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.

03. Roses

I am a sucker for roses! Some people find their smell too sweet, cloying, heavy and steer clear of it in all shapes - whether from actual flowers or rose-scented shower gels, bath foams, soaps, candles, perfumes... While I can't say that I have many rose-scented stuff in my bathroom, I adore the flowers. I love how the petals are so neatly, tightly packed into the bud before they open and how the whole process is just gradual and you witness them unfold and reveal the fragrant center and the beauty of the flower in full bloom. I don't mind the thorns either, to me they just make the whole thing even more special, adding an aura of mystery to the flower's attempt to preserve its fragrant secret from prying eyes and hands.
This particular pot of roses I spotted in front of an optician's shop just off Belgrade's downtown pedestrian zone. The actual header photo for my blog was also taken in front of that shop. The lady who owns and runs it uses all things seasonal to decorate her window display and entrance to the shop. Since roses are in season in her garden, she placed them in the beautiful vintage pot at the very entrance to the shop, while the window displaying frames and other eyewear was full of ripe, dark purple plums (also in season and I apologize for the lack of foresight in taking a photo of the window display as well).
The photo with the apples was taken in autumn and at the time she had a basket full of apples at the shop's door, offering a fruit or three to anyone coming into the shop or just stopping by to admire. I make it my business to walk down the street and past her shop often as her ingenuity and creativity, and just overall generosity always make me feel good about the world we live in (which is becoming more sordid by the minute, or so it seems some days). She has found a way to communicate with her customers and passers-by alike without pricey adverts or billboards. She presents herself in a way that would make you consider picking your glasses or buying new frames in her store just because of what she projects onto the world.
Sorry for the wordiness of this post, I'm coming to terms with not having engaged in (creative) writing for a long time...

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:

The Box

As in the telly, gogglebox, the tube, idiot box. I love watching television. There, I've said it. Sounds blasphemous, I know, but I really do, even though I will never, apparently, become a millionaire because of it. You see, millionaires and uber successful people in general do not watch television. Boring!

Source

I am a child of the eighties and TV was a big part of my growing up. It was truly a window to the world, albeit a very special one. TV was where all the earth's flora and fauna lived (Survival, Bellamy), where the Greek myths unraveled before our eyes, secrets of ancient Egypt and pharaohs' tombs were explained and few but very good quality children's TV shows provided indispensable information about the world we were growing up in. Oh, and the obligatory cartoon at 19:15h every evening. A pretty simple fare, as you can see.

The nineties brought the atrocities of civil war in the ex-Yugoslavia live on the small screens and into our homes. I swapped the grim reality for MTV as it once was, with Ray Cokes shows and cool videos, making my growing up all about the Seattle grunge, a perfect backdrop to the angst of the world and the angst of my teenage years.

The nineties also honed my taste for TV shows - a good mix of crime and thriller with a sprinkling of a documentary. Feature films - not so much, at least TV is not my go to medium for these. I much prefer the cinema. As you can imagine from the above, I gorged myself on Sherlock, Poirot, NYPD Blue, Law&Order, Homicide: Life on the Street, Inspector Morse, etc.

Of course, as any teenager, I also devoured shows such as Beverly Hills 90210, My So-Called Life (a clear favorite) and Dawson's Creek. Many a night was spent dreaming of Jared Leto as Jordan Catalano and me wishing for Angela's (Claire Danes) cool hair color and haircut.

The noughties and the onslaught of stupid reality TV didn't affect my choices much. I just learned to filter, so no Big Brother for me. It was more CSI (in all its incarnations), Midsomer Murders, The Medium, NCIS, and the like. But the noughties also brought us the holly grail of chick TV - Sex and the City, which for me goes on a par with any of the famous sleuths whose adventures I religiously followed.

It is during the two pregnancies and the ensuing maternity leaves that I've spent many an (odd) hour in front of the box. Cooped up with the baby (both were born in the fall which meant I spent the better part of their first four months indoors), it was one of the things to do without interrupting much of their habits/behavior. The TV also provides constant noise, chatter, illusion of something important happening which saved me from going crazy with a newborn more than a few times.

Source

Interestingly enough, I turned my attention to reality TV in these periods of my life. The first time around, I loved Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, while these days I'm more about How Do I Look?, Dress My Nest, Say Yes to The Dress, What Not To Wear and Love It or List It Vancouver. These shows are really only light entertainment but bring with them a good story and a touch of  interior decorating magic (e.g. Dress My Nest). Some of the presenters like Stacey London (What Not To Wear) and Tom Filicia (Dress My Nest) I've grown to really appreciate and like for their wit, insight and useful advice.

I want to be Claire Underwood when I grow up!

Recently, it was Homeland, new Sherlock and The Silent Witness, as well as two political dramas - the Danish Borgen and the House of Cards - that rocked my TV boat. I can't wait for the 5th season of Homeland (will the Clare Danes/Rupert Friend thing take off, or will there be a new guy for Carrie?), as well as the follow-up to the House of Cards - Francis finally made it to the White House and who wouldn't kill for Claire's wardrobe and that haircut?!?!?!

But what I'm really looking forward to is the Sherlock New Year special which will see the detective and his trusty sidekick go back in time as the original Arthur Conan Doyle heroes. Martin Freeman grew a mustache for the role, while Benedict got himself married and with a newborn - that must have softened those steely eyes a bit, right?

In the meantime, summer days are spent enjoying the latest season of Bones (hello David Boreanaz, you will always be the Angel to my Buffy....er...I haven't mentioned Buffy the Vampire Slayer, have I? Uh, guilty pleasure ;) and Castle. With a healthy sprinkling of the Sex and the City reruns - it's summer in New York and Carrie is cheating on Aidan with Big - my favorite episodes.

Life Lately

Talk about a blog hiatus! With a six-year old and a baby, pretty much everything else in my life had to take a backseat for a while, including this space which has been sadly neglected for eight months :( After the first nerve-wracking three months with the newborn, just as we were sailing into the new year, life got a bit easier, and at the same time so much more intensive and required my full-on, full-time presence and involvement in everything that was going on in the now household of four.
At the same time, I was slowly getting back to myself, a lot easier this time around than after my first pregnancy, although not without a few hiccups. Taking time to care for myself did the trick. I started pilates in February and I can safely say now that it has made me fell better in my own skin than anything else I tried both before and after the pregnancies. I can really feel the muscles that have come back and, barring the odd spare tire around my waste, that is still persistent in lingering on despite the almost six pack beneath it ;) I feel so much stronger, more flexible and like I own this wondrous instrument that is my body and that it is serving me well. Walking around with the baby in tow for a few kilometers every day helps as well, just as a recent fortnight by the sea did.

Perfection

Look, the only beef I have with Gwyneth Paltrow is the fact that she's married to Chris Martin, the Coldplay frontman and the sexiest piano-playing-cum-wonderful-verse-writing musician around, as far as I'm concerned. As for everything else, we're cool, Gwynny and I, although many have criticized her for appearing holier-than-though mostly because of putting her (sometimes too strong and polarizing) opinions on public display through her blog, GOOP. That, and the incredible body she has after giving two births. That's always a tough one to forgive ;-)

I like her blog, I don't always agree with her opinions, but most of the times I find what she writes and the people she invites to write there very good and worth a read. In this week's series, BE, she broached the subject of perfection/imperfection with this opening statement:

'Striving for achieving a sense of perfection has been a misguided belief in my life, often leading me down the wrong path. It has made me, at times, place value on the wrong things. It has made me not listen to my true self for fear that I would somehow fail in another's eyes. I was curious as to how the idea of perfection has become so pervasive in our society, how it begins, how it hurts us and perhaps, even, if it carries a certain benefit.'

This rang so true in my ears for this is who I have been for so long and in so many occasions, more or less important on the road I have traveled so far. I wrote about it here. Perfection, like happiness, is something we are led to believe we need to be/live/achieve all the time. In reality, we don't. No one can be happy 100% of time, or perfect. No one needs to be happy and perfect 100% of time. It's ok to fail, it's ok to let other people down sometimes, it's ok to be sad and miserable if it can't be helped. Sure, no one likes sad and miserable people, but we also do not need to be liked all the time.

What we need is to be true to ourselves, our inner feeling, our gut if you will and answer to no one other than ourselves for our decisions and choices. It's hard and it hurts but it's the most honest way to go about life, I believe.

Here's the whole thing from GOOP, it's a good read I promise.

I'm looking forward to a chat with my friend today. Come noon time and it's time for Armageddon you'll find us sipping coffee and talking like there's no tomorrow ;-) Just like always!

Circle of Life

News of births and deaths have dominated almost every single day of the past month and a half and it's getting a bit too much for me at this point. Especially as it is that time of the year when the dreaded date of my father's death is approaching and I think of him every day and miss him acutely, physically.

My daughter's birthday is on Saturday and I'm looking forward to it very much, yet I am always so very aware that my father isn't there to celebrate it - or any other family thing - that it messes up my head and I cannot fell 100% happy.

I know I should be grateful for the wonderful family and friends I have and for the rich life I lead, yet I also know that this feeling of loss and of missing an important piece of the whole puzzle is never going to go away. And I can't, I won't fight it.

A childhood friend lost her father last week, a colleague is going through a life-threatening health condition with her father as well and an ex-colleague lost his mother to cancer today. Too much I tell you.

All new little people that came into the world in September and October in my immediate surroundings are doing very well, though, and that I guess is reason enough to be content and at peace with life, fate, destiny, karma, you name it . . .






And for an adequate musical accompaniment, Bastille, Flaws, here. There's a hole in my soul, I can't fill it . . .

And now a proper first blog post

The actual first blog post was something I had to get off of my chest and there seems to be no one at the moment with whom I could actually talk about it . . .
This blog is going to be more of a journal-type thing and I don't know, or rather am not sure for now, whether it will actually see the light of day and have followers/readers/audience - whatever. I just feel this incredible urge for writing things down and somehow the pen and paper thing does not do it for me anymore, except for the to-do and grocery shopping lists ;-) Thus, the blog.
I write in English, although it is not my mother tongue. I, however, have a major in English language and literature, I work in an international environment and have been using English every day for a number of years, and I have even been dreaming in English, so there you go, it's become potentially obsessive on some level I guess.
I have no plan for a particular type(s) of blog posts that you would be able to find here. I'll write about what's going on inside, even if it's as trivial as hankering for a pair of shoes. There will be pictures, for entertainment purposes of course. And I don't promise much more.
So here goes, this first proper blog post. Now that it's out of the way, the rest of the writing should flow more freely ;-)

XOXO, Mimi