Better than chocolate

They are light, they are smooth and the are incandescently, voluptuously dainty. So I got 4.

These are my four little fairies of indulgence:

Blueberries and honey,raspberries with chocolate, cherries with coconut and carrot  cup cake. 

Mmmmmm...

Two of them are still left. I will have them with peaches. When grandma called earlier today, she asked "Are you eating well?" 

Yes, grandma, I am eating peaches!

The good, the bad and the Pork Pie

I'm experiencing a quarter-life crisis, which turned out to be an actual thing. This had brought up some moments of self-reflection.
Recently, I was at the seaside with my family where I found some temporary friends to hang out with. One particular night ended up with me coming back home in a slightly jollier and tipsier state than was advisable, only to be caught by my mum who gave me a stone-cold look and said "I never want to see you like this again". Fair enough. What I didn't think was fair was the conversation followed next day, where I was explained that now was the time to think about the person I want to be, these are the best years of my life and I am wasting them, getting wasted. Untrue, as it isn't my habit to do so but I do agree that seeing your kid coming back home very tipsy is somewhat ugly, even if they are 23. Lesson is sinking in, I don't want to become a drunk, it's not the person I am.
There's something to be said about the moment where you're in the car, at 3.30 am, having just driven all three of your friends to their houses after an awesome night out, some drank, some drank tonics and all danced. You're in the car, feeling good and protective and responsible, the road is empty and your only company is the voice of the GPS lady, who tells you where to go, because, frankly, you don't know which way gets you out of these tricky small streets in a neighborhood you've never been to. Then a favourite song comes up, I turn it up, and there it is- a black Ford Focus, buzzing through the streets of Sophia at night, in its own bubble of Euphoria, feeling good, like there's nobody else in the world. Which there wasn't, they were all asleep. It felt like a small prize for what had just happened, like I had earned hearing two songs I enjoyed, consecutively. When I offered to drive the 3 boys to their respective homes, it was a natural response, I wouldn't want my bros to be walking the streets at night or have to pay lots of money for a taxi, and it was hardly an inconvenience regardless of the distance because I enjoy driving and I hadn't had anything to drink. However, by the third address, their praises and appreciation had gone to my head a little, I was happy they were safe but the bit of me going through the quarter-life crisis was also pleased to find yet another answer to its concerns- this is the sort of person I would like to be. Responsible, choosing not to drink so I can drive, enjoying myself and taking care of my bros, taking them home.

Pork pie is an excellent place, as many of you Sophianites will know. It's an open-air bar. I was there last night, with the fore-mentioned three boys and this night will stick like a post-it because it was some of the most honest fun I've had recently. Dancing in a company that was not my usual one, the conversations were honest, the music was not mine but was not foreign either, in it was found more honesty that I have been finding in familiar, close environments. Yet again, I feel a revised list of who to keep in my life and who to expel is forming in my head. Here I am, a step closer to the person I want to be, its best and happiest version. Writing this memo to myself will serve me as a marker in 6 months time, 2 years or whenever I need to remember what makes me better and what I don't need anymore.

The ultimate Dutch experience

You remember a few posts ago, when I was promoting the idea that we should all try new things, even things that we've set our minds to never do? I ran, that time. I ran a few times. Well, I jogged, in the city.
Here was my new adventure:

Some random people I found on the internet, riding effortlessly. In other words, nothing like what happened to me.

I found a picture that illustrates both everything and nothing about my experience. Yes, I rode on the back of a bike, sideways, like a girl. Indeed, I was in the Netherlands. However, this girl is more photogenic, she is effortless and the black and white picture captures her ease. In my case, I was digging into my friend, and all the colours in the world wouldn't depict the terror in the first five minutes.
I dug into my friend with one hand, and with the other held on the back of the grill I was sitting on. I got used to it, got a bit cheeky, enjoyed it as much as I could. But being on the back of a bike for nearly an hour meant that my muscles had to do what they hadn't do in a while: tense! My abs tensed to keep my legs high, my legs tensed so they wouldn't get caught, my bum was on the grill so it was constantly in pain as each individual piece of metal dug deep into my big ass....for the past two days I have had muscle pain where other people, surely, don't have muscles at all! I am positive nobody has that many muscles in their body that could hurt at the same time!
It was the ultimate Dutch experience, though. We were going to a football game Netherlands-Slovakia (2:0), I was wearing my Dutch Pride orange t-shirt, and rode on the back of a bike. Suave :)

A terrace somewhere in the city of Rotterdam

How good it is to have a terrace in the city center, the birds sing to you, the cars honk, the people talk, you're here when life is happening!

So, today, I had a good day. I went to see my supervisor and talking to him, counterintuitively, helped my stress levels, I felt better and reassured about what I was doing.

Wait, sun is back from behind the clouds, I will come back to finish writing this overly inspirational piece in 5 mins. 

OK, so I'm back but I had to go out, because as I was typing the previous sentence, I was listening to a happy song called "Walking on the Sun" and suddenly the sun reappeared. So, you see, I had to enjoy it. 

After seeing my supervisor, I was on the tram, where I played pick-a-boo with a 1-year-old-or-so toddler, a really cute one. I hid behind the seat, and he laughed heartily, like nothing else mattered in the world. Sometimes, rarely but it happens, children are awesome, they make you smile.

I then got back home, opened up a beer, put on some songs, opened the balcony door and sat on the terrace, enjoying the sun, sippin' my beer and smoking  a cigarette. [yes, smoking is bad and I'm still a non-smoker, except for exam times and the two-three weeks before submitting my master thesis. Understandable, yes? Now get off my case]  I sang out loud, my voice merging with the thousands of other sounds- cars starting up, cars parking, a couple making out right there, a woman opening up the door to a boutique, someone paying for a pair of shoes worth hundreds of euros, laughter, the chocolaterie Specker downstairs where it smells of butter, cocoa and dreams, the wind going through the trees...

At that moment, there was nothing more sublime than the feeling of the great music of the '90s, the cigarette in my hand and the beer. 

The sun's back. So, I'm off... you know where to find me. Listening to the sounds of the city of Rotterdam.

Trumpet in the city

I was going to go for the more obvious and, surely, better selling "sax in the city" but here I am, demonstrating a surprising quality of judgement.

Where I seemingly lack a sense of judgement, however, is my preference in cities. Call me crazy but I don't like London, yet I am so fond of the smaller, dustier, poorer, described-by-many-more-pejorative-adjectives capital of my native Bulgaria, and my home town, Sophia. Recently, a rare opportunity presented itself for me to show that it isn't only for silly subjective reasons that I like Sophia so much. For all its shortcomings, it is a city with soul and life to it. There is particular vibrancy in the spring and summer, when the streets, much like the trees and nature, blossom with colour. Countless small festivals, events and other cultural curiosities sprout in the city.

This time, Sophianites awoke to the sound of 11 old pianos, each uniquely decorated, spread around various locations.

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

Photograph: Dnevnik.bg

 I was proudly showing a friend of mine around Sophia. We'd been walking around in the sun for a while when we decided to sit down and seek sanity under the shadow of a tree. As we sat and rested our legs, we found ourselves next to a piano which was "dressed" particularly remarkably. Take a look.

A young boy played beautifully, while his friends patiently waited. He finished and I don't think he had even realised we were listening, because he was surprised when he heard our applause. It must have been clear by the enthusiastic, albeit shy, clapping that it was more than just a polite gesture on our part because he continued playing, dedicating the next song to us. We smiled, half coyly, half proud of ourselves.

As he finished his beautifully played song, and just as we wished him and his friends a good day, we saw what must have been the coolest moment, and what was the reason for me to say out loud to my friend: "This is so going in my blog!". First, our heads were pulled in the opposite direction towards a surprising sound. This was no piano. We then saw the source, a friend of theirs, smoothly biking with no hands because his hands were preoccupied playing a trumpet. Yes, take a minute and visualise. You stand up to leave, and out of nowhere, the sound of  a trumpet melts into the symphony of the piano in the summer heat. He was so cool, he could play the trumpet and cycle at the same time, no hands.

When you have a trumpet so breath-taking, the beauty of its reality blows away the semi-accurate, vulgar and easy pun of "sax and the city".

Family

I cannot stop thinking about what must be the most indescribably beautiful gesture. The clues to that are scattered across my desk- a letter, some chocolates, a card...can you guess what it is?

My partner, Dan, and I were together for a bit over a year and a half, but even if it wasn't the longest relationship I've had, it was the healthiest and happiest one. We recently split up, we're friends, moving on and figuring life out one step at a time. While we were together, he often made the joke (and it's no joke at all!) that I am with him because of his family. They are the kindest, warmest people, genuine and loving, they will always welcome you into their home, ask you if you'd like tea. Throughout my relationship with D, we had the time to become really close (going beyond the polite "Hello" and weather chit-chat), they were always very attentive to me and my family, presents flew across Europe from one family to the other.

The break up didn't change that. I still call them, regardless of the communication Dan and I keep. We spoke for Mother's day too, I sent them a few little gifts. I called on Easter, and his aunt Marian asked if I had received her letter yet. No, but I was looking forward to it, now that I knew it was in the mail. Today, I eagerly ran to the mailbox, hoping it would finally be here. My heart started racing when I saw the hand-written address on a brown envelope. As I type this, I re-live it, and my fingers type faster. I got upstairs, hastily yet carefully opening it, and my racing heart suddenly skipped a beat. My eyes began to fill, as I took out the contents: it was a hand-written letter, an Easter card, a beautiful book mark, two bags of chocolate eggs and a slightly crushed Easter bunny figure.

This is one of the most intense emotions I have felt, yet it is so clean, simple and honest, it had me silent and tearing with appreciation. I know the family so well, I could literally imagine Marian (Dan's aunt with whom he lives) writing down her shopping list, driving to Morrison's, and picking up those extra packs of chocolate eggs; then sitting down in their living room and writing the letter; I see her hands neatly putting it all into the envelope and sending it off. She took time off her busy day and included me into their family, even when I am no longer part of it. The only reason why I am writing this instead of being on the phone and thanking her is because I am waiting for her to come home from work.

Seeing this close family who take care of each other, who gather every week on Sunday for dinner, who show their appreciation of each other all the time, this has taught me what my grandma has been trying to get me to do- to pay attention to the little details, to send cards, to honour small occasions. It is a privilege to be considered as one of them, when there is no obligation to. Don't get me wrong, I love my own family very much, but we don't do "gestures"- I consider it a gesture when my mom lets me have the car (we share a car, when we're both home at the same time). The family you are born with gives you many things, but then there is the family you choose, and I may not have married Dan, but his family is my second family, and they have shown me what I want one day, when I create my own family. I want to send cards, I want to have the family over at least once a week (even if that means a lot of dishes... no worries, I'll be rich and I'll have a dishwasher), I want a warm home.

OK, I think they may have come back home from work now, I am off to thank Marian for the most amazing letter I have ever received.

Jogging in the sun

I reckon it's important to challenge yourself. Don't get me wrong, so often I cannot be bothered to change my ways, it's difficult, time-consuming, and so often it feels like I've got it all figured out, so why would I change anything about a life I already love?

Well, there's days when I wake up and I already am in a bad mood, and these are usually the days that then turn out fun because the bad mood means I'll do anything to feel better. As I was jogging today in the sun, enjoying the people, the city and its buzz, the green grass next to the canal, the bars and cafes I whizzed by, leaving their customers befuddled with this odd jogging girl, it occurred to me that the reason I was having such a good day was that I had had a bad morning.

See what I did there? Those of you who know me will be confused how it is that I casually dropped into a sentence that I went jogging, when I've spent countless conversations with countless people explaining to them that jogging was the Devil incarnate.  Yet, earlier today, when the sun first peeked through my window and asked if I wanted to come out and play, then saw I enjoyed its company and cheerfully invited itself inside our apartment and certainly inside my body, I felt this overwhelming energy. Yes, Sun, I will come out and play with you!

I knew that thinking about it twice would mean I'd spend another afternoon in my room in front of my laptop, so instead I put on my shoes and closed the door behind me. It's not about the jogging, or even whether I liked it (I came back 20 minutes later, with my tongue out, panting like a dog!), it is about how much I've hated jogging for my whole life. All in good time, and I think today was the perfect day to try this particular thing. Had it been any other day, had I been in a different mood or in a different place, my whole experience would, of course, have been different too. You can't force yourself to like everything that you try, and that's OK, you don't have to like everything. You won't know until you've done it, anyway. But if you do things in your own time, and it happens to be the right time, there's nothing better than expanding your horizons a little bit. I think I may do this again tomorrow.

Though, probably, this was a one time thing and my enthusiasm will go away as quickly as it came.