some days, one can feel they are kicking ass, with their (supposedly) shiny new degree in their hands (figuratively spoken, as the object itself is not distributed during the ceremony that is put in place for exactly that distribution), that they can manage even a little bit complicated things, and in general, that they have their shit together.
Other days, the same person can feel that figuring out where to change from the E train to the F is an intellectual effort that exceeds their abilities.
Since this is my first Thanksgiving, and it happens to fall within the 16 days of orange, it's only fitting to list what I'm thankful for.
First, for this Thanksgiving. Not because I'm crazy about the turkey (I actually find them scary), but because it means a whole lot of other things. Chances I've been given, lucky coincidences, financial, moral, hands-on support I received. Questions that haven't been asked, freakouts that have been listened to. Persistent "how you doing" messages that I didn't even answer because I've been looking for my head.
But on a larger scale, I'm thankful for so much more. Especially for the things I know not everybody can experience.
I've been allowed to make my choices. Make no mistake, dear future hubster, I've been given doubting looks, I've been told flat out that I'm making the wrong choice, that it's a bad idea, that I ain't gonna make it, that it's a career suicide, that I should be having children already, that I shouldn't be trying to prove myself that hard. Like I haven't been doubting myself enough already. But at the end of the day, nobody stopped me from doing what I chose, and learn the hard way.
I've been allowed to study! Some was a lucky result of an old-fashioned education system, some was made possible by someone who thought ahead and worked hard for future generations of their family, some I paid for myself. I've been told that a girl should always behave, and have neat handwriting, I've been told in PE class that I'm putting on weight, I've been told in public that bleach blond is a hair colour for hookers. I've been told that smart girls should go to law school or study economics, and that journalism is a joke. But then again, nobody stopped me from learning what I wanted to (and some additional, seemingly useless, and very painful, subjects).
I've been allowed to travel! Backpacking, hiking, road trips, solo drives, mountains, beaches. Slept in tents and shelters, dorm rooms, tiny hotels and large apartments. Shared rooms and sometimes beds with male friends as much as I did with boyfriends. Actually, probably more. Some found it intriguing that a girl would do that, others probably thought I'm compensating for not being married yet. Many thought that I don't ever work, because all I do is travel. Many thought a girl shouldn't be driving across Europe all by herself.
I've been living abroad. That, dear future hubster, is a hard one. It's an amazing one too. My mother got asked once if she lets me - she didn't understand the question. Still, I've been told and told off, asked not to go, called crazy (that's a compliment in my books), accused of running away, of compensating for not having children, of not being responsible. Often, I have been told that it's easy for me. And of course that a girl shouldn't go to those places, and a girl my age shouldn't live with students. Or other people's husbands. I keep doing all of those anyway.
I've been allowed to work. I've had the luck to work for institutions where I do in fact get paid as much as a man does, doing the same job. Whether it's taken me the same amount of effort or time to get there, is harder to measure. Whether I get the same amount of credit for the same work, whether I'm given the same responsibilities, harder still. And if you ask me, dear future hubster, if I ever play up the girl card, I have to admit that I do. I'm thankful for the realisation that I do, and I'm thankful that it's a bad habit, not a requirement. Am I intimidated by competent, strong women? I am. Prejudices I want to fight tend to stir inner conflicts too. Am I inspired by competent, strong people? Hell yeah. And I'm trying to be one.
Why am I telling you this, dear future hubster? Because I am thankful, but not dumb. I know I've been privileged, sometimes lucky, and I know I've worked hard. But I also know that no matter how hard one works, if not given the same chances. So somewhere deep there is anger and guilt, for all the things I have but other women don't.
So I'm waiting for a Thanksgiving, when my above monologue triggers no more than a bored "Well duh. So does everybody else".
the saying goes: we hurt the ones we love the most. But could it be possible that we also love the ones who are hurt the most?
I know I feel an overwhelming wave of powerful emotions when I see someone I love in pain. My heart is heavy because theirs is broken, and all the love I have for them wants to break out and wrap them up to soothe them, to walk with them until they find some ease.
Does that mean I love them more when times are hard? Probably not. But it certainly reveals how important it is for me to see them safe and happy, and how helpless it feels when they are not, and it's not in my power to take the pain away.
Másodikos. Kapok egy levelet az osztálytársamtól, Zsoltitól, amiben azt állítja, hogy szeret.
Aláírásként és bizonyítékként egy véres ujjlenyomat van a levél végén.
Ez lenne a szerelem?
12 éves vagyok
Osztályfőnöki órán a családról beszélgetünk. Kiszámolom, hogy az anyukám 24 éves volt amikor én születtem.
Ezek szerint 24 évesen én is biztosan anya leszek már, gondolom.
14 éves vagyok
Járni kezdek egy fiúval, de miután teljesen váratlanul beledugja a nyelvét a számba, gyorsan szakítok vele.
18 éves vagyok
És 2 éve reménytelenül szerelmes vagyok egy fiúba, aki az utcánkban lakik, és egy közös ismerősünk azt állítja, hogy tetszem neki. A szia-szián kívül semmi sem történik, de én nyakig merülök a szerelem érzésébe és kitartóan várok, abban jó vagyok.
19 éves vagyok
Első viszonzott szerelem az életemben, sokáig meg vagyok győződve róla, hogy hozzá fogok menni feleségül. Végül 2 év után elválnak útjaink, amikor szakítunk én még szerelmes vagyok, 1 hétig folyamatosan sírok és 3 hónapig össze-vissza menstruálok.
24 éves vagyok
Nem vagyok anya
33 éves vagyok
Keresgélések, találkozások, összenézések, próbálkozások. Azt hittem hogy, azt hitted hogy.
when we meet and decide that we are in this together, please know that I don't want you to retire from any of your friendships. I will love you for who you are, and that includes the friend you are to others. Why would I suddenly want you to be a different, or less of a friend?
This applies to your female friends as well. Even to your exes. When you choose our team, I want you to choose it because it's something you don't have, and want to have. Not to replace something that you have but think could do better, or something you lost but would like to have back.
Whatever I am to you should not change whatever you are to everybody else. If it does, then I'm afraid you have unsettled bills that you first need to take care of.
When asked about your future wife's superpowers, remember to mention that she's really good at blending in. Water bottle in one hand, coffee in the other, walking with purpose, and she looks like she knows where she's going. Hell she even looks like she knows what she's doing.
May the rest of the world fooled by this act, but you, dear future hubster, should know that she probably has absolutely no clue what next, and behind that purposeful walking she anxiously wonders what the hell she just got herself into.
Dear future hubster,
we will both work, eventually. We will have kids, hopefully. When days will be too short, and nights too tiresome, and I will not even have the time to shower, put some water to boil. Bring me a cup of tea and a hug. Not necessarily in this order.
I think about it every time something similar happens, when some famous, admired, inspiring, appreciated artist's time on Earth ends. How the whole world seems to just suddenly recall how much that person, or, most likely, that person's work has meant to them.
I understand nostalgia and have myself experienced that remoter grief for somebody I never knew, but I can't help asking the bitter, cynical question: How about we start appreciating our artists while they are still alive?
And while we're at it, how about doing the same to the people we appreciate in our actual lives? You know, those commonly known as 'loved ones'?
Sometimes I feel a quiet relief that you're not around. Not because I want the entire pizza for myself, or because I don't want questioning looks when I'm watching any given episode of Game of Thrones 3+ times.
Rather when times, the universe, the stars, throw an opportunity at me which means packing and moving again. In those moments I am relieved that I don't have to ask you to do it again. That I don't have to ask you to put me first, even if we discussed it, even if I knew you told me it was my turn. That I don't have to think that I'm uprooting you yet again, that I don't have to expect you to start over new because of me.
That I don't have to wonder whether you would say "this time no".
I hope you do realize that there is a chance that you will one day become a grandfather, if all goes well.
By then, I'm sure you will know well enough that it's no easy task in my family. Big shoes to fill, so to say. You will follow the footsteps of grandpas who, way ahead of their time, taught their grandchildren important things in an inclusive environment, with differentiated and adapted teaching methods, gender-neutrally, patiently, lovingly. Girls could learn how to get on a motorbike at an early age, boys could learn how to make pogácsa. Tell the carrots from the weeds. Remember all European capitals (it was a little easier at the time. See also: Soviet Union, Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia.). That they don't need to know everything to solve crosswords, just to know where to find the information. To stay within budget, and choose the daily (one!) ice cream from the bottom row. That Grandma is always right, and that they need to finish their plate so the weather would be clear the next day. That if wet clothes dry on them, they won't get sick.
Basically, a set of life hacks that may prove crucial in their efforts to succeed in adulting.
But worry not, dear future hubster. You will do just fine. Because in this family, we don't only have role model grandfathers. We also have a history of grandkids who look up to them, with awe and admiration. And who miss them, quietly, stubbornly, painfully, when they are gone.
in times when I just arrived somewhere, or just came back from somewhere, but either way am culture shocked, tired or anxious for any reason (and reasons are many), and have lots of stuff to do that I really don't want to do, maybe want it to be done but not exactly doing it but know I have to and know I will, when I know you want to help me but I know you don't know how, and I know I'm not helping you help me, because I want solutions but I don't want you to provide them, and I probably don't want you having to deal with them, basically, when I'm being a breathing hissy fit with the attitude of a 3 months-old, please know that I don't enjoy being that version of myself.
Know that it will pass. And know that the best you can do is just stick around, be there, and hold my hand time and again. The rock star me will very quietly, but very deeply appreciate that.
as an addition or elaboration or
continuation of the "how friends happen to you" theory picks up where
we left off: that we do choose to put in the time and effort for those
accidental friendships to live on. Otherwise they will be no more than a
friend fling, a could have been, a "what a great person" moment.
We need to make memories. We need to
have experiences together. A long car ride is an experience, be it between
Luxembourg and Fehérvár or between Gisenyi and Kigali. Entebbe and Jinja. Lucca
and Luzern. A long walk is an experience, be it between Logroño and Nájera or
between Karanga and Barafu. Long nights of board games are an experience, long
afternoons of making food are an experience, long days of listening to music,
watching the Olympics and discussing shot-putting are experiences. Looking and
sunsets and sunrises and storms and rainbows together. Going to see Tour de
France hungover in some godforsaken village. Attracting all the creepers one
field can gather. Suffering on mountains and sleeping under the same mosquito
Bottom line is: we need to put in the work.
For all that technology offers, e-drinking and skype calls are but a
substitute. A good tool to keep it up until we can make those memories again,
but they can't replace the actual making. Without that, these friendships of
ours just become yet another thing we could have done.
when the Saturday night is a little chillier, and we don't leave all the windows open, and as a result, on Sunday morning we don't wake up neither to the church bells ringing from 7 on, nor to the neighbour's dog's sun salutations, but lazy around in bed because it's Sunday, because I gave myself the morning off from dissertation misery and you can't work in the garden in this heat anyway - those mornings be prepared to me rolling over, with a mild kick to your shin, because my spatial awareness is not very well developed, and expect me to tickle your collarbone and mumble to your shoulders. Probably not in English, but that doesn't matter, you would know that I'm mumbling something about breakfast and coffee, but you would also know that I don't want you to go downstairs and make it, nor do I want to go downstairs and make it, it's but an acknowledgement that mornings, breakfast and coffee somehow go together.
Those are the rare occasions when something takes priority over coffee. Enjoying a morning of not having to do anything until we decide to do it.
during our latest future viewing session with my Senior Talent Acquisition Advisor we concluded that you probably have an engineering background, sport a tattoo or two, and would enjoy taking care of the aubergines in our little vegetable garden when you're working from your home office. You are predicted to appreciate my Kakaoschnecke and give killer back massages. And would join us on the beach for a play of any logic or strategy game.
There was no mention of guitar skills or curliness of hair.
those long solo drives (you know, the ones where you sing along to Adele and cry over Harry Styles and even give some credit to Ed Sheeran) can be an analogy to life, almost too obvious.
Because what is happening when your cross half the continent? You are somewhere and want to get somewhere else. You know what you have to do, and confident you can do it. You also know that some parts of it are going to be ugly, or hard, or upsetting, occasionally even dangerous. You're also aware, especially if you've had similar experiences before, that you may not always enjoy it. You know that there may be events that you can't predict or prevent, and that they may change the course of your entire journey.
And if you're doing it right, there comes a moment when you realise that you're going through lovely landscapes, and although you may be sweaty and stinky and slightly dehydrated and over-caffeinated, that moment is all that matters. You know where you started, you know where you're going, you also know why you're on that road, but after about 800 kilometres you simply appreciate the blue skies over the Bavarian Alps, on-the-fence curiously listen to the German hits of the day, and most of all, you're grateful for the journey.
The actual one, but also the big one. Life, that is.
I was singing in the car (it was a long solo drive), and when Adele came on, I thought about how I cried over Someone Like You a few times. Who didn't? Anybody who didn't, needs to see a professional, and urgently so. That song is the reason why a Top 10 of Songs to Belt out in the Car While in Tears list should exist.
Anyhoo, I thought about how raw the whole song sounds, and how she just says it as it is, and everybody (except those who need to see a professional, and urgently so) could relate to it and was haunted by it for months when it came out.
And how it still is beautiful and very, very much spot on, but it doesn't hurt anymore. Because both Adele and I and most of the others have reached a different level of emotional maturity.
Very comforting a thought it was.
Then I cried a little over Harry Styles. Different times, different signs.
when you notice that I finally started assembling the shelving unit I bought months ago, don't just assume that I finally overcame my laziness, and assessed the temperature as bearable for such endeavour.
That may as well be true, but there is a high chance of furniture assembling being either the trigger or the symptom of some mild existential crisis. Spiced up with an anti-feminist moment.
as an unexpected heatwave has hit the isles, I was yet again reminded that in summer I often have troubles sleeping. Whether this is solely a result of the temperature or has something to do with summer often being transition time remains to be determined.
Maybe it's simply an opportunity for long, soul-searching discussions, from sunset till sunrise.
So open the windows, bring on the chilled sangria, and let's talk about life and love and the meaning of it all.
I think I totally rock this adulting thing. I remember not to wear white when attending functions with high probability of wine presence, and, therefore, wine spillage. That's what they call responsible behaviour, no?
I know it sounds obvious, but sometimes we need to state the obvious, and if we ever choose to do the vow-thing, I would like to state the obvious there.
That I will always try my best to be available and provide transportation when you arrive from somewhere, even if - or especially if - it's in the middle of the night, and I hope that you will do the same.
Nothing says home better than being picked up from the airport. The train station. The border.
please be aware that when it comes to exes, high school crushes, imaginary boyfriends and almost-lovers, I will, in a very understated manner, always want them to regret it.
Not choosing me, that is.
I wouldn't want them back, because if they didn't realise my unrivalled awesomeness, then clearly we weren't meant for each other, but I will somehow expect that one day they wake up with a facepalm and a worrying question: why did I let her go? At that point, I would also expect them to write a song about that loss. At least.
Equally, I expect a regiment of your past romantic interests to feel a deep sorrow over not having chosen you. I expect them to ask themselves why.
The answer to that, which I'm more than happy to (smugly) provide to any of them asking, is simple:
So that you, dear future hubster, and I, can choose each other.
when in the morning I tell you that I had an exhausting night, because in my dream I was packing and worrying that I will miss the plane, while my old boss was taking the boys out for lunch, please do listen to me.
Yes, I know that it was just a dream, and wasn't even a nightmare, and yes, I am aware that the plane analogy probably reflects my worries over a deadline approaching, and anything about my old boss is just my need for recognition manifesting.
But it feels real and I need to have it off my chest. I need to sing my shadow home before the day can start.
having spent a significant amount of time reflecting on life course in general and mine in particular, and having concluded that I have been living outside my comfort zone for quite a while, somewhat alarming thoughts rose in my head.
While trying to define the fluid concept of the comfort zone, I often refer to my Luxembourg sofa (which is technically Kristina's). Then the Tshukudu one. Pisti's, with the animal bedsheets, and the most refreshing sleeps and occasional Champions' League's finals. Shari's, with history, Ricky Martin music videos and copious amounts of alcohol.
Now, in terms of comfort zone, this seems to suggest that mine involves a sofa, which often isn't mine.
the problem with inspirational people sometimes is that they make you see how the world should be and could be. No that's actually not the problem. The fact that then you want to change the world is not the problem either.
It's more that when you're inspired, you want to change the world all at once, make it a better place, where compassion, community, and love are the guiding principles of life, and where cows are not sad any yet you can get cheese (my definition of a win-win). Still, this wouldn't be a problem if it was possible.
But the moment we want the world changed in a blink of an eye, we are setting ourselves up for constant, bitter disappointment. Change only works if we do, as any sunset poster quote would tell you, and it only works very, very slowly.
And for that, dear future hubster, I promise I will keep trying to change the world one day at the time. I commit to remind myself (and you, and all others involved) that although I cannot change overnight how (any) public administration works, I can always make the one I work for a little bit more human. That I can do overnight. I pledge to accept that I can't make an entire generation understand the importance of civic action (including but not limited to voting), but I can talk to the ones I know and make them understand why I think it's important. I can't make sexism disappear by Christmas, but I can raise my hand when I think the Spanish homework is offensive and degrading. I can't stop obesity and eradicate junk food altogether, but I can make funky smoothies for my niece so she learns that healthy can be fun, too. One day she may even join me for a run.
These, I can do. And I try my best to be a not-too-obnoxious example to others doing the same.
Dear future hubster,
if you ever need to define or measure the extent of my neuroticism and insecurities, consider this: I try to be a safe driver and avoid all possible crashes even on a bumper car track.
I may have mentioned that I no longer get excited about flights of any length, and the longer they are the more I dread them. That is still true.
However, I have to admit that there is something comforting in the trip as a whole: taking that long bus ride where all I can do is staring out the window and let my thoughts flow if and where they want to, no reading (yay motion sickness), no urgent anything.
Same at the airport, I just have time to kill, and since this country makes a point of having the crappiest wifi connection in the developed world, my killing time comes down to reading (Nick Hornby really needs to write something new) and people watching.
Two of my favourite passtime activities. Besides being excited about the place I'm going to and the people I'll see.
when you tell me about your bucket list, your dreams, your goals, things you want to do one glorious day, I will take them seriously.
I will evaluate them against (my) reality, and will categorise them as "doable as of tomorrow", "this is actually quite a plan", "requires significant amounts of time/money", "currently out of your control". Note that the categories are not fixed, and they are designed in a way that allows for and encourages progress. Meaning that "currently out of your control" can one day become "doable as of tomorrow".
Also note that the ones I consider within reach will be copied over to my list of "hubster's dreams in progress", so I always remember to support your working for them.
My support being asking you time and again where you are with your plans and dreams and ideas, offering time and my two left hands, but also probing whether you still think those things are important. Especially if I see you putting them off. I can be annoying that way.
Also, if your dreams are attractive enough, I may simply adopt and make them a dream of my own. And invest my time and energy to try make them come true. I'd rather achieve them with you, but if you piss me off with talking about swimming accross that lake but never as much as buying swimwear, I'll just passive-agressively do it myself.
To show you that I can. And if I can, you could too.
You may have learnt by now that I'm rather the independent type of girl. I can't change a tyre, but that's due to lack of skill not lack of will; I can build most of my furniture, and certainly can make my own decisions. I'm also used to making them with the knowledge that they will first and foremost impact my life, and that I have to deal with whatever result they produce, mostly by myself. I won't expect you to make my decisions for me, nor will I expect you to make your decisions for me.
I will (note the use of future instead of the conditional) deeply appreciate when you make your decisions considering my existence, and I will do the same with you. And there will be moments when I will want to be recognised and treated as priority. It won't happen too often, so you'll know that when it does, it's important.
Dear future hubster, When you see your sister, your friends, your daughter, any woman you care about feeling gloomy, and you ask them what's wrong, be prepared for them to say: "Meh, hormones." When they say that, 1. be proud that they trust you with a statement that unveils their vulnerability, and 2. do not, for a split second, assume that you're discharged from any further duties. Au contraire. You have just taken up some serious responsibility there. Clearly they are in need of support, probably of the emotionally intelligent type. So bring on the wine and the cheese, turn off your phone, give them your full attention, help them gather the strength to not go back to their shitty exes. These can be difficult times, but they will pass.
Pro tip: do not, under any circumstances, assume it's hormones, unless you have been explicitly and specifically told so.
I know I've discussed this before, but in my gipsy life, the subject becomes relevant every now and again: how friends happen to you.
The choice of words is deliberate here, as I'm a strong believer and frequent beneficiary of accidental friendships. The kind where you bump into a person in a random kitchen (often somebody else's), at a work lunch, classroom, and the next thing you know is you're discussing your (often miserable) love life with them.
Now it's obvious that I don't mean the 'next thing' literally here. I normally put prospective friends on a probation period, and only start talking about boys and literature after they've passed. But the point is that the initial contact was made by accident. We don't walk into those kitchens, lunches, classrooms etc with the intention of finding a great friend. They happen when they are meant to happen.
This doesn't mean we don't have a choice. Oh yes we do. We choose which ones we want to keep, and we choose to put in the effort. In moments of grace, they choose to do the same.
when I see people running at an early or late hour, or when the weather is not too nice or actually too nice, I always think "Wow, some determined person", and feel strong admiration and a bit of intimidation because that person ignored the weather and the hunger and put on the shoes and got out the door.
When I run, I'm sweaty and my hair gets ugly and my face is probably red and puffy, my nose running, and I'm sure I look like I'm suffering, and severely, plus my breathing must sound like Darth Vader competing with a steam engine.
But maybe to somebody I look like a determined person who ignored the weather and the hunger and put on the shoes and got out the door.
So next time I see that random person feeling impressed although slightly concerned by my terribly uncoordinated style, I'll try to find the badass in me, and embrace her.
when you notice that I have been drinking from your wine glass - or from anybody else's, really -, because there is none left in mine, you may conclude that I'm no longer thirsty. This theory could be supported by the volume of my voice and the philosophical depth of my speech.
En tous cas, please make sure I take some painkillers before going to sleep. It'll bee beneficial for both of us.
earlier I wanted to say what I always say this time of the year: that we're reminded that we survived this winter.
But I couldn't make myself do that.
Because somebody didn't.
Somebody I haven't talked with or even thought about for quite a while, but somebody who was nonetheless important part of a transformational, coming-of-age period of my life. Somebody I always thought was bursting with energy, and somewhat raw; somebody I couldn't be indifferent about.
And with all the fresh breeze and stinky trees and hope in the air I suddenly felt I need to stop and have a thought for him. Better would be a Longwy debrief session.
when the air smells like spring, which means that the stinky trees are in a full blossoming phase, and the grass is freshly cut, and we've been in comfortable two-digit temperatures (Celsius, not Fahrenheit) for days, and, as you probably heard many times, it feels like hope is quietly creeping back to the world, reminding us that the world didn't end this winter, then, dear future hubster, my clothing style alternates between two extremes. I either pull the knee socks and the heels, feeling a sudden urge to display as much bare skin as culturally acceptable and personally still borderline comfortable, with fresh hair colour and meticulously applied make-up; or I run around in teeny tiny denim shorts over awkwardly colourful yoga leggings, glasses and messy hair, like a student living in the library. Which technically I do.
have you ever thought about what you would say standing up there on stage with the golden statue in hand? Would you prepare a speech, or let the moment decide? Would you thank your agent, your creative team, your colleagues? Your parents, teachers, muse? Anybody who's ever inspired you? Those who knew you can, or those who thought you can't? The ones who stayed against all odds, or the ones who got away?
The stage is symbolic, the statue probably overrated; the moment is artificial. The questions remain valid, red carpet or not.
isn't it funny yet sad how all principles of a healthy and environmentally and financially conscious lifestyle go down the drain when one has a little cold?
All I want is the spicy noodle soup that's ready in two minutes and is entirely artificial, followed by the blueberries that came all the way from Peru, and the fattiest hot chocolate accessible in town.
It goes without saying that I can't go running in this condition, and I'm not sure if my head can handle being upside down for too long, so I may reconsider the restorative yoga session...
I think it'd be safest to stay in bed. Bring on the glühwein.
I'll be responsible next week. And lecture everybody on how important it is.
there will be times when I carry around a problem for a while, and it will take me about two days to blurt out "I need to talk to you". Fear not, it's probably not 'The' Talk, I just need you to sit while I pace up and down the living room, and rattle on about "and then I was thinking why not? but what if yes? but then I read about the balloons and the cheese and I don't know if I have the moral grounds to say that. But maybe I should? Am I overthinking?" and so on. By then, you would know that I don't expect you to solve it for me, but I do expect you to actually listen. Eventually throw in a question I didn't want to hear. Challenge my limiting beliefs. Make me think about it differently.
And when I have a Heureka moment, stop in the living room and tell you: "You're a genius!" although you feel you haven't said a word in the last half hour, don't hesitate, Just take the credit. You were there, in all your sounding board glory, and that was exactly what I needed.
there will be times when I'll be upset, angry, unhappy, furious about something you did or didn't do. I will struggle on the inside, between not wanting to make you feel bad, knowing that you probably had no clue of the impact you've made, and that you certainly had no intentions to trigger the emotional reactions you have triggered. I will always be ready to forgive, and believe it won't happen again.
But at the end of the day I will always have to choose to call you out on your BS, to put you on the spot when you've been inconsiderate, irresponsible, selfish, or just unreasonable. I will choose to do that even if I secretly think that I'm being too demanding, too sensitive, too unreasonable myself. I will choose to do that, knowing that our relationship is based on honesty and openness, and that it's a safe place to voice my concerns and discontent.
I will choose to do that, because not everybody can. I will choose to do that on behalf of all the women who don't get to say no.
please remember, because we will have to teach our children this: just because you didn't mean to, sometimes your behaviour does harm, and your original intentions provide very little comfort to the person who is hurt. It doesn't make you a bad person; just as being a good one doesn't mean you'll never do anything hurtful.
there will be moments when you'll find me quietly sitting in a corner, looking rather emotional and sad, for no other reason than the sudden nostalgy for the Tshukudu sofa, and everything else it meant.
when somebody thinks that you're a rock star, watch out. Not only because then the girls come easy and the drugs come cheap, but because once you're perceived as a rock star, there is no way back. You are a rock star. Somebody decided that there is something out of the ordinary in the way you make your choices, and from that moment on, you're being watched. For inspiration, for reassurance, distraction or perspective, you're being looked at.
That comes with responsibilities, dear future hubster, and no, you don't get to choose. As a rock star, that you didn't ask to be, you have two important duties.
You have to show the rest of us that it's possible, that there is always a choice, that dreamers aren't necessarily all lunatics.
But you also need to make it clear time and again that being a rock start is not always a cake walk. You owe it to your fellow rock stars to tell the world that having and making choices is often full of doubts and maybes, and sometimes longing for the things you didn't choose. That rock stars are not braver or stronger than anybody else, they just had moments of grace or moments of impatience, and on an impulse, they chose a path, and now all they can do is walk it.