Birthdays

Birthdays. What do we celebrate? Getting old, having lived and enjoyed life, the person itself or life in general? I am not sure. May be all of these together.

I recently had a birthday. Still celebrating.  Yes, I turned 25 again. Considered having a big birthday party. And then decided against it. I decided it will be much nicer to have small gatherings with different friends – coffee and cake, small dinner.

When I was a little girl I never had birthday parties. My mother is quite shy and does not enjoy having guests. So there you go. I do not even remember having a birthday cake. I may be did but no hoopla, no big thing made out of it so I do not remember it. I remember when I was third grade that my father came with this big chocolate cake in three layers. THREE LAYERS!!! He used to take me to a pastry shop in the best hotel in town at the time (it was only one, or may be two hotels in town anyways), and I used to watch those cakes at the window display with awe and desire. So he must have guessed I want one. My father has plenty of short comings but some things he did right. I was overjoyed and ran downstairs to my best friend, who lived in the condo below us, to invite her to my birthday cake devouring session. The first time I had an actual birthday party was 8th grade in the English Language Highschool. My classmates came carrying a big teddy bear for me. Still have it. We ate sandwiches, I danced to Depeche Mode and then we all went to a music festival.

Later on, in my 20s, I would throw a party for my birthday and have plenty of fun, mostly at university. And then slowly I just started having dinners with friends, or a quite dinner at home with my family. The only one who has truly put a lot of efforts to celebrate my birthdays in the best possible way is my husband. Thank you so much my dear, I do appreciate that!:)

I actually love birthdays. Mine, when I am taken to a nice place, or just simply taken care of, but mostly my daughter’s. I celebrate her, for the wonderful little girl that she is, and just generally wish to give her all these nice experiences with friends and family. And yes, I am doing it so that she could feel that she is the center of the whole universe for one day. I know she is the center of my universe. And I would enjoy throwing a birthday party for her each year until she decides to do it herself. What I am truly truly hoping is that our world will still be a nice one when she grows up and that she will be very very happy, doing whatever she chooses to do with her life! Along with all the other children of this world. So totally, I can celebrate birthdays in order to celebrate life. And hope.

 

Hipster

 During my lifetime I went through different “waves” of music – disco (yes, I have an older sister), new wave (Depeche Mode and U2 will always have my heart), grunge, ska, techno, rave, pop, hip hop, funk, brit pop, jazz. Trust me, I was living and breathing all of these music waves and lifestyles. When I moved to Sweden in 2004 I noticed the gothic subculture (totally could not understand what it was all about!) and then in 2008 – the Emo subculture. Now I am happily observing a new phenomenon – the hipsters. Since I like hanging out on Söder or Sofo, which was recently voted the third coolest neighborhood in Europe by Vogue, I have plenty of opportunity to observe hipsters. Going to a bar there yesterday with a Polish girl aged 28, it turned out she did not know what a hipster is. I had to explain, and after thinking hard I came up with this: they are around your age, dress in vintage, shabby chic clothes, have an androgynous look, swept bang haircuts, thick rimmed glasses, very educated, cultured, work with advertising, social media, graphic design raised to an art form, are into ecological food and living, want to save the world, a bit nerdy as well. In terms of music, I could not quite pinpoint it but there seems to be some early 90s nostalgia going on right now. And they are shunning the frat boys and blonde bimbos (too shallow!) and believe in peace and love. Yes, I would think they are the hippies of the 2010s. Are they against the establishment? I am not sure. I believe they care about the environment and would probably vote for the Environmental Party in the upcoming elections in Sweden.

Is “hipster” just an image thing? If a frat boy dresses in hipster clothes and has the right haircut, beard, rimmed eyeglasses, would he be accepted in these circles? Or would he be very soon divulged as a fraud? I would like to think that it all goes beyond the outer appearance and has some core values that are more important. I have learned to judge people by what they say and who they really are rather than by how they dress.

My husband asked me if I consider myself a hipster. No, I do not. Although I might share some of their values, do love finding little treasures in vintage stores and second hand shops, do enjoy hanging out with hipsters and observing them, I am not one myself. The reason could be because I like consuming (not in extremes though), like a comfortable life, eating in nice restaurants and staying in nice hotels, or could be the age difference and my maturity. Or could it be….that I am not hip enough anymore? Hush though, do not tell the hipsters!;)

On books and reading

When I was a little girl I kept a log on how many and which books I have read. One year I had read 250 books – not bad for an eight year old child! I lost myself in the stories, cried and laughed with the characters, trembled with expectation, called out Pinocchio’s name in my sleep. I have a voracious appetite for reading. And not only books – facts, history, biology, magazines, new technology. Back in 1993 I wrote an essay at university about reading books on a computer. It felt unfathomable to me, not that it will be impossible to read books on a computer but that the whole ritual of reading a book will be destroyed! I wrote that you cannot hug a computer and go to bed with it but you could do that with an actual physical book. I do have a Kindle now but still prefer the physical books – the way they smell, the way each page turns. I read the Kindle only when I have to do it in the dark so as not to disturb the rest of my sleeping family.

I think often about books that have impressed me or changed my life. I read Thornbirds quite early ( I was 11 or 12 years old) and remember being shocked. I read The Portrait of Dorian Grey by Oscar Wilde and liked it, although I probably did not understand all the allusions there ( I was 13). Memoirs of a Geisha i discovered in London and totally fell in love with it. Then I got a present from a friend – Krishnamurti’s The First and the Last Freedom. I did have to read it twice to discover myself in the process. I was 28 at the time. The right age to start discovering who you really are.

Four years ago a few international women got together and we started the International Stockholm Book Club. It was amazing to see how similar we were – most of us working with Marketing or Communications, living with our Swedish husband/ sambo, no kids. But also how different we were – coming from different corners and cultures of the world, with different life experiences. I enjoy my book club very much – I like most books we have picked up to read and enjoy our chats sitting in somebody’s living room sipping red wine. Because around discussing the characters of a book you start knowing more about the book club members as well.

So yes, I still read books, sometimes three books at a time. I am very pleased to see that my daughter is interested in books as well and am hoping that this will continue when she grows up. I will do my best to keep computer games to a minimum. Because there is no better magic than books.

Running and making new friends

I am an outdoors person.I love nature, the sea, the mountains, plants, trees, grass. I prefer to run outside or bike, or dance than to go to the gym. But I do go to the gym – classes mostly because this is what fits my personality. I do try to run 5  km or 10 km marathons when I can. I know – not a big deal for people who run the 40 km marathons but a big deal for me. I do it in order to have a goal to train for. But in the end I always go for the fun of it, especially when I run with a team. So this year I signed up for Tjejmilen in September –  a 10 km marathon. But then a friend of mine said she is looking for a team to do The Color Run in August. I signed up and came up with the name of the team – Summer Blue. I met the rest of the girls for the first time two days before the event. Our common friend could not come and run, but we had a blast and made new friends. Running is that simple. And the color party was so much fun! Even though I could not get the pink out of my hair inspite of washing it twice. A week later I still have pink in my hair. It is a good reminder of the fun I had.

 

A graffiti spray looking for a wall

Summer was sunny and blue, and now that I am back in Stockholm it is time to roll up the sleeves and look for a job. I understand that I have been doing the wrong thing for a while – applying for jobs the same way most people do – answering ads, getting a few interviews but not really reaching the finishing line.  Yes, only 20% of available jobs are announced, 80% of job vacancies are filled via friends, acquaintances and recommendations. So thousands of people are competing for those 20% of jobs, while a handful apply for the “hidden” jobs. And I have tried finding those hidden jobs via friends and acquaintances at companies that I am interested in. Even recruiting agencies. My friends wonder, they say: “Wow, you are a smart and passionate marketeer and communicator, a warm person, always ready to help, you have worked in different industries and done interesting things, surely you will get a job soon!” So I decided that my application process must be flawed. I must be more persistent and more creative!

And this time I really do put my heart into looking for a job  – applying every day, working on my CV so that it stands out from the crowd not only textually but visually as well. Working on my motivation letter, and picking up the phone and calling. It has to work, right? Me with my passion for writing, creating, building, striving for perfection. A quill looking for ink in order to start dancing on the white sheet. A graffiti spray looking for a wall in order to paint those new progressive ideas. So if you would like to help me, share my LinkedIn profile. Write next to it: A passionate marketeer and communicator looking for new worlds to discover.

https://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=861895

Thank you!

Sailing

 Sailing. Romantic sunsets, the boat gliding gracefully on the endless sea horizon, lights springing up to life on the islands around…..

Yes, there is that part of sailing. And the parties with friends, swimming from sailboat to sailboat to catamaran, drinking cocktails with the skin still wet and salt seeping in. The music bouncing off the surrounding slopes and riding out on the breeze. Diving off cliffs, trying not to step on the urchins when you get on the shore. Getting ecstatic at the passage of dolphins coming to swim along. Sitting at the bow of the boat, feeling the wind in your hair. Watching the other sailboats and yachts pass by, and the next island looming up in the distance.

Getting off at the next island, either by foot or by dinghy (the small inflatable boat), exploring the cobbled streets, ancient Venetian castles or blue-roofed windmills. Watching the local fisherman mend their nets and the kids skidding around on bikes and scooters. Renting a scooter yourself and whizzing up to the top of the island to watch that endless and peaceful blue blue spreading out down below. Sampling fresh octopus, squids, tasty aubergines and Greek sallad at the local taverna. Even the ouzo starts tasting good…

Discovering that the next island consists of only moon landscape-like rocks, or just two sandy beaches on each side.  And yes, we even got to climb on a rich men’s yacht and drink pink champagne! Some even sampled the jacuzzi on the second floor.

But there is the other side as well – working with the ropes and sails, trying to find space to sit down since you are 10 people on a relatively small boat, and hoping you do not need to let some gas out since they will all notice. And that a storm can come with high waves and strong winds, and you sit with your inflatable jackets huddling with each other, some getting green in the face, praying that it will all end well. And it does end well, especially if you have a good captain standing at the helm navigating the waves like a confident surfer.

The storm is over, we are moored in a bay, time for that barrel-aged whisky to be tasted and cheered with. Sailing is sweet and bittersweet towards the end, since you do not really want it to end. The adventure of a lifetime.

Creative writing: He is leaving

He is leaving. It is his birthday party and his farewell party. A bunch of friends take the train and go there. We talk about travels, art, life. His roommate comes and he is a professional Jamaican dancer. Of course he has to show me some moves. I wiggle my legs and hips trying to imitate the moves. I add my own moves too. Jamaica laughs. I laugh. Then we light a cigarette on the balcony and pass it around. I am reminded of my youth, my years at university. All hope and carefree. Where did these feelings go? Why can’t we have a time warp? Our minds are our time machines.

Two guitars start playing. Some Bob Dylan and Pink Floyd. I stare at the red African lamp and find it fascinating. Can you play something we can all sing to? The second guitar player plays Eagle Eye Cherry.I sing and clap with my hands. He is leaving. Picking up and going to a different country after seven years here, just like that, to try it, no safety net waiting there. I am surprised, I do not take such risks anymore. May be I am a bit envious too, for all the adventures waiting there. But some loneliness is waiting there too. I remember those feelings. Of searching.

I walk to the train. It is a chilly evening. I have said my goodbyes and wished him good luck. I try to hold on to that feeling of youth.

On teaching

My mother was a teacher. She was also a Headmistress of the school but she did not enjoy it. She is retired now but always busy with some project or other. When I was a little girl I often went to my mother’s school. Sat at a desk in the back and listened. Went on some school trips with them. Some of the children were from marginalized families or minorities, or simply had difficulty learning. But we had fun playing together.

My own games often involved playing a teacher. I had a roll call with names, called out to the blackboard and examined imaginary pupils, read books to them. Even had one of those imaginary teacher’s sticks that I was waving around and showing places on the map. When I grew up I forgot about the teaching profession. It seemed a kind of an ungrateful job for me. And times had changed in Bulgaria, pupils did not respect their teachers anymore, not as we did.

One May day in Stockholm I was asked if i wanted to help start The First Bulgarian School in Stockholm. Of course, I said. Meetings of planning, discussing, contacting the Ministry of Education in Bulgaria. Then I was asked to teach Drawing. From Drawing it became Bulgarian since this is what the parents wanted more focus on. I had different feelings when I started. Some of the children refused to speak Bulgarian, or could not speak Bulgarian. It took a lot of work. Slowly slowly they opened and started talking and enjoying the school. Such a joy to see that! I love seeing the sparkles in their eyes, they raise their hands and are eager to pour out that burning knowledge.

I am happy I took on this job. Now I believe that being a teacher is a very giving job. True, it can be exhausting, you prepare for at least an hour or two before the lesson, then you have to tame the energetic ones, and draw out the shy ones. But so so much warmth and the achievement is right there, in front of your eyes! And when they come with flowers for me my heart melts….Such a small gesture but it means so much! I think I must have done something right. I think again how much I love children.

On death

I breathe, he doesn’t. I wake up every morning, touch the rain on the window. He doesn’t. I put the radio on and listen to some nice music. He doesn’t. I long for the sunshine of the summer. He doesn’t. I touch the hand of a loved one and bask in the warmth. He doesn’t. He is dead. Gone early, not even 40 years old… In the clutches of cancer. My friend. I grieve in my own way.

I think about death. Death can be salvation, liberation from suffering and pain. Death is the end. Is it really? I believe that energy in the universe does not get lost, I believe in the cyclical nature of things. Our souls are energy so they stay here on Earth in some form. Perhaps we do get reborn and apply the lessons we have learned in our previous lives. Become better people and better citizens of this world. Or perhaps we come back just in the form of golden dust hanging around flowers in  the spring…

Why is death so scary? There is a theory that if you experience your own death while you are alive, then you are not so scared anymore. I.e. you lie in a coffin, let yourself be hoisted down in a grave, and then they put earth on top of you. Does death change the perspective on life?

It does. We all know it waits for us in the end, but that end seems unfathomably far far away. When a close person dies you realize it is nearer than you thought and can strike any time. That is why I stop whenever I can and take in the beauty of the world around me. Admire the green neck of the duck glistening in the sun. The way the pale winter light falls on the water. The feeling I have when I get inspired. Hug my friends and loved ones as often as I can. Tell them I love them or miss them. Little things…. Life is to be constructive but life is to enjoy as well. Death puts everything in perspective.

Creative writing: Aunt Renie goes to Bulgaria

Aunt Renie was travelling around the world. Yes, yes, all those boring places that everyone travels to. But then she met a Bulgarian girl in Egypt who told her about the wonderful country of Bulgaria. She was from a town called Blagoevgrad and aunt Renie decided she must visit. She hopped on a plane to Sofia and arrived on a beautiful sunny day. After visiting the Alexander Nevski cathedral, the old Roman basilicas in town, checking out the flea market and buying ushanka for the cold Dutch winter and a red pioneers’ scarf, she jumped on a bus to Blagoevgrad.

She arrived there on a Wednesday. Well Wednesday in the small charming town of Blagoevgrad is market day. People from the villages around come bringing tomatoes, cucumbers, apricots, peaches, apples, grapes, watermelons, and set them up on the stalls. You could even buy homemade jams, honey, yoghurt, walnuts and fresh milk there. Aunt Renie knew about the market. Passing by to go to the stalls from the bus stop aunt Renie smelled a wonderful aroma next to one of these Soviet type condo buildings (blocks). An elderly lady was boiling something in a cauldron and the aroma was wafting from there.

Aunt Renie approached and asked what this was. The woman stirred a bit more and pointed to the red orange liquid that was boiling inside, smelled of peppers, tomatoes and something else: ”Liutenitsa!” she said proudly. Liutenitsa, mumbled aunt Renie, hmmm, I must have the recipe. ”Recipe!” – she said. The elderly Bulgarian smiled and produced a piece of paper. All in Bulgarian of course. ”Now I need a nice Bulgarian kid to translate this for me! I wonder if they speak English here,”thought Aunt Renie.

And so she passed by a big marble building surrounded by a big marble staircase and fountains. On the building’s facade it read: ”American University in Bulgaria”. ”I am sure the kids that study here speak English”. And right she was – a boy with a hoodie and sneakers hanging around the front door smoking a cigarette was kind enough to translate the recipe for her. He even took her to the market and helped her pick sun riped tomatoes that smelled delicious, red peppers, garlic and anything else she needed for the recipe.

Aunt Renie went back to the woman and asked her for help to make the liutenitsa. The two elderly women stood beside each other roasting peppers, and smiling, stirring the liquids and smiling some more. They could not communicate with words but communicated with smiles. Aunt Renie filled a few jars with liutenitsa and packed them in her suitcase. Then the boy from AUBG had invited aunt Renie to a party at the dorm (and she could stay the night there in an available room). She had so much fun! The party continued in Underground and aunt Renie danced all night and even did some tequila shots with orange slices & cinnamon. She had a bit of a headache the next morning… She wondered if she did kiss someone that evening…

Christmas is approaching now and it is really grey and dark in Holland. Aunt Renie is sitting down at her table in the kitchen spreading liutenitsa on a piece of bread. Tasting the sun of Bulgaria. When her jars finished a few days leater, she took a big saucepan and filled it with ingredients from the local supermarket. Yes, yes, the tomatoes and peppers do not taste the same but she picked the best! So now she is making a new batch of liutenitsa. She is stirring the liquid and smiling, stirring and smiling…