Run-In

A Few Days Ago

I was riding my bike in Brooklyn with my friend. We were coming from our favorite vegan diner, had the best pancakes ever, and were on our way home. Suddenly, I notice a drunk guy who is cursing on the side of the road, next to his parked SUV. I don't think his rant is directed at me, but as I pass him on my bike, he jumps towards me and runs directly into my bike. 

I am screaming a weird girly scream as I am coming to a stop about ten feet further down the road. This guy gets scarier, he is still cursing. Now my friend is right next to him. Asking him what the hell he is doing. The guy then jerks his car door open, making both my friend and I think he is going to grab a knife and stab us. So we take off. 

My bike is fine. I am fine–at least I am thinking that at the moment. I am probably still a little bit in shock. This occurred on a one-way street. I am also thinking, what are the odds that a crazy guy runs into my bike? I'm upset. At least I am not hurt. As I am biking home, I am thinking that I could have fallen off my bike and into the traffic. Everything happened so fast... 

And then, after the initial shock, and the anger towards this guy, my thinking shifts. And instead of being upset, I am thinking about how lucky I am. So much more could have happened, and although I did not appreciate running into a crazy guy, nothing DID happen, so I am lucky. It's all a matter of perspective. Thank god.

I Don't Care About Latté Art

Today is Friday.

It's close to end of business day, and I take the elevator down the five stories and make my way towards the grand exit. I open the heavy cast-iron door to be greeted immediately by the city's traffic noise.

Luckily, I am not looking for the expensive coffee shops, that value latté art but not always taste. I am looking for the local coffee connoisseur–the one where you can converse about the latest great novel, read the Paris Review or the New Yorker. 

A honking howl of the first, then the second, and now the third by the traffic light, warning pedestrians–although we have the right of way–that a motor beneath their buttocks is a powerful thing, making us all impatient. 

I am reminded how brief my lunch break is and hop into the closest coffee chain, feeling like a hypocrite for not supporting a local business. Than I shrug internally, knowing there are no local businesses left in Downtown, Midtown, heck even Uptown New York City due to hungry real estate giants that are hunching over the city with their claws, swallowing up any local pride for art, and individuality, and culture, and diversity and. so. on. 

At least I will not go for fancyfied flavors that are supposed to cheat my taste buds–they beg to differ these days, at this age. I stick with a generic, boring black brew. The line is long, but I don't mind, now that I am away from the angry car honking for a minute, feeling European, knowing I will savor my coffee and not pour it down my throat, while I am hasting down the sidewalk or pasting down the stuffed streets cursing and cussing with the other drivers in a choir of city chaos. Then I notice the delighted words of a vacationer behind me.

"What is a muck-she-ah-toe?" says the cheery Dutch voice behind me to his friend. 

"I think it is something with milk." replies his American friend. 

"Oh, coffee to me is like a dessert, but I don't drink these special coffee drinks." Without looking at the man, I can tell he is smiling. 

The American friend nods politely. 

"But I like espressos, and I always put sugar in mine, so it makes it even more like a dessert. A good espresso is like my candy." The Dutch man chuckles in delight. 

Oh Europeans, I smile. We don't care about latté art or fancy-sounding flavors. 

The line moves, I grab my black coffee. The Dutch and the American are next. 

"Pardon, what is a muck-she-ah-toe?" 

I want to give the question bearer a hug. I walk out, greeted with a wave of angry traffic sounds, hush into the office building, forward looking to the simple joy of a black cup of coffee, knowing the weekend is just around the corner. Oh these small delights, what a joy they are. 

Gone Girl: Not My Type of Beer (Do Not Believe The Hype)

Warning: serious spoiler alerts!

I usually give a movie about 10-15, sometimes 20 minutes to decide if I like it. If the story doesn't grip me, or seem promising by then, I will be likely turning it off. After all, I do not like wasting my time. Of course, in theaters, it is a slightly different story. If I do encounter a bad movie, I have to stay for the simple reason that I paid for the experience and I do not like wasting my money. After all, I can at least write a blog post about it.

Gone Girl was one of those movies that I would have turned off if I had seen it on TV at home. But I was in a theater. And so I watched the whole movie. All of it. It was long. Precisely 149 minutes long. That is 2 hours and 29 minutes.

Initially, when I decided to go and see Gone Girl, I was excited. I mean why wouldn't I be. The movie had gotten just as much buzz as the book did (which I hadn't read) and everyone I know who had seen the movie praised it to the sky and back. But the excitement didn't last long.

Let me explain.

So, the movie starts with this love story developing between Ben Affleck's and Rosamund Pike's characters (Nick and Amy). They meet for the first time; he takes her for a walk and shows her an incredible sugar dust storm–how romantic; then he kisses her and puts two fingers on his chin as a token for his dedication to her or something like that. Boom. They end up moving in together; get married and then move from the city into a small town; nothing extraordinary so far. 

Next, their marriage seems to deteriorate. He looses his job which takes a toll on their relationship because of financial issues. The usual marital problems arise. Next, he is gone all the time. She doesn't get the attention she wants. Yawn. 

Now the movie begins when the plot twist we all know about comes up: On their fifth wedding anniversary, she disappears.

He has no idea where she went. So the search begins. The police suspect him after they find a speck of blood in their kitchen, but he of course if just as clueless as to her whereabouts. Witty lines are being exchanged between him and the suspicious female detective. This goes on for a while. The people in his neighborhood turns against him thanks in part to negative media coverage, and the only person who ends up standing by his side is his twin sister. (We watch this for what feels like an hour.)

Then, the movie, probably half way through, gets another turning point: Amy appears again. She is not dead! She has not been murdered by her husband. Surprise! We find out that she has framed her husband for her murder, and that she is on her way to a motel to then, in a few days, kill herself. Pretty psycho if you ask me. Now the story could be going somewhere.

I'm thinking, she must have a good reason for this, and I am eager to find out.

We follow Amy talk about her plan. How she managed to make the kitchen look like a crime scene; how she gets away unseen etc. etc. 

OK, now, lets wait for her reasoning–the chance to make this story great.

There it is. She saw him cheating on her with a woman half her age. Oh, he cheated. I'm disappointed again. Another cliché. But wait, he did not just cheat on her–it is more fucked up than that! Guess what? The moment she discovers another woman in her husbands arms, he kisses the woman and puts his two fingers on his chin in the same manner he did to her when they first met. Say what?! Nah uh!? He did not do that, did he! Yes. He did. How fu... I am being ironic here. 

That is it. That is the explanation we get: She snapped after he did the two finger thing. She plotted this whole murder. She wanted him to rot in jail for the rest of his life. She would even kill herself to execute her plan.

Oh, but then she realizes she doesn't want to kill herself, because why should she? She deserves a good life. And so she contacts an ex who believes everything she says, which is, Nick was trying to kill her and she ran away.

So this is where Gillian Flynn looses me for good. This whole time, the story is mediocre. And the hopes I have for the story to really take off and become something good is being crushed when we find out her reasoning which is just another disappointment after the other disappointments. From the point you realize the wife has plotted everything because he cheated on her–and did the fingers on his lips thing–it stays just cheesy. 

Now we get to see how crazy this character, Amy, really is. She doesn't just want to see her husband in jail, she by the way, had also framed an ex for rape before, and she uses that trick again with the other crazy ex of hers before she ends up killing him.

So... this woman has not become crazy when her husband cheated on her, or their relationship had failed. Nope, this woman was crazy to begin with.

Then, after successfully killing the ex who took her in because he believes her husband is evil, Amy returns to her town because she decides to like her husband again–since he gave TV interviews and he seemed to finally understand how a decent husband should treat her. Now he seems more likable to her. 

When she returns, Nick is not happy and hopes the world will find out what she had done to him. But, he quickly realizes no one will believe him and so he ends up staying with his phsycho-wife, who is also pregnant. He has no choice.

Why? Maybe because no one would believe him. And if he would leave her, he would pretty much be the worst person on the planet–after everything his wife had to go through–being kidnapped by her ex, who raped her, whom she killed in defense. Right, because no one will believe him, he doesn't leave!

So, in short, this movie is about a crazy lady who goes as far as framing ex's for rape. Murder. And then forces her husband to stay with her although she despises him. 

Despite the fact that the actors did OK. Despite the fact that David Fincher shot the movie, despite the fact that Gillian Flynn got to write the screenplay adaptation, this movie sucked, because the story sucked. 

Nothing about this story was believable. Nothing about this story was great. Nothing about this story was relatable. Nothing about this story was interesting enough to suck me in.

I have no clue why everybody loves it so much. Maybe after all, there is a difference between what books can do and movies often fail to do, which is really explain the depth of the characters and their complex motives. In the movie, it was all too flat for me.

This was just not my cup of tea, or as they say in Germany: this was not my type of beer.




Here is some of the incredibly bad dialogue at the end of the movie:

Beautiful Life

Sometimes

 life is so beautiful, 

thinking about it makes me want to cry

of joy, of course. 

In a twisted way it is kind of painful, too. It's so beautiful it hurts.

Note to self: 

Advice doesn't work until the person we were attempting to advise has their own experience with the issue. Then they will try to give someone else the advice that doesn't work.

Setting It Free

I did not know where to go with it. 

I took it with me. Like an invisible string that was tied around my leg. I was dragging along, tangling up in everything I passed.

I did not know where to go with it.

I scrunched it up and swallowed it.

Pushed it up under my cheeks. 

Divided it into different spots of my forehead.

Hid it in the upper area of my eye sockets.

Deposited it into one side of my skull.

Placed it in front of my eyes like fog. 

Attached it to my muscles in my lower legs.

Let it flow up and down my arms, all the way to the finger tips. 

Glued it onto my bones in both feet.

I placed it in all of those places.

Now I am consciously letting it go, for it had served its purpose.

It slowed me down. 

Made me weak.

Had me cry.

Took my voice.

Tied me up.

Paralyzed  me.

Hid the light from me. 

Made me fall. 

Stole my heartbeat. 

Good bye sadness.

Farewell fear.

I do not need you to show me the world through your tinted glass anymore. 

I accept.

I agree.

I am setting myself free. 

  

The Day My Heart Got Ripped Out

I had these reoccurring dreams ever since I left:

Something happened to you, and I was not by your side to help. It represented my biggest fear. 

The day I got the call from you my heart got ripped out, this time I wasn't dreaming.

I could not be by your side. 

I could not hold your hand. 

I could not wipe away your tears. 

I could not be there for you in your darkest hours. 

I could not cheer you up with my silly stories. 

I could not give you strength from afar.

I felt like I had failed you as your daughter. 

Love Me

Love me again,
pretend at least.
So I don't have to feel deprived.

Love me again.
Look at me please,
so I don't have to doubt again.

Love me again,
ignore my outbursts, they are only directed at myself.

Love me again,
like you did yesterday so full of passion, so boredom doesn't have to squeeze through the silent periods.

Love me again,
say these words again, so I don't have to think self-loathing thoughts.

Love me again,
come back to me so I don't have to run from myself once more.

Love me again,
turn around please, so I never have to feel alone again.

Come back to me even if it hurts,
for the pain of loss is greater.

Seek, Find, Release

Sometimes I consider myself lucky. It doesn't happen often because I am the melancholic type. I find sadness wherever I look and I like to bathe in that strong condition of consciousness. The negative seems to be more apparent to me, because it forces me to slow down. In contrast, the positive seems to pass me by. (Although I know it is just a matter of practice to be able to celebrate either end of the spectrum of feeling, I have always seemed to be able to be more reflective when I am not happy. And my plan to write – even when I am happy – is being implemented by me on a step-by-step basis.) 

So today, I felt like Christmas. Yes, I received material gifts, but they represented the genuine thought someone had for me. It lit up my heart. I decided to hold on to the warmth and continue to ride on it. It encouraged me to dig inside for something that had seemed to take my air for some time.

I recognized an emotion that I had tried to suppress, and by raising my awareness, I was able to release it. (And that was triggered by a meditation-like-experience caused by a good advice of a decent person.) There it was pouring out of me in pain. Holding on seemed easier, because I did not want to be pushed down or grant myself to have it, not realizing that that created more pressure and weight that had indeed dragged me down for a significant amount of time. Sending it out made me realize one thing: This was the first step to acceptance. And acceptance is what one needs to find peace. And peace is what we all long for. It is what I desire. 

And another day passes, and it seems like I will not have to battle inside for having sadness, but accept it, release, and let go. 

Targeting You!

The Power of Emails

I went to a clothing store the other day and got a great deal. I bought a pair of pants and a shirt for only 13.99 dollars each. I found these items in the sale section, and lucky me, that day they reduced those items an extra 30 percent as part of an additional sale. I went home, felt great about my purchase and went on about my day.

The next day, I came across an article in the New York Times titled "How Companies Learn yourSecrets," by Charles Duhigg. Initially, I was not interested in reading it, because I know companies collect data about your shopping habits and target you for them, for that reason I have become what I consider a mindful shopper. As such, I try not to volunteer information about myself to companies, and if I do, I try to ensure that I truly benefit from it. Here is what mindful shopping means for me, I almost never pass on my email address, since I abhor receiving ads and offers on a daily basis. In addition, I treat my email the same way I treat my phone number – I do not give it to companies as a customer. However, when I went to that clothing store and purchased my deal, I was asked the following, "Would you like your receipt emailed to you, or printed?" As the cashier explained, "If you need to make a return, all you have to do is tell us your email address and we can look you up." "OK great,” I replied, giving in to the mindful shopping principles I had set for myself, thinking I would not have to look for any receipts at home anymore, and I make a contribution to the environment – less paper and more trees, as well as more convenience for me. 

Whatever made me read the article after all, I am not sure, but I found myself actually finishing all of the 21 well-researched pages. The article was focusing on market research and explained via specific examples how companies use your data efficiently. And those data, I had learnt, come more than just having your email address or phone number. Marketing strategies are far advanced and determined by habits that no non-market expert could even dream to think of. Anyway, I am not here to rephrase the article for you, but after reading how companies use any information they get from me to send me coupons, emails, and other rewards really struck me. I realized how much the marketing strategy of that particular store I had visited the day prior had actually worked on me.

What initially drew me into the store, when I woke up in the morning, was an email by that store in my inbox, stating that their 30 percent off sale was going to be over after that day. Their last chance reminder made me consider visiting the store. But initially laying out in my head what I really did and did not need, I decided I was not going to go to the store. But that is not where the story ended.

Later that night, I was supposed to meet a friend for dinner. In order to kill time, when I got to the area of the restaurant, I remembered that it was dangerously close to that particular store’s location. Knowing of the sale, I decided to give it a go. After all, I had thrown my first decision over board, reconsidered it, and even ended up buying things! By giving in this one time, which surely was not the first time, I had volunteered all kinds of information about myself 1. They know that I opened their email about the ending sale, meaning I will find more of those in my inbox. 2. It lured me into the store the same day in courtesy of their last minute reminder. 3. With me agreeing to getting my receipt emailed instead of printed, they now have an electronic copy of exactly what I bought that day.

All that is valuable information these kinds of stores definitely can and will use in the future. At the time of my purchase, I had asked the cashier if this volunteering of giving her my email address was for the mere purpose of sending the receipt was, she replied, "Of course." Now, I know so much better…


A version of this post appeared in Unleash'd Magazine: Eternal Summer Issue (05/2012).

The New York Times:

Charles Duhigg is a staff writer for The Times and author of "The Power of Habit: Why We Do What We Do in Life and Business," which will be published on Feb. 28. Follow him on Twitter and on Facebook.

What is Love, Polygamy WTH?

The other night I went to bed, but I was not quiet tired enough to call it a night. So I started browsing “Netflix” for some options. I wanted to watch a TV show, because a feature length film would have been too long and it was already late. Long story short, I discovered a TV show called “Sister Wifes.” When I read the description I found out it was a TV show about a family that lives the polygamy lifestyle. I had never been interested in that topic, but I do have an inquisitive personality and always enjoy learning new things.

The family that was featured consisted of three wifes who shared one husband (but not their sex lives) and had 13 children. What I realized after watching was, that opposite of what I might have assumed before, they do not seem weird at all (aside from sharing their husband), but like a big, happy family. Their children were taken good care of, they seemed intelligent and well spoken, and although their family structure seems off or strange at first, I believe that if someone is happy outside of conventional patterns that are determined by society, and is able to create a loving and nurturing family environment, I am OK with it. A friend of mine had posted something on Facebook the other day, her status said: “The abuse rate of lesbian households is zero – I find that incredibly beautiful.”

In the New York Times, readers replied to an article called “One Big Happy Polygamous Family.” Here is what a reader named Carol Kraines said:

“Polygamy amounts to female child abuse. Girls are “given” to men at a young age, generally with minimal education. The husbands don’t believe in family planning, of course, so the girls become pregnant early and often. The husband makes the decisions about the number of wives in the household, and about every other aspect of their lives.”

I am not pro-polygamy, but what I saw on that TV show was the opposite. I must say I was surprised. I am not sure if all polygamist households are that loving, maybe they are not. One thing this family was emphasizing, was their goal to raise happy children. They also stated they would support them when they grow up, even if they did not want to follow their parents foot steps into living the same kind of lifestyle.

There is no question that any kind of abuse in any kind of family should be prosecuted, but why determining how people should live, if there is nothing wrong with it except for not being considered the norm?

My 20 Pound Heart

Natural Thoughts of a Young Woman in her late 20's


My heart is weighing twenty pounds. Although it is beating in my chest, it seems to do it a little slower today. Time is creeping by like it is walking on tiptoes, but that does not make it feel any lighter, more like a villain who is trying to hide in the night’s shadow, hoping you won’t notice it. But you notice it even more, insulting it with your thoughts.

It’s the time where one feels like one is not being productive in any kind of way. Not just for a day, but for a period of time. A phase that needs to pass by, which has not revealed yet if it is life or just temporary (which I guess is a natural thought for almost thirty year olds).

Friday night. When you usually get off around 2 AM, an earlier workday throws you off. You are asking yourself where your social life has been? As usual men are not reliable. There you are, sitting at home with your make up on, in your dress and heels, only to find out the night is a failure like so many others. Same old.

There you are, decided to call it a night. Thinking about all the people you wish around but are far more than just a continent away. Your heart knows you are in their thoughts; regardless, it is beating heavy tonight.

Bored glances into the night sky. No stars tonight, it is New York City after all. I am asking myself if I can ever just be here tomorrow – tonight it is not possible. I decided to open the pack of cigarettes I never meant to buy in the first place.

Where is she, the heroine that you wanted to be, the Lisbeth Salander, the Jeanne D’arc, the Flannery O’Connor minus the suicidal thoughts?

More glances into the sky, hastily blowing out the cigarette smoke then the final thought of the day: Should I lower my expectations in others, the world, and most importantly in myself? Tell me life. And your mind goes on dreaming of becoming a writer. That just discourages more, since everybody who is literate is a writer nowadays. Everyone has a Blog and taxi drivers are becoming special career advisers – especially for writing. What am I supposed to dream of then?

Prince, you are not helping with your “Purple Rain.” Good night, this time for real…

E M - P A T H E T I C - M E

I tasted SOLITUDE
While listening to silence
It made me HAPPY.
I have seen SADNESS
It showed in deep lines around the mouth and eyes.
It is a reflection of perfectly organized rooms.
I feel emptiness in overcrowded spaces
Why do I feel the INVISIBLE that lies hiding inside the SOUL?

Have you ever seen THANKFULNESS
In small GESTURES by someone who loves you
It’s the type of LOVE that is overwhelming to me.
I have FELT for someone I didn’t know
Like it was me.
I can feel my STOMACH PINCHING with GUILT
For chasing happiness and LEAVING OTHERS BEHIND.
I monitor thoughts that eat me from within
Because I can never be allowed to VOICE them.

Have you ever SYMPATHIZED with empathy?
I decided to marry my INTUITION
To create a HOLY UNION between BODY and SOUL.

The Personal in the Anonymity

What Facebook, Twitter and Co. can do to Personal Friendships

Postcard from PostSectret

Media experts have been debating for years whether traditional media, such as newspapers and books, are getting replaced by modern media devices, such as e-papers, e-books etc. It turns out what can apply to some devices, such as the Walkman which got replaced by the portable CD player first, and then the MP3 player, is not valid for every device. So what has long been expected by cultural anthropologists, did only come true in part, because not every device is being replaced automatically, once a new one hits the market.

We still read printed books and newspapers, while the CD player will probably be completely replaced by the MP3 or MP4 player at some point. So although people have changed, and will continue to change their consuming behaviors, someone who has been reading a printed copy of a newspaper, is not likely to change their ways about it and immediately cancel their subscription, because the e-paper version exists now. Indeed, a person who has subscribed to a printed paper version, is likely to still enjoy being able to hold the paper with one’s hands, listen to it's cracking noises with every turning page, and will still enjoy carrying their paper to work or elsewhere after browsing through it at the breakfast table. In short, new devices do not necessarily replace other traditional devices, but can contribute to changing consumer’s behavior, if the new version turns out to be more convenient than the existing one.

However, we are talking about materialistic things after all – one thing getting replaced by another thing. But, what happens if modern media phenomena reach way further into every day human behavior, and actually change people’s interaction, and dynamics of friendships and personal relationships. What happens when devices enable us to do social networking in anonymity?

Recently, I picked up a magazine with an article about “cyber jealousy,” while also coming across an article on Yahoo, which was supporting the fact that divorce rates have raised, because partners are finding out about their significant other’s affairs via their MySpace or Facebook site more often. Question is, what else does Social Media do with us?

Picture these scenarios: Hannah suddenly turns into an online stalker, and Jessy unfortunately has to view pictures of her Faince’s ex-girlfriend. Bob feels jealous, because Mindy has accepted another guy’s friend request, and Liz has actually uncovered an affair thanks to her husbands Facebook site. Users are suddenly confronted with situations that would have been avoided with real life interaction, or one-on-one communication. Jessy would have never seen pictures of her fiancé’s ex, or Bob who is not jealous in real life, would have not felt threatened by written expressions. Bob, for the sake of his relationship, decided to un-friend his partner, so that he would stop going to her page.

Besides all these changed behavioral patterns we develop, another negative side effect of more social media interaction is, that we share information about ourselves with people we never met in real life, or barely know at all. What is dangerous is, that our online friends potentially create a picture of us, that might not be true to real life, or is only true in part. Maybe Mindy seems like a player on MySpace, but in real life is a shy person who is very dedicated to her relationship.

So even if online communication seems to enable us to being more communicative, it can actually accomplish the opposite. When friends used to call each other to talk, they now shoot short messages via their online network site or cell phones. In addition, one feels like one has to keep friends updated by changing online statuses, which takes away valuable time spent giving friends a phone call the old fashioned way. Is that why more people become depressed, due to the lack of face-to-face talks?

I remember when I first got on Facebook, I found it positive that I got to know people’s last names, many which I have known for years. So in a way, it completed that part for me. In addition, it helps me keep up with friends easily, if they choose to share pictures of their vacations and anniversaries, especially since I have friends in different cities, countries, and on different continents. But, did it really enable me to network and make business? Probably less so. And honestly, it is scary what kind of information we choose to put out there, or others choose to put out there for us. We are not even in control of it at times, because it’s our friends who post pictures of us from last weekend. It scares me how many “friends” my significant other has: 941 so far. I mean, can someone really KNOW 1000 people? So if I write on his wall, 941 people, majority of who I do not know, can read it, too. Do they really have to know what we have been up to last weekend?

I have made use of the privacy settings more and really try to separate acquaintances from friends, who only get to see one of my photo albums and have no access to my wall. More friends of mine decide to delete their Facebook page altogether, mostly yearning face-to-face interaction.

I really am curios where Social Media will continue to take us years from here, and am looking forward to reading extensively researched articles about it...

I have been getting annoyed by girls who decide to un-friend everyone who is associated with their ex, who then come back and be-friend you after healing time. What do I have to do with your break up anyway, shouldn't we stick together even beyond our friendships to guys...

What is Love?

While browsing through job ads I came across the following...

Seeking Relationship Writers (New York City)

Hello! I am a recruiter for a major news website. Top 15th to be exact. We are made up of thousands of freelance writers who each contribute their own articles about topics they truly enjoy. Our writers are what make our website great, and we are looking to recruit even more! Currently we would like to hire new writers to write about relationship related topics. If interested please respond back to this ad at your soonest convenience!

Thank you!

Here is my response:

I have been in a long distance relationship for eight years, before I finally moved from Germany to New York to wed my long term boyfriend. My brother in law was kicked out of his own apartment five weeks after he had moved into the place with his girlfriend. Two of my best friends are taking a break from their marriage. My sweet friend has been cheated on her boyfriend, twice. Recently, I told one of my friends I didn't want to invest in our friendship anymore -- two months after we met -- it felt like a break up. Whether I made up these stories or not is irrelevant, don't they happen every day?

Love, isn't that what life is about? Aren't we all thriving for the perfect relationship? Aren't we all longing for a partner who honors and respects us, and makes us feel like we have just fallen in love after years together? Relationships, what are they made of? What makes them work and what makes them fail? I am not sure if we will ever find answers, but I am certain there is always something to talk about. Focusing on love from a psychological point of view, interesting. Talking to others about their experience, great. Do these famous people have it figured out? As William Shakespeare said in Midsummer nights dream "Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind," and Mother Theresa states "The hunger for love is much more difficult to remove than the hunger for bread," while Albert Einstein claims, "Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love."

As you can tell, I do not like standard cover letters!

Last day!

My 6-month training program at Shopwiki ended today.

Here is my very last post. Now I am looking at weeks of time for reading, writing, working out, reflecting, relaxing etc...

Link to some of my guides. *Some have been edited and added to after I finished them, which in some cases adds content and spelling mistakes I haven't approved or made.

My top guides:

Your first Christmas with the parents in-law

Turning Into a Gym Lover if You are the Outdoorsy Type

Fatih Akin Movies

Arthouse Cinema

Phsychothriller

How to Deal with Winter Depression 


One sample outfit I put together to wear with a camel coat, I would wear that!

Moving...

To a New Place in LIFE

Moving to a new place is a BIG deal. Moving in New York specifically is a BIG deal. I spoke to a woman in her 50's from San Diego, who helped her daughter find a place in Manhattan, who said t hat it was harder than buying million Dollar properties in Cali. While I almost gave up on our "dream place", her words -- as discouraging as they could have been -- they reassured me by proving that taking time and demanding all kinds of additional documents from a potential tenant, making them feel like chances are really low, is not out of the ordinary.

Now, three weeks after looking at this apartment, we are all moved in. It is my third night here and I am still getting used to it. At every slight sound, I am looking around, trying to find out where it came from. Fidel, our cat, is doing the same. I almost feel guilty realizing that it is taking him a while to get used to it, too. He has not been eating as much as usual and he is mostly hiding, preferably behind the couch or in the bed room. I wonder how long it will take us to feel completely comfortable. The apartment is great. It already looks awesome, with little furniture we had. It feels like a home, it is wonderful; yet, it is a new environment that just takes time to adjust to.

While I am getting used to it, I am thinking about how exciting changes are. Doing new things is inspirational. It gives me more energy, it makes my creativity flow. It reminds me of how quick we live in the status quo; it shows me how much our brains need to be stimulated.

Delay. Writer's block. Thinking. Stuck. Maybe. None.

Sorry for taking my time.
I will get back to make this a regular thing, although I do not have to comment on every little thing that is going on in the world unlike alot of other madia outlets out there e.g., a two year old chain smoking, or Lindsay Lohan and her latest court appearance. And despite the fact you will not find many personal things on here, what has been going on lately is this:

I went here,
started working there,
to write these,
and this one.
While I am still trying to get to know myself,
and figuring out cultural differences between
here,
and
there...

I ♥ New York

City Stories: Danny and the Homeless



Image by Francis Joseph

Rainy day, umbrellas turn over, bump into each other, poke one another. The usual crowded subways, which on days like these seem even more unpleasant. The cramped up cars become cramped up with people’s somber moods very much influenced by the grey skies. On New York trains, people never look you in the face--at least not the locals. But some have a hard time looking away, trying not to meet anybody else’s eyes, like me. However, it seems like a part of New York’s culture, and maybe it is an American thing--one looks away, trying to be extra discrete.

New Yorkers spend a lot of time on the subway, and half its riders bring along a book or paper or magazine to read to make time pass. Luckily I had my book when I heard the following.

“ Hi my name is Danny, I used to get paid until I lost my job because I broke one shoulder. Since I am from Brazil I don’t see no food stamps, no welfare, nothing. Basically I have no money to pay for food or rent, so if you could help out with a dollar, a quarter, a dime, anything will help, thank you, god bless you.”

When people hear words like that, they usually try not to look. Sometimes it makes you shrug when someone yells out something like that while you are really into your book. Danny had a very loud, strong, almost intruding voice. I felt disturbed and was glad I had my book, since it becomes harder not to look up when someone is soliciting on the train. Danny looked like he was a young man in his mid twenties. I noticed his neatly shaped beard. I was wondering how he affords rent now, and why he would not find work that would not demand his shoulder. I didn’t know if that was a fair thought or not.

Danny passed me, collected some coins, which I heard pinging into his cup, and I went back to my book.

Minutes later another man enters the subway car. His appearance differs greatly from Danny’s. He is not very tall, his hood covers most of his face, he has a wildly grown full beard and his clothes are baggy and dirty. His voice is soft and way quieter.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am homeless looking for help. If you can assist me with some money or food, it would be greatly appreciated. Thank you, sorry to disturb.”

Out of the sudden another voice raises.

“You should learn how to juggle”, says a tall man in a black long coat and jeans.

“What?”

“You should learn how to juggle. People usually have to work in order to earn money for food, so if you learn how to do something, too, people are willing to pay you for your efforts.”

“Ok, I will try”, said the homeless man quietly and strove along through the subway car.

I could not help but be surprised at both men reactions. Although I feel like the guy had a point to what he was saying, he sounded kind of rude. Regardless, the homeless guy did respond politely and sounded like he would actually take learning to juggle into account.

I was thinking that Danny’s approach was wrong, too intrusive. Unfortunately, we are too used to homeless people asking for money on trains; therefore, different approaches could definitely be refreshing and enable someone to raise more money. At the same time, people are really in need, and I don’t know who would feel like entertaining a crowd on an empty stomach, after a possible cold, sleepless night outside…

Brain Stimulation

Homage to... MUSIC




Sometimes I need music to get by, usually when I’m feeling blue. Other times I am trying to distract myself from my surroundings with music--usually happens on public transportation when involuntarily sharing public sphere with people I otherwise would try to avoid. Or I am feeling a certain mood that I want to be complemented by it's musical match. Music is an all round tool for different scenarios I once in a while face. It is a carrier through my inner journeys, good and bad, and without it, I know I wouldn’t find life as pleasurable. In fact, I do not think I would have been the person I am without music in my life, which I once felt like I needed daily.

When I was in my teens, I was able to fall asleep to trash metal. Not because I did not care about what I was listening to, but because I was listening so intensely, focusing on the different components of a song, such as the double bass, or the guitar riffs and strumming, the lyrics, or the way it’s been sung that at some point I would get tired and fall asleep.

Those were times, where everyday I would shuffle through songs from every genre my ipod provided me with. I would wake up to music by my radio alarm clock, then commute to college with music accompanying me, often fading out people’s early morning conversations which I was allergic to, and continued listening to my songs until I got to my lectures and finally settled down to reconnect to the world outside of me by removing the earbuds and opening up to the world outside again.

Until my early teens I would even listen to music while working on homework assignments. Throughout college I noticed it changed, probably because my assignments required a bit more attention. And gradually, I began listening to music less. Nowadays, at the end of my twenties, the way I consume music has drastically changed.

I do not listen to music everyday anymore. Sometimes there can be a whole week without listening to it. I mean, yes, there would be the radio playing in the background, but that has little to do with really listening to music. Today, I need a good sound system to enjoy music. I can lose myself listening over headphones for hours, or play it at home over my speakers. I hate flat sounding systems, and when I visit friends and family who do not own somewhat decent speakers, I almost want to pity them and tell them to turn the music off. After all the artist and producers created their music in a certain way, therefore if you are not listening to it in the proper way, which means a decent sound systems that allows you to hear the depths of the song, it is not the same anymore.

When I was younger I could have never imagined to not listen to music everyday.
Now, I need my quiet more. Now, I need to listen more intensely, and now, it has an even greater effect on me then it ever had. Music you are a great friend, and I would never want to be without you!

Right now, I am listening to Jimi Hendrix’ “Watchtower” on Youtube. That video was last commented with “Chewing Gum Stimulates the Brain”--which I first thought was hinting to Hendrix’ drug addiction, and was more of an appeal (I thought that would have been kind of funny)--turns out the comment means exactly what it says, no ambiguity, no hinting to long gone Hendrix and his addiction, just someone who wanted to add something random. On that note, let me just add the following: I find that music stimulates my brain, and the best thing about it is, I can choose when I want to be stimulated. Music to me, IS THE GREATEST DRUG I NEVER WANT TO CURE MY ADDICTION TO!

Do You Make Style, or Does Style Make You?

Last week, I was told I can wear anything from casual sporty, to sexy and wild. People have been telling me, they like my style. To me, it is a great compliment; yet, I am wondering what the word "style" really means, and what it implies, when someone tells you "you got style".

Merriam Webster dictionary delivers the following definition of style a: the state of being popular:(fashion) clothes that are always in style; b: fashionable elegance; c: beauty, grace, or ease of manner or technique (an awkward moment she handled with style).

This definition is partly true. Style has to do with aesthetics, so in a way, it can be considered as something beautiful. But what I consider beautiful does not mean you do, too--beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. If someone carries themselves with style, they could (emphasize on could...!) be carrying themselves in a graceful manner, probably because they feel comfortable in their clothing. However, does style really have to do with fashion? And does being in style, really mean the clothing one wears while being stylish, have to be fashionable?

Aren't fashion and style two completely different things? While style can be influenced by fashion--something that is currently in style--one can still be stylish, without the fashion. Gwen Stefani serves as one example for someone who can be in style, but doesn't necessary have to make use of fashionable gadgets. Stefani is the perfect example of what style is beyond fashion. She does not use fashion, but makes use of whatever she thinks suits her and creates her own style. Therefore, style is not necessary synonymous with fashion but with individuality.

A friend of mine, Don Brodie, a current photography student at Parsons in New York, who specializes in Fashion Photography (he just went to New York Fashion week to cover some events backstage) says the following about style and fashion, "Fashion for me is a universal language. Whether someone wants to admit it or not, they are bout fashion. It is an identifier, it is how one defines them self. Style is the "." [bottom line] in fashion. It starts with the fashion which is a mass produced thing (at least to most of us). Style is adding your own flair and creating your individual voice."

If fashion is mass produced and set by the designers who create the pieces, do they make your style, or is style then, what we make of it as individuals. I think style is is about identifying what works for you. Or could we all wear what Stefani rocks?, probably not. Style makes you who you are as an individual, and you make style by expressing your individuality.



She: Hey girl!

She 2: Hey!

She: Damn, I love your outfit, you really know how to work it girl. (Man, I would never wear that...).

She 2: Thank you! I like your's too. (Gosh, she got no style...)

She: Thank you. We should go shopping together sometime.

She 2: Yes, we should. (Man, I would not go shopping with you, you just want to steal my style...) All right, I'll give you a holler. Later! (Nah, I won't call her).

She: All right. (Damn, she got guts wearing that shit...)