Once upon a time…

Twenty one years ago in a city that was then still colorful and bustling with life, there lived a little girl. Truthfully, that girl didn’t know much about the city. She lived in a safe bubble that included her home, her bestfriend’s. The fruit place across their home. Her school and the beach. Like any other girl, she was always accompanied by an adult. And even during those times where she was around other children she had nothing to say to anyone. Her eyes were the only feature she used to express her feelings and needs. Day in, day out. She noticed the colors everywhere. The sky, the peach and watermelon. The grass and the ocean. Nature and colors were the first hints of magic she encountered in her early years. Then came the smells. She was addicted to the smell of chocolate chip and mint cookies. There was something about that smell that made her so happy in that way only little girls could be. More magic unfolded through time. She discovered a pile of books in her dad’s room one day, she was learning to read so those words seemed like a big, exciting mystery to her. Her small hands and wide eyes skimmed the pages trying to make sense of they said. She’s smell those books and touch the words, some of them were inked and those were letters, some of them were printed. She couldn’t wait to be able to read them all. She wanted to read them all. It wasn’t long before she indeed read each and every book her dad had. Her favorites were one of crime. She was a kid, it was majorly inappropriate, but she inhaled those books and shifted through them so fast. Being outside didn’t interest her anymore, because there were monsters outside. It was safe in her room with her father’s books. As she grew older her interests didn’t change. All she wanted to do was read. More words, more pages, more books. More, more, more. One day, she started a new book written by that woman whose books she always read and re-read. All it took was a short research to find out more about her. The woman who left her old life behind in her quest for more. Her inspiration. The little girl fell in love with books, dust and ancient things. she dreamt of being an archeologist, digging up the lives of those who are long gone, and maybe finding herself in the process, but life had other plans, as it always does.

 That girl is me, I think. You see, I’ve been through the worst couple of months of my life. I’ve witnessed my greatest fear take shape and become a reality. My worst fear became a reality and in those weeks i’ve lost track of life. It started when my dad got sick. At first i thought he had a cold ! but then his face became paler and smaller. His hands trembled and he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. Surely, that couldn’t be right. He’s my dad. Nothing can happen to him. He’ll be okay, right ?

As the days went by, he started getting better slowly. I started getting worse. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone because I was fucking terrified that if I took a deep breath and closed my eyes even for a second he’d be gone. It was a nightmare. I spent nights on end watching the night turn into day. Life went on, unsurprisingly, yet something halted within me. I didn’t notice it at first because all i did was cry. I cried in hospital corridors and in bathrooms and in cabs. Then there were no more tears for me to cry. Do you know that feeling when you cry so much you no longer are able to shed any more tears ? it feels sober and yet so distant. Kinda drunk and still aware of everything ?

Everything became distant and non-relatable. I wanted to call my friends and cry and tell them everything, but talking about it made it even more real. Even writing about it was out of the question. Suddenly i was overwhelmed by reality. A reality I spent my whole life escaping. It was then i realized that maybe that’s the problem, maybe i was wrong. Maybe life wasn’t unicorns and roses and happy endings. Maybe it wasn’t enough to just believe in my plans and surround myself with love. Maybe my to do list and bed time couldn’t save me. And maybe it was all a lie. Maybe I’ve been lying to myself. Maybe the words i’ve been reading and loving since i was a child are the reason all this is happening. I blame them. I blame books. I could’ve been normal, yet I still find myself hanging on every word i read. I still feel every letter in my bones and imagine scenarios and people. I imagine lives that aren’t my own and feel them under my skin. But what if the things that used to bring me joy don’t anymore ? what if the person i was before doesn’t exist anymore. What if I can never read again ? or write ?

I used to escape life through those books piled on the floor of my bedroom, now i can’t even look at them anymore. I kind of feel like a middle aged woman who wakes up one day and decides she wants a divorce.

A poem

Love After love by Derek Walcott

The time will come when with elation

you will greet yourself arriving

At your own door, in your own mirror

And each will smile at the other’s welcome.

And say, sit here, Eat.

You will love again the stranger who was yourself.

Give wine. Give bread.

Give back your heart to yourself.

To the stranger who has loved you all your life,

Whom you ignored for another

Who knows you by heart.

Sit. Feast on your life.

A moment of utter joy in a city full of ancient charm and magic. October 2019

A cracked heart( kind of)

I can close my eyes and pretend it never happened, he never happened. I can play it cool and be the forever chill me who doesn’t allow much to unphase her, but no. I’m allowed to process things out, to get them out of my system, and the only way I know how is to write about them ( of course, after crying my eyeballs out on NEW YEAR’S EVE).

It started like a fairytale of the realistic kind. From the first time I saw him I felt this crazy pull towards him, like I’ve seen him somewhere but I knew that wasn’t it. I would have remembered. I never forget faces. He was the one.

After I realized the dude was way out of my league, I stopped having crazy ideas about him, but then he had to say the magical words and I was all in. I allowed myself to fall head over heels for him, the classical way and any other way. I ignored my crippling fear of losing him one day and not having him in my life anymore. People with anxiety problems will get it. How painful it is to let your walls crumble and believe that the other person is worthy of being in YOUR zone, that they would never hurt you. you love them and make plans. you make promises you swear you’ll never break and you mean it. But then something happened and I all got was a text. a break up text.

I read the first words while still asleep ( I was napping, because naps are life) and I SWEAR, I swear I felt like something died inside of me. It was exactly like that feeling when they called me to say my grandpa died. EXACTLY LIKE IT. it must be a joke, right? like he can’t break up with me, OVER  a text! can he? he can, and he did. He did. he did. he . DID.

then follows the hiccups and ugly crying and ohgodwhy. then no eating for two whole days (which is so weird because food is life) and then the now, where I try to hate him for stupid things that I used to love. it’s so much more than that. Even as i’m typing this I know I’m not giving it my all. feelings can’t be rationalized and I never thought it possible that someone would have the power to destroy me, ( except for Leigh Bardugo) but he did. without so much as an explanation, I can’t put in words the immense pain I feel or the void he left, but I know that I’ll be okay, eventually. you see love is literally a drug. I’m talking about the Oxytocin or the hormone of love( as they call it),  that is released by the brain when you start loving someone. it’s an addiction. all you need for recovery is to minimize contact and get them out of your system.

The Floodgates

And as I go through everyday I keep wondering what it would be like if my life isn’t mine. What If I was born into another body, had another life. what if I had to fight for my life every second of everyday like some people. What if I was laying down on a hospital bed waiting for merciful death and regretting the chances I missed at living. What does it take to really start appreciating everything you’re blessed with everyday? What does it take to live your life the way YOU see fit? because when you lay your head on the pillow at night and go to sleep it’s just you there, the rest of the world disappears, shuts off. 

I’m such a coward, it took me years to try and figure out what I want, what could bring me true joy and just when I pieced it all together I don’t do a thing to make it happen. I just sit back and live my boring life, go to my boring job and settle, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t. there is no other word for it. I can’t breathe easy anymore. it’s not my fault that I was born with an awareness of everything around me, such a sharp and heavy thing to carry around all the time. why couldn’t I be a traditional girl with nothing on her mind but settling into a safe job, get a car, get married, have kids, make a family, sacrifice myself for them, give it my all. be the perfect mother, and wife. CAN YOU SEE ME CRINGING?!!!

NO. that’s not who I am. 

the wishes that I whisper when no one is listening never involved any of those things. the words that my heart and soul keep repeating cannot be fulfilled that easily. The truth is, I have lives inside of me, stories, people, places, words, scenarios that keep playing on and on and on and sometimes I grab the closest pen and paper and write until my hand aches. sometimes I trace pictures of places I want to visit gently with my finger and wish I could go, if it was easy to just pack and leave. wouldn’t that be great?

The only reason I’m typing these words is my need to let them out, so while I’m at it, I promise I will not settle. I will find my own brand of happy and cherish it. I will satisfy my craving from this life. I will collect those moments that make warmth fill my chest and keep them for rainy days. I will find my way out there and keep going until there’s nothing left of me but my words. 

Not so random thoughts of a confused non blond

Have you ever thought about what would happen If you did something unexpected. Something out of character. I mean something you wouldn’t normally do. and I’m not talking about risks people take or trying new things. I’m talking about listening to that voice that most of us old souls ignore. the voice of reason. 

This voice is telling me to walk away. It always does, but I stay. these days though I’m getting more and more restless. the voice is getting louder and the temptation is stronger, especially that staying  only got me hurt. so, what would happen if you walked away and turned your back on the feelings of guilt, shame and helplessness? 

What would happen if you give up on that innate desire that urges you to take the fall for someone, to fix things, because it doesn’t have to be like that?

You’re not meant to carry people’s hurt, to make up for their errors. I’m thinking that nodding and staying neutral is a lot easier option. no repercussions. What if they were family, bestfriends, soulmates even? you’ll try to convince yourself it’s worth it and you’re supposed to be there for people you care about. But, enough is enough. truly.

you’ve been picking up everyone else’s broken pieces you didn’t even feel it when your heart broke along the way. forgotten promises and high expectations. sometimes not even that high! 

you’ve given them all you had and now you have nothing. there’s only so much a person can take. I mean what happened to give and take?

I’m thinking I have all the reasons to give up. I have built a logical case for myself. my motives are actually just one: self-preservation. 

I need a little more laughs in my life and a lot less teeth-clenching and nervous break downs. 

A slight fever

Yesterday night, while I was in bed suffering from the effects of a slight fever and a brutal cold, my mind decided that I will not be getting any actual rest, and that for some reason, it was essential to think about myself. AGAIN. because it’s all about me. At one point I stopped trying to think of green landscapes and the sound of a faraway river, even though it always helps me sleep, last night was different. I could tell.

I was proud of myself. Proud of the person I became, of the person I’m becoming. I’m completely aware of the fact that I haven’t exactly achieved much. but the feeling still stands.

I don’t know how to ride a bike. I don’t know how to swim. I can’t get a driving licence because the idea of running someone over paralyses me. I, somehow, always mess up with people, and even objects. I get really nasty if someone is stepping into my personal space. I cry over commercials of diapers and happy families and while watching any talent show out there. I can hold a grudge like no other. I always, ALWAYS react like a loony when I see a rainbow. and In case you are wondering, I don’t consider any of these things flaws. They are a part of who I am.

And while these things are just weird, I also have a normal side (whatever normal means). I love my family very much. And I’m crazy about my besties. I’m blessed with people who love me just as much as I love them. I’m decently perceptive when it comes to people. I can read them just fine. Which is also a problem, because I don’t really have any drama in my life whatsoever. The solutions easily come to my mind. My life is uncomplicated, which is great because I get physically sick when I’m confused or anxious about something.

I am a person who refuses to absorb what I’m told and would rather make up my own mind. I’m smart enough not allow whatever is happening around me to affect my inner peace. And by that I mean the crazy assumption that women are supposed to look/act a certain way. And it pains me to see that not many have enough confidence to be who they are and relish it, instead of trying to look like everyone else. Full lips, long hair, sharp eyebrows, fake lashes, painted nails, cosmetically enhanced breasts and an abnormally curvey behind. Seriously though. Who are they trying to impress really ? Men ? Themselves ? I just don’t know. I only know that it’s wrong. You are NOT suppsed to look like everyone else. It’s just outrageous and sad, Especially when I see ten year old girls being affected by all this. God knows that when I was ten, my only worry was getting the next issue of my favorite comic book, and reading it in one go. So here I go again. I’m proud of myself of being okay with all the mess that I am. For not trying to be someone I’m not, even if it means having an embarassing history of first dates, and a non-existing romantic life. Or the fact that I constanctly have to question whether or not I’m good enough.  I accept it all, the good and the bad. And despite the conviction that some people have concerning the bad side of everything. I think that we should feel it all. Feel despair and anguish. Feel lonely and cold, because how are you going to truly enjoy the difference the lack of these things make. I am what God made me, and I owe all that I am to Him and Him alone. I don’t need to explain anything to anyone, and I sure as hell don’t need to submit to what society thinks I should be.

I will live my life however I see fit. I will enjoy chocolate cakes and glorious sunsets. I will cry myself to sleep If I feel lonelier than ever. I will love the people who love me. and I will read as many books as I can.

I will let it be.

Random thoughts of a neurotic brunette

I lay on the floor of our rooftop and stare at the night sky.

Looking at it always made me forget about all the nonsense going on in my life, and in the world. I think about how the city smoke hides away the stars and if I was a few miles away I could make out a thousand of them shining like torches up there, in that enormous, intimidating sky and how insignificant it makes me feel… I think about Aliens and whether or not they exist. Both possibilities terrify me so I stop thinking about that and instead think of the people that came into my life and left.

Broken hearts and forgotten last names. All I remember are fractures of what we had. Friendships that were not meant to last forever. And dreams that were altered by reality, reshaped, dreams that were restructured and broken down, little by little., like that one name you write on the sand and wait anxiously for the water to erase it because you don’t want anybody else to see it. Like a silent prayer.

 I think of that crush that went on for far too long. I think about that line where the sky meets the sea, where it’s almost impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. And I feel my heart flutter and then stop, because I know there’s a possibility I will never know what’s on the other side. People I could meet. Places I could see. The great Unknown, but that is such a depressing thought so I try to think of something a little more cheerful, I think about cupcakes and burgers and Lasagna. I think about warm afternoons spent in bed with a book that makes me gasp, pull at my hair, scream and cry. I think of the leather bound notebooks I want to own and ancient libraries I want to visit and the old books I want to burry my nose in. I think about that letter she wrote and where it might be, because I can’t find it anywhere. and I think about the books that made me feel so many emotions I have never felt around a human being.  I think about the me that is me and can’t stop thinking about everything. EVERY.SINGLE.THING. The cold breeze that is making my cheeks sting and my eyes water. The soft socks my dad bought me. That one time I didn’t kiss my mom back when she said goodbye. I think about my dying grandfather and my heart aches because I never want to experience what real loss is.  

My eyes start to water for different reasons and my nose tickles and I know I’m about to cry, but I don’t want that, so Instead I think of that one feeling that never really goes away. That one thought that is always in the back of my mind. That there’s something missing in my life. That I could do so much more. And It frightens me, because what If I die before I ever experience that fullness, that wholesomeness I’m always craving? Even worse, what if it’s not meant for me?

My father broke my heart before any man had a chance to. I can’t even remember how we switched roles, but I can try.

I think it was a little after I graduated high school. I was a teenager. A wise one at that.


I think it happened when I was in middle school, back then I was a kid. Still a kid. I wanted nothing but to make my parents proud.

I had to be perfect.

Perfection was possible if I got excellent grades and kept quiet when grown ups talked, even though I thought they were stupid and dramatic.

I wanted to please them and compensate on the years they have spent worrying about whether or not I will make it out alive. Praying to God to cure me. I did it unconsciously. Being a teenager meant nothing to me. The only reckless thing I did back then was abandon my braids and get a short hair cut.

When I started high school it started to sink in. My life was different from the other kids’. I kept striving for perfect and did achieve it. At least Academically. At that point I wasn’t just a quiet person. I was reclusive. It’s like I put my life on hold, for them. But then it clicked and I wanted to have friends, because, I ,apparently was a little lonely. That was the first lesson. PEOPLE WILL USE YOU, CHEW YOU UP, And spit you out.

By the time I made it to college I was a new person. I had made rules for everything. I can’t not have friends, but I can choose who to let in. I was so into it I didn’t notice the signs at home.

My dad was using drugs.

I cried into my pillow the night I found out. It felt like someone ripped my heart out and walked all over it and It still feels like that every time I look him in the eyes. I felt naked and fragile and couldn’t walk the streets without flinching everytime anyone came close to me.

They can see my hurt.

I think that was when I decided that being weak wasn’t an option. the world was my responsibilty and I had to fix it. that was also when HE decided that It would be great If I took care of everything and went from  the girl with the world at her feet to the girl whose only concern is paying for rent and getting food on the table. It couldn’t be that bad. I loved my family and I still do, I would literally die for them, but something was off about the whole thing.

How did they accept the idea of me living my life for them and altering my choices just so that I can be with them? Is that what love is?

I know how hard it is to try and change a person and you shouldn’t. people change by themselves, but If I was hurting someone with the way I treated them, with my choices, I would definitely think it over.

I can’t stop thinking about him dying and not appreciating his life and me losing him, and not having helped even though I could. So I love him through and Through. I give my life to him the way he once gave me his. I don’t stay out late because he needs me around. I don’t go out with guys because I can’t. I don’t dye my hair pink even though I really want to. I don’t talk back because that’s rude. I don’t cry in front of people because that’s a sign of weakness. I don’t get too attached because they will hurt me. and I really, really, really can’t get through another heart break.

And I live in books. I love books.

A Dandelion



I don’t want to break free. I don’t want to have to.

I want just to be. 

I want to close my eyes and fall and trust that the person on the other side will catch me.

Believe that they won’t let me fall.

I want to walk the streets without having to cross my arms over my chest or tug my shirt down self-consciously.

I don’t want to second guess everyone who’s trying to get closer to me.

I want the trees to be greener and I want the kids to play outside and not be stuck in a classrom at age 5.

I don’t want there to be rapists or criminals.

I don’t want there to be hurt.

I want my grandfather to live forever.

I want to feel good enough.

I want to sleep on the sand, under the sky, at night and not be afraid of anything.

I want to climb the highest mountain and scream at the top of my lungs.

I want to stand up for weak people and children and awkward teenagers.

I want a dog.

I want to be hugged daily, because hugs warm my heart.

I want to grow old with my bestfriends and watch them fall in love over and over.

I want to write books. Good books. 

I want to believe in myself enough to go through with it.

I don’t want to feel scared of living anymore.

I want to meet my classmates in Kindergarten and laugh at how stupid and innocent we were. 

I want to paint a room.

I want to have my own someone.

I want to be brave enough to admit that I don’t want my own someone.

I NEED my own someone.







This time I will not complain about anything. I won’t go on and on about how terrible I feel or how shitty everything is.

I will only feel blessed.

I will be grateful for everything I have. Things that so many people wish for.

I’m grateful for my warm clothes, bed, the roof on my head and the food in my tummy (and other places)

I am grateful for parents who rush to shower me with love and care whenever I’m feeling sick or troubled (which is pretty often). These people who would sacrifice whatever they have just to see me smiling.

I am grateful for the books I grew up around.

I am grateful for siblings who scare the shit out of me when they fight, but warm my heart when they call and check up on me.

I am grateful for friends who are way more than that. I don’t even think there’s a word to describe who they are to me. they are a bunch of people that I literally can’t live without. People who are there when I need them and even when I don’t, because, seriously, it’s not about need anymore. they are always in my face and I love every second of it. ( figuratively speaking)

I am grateful that I have people I can talk to and miss when they are not around. and I can’t even begin to talk about how they changed me.

I am grateful the air I breathe, the body I have and everything that is allowing me to type these words into the ether today.( including wireless internet)

I am also grateful no one I know can read these words and know just how much they mean to me, because they’ll end up knowing way more if they keep reading through this blog.