What happened?!

My Wattpad Account was closed. Not by me but by them. And to be honest, I don’t understand why. I have been a member for a long while, even though I didn’t post anything new anymore. I only replied to a handful of comments every week, didn’t engage, and didn’t read anything even though my stories had many reads and votes from different people. It was a reason why I did not delete the account, I kept it around without engaging much, knowing that my words were read and that they were entertaining the readers.

Yesterday, I had a message that the account was closed due to a violation of the guidelines. I read the guidelines and everything I could find, but nothing explained why my account was closed.

I decided to send a ticket/inquiry, asking politely why my account was closed.

I should have known that I would get a generic reply pointing me towards the guidelines. The thing is, none of it applies to me.

Part of me thinks that I should just let it go, shrug and move on. But my pride is bruised because of false accusations. I feel that I need to set it right. But how?!

I met some very awesome people on Wattpad. For a while, I spent every day on that site, communicating with other users, supporting each other’s writing, giving and receiving advice…

There was also always a lot of drama on that site, that’s why I pulled back more and more until other things became more important and I seldom logged in to that site. And yet…

It’s the end of an era, and it was not by choice. I did not violate any guidelines cited in the picture above (that is part of the email I received after inquiring the closing of my account…) but now that the account is closed, I cannot provide any evidence that I didn’t.

What irks me is that I was not an active member. This week, I received several spam messages, and I replied to a couple of comments – I had not done that in a while, and now, the account is closed. Coincidence?

I keep repeating myself… I am quite emotional about this because it feels wrong and unfair. My stories do not deserve this… I do not deserve this.

But I need to accept it and I cannot do anything to change it, because how can I prove that I was acting within the guidelines when everything is gone?

Very weird indeed…

Taking my headache to bed now. Goodnight ✨⚡✨⚡✨⚡

Before I go to bed…

A song by the very talented and very underrated T E Morris. A year in the wilderness from the Long Distance Runner EP (2014)

It was Tom’s birthday yesterday…

Goodnight xx

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My soul is pulled over hills, land, and seas to kiss your dreams. I push the fear out of your mind and make you feel. I was born to be your muse. I was destined to show you how to heal and how to love.

Oddities

I love thunderstorms and rain that soaks you to the bone. I love music and having a pint or 5 with people I like. I love having my daughter Amalia around and sharing all of this (except for the beer) with her.

And tonight, we had it all. We went to a small town festival where there was good local food, local beer and champagne, and music. A U2/Coldplay Coverband was playing.

I drank and I sang and I danced… I didn’t care about anyone looking… I had a good time. Usually, I would have held back because there were so many people i know, but not tonight.

And then I noticed lightning in the sky. The wind picked up, and we decided to leave. In the car, I already said to Amalia and my dismayed husband, that I would stay outside and enjoy the rain and the wind and the thunder. And that is exactly what I did.

Perhaps it is very odd or strange (I don’t know the right word right now) but I feel happy. The mix of all of this made me very happy and serene. And that means something because most of the day, I was irritable.

Red White (light)Blue – luxembourgish colours

I know, most people don’t understand the feeling of dancing in the rain and loving the storm on your face… It’s just wow… And I am happy my youngest can see (or feel) it too. 🌧️ 🌩️ 😍

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She is swimming with the stars and dancing in the rain
There is music in her ears and a smile on her lips
She feels free; for two moments released from her cage
Flying away on the wings of a stranger's dreams

Coming home

My aunt passed away, my father’s sister died of cancer last Monday. The funeral was held today. (I never know if it is burial or funeral…)

The following post is about me, not about memories or any such but about me and my feelings and emotions today. If that is too self-centered, don’t read on. I just felt the need to point that out.

When I was a child, before my parents got a divorce (I was barely 10 when their divorce was final), as a child, I spent a lot of time at my aunt’s house. Almost every Sunday we spent there and some vacations too. (notably when my mom was in hospital – but I had no idea about that back then…)

I did not speak any Italian as a kid, but I notice more and more that the time spent with the Italian family taught me the language. To this day, I understand most of what is said, if not spoken too fast. The language barrier was quite significant when I was a kid, but she learned Luxembourgish somehow (I guess it was because of her kids), and it got easier.

There are a couple of things I remember about my Zia Maria. Her laugh and the way she smiled. Often a bit mischievous. Playing Bingo at her house. To this day, I love playing Bingo. Eating peanuts after lunch.

After a Sunday lunch, the table would be cleared, and entire peanuts (in their shell) would be spread on the table. Along, there was coffee and espresso and limoncello. As a kid, I did not have coffee or limoncello, but I remember the ritual.

I avoid funerals; we all do, I think. But Zia’s passing triggered something inside, and there was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to be there to pay my respect and say goodbye.

And so, I went there. All alone. I don’t like going to these things alone; there is no security blanket when you are alone. I did it anyway. I am a grown woman; I am capable of doing things like this…

When I arrived at the cemetery, many people were there. I spotted a cousin I hadn’t seen in 15 years and recognised my godmother, uncles, and cousins. I kissed and hugged them all tightly. And it felt good. Right. Even without having seen some of them in many, many years.

I spotted my dad and went to greet him. He had no idea I would be there and broke down when I hugged him. My sister had informed me about the loss he was feeling, and she also told me about the funeral. Due to work, I was not sure I would be there, and she did not tell our dad that there was a possibility of me showing up. I could tell that he was happy to see me, relieved that we (my sister, her mom, me, and him) were a unit. We were there to support each other. I made sure to give him many hugs because I felt that he needed it, and he did. “Mia figlia” (my daughter) he introduced me to everyone. My beautiful daughter he kept saying.

I said my condolences to my cousins who just lost their mom, and here too, there were hugs and crying and consolation. Keep in mind, I have not seen most of them in 15 years!

It was a very intense, emotional afternoon.

When I sat in my car to drive home, I sent a voice message to my older sister – she lives in Germany and couldn’t come (she never comes to Luxembourg, but that’s a different topic). I told her what happened, who was there, and how people reacted. And I also told her that today felt like coming home. It felt like being somewhere I fit in. There was such a welcoming warmth in every hug and every kiss, and every year today, it was overwhelming. I never felt anything like this.

It was a funeral, but I felt like coming home. And that was exactly what Zia would have wanted. She always wanted her family around her. She wanted everyone to get along, and there was no problem that couldn’t be solved with freshly brewed coffee or homemade limoncello.

I was surprised by the intensity of my own feelings today, but I am grateful that they exist. I was tempted to make up excuses not to be there today, and I would not have been missed. But I was there, and it was appreciated. And I learnt a lot about family today.

This afternoon, I came home. I am not sure where I will be living and how long I can stay, but tonight I am.

Is it very weird to have such a positive feeling after such a sad day?

RIP Zia Maria. Your smile and the sound of your laughter will always be with me. ❤️💜❤️💜❤️

Saturday Song

Temple of the Dog – Hunger Strike (1991)

Temple of the Dog was band with members of different groups. Today, it is regarded as a supergroup with members of Soundgarden and Pearl Jam.

The self-titled album was recorded in late 1990 and released in April 1991. I stress this, because Pearl Jam and Eddie Vedder only released their first album in August 1991 and had their real breakthrough in 1992 when “Jeremy” was published.

The above song was shared with me this afternoon… Eddie Vedder and Chris Cornell 😍🥰

Saturday morning musings

Trigger warning: self-harm

The heat does weird things to me… My mind and thoughts work even weirder than they already do.

While having a cup of coffee, I saw my self-harm scars for the first time in a while. I mean, I see them all the time, but I saw them.

I am an eccentric person, there is no use denying that. Even when I self-harm(ed). Every scar is a reminder. It is a mark of this or that happening. There is the scar that reminds me of that weekend in October. There is the scar that reminds me of the pain when Jamie passed away. There are the scars that remind me of my twin flame. The scar for Paulo and the scars that remind me of my teenage years and the pain I couldn’t deal with. There is the scar from my lowest moment ever. There is the scar that my grandma mocked “if you want to kill yourself, you need to cut your wrist and not your arm. But you are too stupid for that too”. There are the scars from being overwhelmed with life.

Every mark on my arms has a reason to be there.

I am under the impression that they are more visible right now, maybe because I’ve got a tan, or they are swollen from the heat, I don’t know…

What I do know is that I am not ashamed or embarrassed by them. I am not hiding them. The scars on my skin are telling my story. Silent, without screaming and without being flashy.

I believe that I am a person with many layers to peel away, but I am very picky who gets to see and peel those layers away. It’s hard for me to trust and be open with people, but once I am, I am 100% me. And it’s not easy to handle me… I am Very aware of that.

Anyway… These were my weird thoughts over a cup of coffee this morning. 😘

I am what I am and what I am needs no excuses

Stream of thoughts

I follow a person on Twitter who keeps ranting about Ed Sheeran and his lack of talent.

I often think to myself why he has to hate this publicly, why doesn’t he simply ignore the man and his music and go on his merry way.

I have no answer to that. And I will not ask him, either. It’s his right, although I think it bothers on bullying. If you recognise yourself here… Don’t feel bad and please forgive me, it simply inspired a post.

Truth is, there is a very popular musician I don’t like either. I change the channel or scroll past posts about him. That’s my choice.

At the same time, I know that this artist is very talented, his songs are layered and even Rick Beato has good things to say about him.

Are you wondering who I am talking about? Well, I am talking about the man who is “looking for something dumb to do” and who says to girls that he will “leave a door open” while he catches a “grenade” for them. Maybe he just puts me in an “uptown funk”… You get the drift, I am talking about Bruno Mars. He is a talented man, no question about that, but he makes me change the radio station and that has been like this for years.

The point is, music is subjective and it doesn’t matter if a song was written by 20 people or by 1… If it reaches you on a personal level, then it achieved what it was supposed to do.

Okay, well, I am a music nut, a hypocrite, maybe, and it does matter to me how many people wrote one song, but again, music is subjective.

Yesterday, my daughter interviewed me about music. It was for a school project. The goal is to see if kids are influenced by the music their parents listen to.

I revealed everything. From my first favourite band being East 17 and that was also my first concert. To my first ever bought CD (Depeche Mode) or LP (Olafur Arnalds) or Cassette (Milli Vanilli) and my favourite (surprisingly, Hurts) or worst (Biffy Clyro) live gig. I was made to talk about favourite songs (running up that hill, brothers in arms, 1963, comfortably numb) and the music I like that no one would expect me to like (Otis Redding).

All this brought a YouTube party on – because we listened to all the songs I mentioned. But it also raised new questions: why do you own the entire discography of only 3 artists? (Anathema, Depeche Mode, Böhse Onkelz)

What’s the most expensive album in your collection? (U2 – Joshua Tree, signed)

What’s the least favourite album? A reggae collection – I am not a fan of reggae

Why do you still buy CDs? Because I love holding music in my hands and reading the booklets or sometimes, simply because I know that I am buying from an independent artist and if I buy from them directly, they get more money.

Do you support artists differently? Patreon and Bandcamp. I could do more, for sure, but yeah, no.

What did your parents listen to? Chris Rea (mom), Pink Floyd, Genesis (dad)

Why do you love music so much? (Bonus question) Because it makes me feel at ease, helps me to channel my emotions and to focus. It is also a source of understanding and of inspiration.

It was a very intense talk that morphed into a conversation about faiths, believes and religions.

I am rambling…

All this to say, I love music and without it, I would probably not exist anymore. ❤️

English/British readers, help me out, please.

I read that refugees from Syria, Albania, Iran (…) will be expelled from the UK to Rwanda. They can ask for asylum in Kigali, but not in Europe. It’s like outsourcing asylum seekers to a country where they are not safe and where their rights are cut for the sake of it.

My information is limited, no questions asked, but is this right?

Why does an Albanian person who illegally came to the UK from France – why is this person expelled to Rwanda and not back home to Albania?

I am not asking for a debate, but I am asking for people to explain it to me, because, I really don’t understand this and I’d like to…

Thank you.