If there is one nugget of wisdom I want to share with girls all over the world, it's this:
love as much as you can. Try to love everyone you meet, be that your parents, your boyfriend, your husband, your girlfriend or your best friend.
But always love yourself a little more.
You're the one person you'll always be with, and that relationship will be with you forever. It's the most important relationship you'll ever have.
Cherish it and make yourself happy.
You're the only one who can.
Samstag, 10. Oktober 2009
Mittwoch, 30. September 2009
Hm.
Is it just me or is the idea that people like Martin Scorsese and Woody Allen (yeah, go figure) signed the petition to get Roman Polanski out of jail extremely sickening to anyone else?
Samstag, 26. September 2009
I'm the stranger in Paradise. And I thought I didn't belong here.
I am happy to have stood here.
Dear mankind,
I am happy. For the first time in my adult life, I am happy.
Not giddy happy. Not a scared little joy that might run back into its cave and hide at the first sign of trouble. Because that's how I rolled, y'all. I was scared to be happy. So I refused to be happy.
But like I said before, happiness isn't everything. I realized that again, today, just now, when I was crouched on the bathroom floor, crying my eyes out and then, suddenly, laughing.
Because there's another feeling. I first noticed it some odd two weeks ago.
It started somewhere on the left side of my nose. At first I thought it was a Smell.
Fall is approaching radically here, painting trees and making them look like fire and saying goodbye to the bees and the birds.
So this was what I smelt. Autumn, right there in my face, beneath my nose, beneath my skin.
The Feeling - or Smell - wasn't coming to me. It was inside me.
I'm not sure who or what put it there, and typically with my usual complaints about giving into unknown, possibly good feelings, my Brain tried to scare it away with dark thoughts and talked to it a deep raspy voice, telling the Feeling that I wouldn't just let it in, that it would have to fight and prevail to earn its welcome.
The Feeling fought and struggled, and stayed.
The Brain became a little weary. Then there suddenly was the itsy-bitsy bit of Hope growing in my stomach, and again the Brain complained and used sharp objects and hard words and cold stares to frighten the sprout of Hope.
But the little bit of Hope just laughed at that grumpy little girl with the mean words and balled fists, and kept growing.
Sucker, the Brain said, and yelled at it.
But the Hope smiled and said very well and kept growing.
So the Brain turned away, like it does from such things, and looked at the Heart, which it had ignored for some time, to look for help in the fight against the hope.
Now, this the Brain hadn't expected. Because the Heart had heard about the Smell of autumn that wasn't really a Smell and had taken a liking to it, touched the feeling and it had been love at first sight, if you believe in something like that (the Brain doesn't, but the Heart always had its doubts).
The Brain, of course, struggled against the connection between the Heart and the Feeling, but it was too late.
Reason! the brain yelled. See reason! This will never work!
The Heart started singing songs from the 80s and ignored the Brain.
Meanwhile the Hope had grown into something more. It had grown into Knowing.
You see, just because we start out as a certain something, doesn't mean we have to stay that way. We can all change. The Heart and the Hope are not very deterministic in that sense.
So the Hope grew into Knowing, and the Knowing was stronger than ever.
The Smell meanwhile had spread into my sinuses and down my throat, coming closer to the Heart.
The Brain became unsure. What is this? it thought. There is no reason, no rationality behind this! This is not how we work!
At some point, while I was on that bathroom floor today, the Heart and the Smell and the Hope that turned into Knowing all connected. The morphed into each other, complementing the other ones on their strength, nodding, patting their shoulders.
They became a team, tough to take on and very determined.
The Brain, the little idiot, gave up, eventually.
Some day, it said, we'll talk about this. We'll find out how this happened.
Very well, said the Heart and the Smell and the Hope that had turned into Knowing.
We will, one day. But not now. Now this is Us, we are Queens. We are taking charge.
So, this is me. Arrogantly enough, I thought of myself as a Phoenix.
I fell.
I burnt.
I was burnt badly, and I burned myself even worse, literally, and I was only ashes and dust and didn't serve any purpose.
And then there was a glimmer that came from a connection the three Queen inside me made.
And I'm not flying now, because when you fly you are too high to see things for what they really are.
Rather, I'm floating, close enough to the surface, to everything I need to know, but far away enough to know that it doesn't have to touch me, unless I want to.
I also realize that I did this, mainly, on my own.
There are people who've helped me, tremendously, and sometimes in a funny way, and I want to thank them, not because it sounds good or because I feel like I have to but because I want to.
There was an old woman in the city the other day, who looked at me, smiled, and then nodded. I want to thank her.
There are my parents.
There's Pip.
My Literature teacher.
My friends.
I will walk up to those people and tell them yes. Now I see.
Because most people in your life just pass you.
It's like you're at a busy train station.
All these people pass you, but sometimes someone catches your eye, and you smile at each other, or maybe you drop something and someone picks it up for you and says don't worry about it, and you suddenly don't worry. Sometimes these people will steal whatever you dropped and run away. But there's no point going after them. Just make up for what you lost. Because you have to loose yourself to find yourself. And sometimes you won't like what you find, but more often, and this is what the three Queens tell me, you'll love it, and it will make the world a better place.
- Endre Tót
Dear mankind,
I am happy. For the first time in my adult life, I am happy.
Not giddy happy. Not a scared little joy that might run back into its cave and hide at the first sign of trouble. Because that's how I rolled, y'all. I was scared to be happy. So I refused to be happy.
But like I said before, happiness isn't everything. I realized that again, today, just now, when I was crouched on the bathroom floor, crying my eyes out and then, suddenly, laughing.
Because there's another feeling. I first noticed it some odd two weeks ago.
It started somewhere on the left side of my nose. At first I thought it was a Smell.
Fall is approaching radically here, painting trees and making them look like fire and saying goodbye to the bees and the birds.
So this was what I smelt. Autumn, right there in my face, beneath my nose, beneath my skin.
The Feeling - or Smell - wasn't coming to me. It was inside me.
I'm not sure who or what put it there, and typically with my usual complaints about giving into unknown, possibly good feelings, my Brain tried to scare it away with dark thoughts and talked to it a deep raspy voice, telling the Feeling that I wouldn't just let it in, that it would have to fight and prevail to earn its welcome.
The Feeling fought and struggled, and stayed.
The Brain became a little weary. Then there suddenly was the itsy-bitsy bit of Hope growing in my stomach, and again the Brain complained and used sharp objects and hard words and cold stares to frighten the sprout of Hope.
But the little bit of Hope just laughed at that grumpy little girl with the mean words and balled fists, and kept growing.
Sucker, the Brain said, and yelled at it.
But the Hope smiled and said very well and kept growing.
So the Brain turned away, like it does from such things, and looked at the Heart, which it had ignored for some time, to look for help in the fight against the hope.
Now, this the Brain hadn't expected. Because the Heart had heard about the Smell of autumn that wasn't really a Smell and had taken a liking to it, touched the feeling and it had been love at first sight, if you believe in something like that (the Brain doesn't, but the Heart always had its doubts).
The Brain, of course, struggled against the connection between the Heart and the Feeling, but it was too late.
Reason! the brain yelled. See reason! This will never work!
The Heart started singing songs from the 80s and ignored the Brain.
Meanwhile the Hope had grown into something more. It had grown into Knowing.
You see, just because we start out as a certain something, doesn't mean we have to stay that way. We can all change. The Heart and the Hope are not very deterministic in that sense.
So the Hope grew into Knowing, and the Knowing was stronger than ever.
The Smell meanwhile had spread into my sinuses and down my throat, coming closer to the Heart.
The Brain became unsure. What is this? it thought. There is no reason, no rationality behind this! This is not how we work!
At some point, while I was on that bathroom floor today, the Heart and the Smell and the Hope that turned into Knowing all connected. The morphed into each other, complementing the other ones on their strength, nodding, patting their shoulders.
They became a team, tough to take on and very determined.
The Brain, the little idiot, gave up, eventually.
Some day, it said, we'll talk about this. We'll find out how this happened.
Very well, said the Heart and the Smell and the Hope that had turned into Knowing.
We will, one day. But not now. Now this is Us, we are Queens. We are taking charge.
So, this is me. Arrogantly enough, I thought of myself as a Phoenix.
I fell.
I burnt.
I was burnt badly, and I burned myself even worse, literally, and I was only ashes and dust and didn't serve any purpose.
And then there was a glimmer that came from a connection the three Queen inside me made.
And I'm not flying now, because when you fly you are too high to see things for what they really are.
Rather, I'm floating, close enough to the surface, to everything I need to know, but far away enough to know that it doesn't have to touch me, unless I want to.
I also realize that I did this, mainly, on my own.
There are people who've helped me, tremendously, and sometimes in a funny way, and I want to thank them, not because it sounds good or because I feel like I have to but because I want to.
There was an old woman in the city the other day, who looked at me, smiled, and then nodded. I want to thank her.
There are my parents.
There's Pip.
My Literature teacher.
My friends.
I will walk up to those people and tell them yes. Now I see.
Because most people in your life just pass you.
It's like you're at a busy train station.
All these people pass you, but sometimes someone catches your eye, and you smile at each other, or maybe you drop something and someone picks it up for you and says don't worry about it, and you suddenly don't worry. Sometimes these people will steal whatever you dropped and run away. But there's no point going after them. Just make up for what you lost. Because you have to loose yourself to find yourself. And sometimes you won't like what you find, but more often, and this is what the three Queens tell me, you'll love it, and it will make the world a better place.
Dienstag, 25. August 2009
Tangere (lat.: to touch, touch upon, besprinkle, to speak of)
"The truth is I've never fooled anyone. I've let people fool themselves. They didn't bother to find out who and what I was. Instead they would invent a character for me. I wouldn't argue with them. They were obviously loving somebody I wasn't. When they found this out, they would blame me for disillusioning them---and fooling them." - Marilyn Monroe
Wow. It's been a long time since I've been here. So hello, I guess.
I have a problem with blogging. Here's why:
I hate sharing what's going on with me. I actually think, and this is ridicilous, really, that people who talk about how they feel out in the open are a little bit disgusting.
I tried to do to some reverse psychology with myself, to find out why this is. I think there might actually be an explenation for this, maybe in my early childhood, maybe in my teenager time.
I don't really know, and maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it never matters why we feel a certain way, because that's who we are, and I don't believe that people really change. They change the way they behave, but inside, I think, we're done and untwistable from the moment we step into the world.
I'm drifting off here.
Anyway, there is something about me I realized in the last couple of days:
I feel horrible when I'm happy. I get scared and paranoid and nervous and the more negative part of my brain takes over and gets me spinning.
On a good day, my heart sometimes beats so fast that I'm sure it'll pop out of my chest and just be a massive, dark, blood pulp lying on the floor, there for everyone to see.
Ew.
Now, when I have a bad day, and this is the really weird part, I am flooded with calmness.
For me, there's nothing like waking up in the morning and knowing it's gonna be a shit day.
It's only when I'm sure that I will never, ever see the metaphorical sunshine again, that I am - well, I don't wanna say content - but maybe okay.
Now that's weird. Isn't it?
I think that's because I have a very self-destructive side, and maybe this is the only outlet this side gets. And I'm not really sure if that's good or bad.
I'm also a gigantic liar. I know I'll regret saying this, but fuck it, right?
Not a liar in the sense that I actively tell lies, but more in the sense that I act all day.
There was a period in my life (about two years) in which I was very sad.
Like, everyday-please-let-the-world-end-sad.
And a lot of that had to do with your general teenage attitude.
But somehow, in those two years, I stopped showing what I'm really feeling or thinking, at least in a couple of aspects.
And here's the real dilemma: I can't make up my mind about wanting to change, and not wanting to change, and can I even change? and accepting this or maybe not and if it's okay.
So I'm doing a lot of thinking, like I guess you're supposed to in life.
And today I'm working on opening myself to the world.
So this is the first step.
Open yourself.
Good evening, viewers.
I've just painted my fingernails.
Cherry red.
I can't wait for the winter.
Bless you.
Wow. It's been a long time since I've been here. So hello, I guess.
I have a problem with blogging. Here's why:
I hate sharing what's going on with me. I actually think, and this is ridicilous, really, that people who talk about how they feel out in the open are a little bit disgusting.
I tried to do to some reverse psychology with myself, to find out why this is. I think there might actually be an explenation for this, maybe in my early childhood, maybe in my teenager time.
I don't really know, and maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it never matters why we feel a certain way, because that's who we are, and I don't believe that people really change. They change the way they behave, but inside, I think, we're done and untwistable from the moment we step into the world.
I'm drifting off here.
Anyway, there is something about me I realized in the last couple of days:
I feel horrible when I'm happy. I get scared and paranoid and nervous and the more negative part of my brain takes over and gets me spinning.
On a good day, my heart sometimes beats so fast that I'm sure it'll pop out of my chest and just be a massive, dark, blood pulp lying on the floor, there for everyone to see.
Ew.
Now, when I have a bad day, and this is the really weird part, I am flooded with calmness.
For me, there's nothing like waking up in the morning and knowing it's gonna be a shit day.
It's only when I'm sure that I will never, ever see the metaphorical sunshine again, that I am - well, I don't wanna say content - but maybe okay.
Now that's weird. Isn't it?
I think that's because I have a very self-destructive side, and maybe this is the only outlet this side gets. And I'm not really sure if that's good or bad.
I'm also a gigantic liar. I know I'll regret saying this, but fuck it, right?
Not a liar in the sense that I actively tell lies, but more in the sense that I act all day.
There was a period in my life (about two years) in which I was very sad.
Like, everyday-please-let-the-world-end-sad.
And a lot of that had to do with your general teenage attitude.
But somehow, in those two years, I stopped showing what I'm really feeling or thinking, at least in a couple of aspects.
And here's the real dilemma: I can't make up my mind about wanting to change, and not wanting to change, and can I even change? and accepting this or maybe not and if it's okay.
So I'm doing a lot of thinking, like I guess you're supposed to in life.
And today I'm working on opening myself to the world.
So this is the first step.
Open yourself.
Good evening, viewers.
I've just painted my fingernails.
Cherry red.
I can't wait for the winter.
Bless you.
Dienstag, 19. Mai 2009
Opinion needed? Or not so much?
Today I thought about the importance to have an opinion.
I'm one of these people who thinks a lot about random things, and is then quick to build an opinion and is not afraid to mout it.
Even though I am sometimes a little too quick with that, it is often my first feeling about a subject that stays with me (I like that concept, that the first thing you feel is often the real thing you feel).
But how important is it to always have an opinion about everything?
When someone doesn't have a stance on an (IMHO) important subject, I do often catch myself thinking "doesn't that person spend any time discovering what they believe in? Do they know themselves that little?"
Again, this is me being quick in building an opinion (woah, word of the day!).
So? Do you need an opinion on everything? Do you feel ashamed when someone asks your opinion and you don't have one? I'm thinking, thinking, thinking...
I'm one of these people who thinks a lot about random things, and is then quick to build an opinion and is not afraid to mout it.
Even though I am sometimes a little too quick with that, it is often my first feeling about a subject that stays with me (I like that concept, that the first thing you feel is often the real thing you feel).
But how important is it to always have an opinion about everything?
When someone doesn't have a stance on an (IMHO) important subject, I do often catch myself thinking "doesn't that person spend any time discovering what they believe in? Do they know themselves that little?"
Again, this is me being quick in building an opinion (woah, word of the day!).
So? Do you need an opinion on everything? Do you feel ashamed when someone asks your opinion and you don't have one? I'm thinking, thinking, thinking...
Donnerstag, 7. Mai 2009
Book: Broken
Until that fateful afternoon, Skunk Cunningham had been a normal little girl, innocently playing on the kerb in front of her house. Rick Buckley had been a normal friendless teenager, proudly washing his brand-new car. And Bob Oswald had been a normal sociopathic single father of five wild daughters, charging furiously down the pavement. Then Bob was beating Rick to a bloody pulp, right there in the Buckley's driveway, and life on Drummond Square was never the same again.
This is the blurb from Daniel Clay's amazing novel, Broken, which might be the best study of the Butterfly Effect to date.
The events described above give the starting signal to a series of events that are so horrible, so funny, so unbelievable and yet so real it is alarmingly easy to relate to them.
The main focus lies on the three families involved in the drama on Drummond Square: the Cunninghams, which you will soon enough consider the "normal" family in this book; the Oswalds, a family so horrible and real and disgusting it is pain and masochistic pleasure in one to read about them; and the Buckleys, the family around Rick - who is later nicknames "Broken Buckley", which are struck by something you can only describe as a psychological curse - Rick can't cope with the violence that has been inflicted on him and goes, for lack of a better word, crazy.
As well as showing a great example of the Butterfly Effect ("a butterfly farts somewhere and a hundred miles away an avalanche kills a hundred people"), this book also has an interesting take on the, let's call it "A-bomb syndrome". In all its terror, this first stepping out of line (here done by Bob Oswald) is by far not the worst thing to happen in this book. I'll try not to give too much away, but the book does end with several people dead - and still, in the end, everybody involved can say "not my fault", because it is only the mix of all these different people taking action that leads the final mess.
Tom Boncza-Tomaszewski from the Independent said: "Read this book; don't run away from it", and with that he basically takes the biscuit - yes, this story is scary and brutal and maybe will make you doubt your own morals - but isn't that a good thing? If a writer is so strong that you - well, me - don't know if you're able to "pick a side".
Maybe this is why this book hits so close to home for me - because I do often feel like I have to pick sides, when all you should really do is stand by and watch things unfold.
Then again, Broken might even prove you wrong about that.
This is the blurb from Daniel Clay's amazing novel, Broken, which might be the best study of the Butterfly Effect to date.
The events described above give the starting signal to a series of events that are so horrible, so funny, so unbelievable and yet so real it is alarmingly easy to relate to them.
The main focus lies on the three families involved in the drama on Drummond Square: the Cunninghams, which you will soon enough consider the "normal" family in this book; the Oswalds, a family so horrible and real and disgusting it is pain and masochistic pleasure in one to read about them; and the Buckleys, the family around Rick - who is later nicknames "Broken Buckley", which are struck by something you can only describe as a psychological curse - Rick can't cope with the violence that has been inflicted on him and goes, for lack of a better word, crazy.
As well as showing a great example of the Butterfly Effect ("a butterfly farts somewhere and a hundred miles away an avalanche kills a hundred people"), this book also has an interesting take on the, let's call it "A-bomb syndrome". In all its terror, this first stepping out of line (here done by Bob Oswald) is by far not the worst thing to happen in this book. I'll try not to give too much away, but the book does end with several people dead - and still, in the end, everybody involved can say "not my fault", because it is only the mix of all these different people taking action that leads the final mess.
Tom Boncza-Tomaszewski from the Independent said: "Read this book; don't run away from it", and with that he basically takes the biscuit - yes, this story is scary and brutal and maybe will make you doubt your own morals - but isn't that a good thing? If a writer is so strong that you - well, me - don't know if you're able to "pick a side".
Maybe this is why this book hits so close to home for me - because I do often feel like I have to pick sides, when all you should really do is stand by and watch things unfold.
Then again, Broken might even prove you wrong about that.
Donnerstag, 2. April 2009
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