As I am reorganizing and editing my lecture notes, all my hand written ones are going in the bin. But I decided to preserve the art produced in those amazingly boring lectures. I love how looking over all of them you can kind of sense what state of mind I was in that day. I have learned a lot. Best thing I learned: I REALLY don’t like classical architecture.

Weird Stuff Of The Day:

- I went to my favorite cafe the other week (above), and I love the interior of it, and I thought for next year, it would be cool to have a skull on my wall. I really like skulls, so it would be interesting to actually have a real one. I looked it up on ebay. Lesson learned: people have CRAZY stuff. Someone is selling a rabbit’s foot on there. No thank you.

- I had a dream about Ewan McGregor, or a younger Ewan McGregor circa Big Fish, and he was trying to convince me that marriage is a good idea.

- I had my normal kind of breakfast but could only eat half of everything. Half of the porridge, cereal, tea, and yoghurt. I decided not to eat the banana because no way in hell am I wasting half of it.

“I think it’s fun to dress up. it’s an exercise in creativity, and it makes you feel better.”

“I am dressed up for the theater of my life everyday.”

This is one of the most inspirational videos i have every seen, and these ladies do it right every single day. They love life, and they dress for no one but themselves. Whenever people ask me why I like clothes or look at fashion magazines, I should just show them this video. Clothes are the most accessible form of art, and all of us can afford it, so why not make it as personal and as beautiful as you want? Some of us might not be artists but we can use clothes to express our creativity every day.

Celebrating 16 years together x

Can you think of a couple more perfect for each other than these two? I really can’t, and I don’t believe in marriage really, but these two seem to be inseparable.

For the last four days I have taken all my vitamins (twice a day even), woken up and gone to sleep at a reasonable hour, read every morning and evening, studied every day, drank plenty of water, limited how much time I spend watching films/series on the internet, and generally stopped wasting my time. In short, I am improving on everything I always wanted to. Time management, productivity, health etc. And even though it has only been four days, it is a huge achievement, as I can’t even remember the time when my New Year’s resolution wasn’t “drink more water”, and here I am, doing that, and going even further still. But now that I am actually TRYING to fix things, to reduce stress and anxiety in my life, a new form of fear has appeared. The fear of trying and failing. I have never really realized that my bubble of anxiety was protecting me in a way, from things that trying cannot. Because what excuse are you supposed to use when you do your best and you fail? If you try, if you go after something, if you work hard, isn’t the disappointment so much greater when you fail than when you don’t really try at all? The excuse “if I tried harder I could have done better” goes out the window. You can’t pretend that you could have done better anymore because you have done everything you possibly could. The dilemma here, for me, is which of these is better? Trying and risking looking like a fool, or floating along and keeping your fingers crossed. I guess I’m going to try my best and keep my fingers crossed too.

Train delays are never fun, but how people deal with them is downright amusing. It’s like a bowl of M&Ms – we have the “what the hell am I supposed to do now” people, the “I want my money back!” people, the dazed fathers and the stressed out mothers, the mumbling old people, and of course lets not forget the wonderful people that look like they will punch ANYONE that gets in their way. I’m more of a “we might be here for hours, and crap it’s cold in this station, and all I have in my bags are dirty clothes” kind of person. I’m also the kind of person that is almost always late to EVERYTHING, so I didn’t have any time to buy any snacks for the journey, and everything is three times more expensive here. I decide that the best solution to both problems is coffee, and what do you know, there’s a Costa with seating available. I’m not too worried about the delay, at least the train hasn’t been cancelled, and it’s not like I have a plane to catch or anything. At the information center I was told that we’ll be waiting at least one hour, and after 20 minutes I think it’s the perfect time to get that coffee. I know which platform the train will be arriving at, so I figure I’ll go, get the coffee, sit inside for a bit and warm up, and then catch my train. I get to Costa and realize they don’t have a screen with the train information on it, which I find a bit unsettling but hey, I’ve got time. So I order my coffee but the lack of that screen starts getting to me before it’s even finished. By the time they hand me the to-go cup, I can’t resist and lean over the counter to peak through the window and see if anything’s changed. Fuck yeah it has. My train isn’t coming to platform 5 in 40 minutes. It’s at platform 9 NOW. The waiter looks at me all scared, like it’s his fault the train is a good little jog away and I have no hands to take the coffee with because I’m dragging two fat suitcases. I scramble trying to solve this dilemma because I am NOT leaving that coffee behind, and realise the only way to do it is to stick the cup into one of the outside pockets of my suitcase. It won’t fit of course because the pockets are all full but I manage to jam half of the cup in, and start making my way out of there. The waiter comes to open up the doors for me and asks if I have my coffee, because all this happened so fast he didn’t even see where the coffee went. I can’t help but smile at that, because you don’t really see people try to carry coffee and two suitcases at the same time every day. Smart people would just leave the coffee, but I’m not really that kind of smart. So I run, and at first I keep my eye on it, but then I think fuck it, I want the coffee but I want to make it to the train too, so I start running like a normal person. When I get to the train I see that all the whipped cream the guy put on the latte for free (yes I like whipped cream on a latte, deal with it) has come out through the little hole in the lid. At least all the coffee’s still there. I get on the train but we’re not allowed to sit down yet because the train was originally going to Edinburgh and everyone on it has to get off first, so I stand waiting and then the stupid suitcase tips, falls against the wall, the cup gets squished, the lid cracks, and the coffee comes spilling out like a mini volcano. It’s entertainment for the traveling folks. I grab it quickly, and manage to save two thirds of it, and now that I’ve come so close to losing it, I’m grateful for every sip. I’m also selfishly grateful that trains to London seem to be prioritized over every other destination so we get on a train that wasn’t bound for London originally and there are seats next to the window AND with a table available. And here I am, on a train in the best seat and plenty of leg room, and the bliss of 15 minutes of free Wi-Fi, which is all I need to load a few episodes of my favorite show, or even a film if I want to. I guess not all train delays are bad.

Well that was a little unexpected. I thought we would finish work at 11.30, but no, we wrap up at 1.20 am, and my feet are pulsating from pain, because I have been standing for the last 13 hours. And I’m not exaggerating even a little bit, because I have already subtracted 30 minutes which is what I estimate to be the time I haven’t spent standing up since I came to work this afternoon.

So when your legs hurt so much you can feel the hot pain spreading from your heels to your toes and your calves, and you are washing a never ending amount of dishes, and someone doesn’t even ask you whether you would like wine, but just asks “would you like red or white?”, you better take it. It will make the 40 minute walk home, which is inevitable because buses aren’t even running anymore, a little easier. So I take it. And then, when all the dishes are done, I pour myself another glass, you know, to celebrate that finally, FINALLY, all those bloody glasses and plates are sparkling clean. And everyone looks absolutely beat, and everyone is having wine, but other people have eaten more than half a bowl of cereal today, so they aren’t as “happy” as me. I’ll take my long walk home now. And I’m not much of a drinker at all, but when you’ve been angry at yourself all day for spending £13 on a white shirt for work when you don’t have £2 to spend on lunch, two glasses on an empty stomach makes you forget all the trivial things. Move over Buddhists, I found a new way to blissful acceptance. A fruitier, dryer, boozier way. And while I still see the beautiful irony in me staying an extra two weeks at university while everyone else have left to have their precious little Easter holidays, and all I’ve earned in total, if I subtract all the money I spent on food and bus fares, and that damned white shirt, is £40, the tasty white house wine makes up for it. I walk away as gracefully as I can with a pitiful check, 4 bagels, 3 quiches, and a big fat box of salad with sweet potatoes. I should’ve pocketed a chocolate brownie. Or the wine. But there’s always a silver lining, because before tonight, and before these past couple of weeks, I didn’t have a story about my first job for which I had stayed all alone on campus for two weeks to do coffee training, bagel training, wine training, service training, and to stand for 13 hours until 1.20 am in the morning for minimal wage, after which I got tipsy with my beautiful colleagues on really good wine, and made them all laugh by remarking on the fact that only the males, namely the two chefs, and one of the managers, were tidying up, by saying “It’s boy time! Only the guys are cleaning up!”. And I agree, it wasn’t that funny, but the Scottish chef found it hilarious, I guess he had some house white too, because he said it was the quote of the week. I guess you had to be there, and I guess you had to be pretty tired to laugh at that. But I do the best I can.

P.S. I think “Pursuit of Happiness” by Nuno Bettencourt should be the theme to my life. It’s just too damn fitting. Because life is beautiful. Especially when you have stories to tell.

Sometimes after finishing a book, I take a little break from reading, and let myself naturally fall into another reading spell when another great book materializes. But after finishing the brilliant novel This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper, an outstanding, well written book, and probably the funniest book I have read to date, I really just want to keep reading. Except… I cannot pick another book. I seem to have to many brilliant options, and it’s like picking a chocolate bar from a vending machine full of my favorites all over again. My mind has completely switched of, and refuses to make a decision. When this happens with books, I usually decide by reading the first page of all the possible choices and see which one is the most compelling. I’ve no luck this time – every single first page is great in its own way, and my eyes keep darting from one cover to the next, making my head dizzy and me frustrated. On the road looks especially delicious, and I have had this book in my possession for over a year, and in my mind for much much longer than that, but it feels like this isn’t the time to read it. I kind of want to save it for the summer, when the possibilities of my own adventures are much higher, and when I can really get into the book. Either way I still can’t decide. Great choices are the silent enemy aren’t they?

I am definitely a “home is where your hat is” type of person. We have the power to make any place our home, as long as we know what that concept means to us. For me, home isn’t a certain place, or a building, but where my mind is in a sense, where I don’t feel like a piece of it is missing, and one of the things I treasure the most are my memories. I believe that our experiences, both good and bad, play a strong role in our development as human beings, and as long as there are things around us that remind us of who we are, we are at home. However much I like to believe that I could just wake up one day, get on a train and go to whatever country I want to without any hesitation, I know that if I didn’t have anything with me to remind me of who I am or what I’ve been through and how I’ve lived my life, I couldn’t feel like I belong. After all, none of us are blank canvases - we are filled with knowledge, regrets, hopes and fears, and many of these things, especially the positive ones, are attached to certain objects and people, and that’s why I think so many people don’t like traveling alone, or moving to a place where they don’t know anyone, because they leave a big part of who they are behind.

For someone who has had to say goodbye to many people, and has seen many people leave, I have found consolation in various objects that contain dear memories of people and events that have an important place in my heart. I am in a way, a memory hoarder, and some people might say that that isn’t a good thing, that you shouldn’t live in the past but it isn’t about living in the past. It is about being aware of it. It is about acknowledging what you’ve been through, who you love and have loved, what has made you happy, what you have learned. It is this acknowledgment of the past that enables us to be true to ourselves in the present, to know who we are and why we are the way we are. For me, there are certain objects that remind me of all the wonderful things in my life, and it doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I have these little things that contain all these wonderful memories, I feel at home. When I look at the book shelve in the picture above, I am always reminded of my very first home where I made my very first friend, dancing with my most wonderful aunt in Italy, and all the sunny days I spent there. It reminds me of going to car boot sales with my dad, of the generosity of my brother who bought me the little clock without any hesitation the moment I told him I liked it, of listening to Sigur Ros while driving to a forest with my family. It reminds me of my birthdays, and the best part of all of them, which is my mom, because she always makes my birthday special, like no one else could. Every little thing not only reminds me of certain people and the love I feel for them, but also all the incredible days spent with them, all the fun and all the laughter. That way, it really doesn’t matter where you are, and where they might be, because either way, you are in their lives and they are in yours. Home is where your heart is. Home is where your love is. Home is where the sky is. Home is where you remember all that was, and all that is.

Ever been completely alone? And not the kind of alone where you complain about life because you’re single, or your friends don’t want to watch a film with you or whatever. The kind of alone where there is literally NO ONE around, because you have stayed on campus for an extra two weeks while everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, have gone home for the holidays. Boy did I not expect everyone to leave the minute the last lecture ended, I thought some people might stay for a week or even just for a few days, but apparently that was an idiotic thought. So here I am, alone like a sore thumb (although let’s be real, thumbs aren’t completely alone now are they), without any money and without any friends around. This might be tough on any given day, especially when it’s not just one day but two weeks, but on Sunday… Well I thought I had two options. A: lie in bed all day feeling sorry for myself about the fact that I’m not in London right now browsing through all that awesome vintage in Brick Lane and drinking tea in Columbia Road Flower Market and doing other awesome London things or B. get my ass out of bed and actually do things. And since I’ve spent all week perfecting option A, I thought it was time for a change. After this successful experiment I present to you…. Drum roll….

How To Survive “Sore-Thumb” Sundays!

- Go for a run. If you went Ewwww when you read this know you’re not alone. I’ve been there too. Actually the whole time I was running I kept saying that in my head. I am not a fan. But like I said to myself, tough cookies, you need to get your bones and muscles moving past granny speed. So go and run. Or go play basketball or whatever, it doesn’t matter, just get that heart racing. Once in Italy I saw an old man (my guess is 70) with better toned calves than me, which i guess isn’t that hard to do since I don’t exercise at all but still! That dude was like Superman, or an ex Olympic runner or something. I really should have asked…

- Get out of the house. Sunny? Perfect. Get a book or whatever you do to wind down and go to the park. Nap, listen to music, download apps for your phone. Whatever floats your boat. Raining? Get your umbrella and go someplace that isn’t your home. Museums and cafes have roofs too.

- Cook dinner. Properly. For some people that means cooking some fancy meal but for me “proper” meant pasta with olives and pesto. It is a step up from ketchup, you must admit.

- Watch the first episode of Lipstick Jungle, and then give up, because it’s not as good as Sex and The City. Feel angry and a little sorry for yourself because you hoped it would be. That was just naive.

- Dance. Invite B.O.B, Kelis, Kelly Clarkson, Kelly Rowland, even Nicki Minaj (she might be crazy but Starships is one catchy tune). Dance until you can’t dance anymore.

- Eat your favorite junk. Or any junk food that’s around. Unless you’re one of those guilty eaters who counts every calorie and hates themselves for every bite. Then don’t, because that kind of shit just ruins your mood. May I suggest a glass of water instead? You can practice your acting and pretend that’s just as good. Or maybe give yourself a break, man up, and eat that junk, you know you want it!

If you do all of these things and your lonesome Sunday still sucks I advise you to pour some alcohol on it. And if that doesn’t help, you might just be one of those people who can’t be alone for one second. And if you are, well sorry dude, that sucks.