Three years ago I was bold enough to go to a guy, give him a tiny piece of paper with a compliment in a bar. However, I wasn't brave enough to actually say something. Or even stay for 5 minutes for a quick chat. Nonetheless, three years fast forward I am as happy as I have ever been. And this time next year I will be married. If someone had told me that this would be my life 3 years ago, I would have laughed. I had a plan which didn't involve boys at all.
I used to have this app Bookout which encourages you to look into reading just like into any workout - you have to commit and do your part. It's supposed to help to track your reading, provide stats and bunch of other info which turns reading into a game. For some weird reason, all my books and data disappeared and I decided to store info about my home library somewhere more secure. While doing that, I realized how many books I have and how many are still untouched. So, I decided I would read all the books that I own before buying/borrowing anything new. And damn. It's a hard job.
So, when you're an expat, you have to overcome many different challenges - starting from setting your account (which can be as exhausting as crusades) ending with finding new friends. And once in a while, you realize how much you miss your food. It's nothing much, usually something extremely trivial but almost impossible to get in the current country.
Whenever you visit someone's house, one of the things that catch your eyes is a fridge. Even though it's the same metal box safeguarding one of the most precious things in the world - food - it's completely different in every home. For some reason, often this simple box becomes a memory box. A box with memories that stares at us every single day.
I have two loving and caring parents. Sadly, that doesn't mean that they are great parents. They wanted me to be smart, independent, self-confident and kind. Surprisingly, because of our relationship, I feel neither of these things. My friends, partner have to constantly reassure me that I am worth at least something that I would believe only for a fraction of a second. So, my question for the past few months is this - how do the loving, caring parents ruin a kid so much that the only feelings I have are guilt, shame, and remorse?
I am a very dramatic AND categorical person. In my life there is only love and hate, there is no room for "sort of like it, but not really". My partner simply hates it, especially if we are arguing. "If you don't like the way I am saying, I won't tell you anything" happens way too often in my life. And this one of my favorite things about me and the thing that I hate about myself the most.
When I starting dating, I had no idea how much being in relationship would change me and my understanding of the world. I have not only found my rock and true supporter, but becam stronger and more dependent than ever. It's rather strange combination, isn't it?