Mad Girl's Love Song

Which star is mine, 1975, Jan Saudek

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Sylvia Plath

Welcome to Bologna

There is no place like home, but there are some places that remind you of home and living there is easy and pleasant and makes you feel exactly like home, which might be strange if you have got used to not living at home. Confusing?

This is how confused I felt my first days in Bologna. It's Italy, Mediterranean, just five steps away from Greece, sounds and smells like home. So here I am, back where people are on the streets and laugh and shout and talk to you and joke around and make you feel totally relaxed and comfortable.But I was used to living in Bratislava, remember? Where it snowed non-stop, people were locked in their homes or half drunk in the bars and you hardly met someone outside (it was winter and cold, they had a point).

So my first days here, this mixture of familiarity and strangeness made me appreciate even more my new life: every single moment made me feel more and more that I'm back home -whether that was due to the people or the weather or the food- without losing nothing from the zest of the new. However, it was the people I met, who gave Bologna a place in my heart. They showed me around, lent me their homes, taught me the first words, helped me communicate and introduced me around. Bologna offered me the warmest welcome and will always remind me of the kindness of strangers and that we can still count on it.

(Ok, I am living here the last 4 months and I should have written this a long time ago, but better late than never.)

Mila's Daydreams

Aren't these photos beautiful? Honestly, it's been a long time since something impressed me that much. I suppose this is what can happen if you combine creativity, inspiration and some free time.

(For more info on Adele Enersen's -and Mila's- amazing work, go here)

Crows

by Nicoletta Ceccoli

Vita alla bolognese

What I like:

• Beautiful Bologna itself
• The ice cream
• The aperitivo
• Moscato and Limoncello
• The summer cinema in Piazza Maggiore
• People in the parks
  
• The cute bars
• Lying on the grass at the riverbank

What I don't like:

• Extremely "al dente" pasta
  
• Double consonants (+ my inability to pronounce them)
• That coffee time lasts only 15 minutes

What I did:

• Managed to learn Italian
• Read Gianni Rodari in original version
• Went to Perugia
• Changed my haircut
• Discovered my cooking talent
• Salsaed and tangoed and poledanced
• Fell in love

How I became a smoker

I smoke since I was 19, which is funny as, until 17, I was a fierce anti-smoker. I thought that smoking is the stupidest thing ever and I looked snobbishly at my classmates who couldn't find a more original way of proving that they have grown up. How I softened, I have no idea. All I know is that, in a period of two years, my random, once-in-a-while cigarette of 17 turned into regular, I-buy-my-own-packet smoking.

My parents did not smoke. My mother had never started, my father used to but had quit when I was 4. That was also the age I learnt the harmful effects of tobacco. Which, apart from making me a very informed child, deprives me from using the excuse of ignorance.

I do not even remember how I started my occasional smoking. I do remember my first cigarette though. I was 14 and, dead curious to try its taste, I asked a cigarette from my mother, who took one from my aunt and gave it to me. Which, contrary to what one might think, was a wise move: my curiosity vanished without having to either buy cigarettes myself (=19 more waiting to be smoked) or ask one from the group who smoked next to the toilets during the breaks, thus revealing myself as potentially one of them, thus welcome member in their foggy group (=guaranteed cigarettes for the rest of the year).

I also remember when I consciously decided to buy my first packet. It was during a period of stress, sadness and desperation (in different words, after a break-up) and it just felt right. I suppose I had underestimated the power of the image: in all the movies and TV shows I had seen till then, that was where the distressed protagonist would find comfort eventually: alone, in the dark, with the red flame lighting their face as they inhaled deeply. Plus, two years of only occasional smoking had proved me that I can control it.

To be 100% sure, a few months after buying my first packet, I succesfully quit for a period. Pleased and persuaded, I restarted, then requit and then restarted and then requit, until, one beautiful day, I decided to stop playing and quit once and for all; I managed to last only a few days.

Since then, my original "occasional smoker" has been replaced by an "occasional non-smoker" - I count about five unsuccesful attempts to quit smoking, after each of which my parents desperately move their heads and say "we had told you so". Me, I just roll snobbishly my eyes: I am never, ever, gonna admit to them that, yes, they were right on the first place.

The Breakfast Love Song

I wake up with a craving
I want to see you in the mornings

But all I see is a cup of coffee and a packet of cigarretes
I need a hug as strong as the coffee in my mug
And want to be burnt like the cigarette in the ashtray
Why can't you be here with me?

Why I hate Twilight

Being an avid children's books reader, even professionally for a period, and a sworn Harry Potter fan, the Twilight discussion has come up more often than I thought. Instead of repeating myself over and over, next time someone asks I will send the link.

First of all, I have to say that I did not manage to finish it. Originally, I was more than impatient to take it in my hands, thinking that all this craze must have happened for a reason. So, one day I came back from the bookstore with my own Twilight copy and sank my teeth in it. The more I read, the more disappointed I was, until at about half the book my patience was over. I am just glad I didn't buy all of them.

1. I got bored and tired by the long, useless, too detailed descriptions (for God's sake, she wrote a whole paragraph describing how Bella lied down on the grass!)
2. I had read half the first book and absolutely nothing had happened. Nothing. No-thing. Bella was getting obsessed with Edward, Edward would appear and disappear. No suspense at all, as we already know he is a vampire.
3. The whole story reminds of the most superficial teenage fantasies: Edward the Handsome falls for the unimportant, clumsy Bella (as she keeps on lamenting)...
4. ...which wouldn't be bad if the author had given some more qualities to Edward apart from his beauty and strength and if Bella wasn't actually the object of desire of all the boys around her...
5. ...and it was this conservative gender depiction that made me furious: women should be modest and sacrificing, men should be strong, violent if needed and save women, ugh!
6. And as if the last one was not enough, their relationship has abusive characteristics which are presented as "true love". (Don't know for you, but last time I checked, someone sneaking in your room is someone to avoid, not to make out with!)

I could write so much more, but it has already been written and much better than I could do it at the moment. Check here, here and here (thank God, for a period I thought I was the only one against Twilight).

All I can say, is that I honestly can not understand how this book became such a hit. That it was chosen and loved and created legions of fans who all missed the subtext and its conservative messages made me lose my faith in humanity.

Happy 27

April 18 is my favorite day of the year and I always impatiently expect it. I am actually starting getting prepared for it a few days before. No, I am not talking about party organizing or fiesta planning, it's more of a mental state consisting of the mantra "my birthday is coming, my birthday is coming" and, when it comes, I feel like centre of the world, just because it is MY day.

Some birthday trivial:

• I never threw a party in my life (unless you count the ones my mother threw for me when I was little and were a blast, judging from the photos).
• Every year, my mother calls me to wish at exactly 17:25.
• Best birthday ever: 2005. Just me, my sister, my boyfriend and my best friend. We got completely drunk and we ended up imitating Bollywood choreographies and belly-dancing.
• Worst birthday ever: when I turned 18. Only few people remembered it, none of them was available to go out, no presents, my parents returned from work dead tired and almost forgot me, plus the next day they bought a present to my sister.
• The best present so far was given to me by a guy who knew me just one month, it was a Little Prince doll.

This year, I had the most exotic birthday so far. I spent it with an Israeli, a Thai, two French and a bunch of Italians, drinking moscato and limoncello, received wishes in 5 different languages, giggled during the birthday song (did you know that auguri sounds like the greek word for cucumber?) and tasted loooots of Asian cuisine.

By the way, me and sushi are never going to become best friends. Had to reach 27 to find that out.

Drunken moments

It's a fact: the consumption of alcohol may lead you to believe that ex boyfriends are dying for you to call at 4 am.

Happy thought: Waking up and remembering that, even though it seemed like a good idea at the moment, you did not make the call of shame.

As I had left some unfinished business, I'd been beating alcohol since I left home. Which is good as I do not fill with regrets first thing in the morning for my lack of self-control, for what I might have said and for feeding the telephone company.

The only thing is, I can actually count the score. What to say, either I'm getting responsible and mature or my social life is not that interesting any more.

Voodoo Girl

Her skin is white cloth,
and she's all sewn apart
and she has many colored pins
sticking out of her heart.

She has many different zombies
who are deeply in her trance.
She even has a zombie
who was originally from France.

But she knows she has a curse on her,
a curse she cannot win.
For if someone gets
too close to her,

the pins stick farther in.


Tim Burton

Which Princess Are You?

by Eugenio Recuenco

The first time my heart broke...

*For MyF

...I was 14. I had been totally, madly, unequivocally in love with him for about 5 months and we had been dating for 1. The bell had just rung and I was on my way out, when he caught me on the stairs and told me to break up. I answered "sure, no prob", returned home, went straight to my room and cried my eyes out.

The first days after the break-up, the scenes of our relationship played and replayed in my mind, like a movie I was obliged to watch again and again, unable to find the stop button. Every day, I prayed that everything would change, that he would understand he made a mistake and come back.

He never did. On the contrary, he seemed perfectly happy, joking around with his friends. Not a single sign of missing me, though he kept on talking to me. I was mad at him for his kind behavior, for not hurting me in some way - then, it would have been easy, I would just say "what a bastard" and end of story. I was also mad at my parents, who did not let me go out as often as he did - if they did, maybe we would still be together. I was even mad at my friends, who didn't seem to realize my grief and kept on talking about the same insipid things we used to talk about every day before the catastrophe.

The days were passing and my feelings for him remained as intense as always. I was in love and I could do nothing about it. Sure, I was in love and alone also before our relationship, but at least I hoped that we would be together. And we did, and he left me and now I had lost all hope of finding comfort. Never again would we be together; I was obliged to keep on living with my heart full of emotions that were addressed to him and could no way be expressed and shared. I felt like a balloon in the verge of popping, unable to get rid of what inflated me and oh god, I was so full it hurt.

Nobody knew it, though. To the rest of the world, I kept on pretending that I am fine, no big deal. I was too proud to let anyone know that I was devastated. "Devastated" is not even close to describing what I felt: the world had turned dark and upside down, without the singlest sign it would go right again.

Then one day, I got out of my bubble of grief just for few moments, which were nevertheless enough to hear my best friends complaining about their love problems: the first one was in love with someone who was totally unaware of her existence, the second one had been rudely rejected. And, suddenly, it hit me: at least, I had got him! How many girls out there could say the same? How many girls were suffering, silently or loudly, for someone who was more than obviously not returning or ever going to return the same feelings?

After the months I had spent mourning, this sudden positive thought was a true revelation. And, combined with the fact that I was not crying at his thought any more, made me realize that everything is gonna be ok and that "time heals everything" is true, not some crap people say when they run out of advice.

Of course, that wasn't the only time my heart broke, neither the only one it healed. In the course of years, it happened again and again, in the vicious circle of love. So, little sis, take my story and welcome on the ride! Fasten your belt: it is fast, it is dizzy, it is scary and risky but trust me: you won't want to get off of it!

Vienna Calling

My personal Vienna Un-Guide, based on my two-legged (one in October, one in December) visit of the city. By the end of it, you will have seen almost all the main attractions (but you will have difficulties on remembering the names), you will have visited no museums, you will have taken no photos, probably you will have taken some kilos and you will have found a total of 5 euros in the streets.

DAY 1: Arrive late. Have your friend drive you around the main sights and up the hill to admire Vienna by night. Then, straight to the bars at Museum District, drink all the gin tonics you can handle and dance the night away. Finally, go to a chalet-looking tiny bar, full of drunk Austrians singing loudly austrian songs. Learn some lyrics and impress them.

DAY 2: Get a problem with your lenses, throw them away and eat pumpkin soup for lunch. Go to St Stephen's Cathedral. Get lost in the crowd at the Military Fair in front of the Hofburg Palace (organized due to the National Day). Pretend that you do not want to go to Prater and get on the Wheel (but do it anyway) and eat fried garlic bread. Later, follow your friend's flatmate to a club and spend the night drinking cocktails and gossiping.

DAY 3: Have brunch. Go to the Christmas Market at the Town Hall, eat half a candy apple and let the other half fall on a man in the tram. Then, go to the Christmas Market at Schonbrunn Palace, drink berry punch, listen to a gospel choir and freeze to the point of feeling your toes in pain. Back home, share a Chinese duck dish and watch the last James Bond movie dubbed in austrian.

DAY 4: Go for breakfast in a typical austrian student cafe and take a stroll at the Danube channel. Spend some time reading the mirrors of Carlsplatz metro station. Laugh with the Golden Cabbage and then, cross the street to the open market and buy some yummy turkish finger food. Watch Avatar on 3D munching surimi and for desert, after the cinema, eat strawberries dipped in chocolate (not as good as it sounds, better try the banana).

5 Months in Bratislava

I arrived in Bratislava mid-October, at night, and waited in the empty bus station my brother to pick me up. He led me straight to an underground bar in Hviezdoslavovo Square, where I was warmly welcomed by his friends over dark Saris beers.

The first days, taking advantage of the distance which allowed me to see some things more clearly, I tried to put my thoughts in order, especially when it came to what I want to do with my life in general. Then, I started meeting people, I visited Vienna and Prague and read some books I wanted to read for a long time.

After Christmas, I returned to Bratislava ready for some action. The weather did not help a lot, though. It was snowing every two days, until I got sick of it and then I re-appreciated it when I realized that it was actually less cold if it was snowing. The lake in the park next to my house froze, it was the first time I saw something like that, let alone walk on it!

Maybe the consumption of Slovak drinks would have helped to live more succesfully through the Slovak winter, but I didn't dare approach them, after my first experience which included all of them and I hardly remember how it ended...

My brother had adapted as well and, after his exams were successfully over, we started spending time together. Before, I had been afraid that if we continued living together without actually communicating, we would lose any kind of contact, so I was more than relieved when I saw the situation improving.

Mid-February, I got the opportunity to move to Italy and I decided to grab it. Then, it happened exactly the same that had happened in August, when I decided to leave Athens: I started having an amazing time! It seemed that my everyday life in Bratislava was becoming exactly as I wanted it to be: friendship, romance, drama, all was included and in the most balanced way.

The last day, I sent half my stuff back to Greece, went for dinner in my favorite restaurant, drank a bottle of wine, packed whatever had remained unpacked, gave someone to keep a few things for me -as a guarantee that we would meet again in order to take them back- and off I was, excited and sad at the same moment: excited for the new beginning, sad for leaving at its best moment, when everything had started working out. Even the sun had reappeared and the snow had started melting!

My first days here, I searched flights for a weekend visit - with no result, as all Ryanair weekend flights till April are booked. I see my friends' photos on Facebook and get jealous for not being there to share those moments with them. One of them is visiting me in some days and, hopefully, the others will follow, sooner or later.

I do not regret leaving though. I like it in Bologna: I love the city, I feel at home and, the people I know, I feel as if I know them for years. Most important, I am doing exactly what I wished when I left home: I live my adventure. Yes, I miss Bratislava but I do not complain and, to be honest, in a way I am happy it turned out like this: Bratislava's goodbye was the sweetest it could ever be.

Jobs, applications, CVs etc

When I decided to leave Greece, I arranged to keep my job and do it through internet, but I planned on finding a second work too. With the security of earning more or less enough money for living, I decided to look only for positions relevant to my studies.

So, after arriving in Bratislava, I applied for a job at a school. No surprise they didn't reply back: though my CV was ok, cover letter and the rest were awful. Obviously, I had no idea back then, I realized it two months later, while preparing my second application.

This time it was for a language school in Prague that needed a teacher of Greek. I desperately wanted that job (teacher of Greek and Prague, sounded perfect!), so I made a thorough research on CVs and cover letters, improved mine and off they were.

I was praying day and night to receive a positive answer and, 3 days later, I received an e-mail informing me that they are interested in an interview. I jumped up and down, shouting from joy, and, trembling from excitement, sat down to immediately respond. It was then that I realized that the e-mail was actually from the first school. Ironic, eh?

Anyway, I did respond, stating my interest and asking some additional info on the position. They didn't reply back.

I sent the last CV a few weeks ago, to a language school in Italy. Two days later, I was accepted for a 4-month internship.

That's it, people - I'm moving to Bologna!

Nirvana (?)

After 4 months away from home, I can say that everything is fine and no way do I regret my decision to leave. I met new people, I learnt new things, I saw new images. But most important, I found the time and the space to calm down, think seriously, sort out some unfinished business and figure out what my next steps should be. I got rid of some of my demons, reconciled with the remaining ones and, day by day, a feeling of balance fills me up. I feel like the sea early in a sunny, summer day, stretching towards horizons I thought that were long lost and approaching to lands whose existence I was unaware of.

Guess what. It turns out that inner balance -though definitely positive- does not equal to absolute happiness. It seems that, for some people, some (healthy) drama is necessary after all.

On Darkness and Other Daily Problems

Life in a different country is exciting, invigorating, enriching. That is, if you manage to approach with humor and patience the problems you have to face every day.

WEATHER:
I grew up in a city where it reaches at least 45C in the summer and almost never snows in winter - here, it is colder than cold and it snows every second day.

• Every time I want to go out, I wear layers and layers of clothes to avoid freezing - then, I enter the bars and sweat.
• It takes me 30 minutes of trouble (15 to get dressed, 15 to get undressed) just to walk 100m to buy cigarettes.
• I do not know where and how to walk, either I swamp ankle-deep in the snow or slide on the ice.
• No question of wearing high heels.

LANGUAGE:
My original plan was to start learning Slovak the moment I set my foot here, but I didn't. I know just a few words, so I am totally unable to communicate in Slovak and, from what I got till now, "expert in English" is not a characteristic I would attribute to Slovaks.

• Every time I need to ask something, I use the most basic English words and structures. I was more than once embarrassed because the person to whom I sounded like a primitive could speak English after all.
• The only time I talked to someone without checking their English level first got me into trouble, because the girl thought I was hitting on her and the more I tried to explain, the more suspiciously she looked at me.
• At the supermarket, I have to check the photos on the packets to realize what is what. Not such a big problem, unless you are standing in a long corridor, looking at bags of dark-colored spices, trying to guess which one is the pepper. And, when it comes to ready-made meals, I search in the tiny-lettered instructions for numbers, so as to at least understand how long and in what temperature it must be cooked.
• The janitor of the building does not speak English at all (or any other language I know), so every time there is a problem, I make a fool of myself, gesturing like a monkey in order to explain the situation. Once, I wanted to ask him for a key (there is a separate space for the garbage and it is always locked). We didn't manage to communicate, so now we have to walk three blocks every time we need to throw the garbage away.

DARKNESS:
Do you know "Hostel", the horror movie that is supposed to take place in Bratislava? Obviously, being one of the people who do not dare watch horror movies and get scared in the dark, I haven't seen it - actually, I had never heard of it until I came here and someone told me what it is about (I should have covered my ears and scream lalala). One evening, both the elevator and the staircase lights were out of function, the janitor couldn't fix it right away (yes, we managed to communicate that time, it was a 20-minute show) and I climbed 4 floors running and praying that nothing is hidden in the dark.

HEIGHT:
I went to this bar and the mirror in the bathroom was hanged 10cm above my head. I suppose that was just a mistake, definitely I am not the shortest one around!

There is Always Hope

by Banksy

Requiem For a Year

We'll tak a cup o'kindness yet
For auld lang syne

The 2005 requiem, it was alcoholic and with an unexpected literary tint. The 2006 requiem, it was straight-to-the-point and madly in love. The 2007 and 2008 requiems, they were not written at all, probably because they would be confused and depressed respectively.

How should the 2009 requiem be?

2009 was surrounded by new friends who hugged it and loved it. It obtained a new piece of paper to display to all the shallow people who perceive said paper as a proof of knowledge and value. It fell in love, invested on its relationships, got obsessed, gave opportunities to people who no way deserved them, repeated the same mistakes and then regretted for the wrong choices. It cried, laughed, got fired, traveled, got drunk, quarreled and overslept.

Then, it woke up, made a cup of coffee and started thinking. Its brain cells, spinning round and round, made new connections, produced new hormones, linked experiences and dreams, balanced fears and hopes, re-discovered America, accepted the past, mourned the losses, counted the gains and cherished every single precious moment.

Finally, strong, confident and grateful for everything life brought, it put on its nice, festive clothes, sang Edith Piaf's "Je ne regrette rien" with its special accent and went to bed, accompanied by kisses, caresses and glances of love, like every good kid.

This is nothing but a lullaby, an optimistic, hopeful humming to help it sleep well.