Tag: thoughts

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remembrance

I came across your blog today. It’s frozen in time. Your last post was published Nov. 27th 2020. A few short weeks later you left us forever. I clicked the link because I longed for your voice. It was always like a warm hug, even when you were terminally ill. There was humour and sarcasm and not everyone got it. Some people are easily offended. You always knew that I wasn’t one of them. That’s why I got to read your mature pieces too.

You were my mentor. I don’t easily attribute that role to anyone, but for you it was true. When I was ready to disappear and give everything up in 2018, you hunted me down and found me on FB. You convinced me to keep writing, to persevere. You helped me find my voice and be okay with sitting in my niche. I don’t write modern poetry, never did. I write from the soul and you understood that before I did. I remember how I tried to fight it and to tell you that I was just another young bored housewife, but you didn’t allow me to celebrate my pity party. You stood up for me, for my voice when I couldn’t. I could never forget that and I will be grateful. Always and forever.

I’d like to believe that you are proud of me, of my writing, but also of the woman I became. You once said you love every inch of me. It was not meant to be suggestive, not really. What you meant was that you liked my mind, my way of thinking, even when I was overthinking. And I loved you back just as much.

I came across your blog today because I wanted to see how many are inactive. Too many to count. I unsubscribed from them all. But I cannot and will not unsubscribe from yours. I was wrapped in a blacket of grief that was completely unexpected. I think about you often, always with a smile. The smile is there now too, but so is the hole you left that will never be filled. No one was and no one will ever be like you Robert. Next week you will be gone for 5 years.

Thank you Batman

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The edges of me

I notice things I don’t always want to notice. Tiny things. A tone that slides a little too soft. A smile that doesn’t match the eyes. A pause that wasn’t there yesterday. I don’t look for these things. They just appear. And once they’re there, they don’t leave. I used to think this made me difficult or overly sensitive, but maybe it just means I’m awake. I’ve learned the hard way what it costs me when I ignore my own instincts.


I don’t mind quiet. I don’t mind distance. I don’t even mind secrets as long as they’re honest. What I can’t stand is the small twist in someone’s voice when they say something they don’t mean. That shift. That dishonesty. It sits in my stomach for days. I hate lies. I hate liars. Not dramatically. Just deeply. Quietly. Because it feels disrespectful. And because I can’t unknow what I’ve seen. And because I deserve more. Simple as that. I deserve more.


I don’t reveal everything about myself. Never. Only few people get to see the whole of me, and even they tend to misinterpret me. People think I share all of me all the time, but they mistake openness for honesty. They’re not the same. I play my cards close to my chest. I always have. Not to be manipulative, but because I trust slowly. Suspiciously. And sometimes I trust too quickly when I shouldn’t. There is no perfect logic to it. I read people well, but I still get surprised. And I hate surprises. They are scary. I like to think I’m emotionally intelligent. And yet I can be naive at the worst moments. Both can be true.


I protect people. Even when they don’t ask. Even when they shouldn’t need it. Sometimes I protect them from my own intensity. Sometimes from their own chaos. I used to argue everything. Now I let some things die quietly because they’re not worth the wound. I used to be impulsive and quick to react. I still am, just underneath a layer of restraint that people confuse with coldness. I think before I react and weigh my words carefully. My heart often beats too fast. My mind moves too quickly. No one sees that. They see the surface. They assume the surface is the whole story.


I am impatient. I am too strict with myself. I’m harder on myself than I admit, mostly because I know what I’m capable of doing wrong. I forgive too easily. I forget nothing. I want closeness but need space. I want connection but hate when someone reaches for me with hands that aren’t clean. I trust slowly but fully. I’m soft until I’m not. I’m suspicious even when I’m safe. I forgive things from people that I can’t reconcile in myself if I did the same. Contradictions everywhere. I stopped trying to make them fit.


And somewhere in all of that, there is a line I don’t cross: I don’t pretend. I don’t bend myself into shapes to make anyone more comfortable. Not anymore. I’m honest, but measured. I won’t use the truth to hurt unless someone pushes me into a corner. And even then, I don’t lash out. Not because I’m not passionate, but because some things happen for reasons I don’t always understand in the moment. What good does it do to argue something you don’t understand? I’d rather hold my ground quietly than fight blind. Some fights are not worth the wounds and the aftermath. And I respect people too much to hurt them on purpose. I won’t lie to make someone feel better either. There is a middle ground, not always obvious, but it is there.


If you asked me who I am to others, I wouldn’t know what to say. It depends on the day, the history, the context. People see versions of me. I see the whole thing; my whole self. And it is messy, and ugly sometimes. But it is mine.


There is one part of me that doesn’t shift with the rest, one part that holds everything together so I don’t disappear into pieces: integrity.
Not the loud kind.
The quiet kind.
The steady thread running through all my contradictions.
The part that keeps me aligned even when everything else in me pulls in different directions.


I am who I am because I was who I was. Think about it. You will understand that you are too.

Amor Fati.

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not everywhere, but somewhere

Recently, I’ve been seeing more and more posts—maybe because Threads has neatly wrapped me in its little bubble, from writers, bloggers, poets, and authors grappling with their social media presence. They’re searching, hoping, trying to find an audience, throwing their words out into the world, and getting frustrated when they’re met with silence.

What strikes me most is that many of these people have far more followers than I do (four or five times as many, at least). And yet, their frustration feels so familiar. It makes me wonder.

I often complain about being invisible too. But if I’m honest, I know why I am. I’m not everywhere. I don’t scatter myself across every platform. I’ve tried Medium, Substack, Bluesky, the list goes on. Each time, I realised they weren’t for me. So, I left. Quietly. No dramatic exits or lengthy explanations – just the understanding that those spaces didn’t feel right.

It’s how I left Facebook. It’s how I let go of X (Twitter). It’s how I walked away from LiveJournal, Wattpad, and a handful of other places that have faded into memory.

Would things be different if I were more social? Maybe. But would I still feel like me?

Creating has always come naturally to me. It’s a flow, a rhythm that ebbs and surges but never truly dries up, even when it feels that way. But the weight of constantly performing, of curating myself to be seen, would stifle that natural flow. It’s not the act of creating that would suffer – it’s the joy of it.

And yet, I’m not immune to the chase.

Sometimes, I want an audience. Sometimes, I want more readers, more likes. That dopamine rush, that fleeting moment when the world pays attention? It’s addictive. Of course, I write for myself first and foremost, but let’s not pretend otherwise: when I share something, especially poetry, I want it to be read. I want someone to connect with my words, to resonate with them, to feel seen and understood.

I see all the advice for “growing an audience.” Post this way. Share that way. Be consistent. Be bold. Be everywhere. But here’s my truth: I can’t do those things, not without sacrificing my integrity. If I did, I’d lose my authenticity, the core of who I am as a writer. And that matters to me. Deeply.

At the end of the day, maybe my thoughts don’t matter. Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things. But they matter enough to me that this post has a place on my blog. Because there’s no one in my day-to-day, face-to-face life who would understand these feelings. And so, I write this here, hoping the void isn’t as empty as it sometimes seems.

I’m learning this: it’s less about being everywhere and more about being somewhere. Fully. Genuinely. It might be less glamorous, but it’s also less exhausting.

Flaws, typos, weirdness, and everything in between. This is where I am allowed to be me. Heard or not. A safe place. For me. And for you too.

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randomness

Yesterday, I went to a wedding again. I think most of my friends, acquaintances and family members are married now. Apart from my younger sister, but she has time and no one needs to marry anyway – it’s a very personal decision after all.

It is nice to be at all these ceremonies. But it also makes me remember my own wedding and how much I would change it today. But times were different 17 years ago. And we were different too. I was 24 when I got married. Patrick was 29. But we already had our son, we had a house…

Anyway…

I think we were older when we were young.

It sounds weird, but I think now that our kids are all teenagers (14, 15, 19), we can be young again too. We had many responsibilities when we were young and they made us feel old or live an old life. Dynamics have changed lately. And that’s nice. We live like roommates right now. The teenagers do their own laundry and their own cleaning. Often (during the summer holidays) they also do their own cooking. And still. We have one meal a day together. If possible, all 5 of us. We laugh and talk a lot. We often have philosophical talks too during dinner. I like that. I like to hear their thoughts and their views on life and everything. And still, I am still their mom, they still come to me when something is not right and I still spoil them with one on one time. With 3 kids it is important that they can be on their own with a parent at times. It’s something we always did. Partly because they had and have different interests and needs, and partly because they deserve to be heard without their siblings present.

The wedding yesterday was very nice. And I felt very good too. That’s not always the case at social gatherings. I often don’t fit. It was different yesterday. It started with the fact that I had a good morning. My best friend helped choose my dress (via pictures). And from there, everything fell into place. My hair was easy to style. I simply put it up and the right curls fell out. It was not planned like that, I actually just put the hair in a clip when I applied my makeup. But it looked good and I kept it that way. The dress looked beautiful on me too. In my day to day life, I only wear black. I like it that way. And have for many years. But you don’t wear black to a wedding. And so, over the years, I assembled a collection of more colourful dresses. Yesterday, I had 3 to choose from. All of them had never been worn before. One was white with purple patterns all over. Very flowy and airy. One was teal. The cloth is like a tshirt made of jersey, and it was a very simple dress too. The last one was orange at the top and had a colour gradient that turns into dark blue. Flowy and airy too.

My best friend suggested that one. It was also the one I had in mind, even though I was worried it would be too flashy. After all, when I tried it on for the first time and Patrick saw it, he said I looked like a fluorescent text marker. So… I was dressed in my orange dress, with a very colourful little clutch. Blue watch (Bering) on the right wrist, my bracelet that I always wear on the left. Flat black sandals and blue nail polish. I looked good. And I felt confident too. I think it showed.

My eyes are closed in the photo, but apparently my smile makes up for that – that’s what I’ve been told. And yes, the dress really empathizes my chest.

I completely lost the plot here… I have no idea what I wanted to write and communicate in the first place.

I am 41 one now. I have the same life I had when I was 30, except that I am working now. I still have the same interests (music, writing, movies). But I also think that I am more settled now. A bit more confident in myself. A bit less moody. A bit more content. And maybe that comes with age.

A couple years back (2 years, actually) I felt old and all wrong. Because of my (on-going) shoulder issues, I had changed jobs in quick succession which made me feel like a failure in many ways. I was unsure which way to go and how to go on. Then I started a job that I needed to finally find closure. It’s there that I understood that my age and the many jobs I had were assets. Experience is an asset. And my entire outlook changed. 1 year ago I dared to take my current job as a preschool teacher. And I love it. Every moment of it (apart from the long long summer holidays – they make me restless).

Living means evolving. It means embracing change. It also means embracing the past, because everything happens for a reason, and every step we take leads us somewhere. We might not always like where we are. We might fight it. But in the end, we always learn from situations and experiences. We grow. And isn’t that a gift?!

I think, I need to be more grateful for everything I have. I tend to forget from time to time that I have a rather comfortable life.

Have a great Sunday ☀️

I will do what I often do. Reading, listening to music, texting back and forth with the people I love, and reminding myself to keep breathing.

(PS: today I am wearing black again)

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remembering August – a throwback post

I am up early today. I already cleaned the kitchen, put in a load of laundry, and had a cup of coffee outside. I am on my second cup now. Quite mundane.

This morning, I got a notification telling me that there is a new subscriber on the blog, yesterday I received the same notification. I just wanted to take a moment to welcome you both.

It also gave me the idea to browse the blog and share what I have been up to in the last decade on here. Decade? Yes, it’s going to be 12 years on this journey and there are no signs of stopping.

Okay, so what has happend on or around an August 23rd on this blog since 2012? Here goes:

2012 : nothing. The blog’s birthday is in December 🙂

2013:

don’t let me die

2014:

frozen heart

2015:

Fragmented Thoughts

2016:

Callous Whispers

2017:

Throwback
This one is like inception: a post in a post in a post. It’s nice though, very much in the gist of what I am writing currently

2018:

drunken poetry

2019:

2020:

Sunday Scribbles #15 – mirrors

2021:

untitled_20210824

2022:

A modern vesper

2023:

Lost in space

What strikes me most is that I really wrote a lot of poetry and always seem to have. To be honest, I thought the poetry was a more recent thing and didn’t go back all the way. There is a lot of music too. August 22 was a month of music. And so many posts. So many words. And most are mine. It’s incredible. While putting this post together, I felt embarrassed by the words I read. And I was ready to change this post and make it something different. No one would have known, right? Well halfway through the embarrassment changed into something close to pride. I say close to pride because I am having troubles feeling that emotion. I was not raised to see my successes, I was raised to see my failures and dwell on them.

Be it as it may, above are (let me count again) 11 posts. I’d say they are worth getting some attention, but who am I to judge? The coffee is kicking in.

Did any of these posts stand out for you? Which one? I know it is a lot of work to read through them all, but let me assure you, there are less words in all the 11 posts combined than in this post here. The comments are open everywhere. Don’t hesitate to share your thoughts.

While I am writing this, I am also listening to music. (The moment I stop listening to music, something is very wrong). Oddly enough, the song is from the same band and the same album as the song from the 2022 post. Her Name is Calla – Animal Choir. Trusted readers know my story with this band extends way past the music.

Thank you very much for being there. It matters. You may think it doesn’t and that no one even notices that you are there. But I know and I see you.

If you want to know more about me or where to find me online or offline, take a look at this post:

about me
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Nostalgia and Growth

Sometimes it feels as if I am writing into the void. That’s often nice enough, but sometimes, I crave some feedback. Maybe some attention, you could also say. A decade ago, I shared many of my stories on a site called Wattpad. It’s one of those sites where you post your writing and with a little luck, you get instant response. The dopamine rush of that can be addicting and I admit, when I stopped writing long stories and only poetry started to leave my fingers, the interaction became less and less. I was spoiled by the young readers and their enthusiasm and it couldn’t be diverted to the poetry. I decided that it was time to go. I had a great following there; three times as much as I have here. And most of them were active in one way or another. I miss that here. I am very grateful for the handful of names that pop up daily in my notifications. Very much so. And I can never repay you for the time you’ve spent here on my blog.

It’s petty but I kind of miss that instant gratification I had on Wattpad right now. I miss more people reacting to my writing. And sometimes I think about joining that place again, just for the sake of it. But the truth is, I’ve outgrown the site. I am in my 40s and shouldn’t want that kind of attention. Then again, attention generates sales. I sold two copies of Fire & Rain on Amazon since it came out. And two here on the blog. Often I wonder if I even have the right to call myself a writer or a poet. But I am. I have all the words and the files to show that I am.

That sounds all wrong and infuriating, doesn’t it? But there is a reason for that too.

I write daily. Post new poems almost daily too. I wonder if it is too much or if I am not good enough after all. Maybe the voices in my head insisting that I am delusional to think that my writing has any value in anyone’s life are right and I should stop pestering everyone with it. (Writing this, allowing the thought to appear in black letters on my white screen makes me feel embarrassed and fragile.)

Sometimes, when I receive a very nice comment, I screenshot it. For exactly the above reason. To remind myself that at one time, one person was affected by a string of words I wove together. I need that reminder. I need to remember that I matter.

That’s why I collected few mentioned screenshots and put them in a gallery on the blog. On the desktop, it should be to your right, on the mobile it should be visible when you scroll all the way down.

I am not a pretender, not a fraud. I know words. And I know how to use them. I know what sounds flat and forced and how to put a sentence to make it emotive and real. Rationally I know all that. But I doubt myself anyway.

I feel the need to say “THANK YOU” to all of you who are here in this corner with me. You’ve found me and liked me or my words (or both) enough to show up again and again. I am not giving back enough, but I love and appreciate you a lot.

and as I am sitting here, bleeding my thoughts on the screen again, a song called Panic is playing. A song I haven’t heard in years. It came on in a Spotify playlist. The lyrics are a bit weird, poetic and relatable. The song is a lot louder and more chaotic than the music I listen to recently. My kids are joking about it, they say I’m growing into a softy. And maybe they are right. Then again, maybe they aren’t.

I look up and out of my window and see the blue sky, the wind that is caressing the grapevines and the old linden tree. In the window of the neighbours, I can see the reflection of my home. I love my home and the life I am living right now.

There is more to this day than my sullen mood. A lot more. I will make lunch for my daughters, pick up my son from work (with my new car) and then I will read, listen to music and remember that I am not alone. Even if I feel quite lonely right now. It’s too quiet around me, it makes room for my thoughts to become too loud. This too will pass.

If you have a minute, take a look at the new gallery. And if you have two, could you leave comment for me? Just to let me know that you are there. Thank you.

It’s Friday! Enjoy your day.

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A weekend well spent

Well, I’ll be honest with you – I spent my weekend doing something that might seem a bit odd to some folks. I went on a barcode-scanning spree, cataloging my DVDs and books. Yeah, I know, thrilling stuff, right? But hey, I’d already tackled the CDs and vinyl a while back, so it was time to face the music (or in this case, the movies and literature). Doing this, puts me in a kind of trance. I love doing this. But it’s time spent absolutely unnecessarily. I am aware of that.

Let me tell you, I was in for a shock when I saw the final tally of books. And get this – it’s probably going to climb even higher once I rope my kids into scanning their collections. They’re bookworms, just like their mom. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess.

Now, here’s the kicker – looking at all these collections, it’s a bit of a gut punch realizing how much cash I’ve sunk into them over the years. And now? They’re worth peanuts, monetarily speaking. Sure, they’ve got sentimental value, but my wallet’s not feeling the love. I can’t help but think of all the other stuff I could’ve blown that money on. But you know what? At the time, buying those films, books, and CDs felt like the best thing ever.

It’s funny, though. The newest DVD in my collection is from 2016. That’s ancient history in tech years. And nowadays? They’re just collecting dust, taking up space. I’m starting to think it might be time to offload some, if not all of them.

Books are a different story. That collection’s like a living, breathing thing – always growing. Just last week, I added two more to the pile. And let’s be real, they won’t be the last. Same goes for CDs and vinyl. I’m still buying those, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Alright, brace yourself for some nerdy numbers:

Books: 736

DVDs: 548

CDs: 1317

Vinyl: 226

Before you ask, no, my house isn’t a cluttered mess. The DVDs are tucked away in boxes in storage. Books and CDs line the corridor shelves, and the vinyl’s got prime real estate in the living room, right by the turntables.

I’ll admit, those numbers make me cringe a bit. Don’t ask me why I’m even sharing this. It is what it is, I guess. All that stuff? I’ve read it, watched it, listened to it. That’s where all this useless trivia in my head comes from.

Funny thing – I was chatting with a friend last night about how we all want to be the center of attention, and how social media’s just made it worse. We’ve all got opinions, and we’re dying to share them. We want to be seen, heard. I don’t think the world owes me anything, but it’s nice to feel acknowledged, you know?

I’m under no illusions – I’m never going to be famous. My “fame” is limited to the little bubble I’ve created for myself. Weirdly enough, it might be yesterday’s conversation that’s making me feel a bit uneasy about typing all this out. Maybe I should focus on the other stuff we talked about, like how it’s possible to disagree with someone and still respect and love them.

So, there you have it – my completely unnecessary and shallow post. Love me anyway, will you?

What about you? How’d you spend your weekend?

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Where do the words live?

As I run my fingers along the spines of the books lining my shelves, I’m struck by a profound sense of gratitude and accomplishment. It’s been a long, winding journey to get to this point, but seeing the physical manifestation of my creativity is an emotional experience I never could have imagined.

The feeling is almost indescribable – the weight of the paperbacks, the crisp pages, the cover designs. It’s as if I can literally reach out and touch the culmination of years’ worth of late nights, self-doubt, and perseverance. Each book represents a pivotal chapter in my evolution as a writer, a storyteller, and an artist.

I remember the first time I held one of my published works. The scent of fresh ink and paper in my nose as I opened it for the first time. In that moment, all of the moments of feeling lost or uncertain – they all melted away. I was overcome with a profound sense of pride and purpose. This was real. This was tangible. This was mine.

Of course, the journey hasn’t been without its challenges. There have been times when the blank page has taunted me, when the weight of expectation has felt crushing, when I’ve questioned whether I have what it takes. But in those moments, I’ve tried to stay grounded in my “why” – the deep, intrinsic drive to share my voice and connect with readers around the world on a profound level.

And now, as I gaze upon this growing collection of my written and published words, I realise that these books represent not just my stories, but pieces of my heart and soul. They are witness of my creativity, and the transformative potential of the written word.

Thank you, dear readers, for your support. Whether you’ve bought a copy of my books (and I could name you all, as it’s not many) or you’re one of the many silent readers of my daily blog posts, your engagement means the world to me.

As I look at the collection of my books arranged in chronological order on the shelves (as seen on the picture), you may notice that there are 9 books in the picture, even though I currently only sell 8. That’s because the one at the bottom of the stack was written under an alias. It contained numerous writing and formatting errors, so I took it off the market myself. I consider that book a trial run – a learning experience that taught me what not to do.

Moving forward, I plan to ensure all of my future publications match the size and style of “Heart of Stone” or “WORD THIEF” for a more cohesive aesthetic. Seeing the shelves filled with my work fills me with a sense of pride. The sheer volume of words I’ve written and continue to produce daily is something I would have never expected like this. These days, my creative process is fueled by inspiring music, reading, and the practice of learning new chords on the ukulele.

Yet, this constant creative outpouring also leaves me with many unanswered questions. Where do these words come from? Where are they stored when I fall silent? Are they coloured in hues of my voice? And is it as loud and clear as I intend it to be? Or is this all just a futile attempt to leave a trace of myself on the world? The truth is, I don’t have definitive answers. What I do have is an unwavering passion for words and a drive to create meaningful, well-crafted content poems and posts. Whether I possess true talent as a writer is not for me to judge. I’ll simply keep pouring my heart into this craft, and trusting the process.

If you’d like to join me on this literary journey, I invite you to follow this blog and explore my collection of books, available now. Your support and readership mean the world to me, and I’m excited to continue sharing my voice with you. Together, let’s explore the power of the written word and all the possibilities it holds.

The journey continues, and I can’t wait to see where it leads us next.

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Losing myself – finding myself

The photo captures a moment of pure tranquility – a woman, lost in the pages of a French novel, her fingers gently caressing the strings of a ukulele, a steaming cup of coffee by her side. It’s a scene that instantly transports me to a place of profound peace and self-reflection.In this image, that woman is me.

I’ve chosen to embrace this moment of respite, to lose myself in the rhythmic sway of the ukulele, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the lyrical cadence of a foreign tongue. It’s a chance for me to disconnect from the noise and reconnect with the essence of who I am.

In these fleeting hours, I find myself drifting, my thoughts unraveling with each turn of the page. There is a sense of freedom, of weightlessness, that washes over me. It’s as if the worries of the world have been lifted, leaving me to simply be – to exist in the present, to savor the simple pleasures that so often go unnoticed.

In a world that so often demands our constant attention, the ability to carve out a day of quiet solitude is a true gift. To sit in the stillness, to let my mind wander without the intrusion of notifications is a luxury I too often deny myself.

But today, I’ve chosen to embrace this moment of respite, to indulge in the restorative power of solitude.

So, I encourage you, my fellow wanderers, to seek out these oases of calm. Carve out a day, an hour, even a moment, to find that same sense of freedom and clarity that I’ve discovered in this moment of solitude.

###

I wrote those words knowing that I often struggle embracing these moments. Even more so right now. I went from being wired all the time to feeling invisible and un-needed. For now, I have not found the right way to embrace my first summer holidays as a preschool teacher. But it will come. If I don’t pressure myself and carve out new routines, if I lower my own expectations, it will come. And today is a start. 💜❤️💜❤️

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Embracing my inner poet

As a passionate poet, I’ve been inspired to create and share more of my work lately. You may have noticed an uptick in the number of new poems I’ve been posting, and I wanted to take a moment to address that.

My creative process has been in full flow, and the words have been pouring out of me. When the muse strikes, I simply must capture those fleeting, evocative thoughts and feelings in verse. Poetry has become an essential outlet for me to process the experiences, emotions, and observations that fill my days.

The wellspring of my inspiration comes from the world around me – the music that moves my soul, the movies that stir my imagination, and the everyday moments that make me pause and ponder. I’m endlessly fascinated by the human experience in all its complexities, and I channel those observations and reflections directly into my poetry.

While I understand that a sudden increase in posts could potentially be seen as excessive or even annoying, please know that it comes from a place of genuine artistic expression. This is my way of inviting you into my creative world and sharing the fruits of my poetic labors.

I hope you’ll view these new poems not as a burden, but as a window into my inner landscape. Each verse is a snapshot of my ever-evolving perspective – my joys, my struggles, my wonderings about this complex human experience. In sharing these poems, I aim to connect with you on a deeper level and perhaps even inspire your own reflections.

So, if you’ve noticed an uptick in my poetic postings, please know that it comes from an authentic place. I’m simply following the flow of my creative impulses and allowing my voice to be heard. I appreciate you taking the time to read and engage with my work. Your support means the world to me as I continue to hone my craft.

I look forward to continuing this poetic journey with you. Who knows what other verses may emerge, inspired by the music, movies, and moments that captivate me? I’m excited to find out, and I hope you are too.

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the bittersweet paradox

The capacity to feel deeply, to hurt deeply, is what allows us to also love deeply, to find joy in the midst of sorrow, and to discover the profound meaning that lies at the heart of being human.This emotional depth is both a blessing and a curse – the price we pay for being able to engage with the world and with each other on such a visceral, meaningful level. When we open ourselves up to the full spectrum of human emotions, we make ourselves vulnerable. We risk being hurt, devastated, consumed by anguish.

Yet, it is precisely this willingness to be vulnerable that enables us to form the deepest, most nourishing bonds. When we hurt deeply, it demonstrates our ability to invest ourselves completely in relationships and experiences. The pain of heartbreak is the flip side of our capacity to love passionately.

And it is this depth of feeling – our range from ecstasy to agony – that allows us to find profound beauty and meaning amidst the sorrow. In the darkest of times, we can still uncover moments of transcendent joy, profound gratitude, and abiding hope. Our emotional complexity is what makes us fully, viscerally alive.

This is the bittersweet paradox at the heart of the human experience. The very qualities that leave us susceptible to suffering – our sensitivity, our capacity for attachment, our willingness to be emotionally raw – are the same qualities that enable us to engage with the world in the most meaningful way.

To feel deeply is to hurt deeply. But it is also to love deeply, to find exquisite pockets of light in the darkness, and to discover the profound significance that lies at the core of being human. It is the price we pay for being fully, gloriously alive.

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emerald embrace

Your eyes, like verdant pools,
Captivate and ensnare my gaze.
I'm drawn to their alluring depths,
Mesmerized by their gentle blaze.
Yet, I hesitate to dive too deep,
Fearing my love may not be enough.
How can I possibly give you all
When my heart feels so raw and rough?
Your touch, like summer's warm caress,
Ignites a fire within my soul.
But what if I cannot fully give?
Leaving your heart left incomplete and cold?
Oh, my love with eyes of green,
How I wish I could be serene.
To love you with abandon, without doubt,
Is the greatest challenge I face, no question.
Still, I'll try to open my heart,
To let your light shine through.
For your love is worth the risk,
No matter what I may go through.
I long to drown in your emerald gaze,
To feel your strong arms enfold.
But what if I cannot match the blaze
That burns within your heart of gold?My insecurities whisper doubts,
Casting shadows on our love.
Yet, I see the truth in your eyes above -
A love so pure, it leaves me in awe.
So, I'll silence those nagging fears,
And let my heart take the lead.
With you, my love, I have no need
To hide behind my unshed tears.
For in your embrace, I am reborn,
My doubts and worries fade away.
Your green-eyed gaze, a beacon in the morn,
Guides me towards a brighter day.

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How I go about publishing my books

I was asked a couple of times how I went about publishing my books.

Now before I dive into all kinds of things, let me burst one or two bubbles. I am not a bestselling author. Far from it. If I sell 20 copies of a book, that’s a lot. And it’s true, I would want to sell more, of course I do. But I have no idea how to advertise myself any better, and I think that’s the biggest issue. I believe in the quality of my poems and my stories. But if they are invisible to the world, no one will be inclined to purchase my books. I wish it was different, and I need your help to spread the word about me on your blogs, your socials, with your friends and coworkers. It doesn’t matter if you are from a neighboring country or from across the world, my books are available everywhere.

Publishing a book starts with one thing: writing. Writing writing writing. And then deciding which poem is worthy of being printed in a book. I recommend putting the poems in a Word document or a similar writing program. Get acquainted with the program. Know about headings, styles, headers, toc, page breaks, etc. Research things like the format your book should have. Mine are usually 5 × 8 inch. It’s a little smaller than a pocket book. Apply the format you chose as well as the margin specifics in the layout tab, and remember to mirror your pages. That’s important for the looks of the book.

But, all this can be easily researched online and you will probably understand a lot better how to format your manuscript when it is explained in depth or accompanied by videos.

The next step for me is usually getting an ISBN number. If you self-publish via KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing), you can ask to get a number from them, for free. I did that on a couple of my books. But, to reach a greater local audience, I applied for an ISBN number at my local authority. Again, you need to do your own research, but for me it was sending an application to BNL (bibliothèque nationale de Luxembourg). This was for free too, but I am not sure if that is the same for every country. If you apply for a personalized ISBN number it has to be in your own country. (As far as I know.)

When all of this is done, I begin thinking about a title and a cover. In my mind, they need to go hand in hand. Even though the intention behind my covers is not always visible at first, they have a meaning. With the exception of Fire&Rain, I always did the cover work myself. (Taking the pictures, designing the cover art, adding the titles and the blurb of course too). Sometimes I used a little advice from a creative friend about fonts and the position of the title. For my three last publications: Perfect Imperfection, WORD THIEF, and Fire&Rain, I had some help with the title and artwork too. It helps that they are an artist too and have an esthetic eye and a deeper knowledge on things. They were a great help. I sent them the table of contents and they helped chose a title. They were always spot on.  I need to admit that. Giving credit where credit is due.

For Fire&Rain I tried something new for the artwork, I got the help of AI. And let me tell you, I love the cover. And that cover was only possible because of my friend chosing the title for me and me feeding AI the right words.

Once all that is done and decided, I take the easiest route with KDP. It’s fool proof since they tell you exactly which information they need. Once your finished manuscript is uploaded they point out issues with the formatting. After that you can upload your own cover or create it with the embedded tool. Again, it’s fool proof. Both these things done, you get to the next stage: pricing.

Now, pricing is something I find rather difficult to do. But at least KDP gives a suggestion with a minimum price. You can also set different prices for different market places. Though I tend to have the same price across all platforms. Transparent.

The last step is setting a publication date. Either you want your book to go live immediately or you can set a pre-order date. KDP will proof  and approve your script which can take up to 72 hours. Those 72 hours are quite exciting and most often KDP doesn’t need that long before your book is live and available across the many marketplaces Amazon offers.

As for copies, you can order a proof copy to check if the book is the way you want it to be. If not you can change things until you are happy with the result. After that, you can buy your own Author Copies. Publishing with KDP is print on demand and it usually takes around 5 days to be done. If you order your own copies, you will have to pay the printing price, which is fair though, I think.

Readers pay the printing price plus the amount set by the author.

Once all of that is done, the most complicated part begins. Promoting yourself and getting word out there. Once again, I admit that this is my weakest point and that I need your help. If you find me on Amazon, you will see that there are great reviews. And many of them are from people I don’t know. Of course that’s something I like and I am very grateful for it. And I want more of that.

I am convinced that Fire&Rain is the best poetry collection I ever wrote. And it deserves its recognition. Hopefully many readers will agree with me.

In a week, Fire&Rain will be officially released. I have 12 copies at home that are waiting to be signed and sent off into the world. Maybe one of them is yours? The button on this site works, if you want to try it. (The button is on your right if you use the desktop site, or all the way down if you use the mobile version).

I don’t have an agent, or a publisher, or a manager, or a team of creative people to help me with every step of the way. I cannot just write my poems and leave the rest to professionals. I have to do it all on my own. It’s a source of pride. But sometimes it really sucks, that’s why I am very grateful to that one friend who helps me out sometimes. I couldn’t do it without him. I couldn’t make all these important decisions on my own. And, let me point this out: he also wrote the music for WORD THIEF and The Best Pessimist. Both poems can be found on my soundcloud page. All my links can be found in my “about me” tab.

Mark your calendars for July 12th, when Fire&Rain will see the light of day. And perhaps one copy will find a home on your shelves.

Do you have any questions? Maybe I forgot this or that. I am here. Thank you for everything. 🙏

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exceeded all expectations

As a preschool teacher, I pour my heart and soul into the work I do every single day. The pure joy I get from watching my students grow and thrive is utterly unmatched. But when that deep dedication and passion is recognized by my school leaders in a tangible way, it fills me with an overwhelming sense of pride and validation.

That’s exactly what happened today when I received a glowing performance review that was customized just for me. Instead of a generic, one-size-fits-all assessment, this report was crafted with intentionality, drawing on specific details about my work to paint a personalized picture of my exceptional contributions. And the crowning achievement? My review stated that I had “exceeded all expectations” – the highest possible grade.

My heart swelled with emotion as I heard those words. This was no generic review – it was a true testament to the invaluable impact I have on my preschool community. My director clearly sees me as an asset worthy of the highest praise.

Receiving such personalized and heartfelt recognition feels incredibly affirming. Even more so because he is know to use prewritten tools to evaluate his staff. This is a reminder that the hard work, passion, and purpose I pour into my classroom does not go unnoticed. My school leaders are paying attention, and they understand the true value I bring to my students, families, and colleagues. Maybe this sounds conceited, but I do believe that my work is valuable.

This is the kind of performance review that will fuel me to keep reaching new heights in my career. It’s a reminder of my worth and expertise. And it’s a shining example of how school administrators can make their teachers feel truly seen, heard, and celebrated. Unfortunately, we know that they don’t do this often enough.

Still, I’m honored by this well-deserved achievement. My hard work and dedication have been elevated in a meaningful way. I’ll keep shining bright – I love my job.

Exceeded all expectations (or originally: dépasse les attentes). It’s unbelievable, but it is also an accomplishment that makes me very proud.

Now that I finally reached this goal, the next milestone is waiting around the bend: the launch of Fire & Rain.

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Join the Celebration of ‘Fire & Rain’: Share Your Honest Thoughts

I’m so excited to announce the upcoming release of my 8th poetry collection, ‘Fire & Rain’! This body of work will be officially published on July 12th, and I would be honored beyond words if you would help me celebrate its launch.

First and foremost, I would be deeply grateful if you could take a few moments to share your honest thoughts and reactions to the poems I’ve been sharing on the blog. Your feedback – whether glowing praise or constructive critique – is invaluable, as it helps me continue refining my craft with each new collection.

And as a special thank you for your readership and support, I’d love for you to join me in spreading the word about ‘Fire & Rain’ on your social channels. A simple review, Instagram story, or tweet about the new book would mean the world and help introduce my work to readers who may find it equally moving and meaningful.

In fact, anyone who shares about ‘Fire & Rain’ and tags me will be entered to win a signed copy of the collection! I’m so lucky to have such an engaged community of poetry lovers like you, and I can’t wait to connect over this new release.

Your support has carried me through all my previous publications, and I’m humbled to be sharing this next poetic journey with you. As I embark on this new chapter, I am filled with gratitude for the encouragement and inspiration you have provided along the way. Your positive energy has fueled my creative process, and I can’t wait to reciprocate by offering you a glimpse into the emotions and experiences that have shaped ‘Fire & Rain’. I look forward to hearing your thoughts, and to celebrating the arrival of ‘Fire & Rain’ together.