13. I Crave

A bit behind with posting, but I was away on a family trip, without internet - almost life-changing ;) The prompt for today is 'I crave' and I immediately remembered these beauties from July last year, from the Greek island of Skiathos - the cherry season in Serbia was over and when we saw these on the market after a busy day swimming and doing beach side stuff, we couldn't get to them fast enough. And they were perfect, firm but juicy, and so sweeet!

07. Glass

I grew up with a mom and a grandma who placed a lot of weight on certain things. One of those was having pretty flowers in the house almost always and displaying the said pretty flowers in appropriately pretty containers. Cue vases! The two on the left you can see on the picture below were gifted to me - the tall one by my grandma, and the round one by my mom. The one on the right was also a present from mom - real Murano glass, from Venice. The tall one I grew up around, it was a stalwart on my grandma's coffee table and as kids, my brother and me were strictly forbidden from touching it lest it should topple and/or fall. The yellow one was the one my mom reached for most often whenever there were flowers to display. I love the colours on all three of them, being particularly fond of the blue/mustard combination.

06. Favourite Novel

For someone that is an avid reader and studied English Language and Literature, asking me to pinpoint a favourite novel is like asking to pick the favourite out of my two children. In other words - impossible. I read so voraciously that keeping a list of what I've read is a no mean feat, let alone choosing books I like more than others. Certainly, there are some that stand out, and these have changed in different stages of my life.
As a kid, an impressionable, nerdy, nose in a book at all times kind of girl, I reached literary heights by way of William Saroyan's 'Mommy, I Love You', or any book by Jules Verne for that matter. In teenage years, angst and existentialism struck, so it was to Hesse and Mann and Tolstoy that I turned to, engrossed in and impressed by both 'Demian' and 'Anna Karenina' in equal measure.
My university years saw tonnes of Shakespeare with sprinkles of all else that English-speaking authors produced of note in the XVII, XVIII, XIX and XX centuries. Reading was a serious task back then, all my literature exams were huge in terms of books to read and accompanying interpretations and critical reviews, so some of it is indeed a blur due to the sheer volume I was to conquer in order to pass an exam - the point of all high-level education, right?
After university, though, I was back to reading for pleasure. I fiddled with literary translation for a while and enjoyed it immensely, but that is no way to make a living in Serbia, so I've forgone the trade. That also meant forgoing reading any translated literature for quite a while because I would get so hung up on mistakes that the poor translator in question made that I could not continue with the book.
I most predominantly read authors writing in English. These include Ian McEwan, Julian Barnes, Paul Auster, Kazuo Ishiguro, Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, Zadie Smith, Alan Hollinghurst, Hanif Kureishi. In addition, I enjoy Haruki Murakami greatly. I also have a soft spot for the Latin American writers such as the literary heavy-weights Marquez and Llosa, as well as the Portuguese Saramago.
There are a number of Serbian and regional writers that I love whose books have marked my childhood and youth mainly and who are so tightly woven into our identities here in the Balkans that there is no way you can skip them - Andric, Pekic, Selimovic, Copic, ...
Bottom line is - I'll read anything, any time, any where - just give me a book. I can plough through anything and I'll do it with dogged persistence and conviction. Books are to be felt, inhaled, chewed up, re-read, abandoned and then picked up again, savored, devoured, talked to, mad at, cried over, laughed about, shared with friends, kept selfishly for your eyes only - anything, as long as they are read and their spirit keeps going now having become integral part of their reader.
That is why I cannot pick out my favourite novel. No way!
I leave you with my current reading pile (on a stool by my bed posing as a nightstand, holding the inevitable moisturizers for assorted body parts - lips, feet, hands, you name it ;):
1. Quiet: The Power of Introverts In A World That Can't Stop Talking, Susan Cane
2. Men Without Women, Haruki Murakami
3. Lying on The Couch, Irvin Yalom
4. The Namesake, Jhumpa Lahiri

04. Where I Live

Where I live seems pretty straightforward at first. But then, it's also not. Where I live - as in a country, is straightforward enough, at least in geographical terms. Where I live - as in an apartment, a neighbourhood, a city, involves geography, but also emotions. I live in Belgrade, Serbia. The country's capital, Belgrade is a city of almost 2,5 million people, a throbbing, living, breathing organism offering endless fun (there's an abundance of articles in foreign press on Belgrade's night life) but also poor infrastructure, horrible public transport, streets full of tired people with vacant stares as life is relentless with the daily grind, poor, homeless, refugees from the Middle East and others in the permanent state of passing by, hoping for somewhere better than Belgrade.

Regardless of the bad economic situation, poor rule of law and rampant corruption, Belgrade is also sort of nice to live in. I love its rivers (Sava and Danube); I love its downtown; I love its narrow streets harking back to Turkish times, history literally around every corner, as far back as the Celtic and Roman rule; smell of linden trees in June, the south-east wind, kosava, in autumn, clearing the air of smog, taking cobwebs off long-forgotten nooks and crannies; smell of paprikas roasting from hidden communal yards behind urban buildings; the brutalist architecture of New Belgrade; the end of XIX/beginning of XX century houses - old family villas, some gloriously restored, that have miraculously survived multiple bombings Belgrade has been subject to in the past 100 years... 

But the real sens of  'I'm home' washes over me when I go to Kalemegdan. Belgrade's fortress from Celtic/Roman/Turkish times, it dominates the center of the town with its impressive ramparts and beautiful views. The statue of the Victor is the symbol of the city and the place I love the most in Kalemegdan. It overlooks the confluence of the two rivers, provides beautiful views of New Belgrade, Zemun, Ada, Avala, and the rest of my city's both beautiful and unsettling scenery and in a strange way makes me feel like I have arrived, I am home and this is where I live and love and hope to spend many more years savoring every day.

The August Break 2017

Oh well, since this space has been completely mistreated and neglected for a long while, let's jump start this blogging malarkey by participating in the August Break. You can see the details here and I'll be following prompts - makes it easier anyway. Some such as One Regret and Sour are already making me think and attempt more creativity... We'll see. Can't say that I'm really back, but who knows, maybe this will be just what I need to get the writing mojo back on track.

The August Break - Prompts

Rules and Routines

What's a woman without her 9 to 5? A question I ask myself often these days. Who am I without an office to go to? Without an immediate task at hand? Without a purpose? Without a routine, that soothing and comforting rhythm behind everything I do, that sets boundaries, clear and welcome, that tempers the existence, balances it?
Well, I've learned that I am not much without it. Or, rather, I can't seem to grasp what's beyond it. I feel anxious, lost, highly strung, and about to crack. My armor is pierced. I no longer define myself through what I do as I am currently unemployed. God, how awful! I hate the sound of it. I have not come to terms with it. I can't stop mulling it over and over, wondering if it's entirely my fault that I've found myself in this situation again after almost five years - five years of hard, honest work, and why me? Shaking off the victim mentality does not come easy for me. Also, always finding fault with myself, blaming myself, I excel at that. I'm thinking of adding the skill to my professional resume.
I can fully grasp how people lose it after, e.g. 40 years in the workforce, and then they retire and boom - lost, bobbing on the rough seas of life, left to your own devices to find meaning and purpose, again. To remember who you are/were, before - everything. To reclaim your own self. Whoever that stranger may be.
Why is it so hard to let go? Why are we programmed to cling tightly to the reins of control, however big an illusion it may be? Deep down, I know I could use this free time I am suddenly in possession of much better. I can use it to do all those things I like - walk, read, learn new things, be with myself, breathe, just think nothing, do nothing. But, and there is always a but, I cannot. Because the only thing I am acutely aware of is not how blessed I am to be living the life I do with a happy and healthy family, but how wretched I am to not have a job. I let that one thing that makes the equation of who I am ruin everything else and govern my perception of reality.
I wish I could undo it. I wish I can do better at not doing anything.
When I do give myself some breathing space, though, and let the real me through, this is what comes out - art, or as close to is as I'll ever be:

Stillness

A big claim, stillness is. I am rarely still. Even if I'm not moving, my mind is not still. It races, it jumps, it overdoes thinking, worrying, planning, work, life, everything. Achieving even a pretence of stillness is hard for me. I'm officially unemployed as of two days ago. Imagine what that does to my head. It does me in. It is not the first time I've been in this situation, in fact it happens in cycles every four-five years as projects end and new ones begin. In all previous instances, though, I was not able to take it easy during the hiathus. I would tie myself in a knot and shrink myself both physically and emotionally to a ticking bomb of anxiety. I have considered changing that this time around. I am thinking of not doing anything for a month and not worrying about it. For me, that's harder than giving birth. Making myself reconnect with the person underneath the worry and angst, listening to myself, feeling the feelings, making time for it, gosh, how am I ever going to do it? But, I'm willing to try. I took a walk yesterday around the empty Kalemegdan fortress and I was almost scared by stilness, peacefullness and quiet.

Why Getting All Dressed Up Matters

It seems so frivolous at times to be thinking/writing/reading about style when you consider all the horrible things going on in the world today - the refugees in the Calais, the war in Syria, the economic crisis, the renewed polarization of the world's politics (West vs. Big Bad East all over again), not to mention the environmental issues - or should these be the primary concern? Violence, corruption, poverty are rampant in my own country as in many other corners of the world. I read the papers, I watch the news, I know about these things - I'm not living under a rock. However, as desperate as these make me, I have no solution, no concrete action to take. Focusing on my family, my little universe, a few friends and the everyday is what I can manage and where I'm needed the most, so that is what I do.

An important part of staying on top of the everyday is organization and routine. I can manage chaos in small doses and at times, but constantly - it drives me crazy. That is why a streamlined repository for clothes, shoes and accessories, aka The Closet, is a must. Wardrobe space is precious in our apartment which means I have to be on top of things regarding the number of items I own. The situation is still a far cry from a carefully curated collection of items I love and enjoy, but I'm getting there slowly. Yet, this post is not about wardrobe organization. It's about why these things matter to me. Or, in other words, why personal style helps save my life in the madness of daily living.

Structure: getting dressed for the life I live first thing in the morning gives structure to my day. If I'm staying at home with the kiddos, it's the track suit bottoms and a t-shirt or an oversize men's shirt (my dad's), mundane, plane, but if it's clean and it fits, is made of cotton or other natural fabric - it's all that I need. Staying in my pj's past the breakfast time and I already feel anxious. If I'm dressed for the daily activities, then I can get on with them and that helps me stay focused and not just waste away the hours watching crappy TV all morning (although we've established that I do that sometimes as well;) Also, doing my face and hair is a part of this routine and even if I don't leave the house all day, I want to feel pulled together. I know this stems from the need to control the often uncontrollable in life, but it helps me.

Presentation: I work in an office environment where casual dressing is considered a no-no - no jeans, no casual Fridays, none of that. I have to look pulled together and exude a sense of authority as I often participate in meetings with officials where the corporate dress code is to be observed. As I spend most of my time at my job, that means that most of my closet is work clothes. I am, however, not the pant suit lady. My aesthetic is just different, more bohemian, less strict. So I find middle ground in order to comply. My blazers are soft, less structured and certainly not boxy (although I've recently found what represented a holy grail of unattainable clothing chimeras for me - the perfect black blazer), but in block colors. My trousers are of a classic cut but with interesting prints. I do wear pencil skirts as these hug my curves in all the right ways, but they are of interesting, textured fabrics. And I accessorize big time - scarves, jewelry, shoes, bags - you name it. This helps me stay true to myself while at the same time presenting the best version of me to my professional environment. I have ascertained in numerous occasions that the way you look may make or break a meeting, a presentation. Done properly, it projects the right image to your coworkers, partners and lets you achieve what you set out to do more easily. Which leads us to ....

Communication: Getting the right formula with the outfits also lets me show loud and clear to the world who I am without having to explain a lot. If you want to read the messages I give out through my clothes (and people do so, even if subconsciously), you may gather that I'm an open and forthcoming personality with a positive outlook, yet serious and determined when required. You may also understand that I'm a bit quirky with a flare for the unexpected. Or, at least, that is what I would want you to understand about me. That is what I get dressed up for and what I want to project with my overall look. This is an important part of non-verbal communication and I believe a vital one.

Appropriateness: Showing up so that your outfit matches the situation - the ultimate mastery of social context. It means to not show up over or underdressed, to not show disrespect, but primarily to feel good in what you're wearing and look comfortable. It is only when you're bien dans sa peau that you can really be appropriate and presentable. It's when you are wearing the clothes and your look, not the other way around. And that is the trickiest bit, the one that requires soul searching, understanding of the self and translating that knowledge in your wardrobe. I believe that is a life-long process, wisdom that is not attained lightly. But it is also the process I enjoy and the trial and error part is what makes it fun.

All this maybe reading a bit too much into what you put on yourself primarily not to walk around naked and protect your body from the elements. You can look at it that way. I prefer to look at it as an essential part of who I am, an opportunity for learning and growth and a process that makes me more considerate, less wasteful and more temperate as well.

As of mid September, when the real life strikes again, I will have to have this process down pat however. My outfits will have to be planned a week in advance (same goes for my elder daughter), laid out complete with all the trimmings the night before and put on in the morning with a very small margin for error - there will just be no time to change my mind. That means the next few weeks will be spent culling my wardrobe, distilling only the most essential items for the coming season, and loads of washing and ironing. Wish me luck!

My Firstborn

For six years (one week short of six years, to be exact), my first child, my beautiful daughter, has been the first thing on my mind when I woke up and the last thing I though of before falling to sleep. My love for her has grown exponentially since I gave birth and has become the single most fulfilling emotion that graced my life. My love for my husband, my mom and brother, my close friends and other important people in my life was still there but the depth of my feelings towards my daughter trumped all else.
Our relationship was built gradually, starting as a mother's worry for her newborn and evolving into a warm, deep, caring sense of knowing, belonging, loving this little person who just became more and more awesome as the days passed by. We established our own communication, our own language, our rituals. This became all important for me. It also changed and/or modified my relationships with everyone else in my life, bringing out the good stuff - as well as the not so good - to the surface and influencing how I saw the world and everyone around me.
No, I did not forget about everything else. Having a child brought me and my husband even closer, augmented our love and enriched our relationship. I did not stop thinking about and doing stuff that make me who I am - although some of these things took a while to get back to. I continued working and dedicating a significant amount of my energy to my work. I continued travelling through work and enjoying every bit of it. I eventually continued going out, with my husband, with my friends, co-workers, going to the movies and the theater, taking long walks, just enjoying myself.
Still, my feelings for my child and my life with my child became the single most defining aspect of my everyday. She's grown up into a smart, sensitive, happy child, attuned to the world and other people, curious and observant, with a lot of empathy and deep emotions. And that made me so happy and so proud of everything she did and accomplished. This became especially pronounced this year as she has grown up so  much, showed such a special sense of understanding life and her surroundings, and learned so many different skills.
And then, almost a month ago, everything changed. I had this concern that giving birth to another child would alter this most important relationship in my life. Partially, that was the reason why I delayed getting pregnant for the second time. Things started changing during pregnancy and even before I've said it out loud it was my child that defined the profound shift that was to take place in our household. One day she just said 'Mom, I know, when the baby is born, nothing will ever be the same'. Ha, talk about an insightful kid...
However, the real extent of the change manifested itself once I got home for the hospital with the baby. While I was in the maternity ward for three days, I was beginning to get to know my newborn and enjoy time with her but my thoughts were always with my elder. What is she doing now? Is she worried that I'm not around? Does she miss me? Is she sad, upset? Am I going to get home in time for her birthday?
Come home on time I did. And managed to organize everything and everyone so that the birthday celebrations would not lack anything, just as before the baby. But I couldn't make it to the party for her friends. That killed me.
However, the realization of how much things have really changed hit me hard that evening. The baby was asleep and I went to get my party girl to bed. We got into the pajamas, brushed our teeth, and I lay beside her, just as I've always did - that was our special time, to talk, giggle, tell stories, sing and cuddle. I hugged her and she was almost nodding off when it hit me - God, this may not happen every evening from now on, there is someone else who needs me, and this does not feel the same as it did before- there is someone else to think/worry/care about. I felt a great sadness overcome me and I started crying.
In a way, I miss it. I miss that feeling of caring so much for my special girl and only for her. I feel sad that I have sort of robbed her of that feeling as she will never receive my undivided and exclusive attention in the same way as she did before the baby. I know that the love I feel now is not simply shared/divided - it is augmented and richer, but I still mourn the loss of that unique feeling and bond I had with her.
The baby will never be the only one - she is always the second child thus she gets to share me from day one and for her it will be normal. But it is different for my firstborn. She's been really great since the baby came home, gracious, caring, helping with everything, she's just a darling girl. But that night I felt the loss of something I know will never be the same and felt it so much so that it hurt physically. 

Mom 2.0

Well, who would've thunk it? Being pregnant, giving birth and becoming a mom the second time around is equally as all-consuming as it was six years ago when I first gave birth. And that's where all the similarities stop. IT IS NOT THE SAME. It is so much more of everything...

My newborn will turn one month next week and to say that my life has undergone a complete and profound change is an understatement. The depth and wealth of emotions I have been going through this past weeks is almost indescribable, wonderful and deeply perturbing, all at the same time.

The biggest changes - at least how I see them now - concern my relationship with my firstborn, my impressions on giving birth, breastfeeding and doing all these things that only women can do, and my attitude towards my body.

I'll try and write about all of these in separate posts in an attempt to clear my head and find reason and rhyme to what is a whirlwind of intense emotions at all times since another precious little girl saw the light of day through the miracle that is childbirth.

Milestones

In less than a month now I'll be reaching the ripe young age of 34. Sounds . . . scary? No. The number of years I've spent on the Blue Planet so far does not scare me, yet. Mature. Yes, but - I've somehow been born mature, always 'older' than I actually was at the time, and somehow all-knowing of the world and its secrets. Too knowing for my own good. That does not mean I haven't made mistakes. There have been mistakes galore for the 30 something years but I'm not in the retrospective mood this year. Some of the bigger ones have been rehashed too many times for my own good, some lessons learned, yes, some progress at forgiving myself made, but for what I consider the biggest ones - no, no scratching beyond their surface value and I know this is something that would have to happen, eventually. 

It's summer, my favorite time of the year, and although it hasn't been covering itself in glory this time around (I'm talking to you, oh Gods of rain, yes, you heard me), I enjoy it. I enjoy the warmth, the sun, the fruit, the lazy feeling, the empty Belgrade, and only regret not getting to go to the seaside this year, due to the planned vacation dates being too close to my actual due date. I guess summer is also what makes my birthdays more tolerable and somehow always taken more lightly than what the numbers suggest. Everything is less serious in August.

The birthday this year gets me closer to another birthday - of my unborn child, and that's what sets the tone for being 34. Will everything be all right? Will I give birth to a healthy child? How will my older daughter cope with the new addition to the household? Will I make mistakes as a parent of two? Will those mistakes be the ones that my kids resent me for in their 20s or 30s? How will I cope with two kids? Am I going to go mental for a few months like the last time around? Am I ever again coming back to myself, to what I want, need, wish and be free to do it? How much adjustment will it take? Will the compromises ever stop? How will my marriage be affected by all this? 

Doubt much? Yes. Worry much? Oh, yes, definitely. Scared? Way too much. I am scared of this new chapter in my life more than I'd like to admit. But that's me. I'm always scared and worried in advance. And than when it's time to perform/take the test/pass the exam, everything usually falls into place and happens the way it should. It's not always the way I expect it to be, though, but that does not mean that it ends up badly, no. 

I have an impression that I'm breathing hard these days, catching my breath, getting ready for the ride of my life. I know nothing will ever be the same. I don't know how will it turn out and what to expect. Am I ready? I don't know that either. All I know is that when it starts happening, I'll manage, hell, I'll even do a stellar job at times, or less of a good one at other moments, but I'll give it my all and I won't be looking back. And I won't be doing it on my own.

I hope the number 34 brings joy and good times for my family. I hope it brings that feeling of being good in your own skin and the ever-elusive peace of mind. I hope it brings clarity, reason, purpose and significance. I hope it adds to an improved version of me.

Here's to birthdays and great expectations!

Candy

To say that I have a sweet tooth is a serious understatement. I LOVE sweets. I love chocolate first and foremost. I love cakes and I enjoy making them. I adore all kinds of creamy goodness associated with cupcakes, lava cakes, fruit tarts, filled puff pastries, caramel-flavored anything, and I could go on and on . . . Baking soothes and calms me, there is a method to it, exactness and a sense of controlling the process leading to yummy results.
I started doing it as a kid with my grandma and my mom, I was in awe of their egg breaking and yolk - egg white separation skills and I wanted to get in on the secret. I loved the smell of vanilla, grated lemon zest, cherries, ground nuts, melted butter, cinnamon and chocolate. But what I loved the most about the whole magical undertaking was the moment when the dough/cream/filling was finished and dispensed from the bowl to the pan/onto a cake, whatever. That meant that there was creamy goodness left in the bowl that was mine for the taking. It was the most solemn of all childhood rituals, licking the sweet stuff and feeling good about it!
There is a Serbian superstition that says that if you lick the cake bowls than you'll have rain on your wedding day. Now, there is no rational explanation in my head at least how these two are connected - I suppose this was devised as a deterrent for girls, preventing them in enjoying too much of the good stuff and therefore appearing unseemly and overflowing on their all-important day - but the superstition appeared to be oh so true on my wedding day. It was June 3rd, it was only 12 degrees Celsius and we had heavy, grey, overcast skies and rain falling from heaven and earth. It stopped only - how conveniently - for me to throw the bouquet and it went on and on and on for the day.

Regardless, I completely agree with the picture below:

My daughter seems to be following in my footsteps as she awaits the bowl for the licking with the same keen excitement that always melts my heart ;)













My love for macarons - an all important sweet in the culinary world - came only later and coincided with my first visit to France. It was love at first sight though - me venturing into Laduree and having a go at this melt-in-your-mouth heavenly treat - it could've only ended as a love affair. That is why I was exceptionally thrilled to find out that there is a Pierre Hermes macaron with my name! Come on - how cool is that! And a raspberry-mint taste to boot.

Tasty!











Speaking of sweets, here's another kind of candy that gets my pulse racing these days:

'nough said!

The Year We Lost our Grandfathers

Knowing that the Grim Reaper comes for those who are indeed first in line given their age and health issues does not make loosing a family member any easier. Within a month apart, both my husband and me lost our grandfathers. They were both almost 90 and their health, their bodies were failing them in the past few months to the point that living was not easy. Both have been blessed with long lives and relatively good health well into their 80s so I guess that in and of itself is more than any of us can hope to experience given our sedentary way of life and the questionable quality of food we are ingesting.
That does not mean that their lives were easy. My husband's grandfather survived the Second World War in a German labor camp. My grandfather was purposefully displaced from Montenegro - the land of stone and hills - to the rural flats of the Serbian northern province of Vojvodina. They both spent most of their lives tending to the land and animals, although they both also earned their pensions through regular office work.
Losing my grandfather means there is one less member of my family from my late father's side and that makes me so sad because it's also like every time that happens I'm also losing another part of my dad again. My grandpa was a tall, strong man, with wavy hair - a feature most of us, his grand kids, have inherited. He was very optimistic and easygoing in his manner and very disciplined and hardworking. He could cook wonderfully, another trait that runs among the male members of my family, and could also make a mean apple strudel. He was also very stubborn, another of his characteristics that some of us (khm, khm) inherited without doubt.
My husband's grandfather was a figure of authority, old-school man of the house type, but also with a great sense of humor and very lovable. In some photos the resemblance between him, my husband and my daughter is uncanny. Visiting his home in Slavonija, in Croatia, enjoying the outdoors, the country stuff so appealing to the kids grown up among the concrete blocks of a big city, was every bit as exciting for me as it was for my daughter. He lived an honest, simple life albeit taking the hard way out of some situations because that's just the way he was. Obstinacy is also a family trait in my husband and my daughter and it is he who they have to thank for it.
I will miss them both a lot. They will never meet the baby growing inside of me, but my daughter will remember them both.
My maternal grandfather, though, is still alive and well, going strong aged 84, and I am very thankful for that. His is a very special place in my heart.

These days

Other than silently observing the torrential rain that just will not let up for the past three days from the safety and comfort of my office/home, I just don't know what else  I could do. Sure, there are the help lines and care centers where you can drop clothes, food, blankest for over 6000 people who had to flee their homes throughout Serbia in the face of floods that obliterate your whole life in seconds. But even that seems insufficient, nothing, compared to the magnitude of destruction and desolation. We are truly helpless compared to the force of nature and devastation it can bring. This reminds me of a summer some 20 years ago when we stayed at a friend's vacation home in one of the most beautiful parts of Serbia and having visited the neighbors who supplied us with milk, cheese and eggs, we witnessed all their year's worth of agricultural works destroyed in minutes by rain and hail. That left me as speechless and numb as I feel these days . . .
On the other hand, there is me and someone else to take care of. This second pregnancy definitely does not feel that good as the first one. I'm six years older, gee, that may be it ;) I just don't feel energetic enough. I feel tired, sapped of energy, lacking of will, wanting to stay in bed most mornings, no good hormones kicking in in the second trimester. Everything seems a cause of worry. Just thinking about the family dynamics after the baby comes out is enough to make me want to go hide in a dark corner and not come out.
But the baby is growing and moving, It's there, it's alive, a part of me and it;s an incredible feeling. Another tiny little thing fighting to survive and face the world. Miraculous and scary, all at the same time.
My favorite part of the day lately is having a shower in the evening and then going to bed and to a good book.

I loved the 'Remains of the Day' and this promises another thrilling read, with elements of suspense and hints of detective work together with intricate character development.

I devoured this one, McEwan is really one of my favorites. His language is testament to his genius and his plots are unpredictable.










At least I don't have a case of baby brains and I can read and write. Small things make a life, just have to keep reminding myself of those.

I am someone

This really blew me off today . . . I think I've been searching for a real definition of this feeling of complexity for so long and these simple yet poignant words just wowed me when I read them this morning. I am somebody without labels, definitions, fake priorities of shoulds and must-haves and all that - I am me and that is so many mes all wrapped up in one and I don't want to let go of any of them. They may mature, change over time, so their voices are subdued and some others take over but they are all inside. A teenager who knows the lyrics to all new MTV/VH1 tunes, a geeky bookworm in eternal quest for knowledge, a doting mom, a loving wife, a sexy woman, a clumsy woman, a sister, a friend, a child, a big goof, an all-too-serious grown-up, prone to tears and rages and meek as a lamb all at once, all in one, me!

Word!

Here is the smartest, most to the point, eye-opener of a text that I have read ever on the subject of women and 'having it all'. A painful, realistic picture of society at large and our place in it. I had to share, I hope someone else also finds it useful.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall

Next month i will be turning 33. Wow! The Jesus' years, the 'you're in your fourth decade and you cannot ignore it any longer' years, magic years. It's hardly time for looking back and casting nostalgic looks over the decades past - I still think I'm too young for that, but a few home truths have definitely hit me as I tallied up the numbers and came up with 33.

I always thought I'd have at least two kids by the time I'm 33. And I thought I'd have at least a master degree under my belt if not a PhD. For the rest, I'm pretty much there with the hopes and dreams of my youth. A proud mom, a wife and a partner of 14 years, a home-owner (married to the bank, counting every penny towards loan payments though, but still;), and working for almost 10 years now. Not bad, I need to pat myself on the back more often, though not too often or I'll get complacent.

When I look in the mirror, I see a mature version of my round face, pale complexion and baby-blues. I see wrinkles and lines, I see redness that just won't go away but is under control and I see a difference after a good night's sleep which means time is taking its toll on the suppleness of my skin.
I started exercising regularly two months ago and I see a difference in the shape of my body and what is more important I feel stronger and am aware of certain muscles I didn't know I had before. The long and winding journey to full self acceptance and making peace with my body image and whatever looks back at me from the mirror is a place I haven't reached yet, but I seem to be getting there easier with years.Oh, and, I'm completely gray haired. Blame it on bad genes. Root touch ups every six weeks are a must.

I still feel like a teenager about certain things - I listen to all the latest music, I know all celebrity gossip and I fall in love with movie stars every now and then, passionately and hopelessly, as can be evidenced from the sidebar of this blog. Other than that, I'm pretty much too grown up and serious about most things in my life, which can make me seem strict and unforgiving, and black-or-white, but no, in reality there is a lot of grey I see, understand and have in my life as well.

What I wish to change is to become a better listener, to shift the focus away from the all-consuming thinking/behaving like 'me' is the center of everything and really pay attention to other people. Not that I don't but I want to do more of it. Listening and really engaging with others makes us feel human and also lets us have another look at ourselves and our lives from a different perspective that a constant inward look cannot provide.

What I also wish is to do more of the things I seem to have forgotten I like. I want to learn another language, I want to read more books, I want to go out dancing more often and I want to travel more, more, more.

I say, bring it on 33!

Hindsight vision is 20/20

The rough part is making the right decisions, doing the right things, taking the right path now. And not having regrets/second thought later on. If only I could send out some wise words to my younger self, there are things I would have done differently. Because now I know and I understand so much better.

I would have cleared out all issues related to body image once and for all at the age of fifteen. I would tell myself 'you're young and you're beautiful, everything about you is beautiful - your body, your skin, your hair, your face - own it, enjoy it, appreciate it and feel good about it now!'

I would make myself be less hard on, well, myself. I would lose the guilt trips, let myself fail and pick up and go from there - failure is not a bad thing, you can't live in constant fear of failing and be paralyzed by it. You need to fail and fail early enough in order to be able to grow from it. Suck it up soldier and move on!

I would stress less about almost everything, especially my studies. But I would also feel more confident about being smart and showing it. Always. Without the fear of looking stupid. Without apologizing for it.

I would doubt myself less. Because, in all honesty, you can do anything if you are prepared to work hard and learn. Nothing mysterious about it. Just plain hard work, sweat of your brow, elbow grease.

I would pay so much less attention to what anyone has to say about anything and just go with my gut. People and their views on your life/actions/mistakes are only as important as you make them out to be. If you're going to make mistakes, make them your own so that later there is no one else to blame.

And I would smile more and be happy more and savor every moment of being happy and go out more, dance more. I wouldn't do drugs through. I don't regret that.

Friendships

Evolution of these ties that shape our lives is something that I think about often. Especially how our personal (r)evolutions affect our friendships. I don't always have the best answers, or any answers for that matter.
The one thing that seemed to work best so far is just letting go, not forcing it, letting all pieces fall into place in order to (re)establish balance, understanding, renew trust and confidence. You can't force people to understand you or go through the same things you're going through and think the same or come out the other end the same.
Using yourself and your experiences as a starting point for any relationship only helps so much and it often becomes a big obstacle to communication. The most important thing is to listen. Offering sage advice comes second to that. Sometimes people just need to be listened to. They don't need instant solutions. They just need your time and that feeling that you understand. God knows I do.

 Being a friend is one of the roles we assume in life, just like being a partner, a child, a parent, a sibling. At a certain point in our lives being a friend becomes more important than all other roles. For me it was my youth, high school and university years to an extent. That 'me' was was in a way the best, most easy going and natural version of me. I was a friend and I received so much from my friends. We were a support system, a forum for debates and checks of everything important in our lives, an unquestionable hub of trust, loyalty, love and understanding.
As we grew up, things changed. I can only speak about myself so I will - I changed in as much that my expectation of ultimate trust and understanding now shifted towards my boyfriend (who will later become my husband). And that detracted from my friendships. I was heart and soul 100% in this relationship so the focus of my energy shifted to making it work and to figuring out what the hell am I going to do with my life.
Fast forward a decade and I'm back at reestablishing myself. I fell in love, lived through a fulfilling relationship (and I still am in the same one), got married, had a child and am hammering at my career - I went full circle. Now I'm back to myself. To speaking to and listening to myself. And figuring out how friends and friendships fit in this.
I never stopped loving my friends. I never stopped expecting to give and receive the ultimate support that needs no explanation or cause. I need to feel loved by my friends. I need to be important to them. I also need to be able to show and make them feel important to me.
So I try. And in some instances I just tried too hard. So some friendships fell apart. The oldest ones, from way back in my childhood. Some fell apart and some are watered down to phone conversations every six months. Is that friendship? Or is that feeling that you're just picking up wherever you left last the only thing that matters even though it happens twice every year over the phone? I miss the presence of some of my friends. The actual physical exchanges. And for some of these I went the extra mile but never got the mile in return. So I stopped. And I take whatever is given and consider it enough.
I want to grow old with my friends. I want us to go to the theater/movies/coffees/drinks in our seventies. And be able to speak about everything, truthfully and honestly as ever. And laugh together a lot because my biggest problem is that I take life way too seriously most of the time!

Wait, what, it's Friday?

This Friday caught me off guard, a whole week whizzed by . . . And then this morning was one of those when nothing goes according to the plan, beverages are spilled, stains in inappropriate places, no time to change, rush, rush, rush, uphill in completely inappropriate shoes:

Why oh why did I have to wear them today? I am always complimented on them and I like them (ALDO purchase from a few years ago) but trying not to be late to work when I'm already late and distraught with all the mishaps of the morning in a pretty high wedge heeled sandal is not a wise thing to do. I wasn't very patient with my daughter because of all this so I'm trying to make amends - I printed out a whole bunch of Little Mermaid coloring pages and I can see a crafty weekend coming for the two of us.

In order to stay sane and up to the task at work, this is my mantra:

It would have been my dad's 59th birthday next week. His last birthday in 2010 we spent together and it was a very special day. We have great pictures together, we made him a special lunch - marinated tuna steaks, and I made him a cake. It was one of the last times that he was feeling well and was in a very good mood before he died a few months later. I miss him so much.