Hello, My Name Is Fear

When I was 5, I thought the worst thing in life is when your mom says no to chocolate before dinner.
When I was 12, I thought the worst thing in life is when you don't get Game Boy for Christmas. 
When I was 15 I thought the worst thing in life is when a zit appears on your face right before your birthday party. 

When I was 22, I thought the worst thing in life is not being able to digest the backstage aspects of showbusiness and follow my music dreams.

When I was 28, I thought the worst thing in life is, when you get disappointed by someone you deeply love.

Today I am 32 and I know that the worst thing in life is to live by fear.

As someone who loves to travel, I missed so many opportunities to experience new cultures because of my FEAR of traveling alone.

As someone who loves to sing, I missed a lot of joy, standing on a stage preforming my songs, because of my FEAR of judgement.

As someone who loves to write, I missed so much happiness, presenting my work but forgeting to truly enjoy it, because of my FEAR of failure.

As someone who loves to watch movies, I missed so many cinema dates, because of my FEAR of anxiety attack.

As someone who loves the sunsets, I missed them too many times, because of my FEAR of not meeting deadlines at work.

As someone who loves the ocean, I am not seeing it enough, because of my FEAR of loosing my income if I take proper holidays.

As someone who loves to watch shooting stars, I have not spend enough nights looking at the sky, because of my FEAR of staying up too late and overhearing alarm in the morning.

As someone who loves her parents more than anything, I am spending too much time on worrying about them, instead of enjoying precious time with them, because of my FEAR of loosing them.

As someone who loves to love, I built too many walls hiding my true self, because of my FEAR of people not liking me.

As someone who wrote a book about happiness, I am missing too much of it while focusing on my weaknesses instead of strenghts. Because of my FEAR that I won't be perfect.

Letting go is my biggest life lesson so far. It's not always cotton candy  and unicorns flying above the rainbow, but I know I want to do it. Because life is too short to spend even one minute per day being afraid of something that did not even happen. Life is now. And hopefully soon I will not only be able to say it, but also live it.

Pred-Valentinovo

Z grozo sem ugotovila, da se ponavljam. Po hitrem pregledu mojega bloga sem namreč znervirano ugotovila, da se čisto preveč vrtim okoli ljubezni. Morda pa se je slednji ravno zato uspelo nekajkrat izmuzniti iz primeža mojih dolgih prstov, ki se prepogosto oklepajo vseh besed, ki se začnejo s črko L. Ljubezen, Ljubljana, labela, lahkotnost, lokvanj, ladja, lepota, če jih naštejem le nekaj. Je čas za spremembo? Seveda. Vedno je čas za to. No, to je zdaj Laž.

Rada imam črko L. Zakaj je ne bi imela? In glavno vprašanje, zakaj bi se ji izogibala ravno na predvečer dneva, ki je po besedah naših iznajdljivih trgovcev, posvečen najlepši besedi, ki se začne s to srečno 13. črko naše abecede. Ljubezen. Jutri je Valentinovo, dan kot nalašč za vse kičaste čustvene izpovedi srečno zaljubljenih golobov, ki zadnje tedne moj vhod vztrajno pacajo s svojimi fekalijami. Človek ne more, da jih ne bi imel rad! Ne vem, kdo si je izmislil frazo, da zaljubljeni pari spominjajo na 'golobčke'. Če bi to iskreno čustvo že morali pripisati pernatim prijateljem, bi sama raje izbrala labode. Ko se s svojimi vratovi ovijajo okoli svojega izbranca/izbranke, se jih kar ne morem nagledati ...

Zato bom jutri v mislih hranila labode na Blejskem jezeru in upala, da zame uprizorijo paritveni ples, ki me bo opomnil na to, da pravi ljubimci za izkazovanje nežnosti ne potrebujejo za to posebej določenega dneva, šopkov poceni rož in drugorazredne čokolade.  Imejte se radi dragi moji. Ne le jutri, ampak 365 dni v letu. Ker leto mine še preden se boste dobro zavedli, vsak izgubljen dan pa lahko pomeni ključen kamenček v mozaiku sreče. 

Dear Juliet ...

So I guess the fact that I am sending you these words,  tells you, that I do think about love. I think about it a lot, too often maybe, but what can I do ... Love is my muse and I do not want to imagine my life without this warm feeling inside. Feeling that makes me feel so alive. I have loved and have been loved so many times in my life that I really should not fuss about it. Actually, my life has always been fulfilled with LOVE. So I guess I got used to it. Maybe I even developed an addiction. Am I a love-addict?

Dear J, let's get to the point. As you have probably already assumed,  my midnight thoughts about love are actually about... Partnership love! Soulmates. Twin-flames. You name it. Oh Juliet, all great love stories do not end like yours did, do they? Because if they do, I am in a huge dilemma. No one wants for  their flames to die in agony to fulfill the absolute feeling of unconditional love! What would you do if Romeo was still alive? What if you would discover, he was not that special after all? Would you still stick with your decision and still see him as your hero? Would the magic be gone? Would Shakespeare have to write a sequel and call it 'Another one went down'? I guess we will never know.

You are probably waiting for my question, since that is what women visiting your wall in Verona usually do. Well, I do not think I have a question for you. Not the one I would not have yet the answer myself. Love should be simple. It should be a moment of magic and everything that follows that moment should just prove, that we have been right from the start. Right? So why do we fight for it constantly? Why do we stumble and fall, cry and pick the pieces every time something does not go our way? Maybe because we are not just characters from a book ... Our destinies are not in writers hands. We write our own stories. Does that mean we love to suffer from time to time, adding some extra drama to the timeline of our life that should simply be about enjoying the moments?

You are lucky Juliet. You are not fighting against the walls people build around themselves. Right the opposite! You use the wall, that beautiful piece of architecture in Verona, to make people open up to you. Pour their hearts out and stuck their stories on the wall of love. It is kind of funny, now that I thought of it. We are ready to pin our hearts to the wall, but we are often not able to climb the walls of the ones we love. Maybe we should not try to climb it. Maybe we should just open up, make a daring step, spill our colorful hearts on other person's wall and make it beautiful with it. Like people with their love letters do to your wall in Verona ...

That is exactly, what I will do dear Juliet. I will paint the walls of the ones I love and care about. Who knows, maybe that way they will not be ashamed of their walls anymore and will proudly show it to the world. It is worth the try.

Thank you Lady J! I am sticking this letter between the 3rd and 4th stone in the 5th line from the bench. I hope you will find it one day and write me back. Because it is never too late for love. Right? Right.

Sincerely,

your Shia <3

p.s. Inspired by movie Letters to Juliet. Thank you Hollywood.

Vse.

Vse bi dala za en objem. Za dve besedi, ki mi ju je včasih taka rada šepetala na ušesa. Vse bi dala. 

Vse bi dala za obujene ukradene poljube na ulicah starega mestnega jedra. Za topel stisk njene dlani pod zvezdnatim nebom. Vse bi dala.  

Vse bi dala za najini srci, sklenjeni v objemu zaupanja in nežnosti. Za ogenj v njenih očeh, ki mi je sporočal, da njena duša gori le zame. Vse bi dala.

Vse bi dala za večer na njenem balkonu, prežet s spomini na včeraj, hvaležnostjo za danes in načrti za jutri. Za njen nasmeh, ki je razsvetlil moje telo do zadnjega atoma predanosti. Vse bi dala.

Vse bi dala za eno noč pobarvano z njenimi vzdihi. Za najini telesi oviti v sestavljanko , ki je končno našla svoj izgubljeni del. Vse bi dala.

Vse bi dala za vonj njenih las v poletnem večeru. Za njeno sloko figuro, ki se privija k meni v hladu zimskega večera med štirimi stenami. Vse bi dala.

Vse bi dala, da v tej zgodbi ne bi nastopali midve, temveč dve drugi izgubljeni duši, ki sta zašli s poti sreče in se vrtita v začaranem krogu žalosti. Vse bi dala.

Vse sem dala.  In vse bi dala, da bi lahko dala še več.

The Day I Lost My Yesterday Because Of My Tomorrow

I was clinging onto my yesterday for a long time. I was hanging from the edge on my hands only,  till my nails start to bleed. Drops of blood were falling towards my heart, that was beating in a sad rhytm of lost moments. The second the drops reached the very center of my heart, they turned into tears of happiness. Salty and sweet at the same time. 

The today's beating of the heart suddenly started to say goodbye to all of the yesterday's heartbeats. It hugged them, kissed their warm cheeks and wished them all the best. Heartbeats waved goodbye and started their journey towards another heart in need. They will keep yesterday's heart in the nicest memory possible and look back at it with a smile on their faces.

Today is the day I lost my Yesterday Because of my Tomorrow. But the Love stayed with me. And it always will...

Other side of the bed

Stage - Less

Zadnja leta se uspešno izogibam odru. A vsake toliko me 'odrska mrzlica' ulovi in postavi pred oči znanih in neznanih obrazov. Kako me vidijo in dojemajo, vedo le oni, a jaz tistih nekaj minut uživam. Pogrešam glasbo. Pogrešam vso kreativnost povezano z ustvarjanjem skladb. Pogrešam sodelovanje z različnimi podobno mislečimi sanjači, ki mi dovolijo, da letim visoko nad tlemi in se vrnem po zadnjem odpetem refrenu. Bolevam za stage-less sindromom. Danes ga bom zopet malo zdravila. Kar tako, ker je ravno 'veseli december'. Stage-Less no more.

Kesanje, povratek in ostala patetika

Preden sem se spravila pisati ta blog sem si obljubila, da se ne bom za nič opravičevala. Potem sem še enkrat preverila datum zadnjega zapisa in se zgrozila. Skoraj tri mesece nisem naredila NIČ! Grozno! No, nič je pregroba beseda, vmes sem namreč napisala vsaj 50 člankov in ravno toliko strani za svoj knjižni prvenec, a to ne šteje I guess ... Moj blog je namreč postal eden tistih ubogih zapuščenih cyber prostorov, kjer se nabira prah. Pomislila sem na vse tiste bralce, ki so načrtno ali slučajno zašli v Sobo s pogledom na moje srce in naleteli na ... NIČ.

Shia, ljudje si bodo še mislili, da se ti v treh mesecih ni zgodilo prav nič vrednega, da bi o tem napisala vsaj par vrstic in nalepila sliko, kot to navadno narediš, kadar besede ne tečejo kot bi morale! Dragi moji. Se opravičujem. Požrla sem besedo in se kesam. Nič novega. Ni prvič in verjetno tudi ne zadnjič. Resnica je pač taka, da zadnje mesece živim tako polno, da se mi je zdelo škoda izgubiti dragocene trenutke s pisanjem o njih. Precej sebično, I know ... Sicer nisem sebična. Vsaj rada verjamem, da nisem. Srečna sem. If that's a crime, then here I am for you to burn me in the square for everybody to see how a happy burning witch looks like :-) Would be my pleasure!

Če na kratko povzamem svoje 'bedno' življenje v tednih odsotnosti: veliko dela, še več ljubezni, crkljanja, nekaj postavljanja pred kamero, pritajenih nasmeškov, ur grščine, snemanja v studiu, dretja na Callista, na novo odkritih krajev, 3 tedni grškega raja, kar nekaj novih 'new year's resolutions', popitega čaja, za konec pa še par dni ležanja v postelji s prehladom, ki na mojo srečo ni prerasel v 'pujso Pepo. Tako. Verjetno bi res lahko rekla, da se mi v tem času ni zgodilo prav NIČ... Slabega :-)

Glede na to, da bi morala, če bi želela do konca leta uloviti magičnih 300 blogov, dnevno sem prilepiti vsaj 3 zapise, se ne bom ustavila, dokler tega tudi ne dosežem. Trmasta sem. To lahko mirno vpišete pod moje slabosti, ali prednosti. Dobrodošli nazaj, ali le dobrodošli naprej. Shia je še kako živa. Zaenkrat :-)

Xara - 7. del

Preden je Xara prvič prestopila prag hiše, v kateri sem odraščala, sem se tresla že nekaj dni prej. Dokler sem bili sama v najini zgodbi, se nisem bala, da jo bom s čim odvrnila. Razmišljali in dihali sva kot eno. Če sem jaz v trgovini kupila mleko in pozabila najine najljubše kosmiče, se je ona za mano domov vrnila z njimi, ne da bi jo prosila. Enostavno vedela je. Kar sem razumela jaz, se je ona naučila skozi mene, kar je mene begalo je slej ko prej skozi njene besede našlo varen prostor v moji zavesti. Trenutki, ki sva jih delili so bili pogosto zaviti v molk, a kljub temu je bil ta čas vedno objet z besedami. Neizgovorjenimi, a močnejšimi od vsega prej izrečenega. Bala sem se dneva, ko ji bom predstavila družino… V njej se nisem počutila varno. Nikoli. Trenutke, v katerih sva z mamo pristali na istem polu, lahko preštejem na prste ene roke, moj oče pa se je vedno gibal izven meja mojega sveta. Kot izgubljen planet, ki ga še tisti najbolj zavzeti najdejo prej po naključju, kot načrtno. Ne bi mogla reči, da ga nisem imela rada. Navsezadnje mi nikoli ničesar ni manjkalo in na nek čuden način sem čutila, da se trudi in mu ni vseeno, a plula sva po različnih oceanih, svetlobna leta oddaljena drug od drugega. On je bil prvi, ki sem ga želela rešiti. Dolgo časa nisem vedela pred čim. Čutila sem le, da je osamljen. Nerazumljen. Morda je zato izhod največkrat iskal v steklenici dragega whiskeya, ki sem jo toliko let iskreno in prvinsko sovražila. Nič kolikokrat sem se srečala z njo. Po naključju ali urah zavednega iskanja v omari, med njegovimi dragimi oblekami in nikoli nošenimi čevlji. Kadar je bila napol prazna, sem se drla nanjo, kot obupana mama, ki zaloti svojega otroka s prstki nevarno blizu električne vtičnice. Strah je kričal iz mene. Da bom poražena. Da nikoli ne bom dovolj pridna, uspešna in vzorna hči, ki bi svojemu očetu vsak trenutek dala dovolj razlogov za srečo. Da me objame, kot je tolikokrat objemal steklenico. Z leti mi je postalo jasno, da določenih ljudi ne moreš rešiti. Ker si tega ne želijo. Ker uživajo v vlogi žrtve in od sebe odrivajo ljudi, ki jih imajo najraje, saj globoko v sebi verjamejo, da si jih ne zaslužijo. Da jih niso vredni. Bala sem se, da bo Xara ob srečanju z njim spoznala temno plat, ki je vedno bolj s svojimi uničujočimi verzi zapisovala tudi mene. Nisem je bila vredna. Sama sem se tega zavedela in groza me je bilo tega, da bo to spoznala tudi sama. Bila sem kot moj oče. Le brez steklenice …

Brcnila sem v nekaj, kar je od sebe spustilo zvok, rezek da bi z njim lahko rezal dimni oblak, viseč nad množico tujcev, ki so polni pričakovanj, neizpolnjenih sanj in načrtov čakali na vhodu v glavno avlo letališča. Bila je steklenička. Majhna, otroška, napol prazna. Le meter od nje je stal prestrašen fantek z očmi zabuhlimi od joka. Že dolgo se ničesar nisem razveselila tako odkrito, kot njega. Dvignila sem ga v naročje in ga tolažila, dokler ga v svoj objem ni vzela njegova mama. Nisem počakala, da se mi zahvali. V tistem trenutku sem si zaželela le ene stvari. Xarinega objema. Usedla sem se na rob betonskega napušča in zajokala. Zaprla sem oči in glavo so mi napolnili trenutki, zaznamovani z zavetjem njenih rok …

Agapi

Our story

The book of my life
Has no empty pages,
Emotions all over,
In all kinds of stages.

Love was my muse,
Since I learned how to spell it,
Heartbreaks my best friends,
As I sang the blues.

When I wasn't ready,
You entered my story,
You stole all the chapters,
Got lost in their glory.

The words were so loud,
As they screamed at me,
The messagge was clear,
We were ment to be.

Just after I found you
I lost you again,
Timing was wrong,
but the ending's not blue.

I'm holding the pen,
Thinking about you,
Rewriting the story
Changing the clue.

The words are so loud,
As they scream at me,
The messagge is clear,
We are ment to be…

This is my story, the message is clear, we will find eachother, happy ending is near …

Still?

After all this time? Afer all this shit? After all the tears I've cried? After all the lies? After all the broken promises? After all the sleepless nights? After all the empty words? After all the stolen dreams? After all this ...

Are you still the owner of my smile? Do you still manage my happiness with the way you speak? Do you still control my breathing with the way you call me baby?

Only if I let you ... And something is telling me, you're not gonna get away with it this time ...

Random Love

' Simple' as that ...

Breathe me in ...

... so I can breathe you out ...

~ Istanbul Paradise 2009 ~

Growing Up

... for all those of you wondering. Yes I still have a dog and yes he is growing up, yes he still is a little angel in devil's shoes and YES he still is absolutely adorable!

Postajaš ...

... moja najslajša obsesija ...

Čas

Kako bom vedela? Kako bom vedela, kdaj sem pripravljena iti naprej. Kako bom vedela, kdaj se lahko nekomu spet prepustim, kot sem se Njej? Kdaj bom lahko iskreno izrekla tiste tri besede in jih čutila z vsakim zadržanim vdihom. Kako bom vedela, da tokrat ne bom prizadeta? Kako bom spet zaupala, brezpogojno verjela besedam, slepo sledila srcu, trdno držala roko, ki me boža? Kako bom vedela, da me taista roka nekega dne ne bo udarila ... Udarila tam, kjer najbolj boli. V krhko srž neskončno zaljubljenega človeka.

Kako veš, da si v redu? Kako veš, kdaj se za nasmehom ne skriva več globoka žalost, ki si jo tako želiš zatajiti. Koliko časa moraš nekaj ignorirati, da enostavno mine ... Kdaj nehaš bežati pred ljudmi, ki te imajo radi. Koliko časa ne dviguješ telefonov, ker je enostavno pretežko priznati, da so se iskre v tvojih očeh danes utapljale v solzah? Kako to razložiti, ne da bi s tem koga prizadel ... Kako jim pomagati, da svet vidijo s tvojimi očmi in da spoznajo, da če še vedno kdaj jokam za Njo, ne pomeni, da se ne smejem zaradi njih.

Kako bom vedela? Ko se bom lahko ozrla nazaj in se spomnila le lepih stvari? Ko bom sprejela dejstvo, da včasih dobimo mnogo manj, kot si zaslužimo? Ko bom dojela, da sem sicer bila izdana, a da me je to le naredilo močnejšo in mi odprlo mnogo drugih vrat, ki le čakajo, da stopim skoznje.

Kdaj bom vedela, da sem s tem opravila? Ko si bom priznala, da potrebujem čas. In pustila ljudem, da me imajo radi in jih imela v enaki meri rada nazaj. Brez strahu, da se bo jutri začel tako kot se je končal včeraj ...

Pushing The Right Buttons

Včasih se sprašujem, zakaj je ravno ljubezen tista, ki pri meni vedno zna pritisniti prave gumbe. Sproži najbolj iskrena čustva, me razoroži, razgali, prestraši, navduši, obnori, omreži, mi zamegli um, me razjezi, nasmeje, spravi v jok, mi vzame sapo, me naredi ranljivo, krhko, nežno in hkrati nepremagljivo. Rada sem njena sužnja, po drugi strani se je bojim. Bojim se je zato, ker vem, da me bo zopet spravila na sam rob razuma. Zanjo se bom zopet zadevala z glavo ob zid, snemala zvezde z neba, lovila sončne žarke in krotila valove strasti, da me ne bodo preveč grobo naplavili nazaj na kopno ...

Sometimes I think I am simply in love with love itself. Perfect. Just perfect. Prepričana sem bila, da bom imela po zadnji izkušnji, nekaj časa mir pred sabo, a zdi se mi, da me je tisti znani topli, prijetni veter ščemenja v trebuhu in glave v oblakih, že precej intenzivno oplazil. Love pushed the button again. Now I am wondering what does this button do ... Play safe. Is all i can do. But again, there is no such thing as safe in love.

Verjamete?

Že nekaj časa vas nisem napadala z nadležnimi 'highschool' vprašanji, zato je skrajni čas, da dam svoji radovednosti duška in na stene nalepim anketo. Soulmates. Duše dvojčice. Usodni ljudje. Obstajajo?

~ Our soulmate is someone who shares our deepest longings, our sense of direction. When we're two balloon and together our direction is up, chances are we've found the right person. ~

(Richard Bach)

~It's no coincident, that every person has more than one soulmates. ~

(Mettrie L.)

~ What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel, that they are joined ... to strenghten eachother ... to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories. ~

(George Elliot)

Komaj čakam, da izvem, ali sem res poslednji vitez usodne ljubezni, ali ljudje še vedno verjamejo v to, da za vsakega na tem planetu raste posebna roža, ki le čaka, da jo zalijete. Be honest . . .