Category Archives: Personal

Self-expression 101

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I noticed that there is a new function on my Facebook profile. It says ‘Introduce yourself’ to show a bit about myself to my profile visitors. It is prompting me to ‘Describe who you are’. I am given 101 characters to do this. The end of my previous sentence already clocks in at 184 characters, without counting any spaces. How can I truly explain who or ‘what’ I am in such a limited manner? Have we really become so ignorant and lazy that we can’t pay attention to more than 101 characters when we are describing who we really are and what makes us ‘us’?

In addition to the extremely reduced attention span of the “modern human” another thing seriously bothers me. Is it just me who thinks that limiting what we want to say about ourselves will just encourage people to sum up the nicest, most amazing facts that will create another fake sparkle? Isn’t it bad enough that so many people already portray a false image of themselves on social media? I truly wish that we could all be a bit more humble, honest and truthful about ourselves when it comes to our online presence. At the end of the day, digital life has taken over a gigantic chunk of our actual life. It has become part of who we are.

So who am I in 101 characters? Outspoken. Positive. Witty. Clumsy. Thought-challenger. Creative. Occasionally funny. Coffee lover. Rain hater. Confident.

Match lit up

Too Real

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I decided to let go and enjoy the “realness” a while ago. This little piece was born while I was resisting to believe that it could be true. 

I’m scared to the point that I just compared my state of mind to a fish being caught on a hook. It’s too late to swim away now and I honestly don’t want to, however there is that sceptical side of me again. It’s trying to break through my sanity, my rational thinking to aggressively put out that twinkling little flame. I’m fighting the doubts, the unrealistic disbelief.

I’ve waited so long to finally let myself go and moments after I did it, for some unknown reason I’m trying to destroy all the hard work. I’m questioning whether I’m subconsciously enjoying this battle, whether I have a sick, twisted mind that’s letting out a satisfied laugh. But I come to the conclusion that no, I do not enjoy this. I want to go back to the previous moment where all seemed to fall into place. Where I felt I was finally in a place I’ve been trying to find for months. The home of my soul. Content, relaxed and truthful. With a permanent smile stretched across my soul and heart. I’m probably scared because I know that this is actually very real.

Let it be real, let it be scary, let it be exciting. I feel alive suddenly and that’s what is so scary.

Red brick wall

Writer’s block

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I have moments when a strong urge to write is burning inside me, yet I cannot form a cohesive sentence. I know that I’m not the only one who faces this frustration occasionally. The question is: what do you do when this stubborn block hits your brain? Personally, I carry on writing and I end up with a hard-to-decipher, frustrated mumble. Like this one: 

Delete. Type. Delete, delete, delete. Start again. I have something very important to tell you, yet it doesn’t want to become a form of words. It burns my soul with its white fire and tightens my throat when I’m attempting to say it out loud. A heavy exhale. Yes that helps temporarily, let me do it again. Dizziness kicks in; well at least my physical symptoms are now in line with my emotional ones. Start typing again. My fingertips are hitting the keyboard at such a rapid speed that my skin is burning up. Sloooow down, this is not making sense. Delete, delete.

New paragraph. Organise the tornado of thoughts. I need to understand where to start and why do I want to start. Do I want to start? Stop confusing yourself even more, no questions. Just type. Two more sentences are formed, let me read them back. Doesn’t this sound miserable? Was that another question?! Hush now consciousness, this truth inside my soul needs to be born. It needs to be shared with you but firstly I need to admit it to myself and stop running away from it. This is not a rabies ridden dog trying to bite my arm off but this is…delete, delete.

The realisation hits so hard on my chest that I struggle to breathe for a few seconds. I do not know what it is that I must tell myself. It all remains the playhouse of Confusion.

Chain

1 step back, 2 steps forward

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Wondering what could happen or would happen if I was able to change one moment of my past. A fracture of a memory transforming into the stepping-stone of my shiny future.

By altering one little piece of the events-chain could I create something so magnificent that the crowd around me would freeze for a lifetime? They would become the cold greyness and I would be the blazing red flame hurting the sight of the blind. Faces would be converted into paintings, eyes into mirrors and speech would evolve into a silent movie. I would soak up this vision and believe that what I had done is truly remarkable. Perhaps I would congratulate myself and throw a victory-smile to the negativity that has been trying to sneak into my shadow. After the shoulder patting what’s left for me to do is to unfreeze the ones with the flickering eyes inviting them to take a look around while holding onto the hands of my soul, slowly understanding where the alteration took place.

But I have no power to change what’s already done. I am where I am; I am who I am because the chain is unbroken. Each piece has taught me a lesson, arched a smile onto my face and witnessed me at my worst to become my best. Each memory-scar gave me stronger fighting skills and every moment contributed towards my ability to stand up always one more time more than falling down. So why would I change anything that I can be thankful for? Why would I be wishing to miss out on opportunities that came from behind closed doors? Every lived second was leading me to cross new paths I otherwise would have missed.

Embrace your past but remember to take your sight off it if you want to be excited about your next step.

Masks

Camouflaged souls

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Wearing different masks can be exhausting. You get confused which one you need to put on or you get so used to some of them that you forget to take them off. People around you do not love you; they love your choice of cover-up. That’s what they see and that’s what they remember when thinking of you. It’s like when you get a wrapped up present and you’re not allowed to open it. You love the wrapping paper, the shininess of the ribbons, the shape of the gift. You don’t know what it’s hiding inside, yet you are so happy with what you see. Take in the falsified information and enjoy the illusion.

And there comes a time when you put on the wrong mask or forget to wear one. Confusion. Demolition. Realisation. They catch a glimpse of your true self and learn that all their beliefs have been a daydream, a
fantasy. You can’t erase the damage, the frustration.

Why can’t you accept who you really are behind that entire masquerade? Just be yourself and show your true face. Be brave enough to show the world all you’ve got without the disguise.

Question mark

Power of the written words

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Words. Letters. Some strange lines scribbled on paper. Or they are flickering back from the screen of your electrical device. Thought processes materialised into the physical world. Touch it – you can’t feel it.

Why would you feel the written words? You see them, yes. But how can you create something that when you touch you don’t feel it? Although when you read them back, the whirlpool of emotions will start stirring. Can we really put our feelings into the forms of letters and dots and question marks? When you read my letter-chain, does the same feeling kick you in the stomach as the one I had to fight off? I don’t think so.

I feel. I think. I write.

You read. You think. You smile.

Change of plans

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I never planned this to happen. Didn’t even imagine or wanted it to go this way and even as it started happening I was still running away from it. Why? I just didn’t believe that this could turn into something so real. All I wanted was one night of passionate fun. Pure physical satisfaction. Exactly one year ago that’s what I thought would happen: spending one night with you and waving you goodbye in the morning with post-sex messed up hair.

Instead, I found someone who makes me feel alive, who I crave from the deepest parts of my soul. Someone who makes me smile when I see his name pop up on my phone’s screen. Someone whom I have fallen madly in love with for the way he is without wanting to change anything about him. This whole thing feels so natural, comfortable, so relaxing yet very exciting.

I’m generally not a romantic kind of girl but somehow you make me want to tell you just how much you mean to me. How I can’t imagine spending a day without writing you ‘bongu’ or call you a ‘mignun’ at least once a day. Let me try to explain myself a bit better: it’s like I was running around at a high speed, aimlessly without a destination in my mind when suddenly you held my hand that made me come to a full stop. It wasn’t just me who stopped. Every time you kiss me or look into my eyes, I forget that there is a whole world around us. You made the Universe stop. And I can’t imagine doing anything better than standing still with you, holding your hand while the rest of the world is running around in chaos. I know we didn’t arrive to this place in a simple or traditional way but guess what? I think that’s what I like the most. Against all the odds we still arrived here.

I’m so grateful that this didn’t go as I originally planned it. Thank you for being as amazing as you are.

pen

Becoming the master of the words

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To put down words onto paper is one of the little joys in life that recharges me. I’m trying to remember when or how it all started. I was around 15 when poetry and literature in general started to interest me.
Until that time I still read what I had to in school but I cannot recall any enjoyment. Poetry got through to me. Understanding the hidden messages, feeling the words. As I read them out loud to myself I felt the power of its wholeness. Perfection. Saying what you feel without explaining it all. So I started writing poetry first at that age. Not so great ones. Childish rhymes but with a hint of passion boiling behind the words. Nothing concrete in my soul yet, just the desire to create something that is me. I’ve always been a little selfish especially at that age so perhaps that’s what fuelled my desire for writing in the beginning. I wanted to be great. To be the master of the words. I wanted people to question and analyse what I had written. I believed that true self-expression was to remain mysterious, to get others trying to understand me. But even I didn’t understand me back then. I do now, and as I carried on writing I opened the door slightly more. Show them who I really am. Let everyone know what runs through my mind, what cuts into my soul, what makes my heart beat faster.
Once I was at the stage when I truly accepted myself and learnt to love honestly the person who’s hiding within, my writing slowly started to reflect that. Now all I want to do is to entertain others, make them think or perhaps open their eyes a tiny bit more to look at life from different angles. The moment I evolved into writing fiction was a gigantic milestone for me. I no longer felt the ego. I didn’t want people to worship me because now I can do that for myself.
I’m curious to find out what will be the next stage for my writing. Until then, I honestly hope that I can entertain you along the way and share my journey with you. Because without you, dear reader, I’m just talking to myself.