, a pink lit London Eye and the sound of music...'These are a few of my favourite things' Julie Andrews would sing in the 'Sound of Music' and suddenly I could hear it in a saxophone version coming from a street performer outside the tube entrance. It felt so right, so appropriate, so magic. Determined, I reached for my purse, took out all the change I had there and dropped it into his saxophone case. Silently, I made my way inside the tube station singing in my heard 'These are a few of my favourite things' all the way home...

Happy Valentine's Day!

Believe it or not, my friends, I don't care it's Valentine's Day today. Not in a 'I say I don't care but I'm actually  slightly angry I'm alone again' kind of way, but in a more 'I don't care because I am ok with being alone and don't feel like celebrating anything other than hey just another great day of my fabulous life!' kind of way.

The origins of today's day have something to do with a martyr called Valentine who died for his religious convictions, therefore not for an actual demoiselle who may or may not have stolen his heart. It seems that some people around the 14th century decided to set-up a tradition of associating this particular day with romantic love. Hence it is a purely fabricated celebration with no real 'romatic love' origin, except for one man's love for God or religion.

Nothing wrong with celebrating love, I say. But stop telling us we have to buy heart shaped trinkets and give them to The One we love or feel really depressed about not having  The One to love in our lives!

But despite being the marketing monster of today (following closely behind the Christmas money making machine, currently the market leader!), Valentine's day is indeed another beautiful day of our lives. So this year I decided to embrace it rather than hate it!  I decided today I wil be cheerful and happy and I pledge to love myself and give myself the gift of love to show I care.

A very cold February

Source: www.theexperiemntoflife.blogspot.com

February it's been the coldest month of the winter so far. London's even seen some snow and as always lovers and haters of snow have been arguing about whether snow it's good or bad. I don't really care. I don't really care about the cold outside either because I finally learned to wrap up and keep the cold at bay. I also spend a lot of time indoors and when I do have to go out, it's simply painful...

I wonder why I do it though. It's almost like trying constantly to fill a void in my life, I am out doing things, meeting people, getting mentally exhausted. It almost feels like I should feel guilty about the time spent doing nothing. And the more I try filling my time with 'useful' activities, the more I want to stop doing them and just plainly do nothing. It's an interesting dilema I am going through this cold February... To do or not to do?...

I guess the answer is limiting myself to doing only one thing at the time and just to the important things in life. It almost feels I am chasing too many things, I am trying to improve too many aspects of my life all of the sudden and I am growing increasingly tired. My heart is getting cold and I just want some sunshine and a bit of slack from myself...

Giving in to January

January is named after the god Janus, who is usually depicted with two faces looking in opposite directions – one into the future and one into the past. This unique viewpoint makes January a great time for learning lessons from your past and applying them to the future (The Independent).

So here I am looking forth and looking back... With a little bit less confusion than in previous years but confused nevertheless...

Not sure what exactly is the problem with January but I feel like I've been poisoined: with ill humour, bad temper, annoyance, loneliness (oh, loneliness, old friend, you found me again!), insomnia, tiredness, depression (could it be?),  boredom...

I'm asking myself again the questions: why am I alone, am I in the right career, what do I really want out of life, where is this all going, why, when, what for, why not??

All these questions. I feel like I have to find an answer right here and right now, make decisions, change things, do, don't do,  punish myself, push myself!... Just to end up exhausted and more confused.

It's not the first January I have to go through. Yeah, they're terrible little bastards: cold, miserable, skint, dark.
And because I've been through it before, I always try to avoid feeling like I'm feeling now and yet every year I end up in the same place. Because maybe that's the point of January. You can't be looking back and looking forth without a bit of a headache, I suppose. It's gotta be done! Just accept it, don't struggle, lie around if you must, watch soapy films, eat frozen pizza, get a bit annoyed, feel a tiny wee miserable and then get it over with! As long as you accept it for what it is and don't try to get all the resolutions sorted within the first month (like myself: joined tango course, joined Portuguese course, sorted out ski trip, planning Argentina trip, sorting out my papers for permanent residency, training for half-marathon etc etc) then it's going to be ok. Not everything has to be achieved straight away.

I've got a whole year ahead of me and I've survived many Januaries before. It will be spring before we know it! 

2012

 

2012 is the year of the Dragon, according to the Chinese Zodiac.  I'm sure I wasn't the only one who wake up in the dawn of 2012 and felt happy, as if a really good year was ahead of us. Whether that's true or just an illusion, we are yet to see, but generally speaking we live what we feel, so I am sure it will be a good year. After all, the Dragon is the ultimate auspicious symbol signifying success and happiness. London's going to be an even more special place as this year the much awaited Olympic Games are taking place and many more celebrations and opportunities to declare 2012 a truly great year!

It is also my 32nd year of life on this planet.  And what a ride these 32 years have been. I kind of lost the appeal to celebrate my birthday by getting drunk and trying to make a big deal out of it, instead trying harder to be grateful that another year has passed and I am still alive, healthy and happy and surrounded by good friends. But in all honesty, being in my early thirties is the best thing ever. A survey conducted on 1,500 British women, found that 38 per cent who said they felt most attractive in their early thirties attributed it to the confidence gained from experience, an active love life and eating and drinking sensibly*. Which thakes me to the subject of setting up objectives for this year, but not before looking back at 2011.

They say a great method of progressing is by looking at previous year's achievments and failures. 

In terms of achievements I think one of the most important one is the charity trekking that I completed in Ethiopia at the beginning of the year. And as much as the trekking was a physical challenge, even more exausting and at the same time rewarding was the fundraising part. Why this has been important to me? Because I have never done anything of the sort and by achieving my target I set up new standards of self esteem, which helped me progress through the year. Also because it was ten times harder to achieve £3000 without a corporate sponsorship and I owe it to all my friends who made it possible. Another success to note: the quality of all the people in my live! 

2011 was also a good year professionally. For the first time in a very long time I am in a place where I feel like I can stick around. I was beginning to worry that there was something wrong with me by wanting to change jobs all the time. Phew, it wasn't! But another lesson has been learned in the process: it takes two to tango. No matter how good a team and management you may have, it takes a bit of effort from yourself too to make things work best. And the other way around. Anyway, I consider myself lucky to be in a good place right now! So there, another tick!

I am also pleased I made an effort into filling up my free time with useful things, such as the Styling Course I am about to complete. 

 2011 was also the beginning of a healthier lifestyle. Since from about September (following the most severe hangover of my existence), I took working out seriously and it has now became an imbedded part of my life. This new commitment brought in a serious decrease in smoking (I am now oficcialy a social smoker only!) and moderation in drinking. I still do have a big night once in a while but far more seldom than in the past. And not only that I feel healthier, but, in my humble opinion, my looks have also improved and I can't imagine my life now without a toned body. And yes, now I can do press-ups. About 15 of them if I really try.

And since you're all wondering I'm sure, yes, my lovelife has also taken a step upwards by stagnating a bit in 2011. Because it really needed a break! And a slap on the back! Now it may be allowed to get out of confinement. If it behaves. that is. I spent most of 2011 making small mistakes and adjusting course along the way, not punishing myself for them anymore, loving myself more than before and valuing myself for the real qualities that I have, have always been there, but I was too blind to see, by enjoying my solitude, making the most of it and not complaining anymore! Because I finally understood every stage in life is precious and it should be enjoyed!

To be honest, 2011 has indeed been a great year for me (much unlike 2010 which was a tad bitter). So I found it rather hard to see failures. There were of course of few. Such as falling out with people in a nasty way and not being able to let go very easily. Or getting upset more than necessary about little things. Or not having put that much effort into things as I should have done. Or not having been in touch a bit more with people. Or having been too judgemental sometimes... But these are all good learnings, which I am planning to implement in 2012.

So here it is, a small list of what I want to achieve this year:

• Health plans: stick to my gym routine and add at least one challenge: I am thinking about a half marathon. Go to at least one surf and one ski trip this year, do more climbing, take tango lessons. 
• Career: keep progressing at work, get more involved, add more value, improve as a professional, but also start doing something with my styling as a free time activity.
• Culture: make a point of doing at least one significant cultural thing a month and go to the Opera at least once every three months.
• Learn a new language: I've decided it will be Portuguese!
• Writing: so I can get my writing to take off, this year I must attend more writers' meetings and participate to a couple of short stories competitions. I also can announce that a character has been born in 2012 and she is a mix between Bridget Jones and Lisbeth Salander. Watch this space!
• Personal development: stop judging others and jump to conclusions, be more tolerant, love more people, spend money more wisely, give back to society, be happy most of the days.
• Love: just give it without expecting anything in return.  One day it will come back to me...
• Travelling: this year I have two destinationsin mind: USA and Argentina. I am fantasising about a Thelma and Louise road trip through America (or at least a long week-end to New York and another one to Vegas to start with) and a week of tango-ing my way through Buenos Aires!

And that should be more than a handful! :)

Peace and love in 2012 everyone!

*Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1128596/A-beautiful-age-Many-women-feel-attractive-early-30s-study-reveals.html#ixzz1irtqdbBR

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...