Tag: writer’s life

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Just a love letter to my husband

Yes, it is what it is.

I am often aloof. I am withdrawn and hidden in my head. I live in my bubble and don’t share my inner battles. I feel lonely and misunderstood or neglected.

But there is one constant in my life and he has been there since I was 17 (I was 16 when we met and turned 17 six weeks later). My rock, my hero. Patrick.

And you know, there are times when I wish I was single and there are times when I think it is best to call it quits.

But honestly?

I cannot imagine my life without him. I tell him everything. And I mean everything. There are no secrets because whenever something happens, I turn to him. Always. I tell him everything that happens. Sometimes it takes a couple of days or weeks, but in the end, there are no secrets between us.

And it’s the little things that I love most. Like, when he does the groceries (and he often does them) he brings me my favourite chocolates or crisps. Or I absolutely love the fact that we go out weekly, on Wednesday. Okay, our teenagers often push us to leave the house and go for dinner, but if no one is sick and if work isn’t interfering, we have our date night every Wednesday.

Why Wednesday?

It goes back to when we started dating in 2000. I was only allowed to go out on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Of course, when we moved in together and had kids, those date nights stopped, until Amalia was 7 in 2007 and in her class several parents got divorced. The kids decided that we needed alone time to stay in love and that they were old enough to be alone for two hours every week; no babysitter needed. And so, it started. Ollie was 12 by then, Giulia was 9 and Amalia 7. In hindsight, they were young, but they were responsible enough to stay home or else we would not have done it. They could reach us at all times and we were never more than 10 minutes away by car. It stuck, even during COVID-19 lockdown, the kids would make dinner for us… Several times, they also played restaurant. We ordered takeout, but they took our orders, served drinks, guided us to our table… Of course, we would eat together, but it was important for them that we had our night. And even when they were not home… I remember a Wednesday when Giulia and Amalia were with an aunt and Ollie was away with the boyscouts. They demanded photo proof that we got out of the house. We tried to trick them – it was summer and we sent a pic of us having dinner on the patio, but we were scolded afterwards… The rules got stricter… We now need to leave the house and the garden 🙂

Anyway… It’s okay for us. We are the couple that talks animatedly. We laugh and discuss and listen and talk. It’s rarely silent on our table and even though I am attached and addicted to my phone, when we are at dinner, we only take out our phones to show each other something…

I haven’t tired of my husband yet – there are highs and lows, of course there are. But I look at him and I am reminded of the million reasons why I love him.

And the most important reason why I love him is: because he is who he is.

I love Patrick for who he is and for who I am with him. I love everything about him. Well, at least almost. Love also means compromise, LOL

Then again, what’s not to love about a handsome intelligent gentle giant?

Right… It’s been 23 years… (We met in January 2000) We will make it another 23…. and more. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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November 2008

It was November 21st. The day had been difficult and long, because the day before my mother-in-law passed away. Things went quickly, because on Thursday she passed away, and on Friday we had a ceremony to say goodbye. I cried a lot. I loved my mother-in-law a lot. She had shown me how to be a loving parent, she had never judged me and had accepted me from the start. Back to Friday 21st. Because so much had happened in the last hours, we couldn’t sleep. Patrick sat on the couch with a beer and I sat on my gymnastics ball, bouncing slightly up and down. I was pregnant and my kid was one day passed her due date. That’s right, my mother-in-law passed away the same day my first daughter should have been born. She used to say that she wanted to wait for Giulia, but somehow Giulia needed two more days. If I believed in such things, I would say that my mother-in-law’s spirit went into Giulia and that’s why there is the little gap.

As I was bouncing up and down, we were watching TV. Rambo – First Blood came on and we decided to watch this peaceful film. That was until I felt the first contractions. I took a bath, slept a bit and in the morning hours we called Patrick’s sister to come and be with Ollie for the day. I remember the drive to the hospital quite well. Due to an inheritance, Patrick had had some money to buy a new car. He got the car for his birthday in October. It still had that distinctive new car smell. Enigma had released a new album in 2008 and it was playing on the stereo. Outside it was peaceful. The world was hiding underneath a white blanket of snow. I will spare you any more details but around noon, Giulia was born. I was high as a kite from a painkiller during birth, but as soon as my daughter was born, I was sober and very happy. I remember that I thought for a moment if I was allowed to feel this happy and then my thoughts went to Patrick who had last his mother and now held his daughter in his arms, all within two days. He was distant, but it was understandable.

At the hospital, I had a room for myself. In front of the window was a large tree that was covered in snow and close by was a centre for refugees. They had a snowball fight and it looked like they had a lot of fun.

My thoughts were divided between my new-born and my husband. I couldn’t be there for him. His mother was cremated and he had to be strong for his son and I was not there to support him. He had to go to administrations and all, and I was not there to support him. I apologized to him because it felt as if I was failing him, even though I had just born a beautiful girl with a mop of black hair. She looked like a little doll, all rosy and yes… Beautiful.

The day Ollie met his sister – it was the day she was born, he was sick. I admit, I only remember this because of the pictures, but he also loved her from the start. He was very very proud. He had just started school and now he was a big brother, he was a big boy now.

And now, today, Giulia will be 15 years old. She is a teenager. She has a mind of her own, which makes life often difficult for her. She is very intelligent and clever, something that overwhelmed her teachers sometimes. She has a heart of gold, but she appears to be aloof often too. She is sensitive, a side that she doesn’t like to show. In fact she does not like to show many emotions. Her sense of humour and irony are legendary. And she is still very very beautiful. Her start was a weird one, and it’s true that Patrick needed some time to mourn before he was able to take on the role of a father of two. But when he did, he showered Giulia with love. She was a real daddy’s girl for a long time. Now as a teenager, she likes to keep to herself, she reads or watches Mangas, draws or listens to music.

Sometimes I wonder if my mother-in-law guides Giulia and protects her. It’s a nice and comforting thought.

By the way, we noticed that Rambo First Blood has been on German TV every year around Giulia’s birthday. We have no idea why. (Fun fact: I never saw the end of that film in all those years)

Happy 15th my special girl. I love you.

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Photos and stuff

I take many pictures. Often they seem a bit weird or abstract, but I like it that way, it’s the way I see the world.

A couple of weeks ago, I was approached via Instagram (Insta Link) asking if I was interested in creating a calendar with my pictures and words. It was a bit late for 2024 and to be honest, if I did a calendar, I would do it on my own. But a seed was planted.

I am wondering if I should put my weird photos in a book. Some of my pictures look like record covers. I like that a lot. I am not a photographer and my pictures don’t have any finesse. Just like my writing they aren’t overly polished. And yet… There is a mood palpable on my pictures.

It’s just a thought, a fantasy maybe. But I think I would enjoy my photos on glossy paper 🙂

What do you think about my photos? Pretentious? Nice? Awful?

Do you like taking pictures? What’s your preferred motive? Next to my kids, I seem to have a thing for roads… If you look at my IG (my IG link) you will see.

What’s the last artsy pic you took?

I made sensory bottles for work – these are macro images of the bubbles and glitter and colours…

Thank you for your patience with me and for popping by every once in a while.

💜❤️🌠❤️💜

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A day and a half

Today, we celebrated my (half) sister’s birthday. She turned 30. Her family was present, people I last saw when I was a kid, as well as my godmother who I hadn’t seen in years. In true older aunt’s manner she gave me some money. You know… the way a deal would go over. Closed hand and covert. Amalia had to laugh because she only saw the memes of this but never the real thing. We talked for a long time and caught up with life and stuff; it was nice. I also spoke long with my father and with my sister. When it was time to leave, I was told by my sister’s grandpa that I look very young. (My stepmom’s stepfather told me that I look young and beautiful for my age… apparently, 40 suits me) It was a bit embarrassing, but the entire table, they all agreed with the man who said it. Hehe. I mean, he’s not wrong but he kept insisting.

It is also my father-in-law’s birthday. There should have been a birthday lunch for him and both my sisters-in-law (who had birthdays last week) but he tested positive for COVID-19. It was postponed. This way I can attend the family lunch too.

And then, it is also the anniversary of my grandma’s passing. Even though she was the most evil person towards me, I do miss her sometimes. After all, she was the closest to a mother figure I had.

All in one day.

It is very superficial but having been called young felt great.

Even more so after my day had started not so great. My husband forgot to run an errand for me yesterday and so I had to do it this morning before getting ready for my sister’s lunch. I went to the store and when I came back, someone had parked so close to me that I could not get in. I put on a dress and when I walked down the stairs, I got a run in my pantyhose. The hair clipper in my hair broke and fell off, leaving my curls looking like an explosion on my head.

It did not look good in the beginning… But it improved massively.

How was your day?

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3 pics

latest selfie… Taken last Thursday after a challenging day
coziness in my living room
My sister’s birthday present: a personalized book with many little gadgets and niceties

I quite like the vibe… It’s a lazy Saturday… That’s why you get these pictures to enjoy 🙂

What do you think?

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It was a week

It’s Friday night. The work week was extremely exhausting and I am glad I can put my feet up for the rest of the evening and night. Tomorrow, I will finish my sister’s birthday gift. She turned 30 this week and we will celebrate this Sunday. This Sunday is also the anniversary of my grandma’s passing. It’s a bit of a challenging time because a lot is happening. But of course, everything will be okay. It always is.

The nicest thing I was told today: I can learn a lot from you

It’s always nice to be acknowledged.

My friend Edwin wrote a poem about views. It made me wonder about my own views. But just like Edwin observes in his poem: views are as manifold as there are people walking on this earth. It makes life interesting, but we also need the reminder that we need to be as open as we can be. We need to stay tolerant and accepting. But we also should challenge views that are alien to our own. That’s a way we can learn and evolve. And I admit, I like to be challenged sometimes and I like to learn new things. Thank you Edwin for another great poem.

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a memory from work

I joined my current work mid-september. We are still getting to know each other although I must say that I feel quite at home with my co-workers. I work as a teacher now, but in my case it is just a title. My job description is and will always be “educator”. Here in Luxembourg, an educator can do many different jobs, whereas teachers only work in schools. In my case, I am working with two teachers and one educator. The educator was only ever working in schools though. Since all of my colleagues have a lot of experience in teaching and I have none, I am learning a lot. But, they also seem to appreciate that I am experienced in many different domains. For example, I worked at a centre for pregnant teens and underaged moms. I worked with divorced couples who were not allowed to see their children without supervision. I worked at different nurseries (with babies and toddlers and young kids). I worked with kids after school, helping with homework and other activities. And now, I work at a school, teaching a class of eleven kids with one other teacher. My colleagues asked me about my most memorable situation at any of my jobs during a team-meeting. I didn’t have to think for a long.

Here it is: (just a head’s up, I am bound to professional secrecy and can’t reveal too many details)

I was working with a teenage mom who had not seen her parents in months. She was a refugee from Eritrea and had come to Luxembourg with her family years before. Unfortunately, she became pregnant when she was sixteen and her parents banished her, throwing her out of their home and out of their lives. Shortly before turning eighteen the father of the child (now almost 1 year old) asked for her hand in marriage. The young mom missed her family and she tried getting in touch, because a wedding is a family thing. The family agreed to see her and her fiancé, and invited them for a reconciliation lunch. Due to a history of violence, we at the centre agreed that the child would not go to the dinner and the young mom was to be accompanied by an educator. Since I worked that day, I went along unsure if I would be allowed to enter the house or if I had to wait in the car. We had emergency plans mapped out with different professionals and everyone was tense and nervous when the day finally arrived.

Upon arrival we were all greeted by the family and I was hugged and kissed, they thanked me profusely for bringing their kid back home. In the living room, I was seated on the far end of a sofa, keeping a good view of what was happening. Two priests were present with the family, it kept me on my toes. They began praying and then they began talking in their language that I did not understand. Every once in a while the young mom gave me a thumb’s up or a smile, and by the tone of the conversation I understood that everything seemed to be going well. Two hours went by and everyone had said their piece. The priests prayed again and the women left the room, apart from me. I was asked to move one seat down on a chair before I was explained that everything had gone better than expected and that they would have lunch together now. The men sat around a dinner table. The women sat around the coffee table, and they got me a small table where I had sat before. I received a plate with some kind of wraps, red sauce (spicy) and green sauce. The women and the men had the same plates set in the middle of their table. After another prayer, they all started to eat. I got a few amused looks; they were watching me eat, and trying to read my reaction to the spicy food and the fact that we all ate with our hand. They showed me how it was done in an authentic Eritrean way: tearing a piece off the wrap and then scooping up both sauces. Apparently, I did well for a European. The meal was very very tasty – and I am a picky eater. I have no idea what I really ate or how the dish is called. But it was a moment to remember for sure. Normally, I would have declined the invitation for lunch as I don’t like eating in front of strangers, but it felt as if the fragile bond and peace the family was making and fortifying during this lunch was an important reason to accept the invitation.

This encounter is still vivid in my mind. I remember how tense we all were, we even had a safe word in case things would go South and we needed the police to intervene. But I also remember the looks on the faces of the parents upon seeing their child and her fiancé when we arrived. I was unsure if I was allowed into the house or not and kept in the back, but I was also ready to jump to action if the girl was in danger. I was glad I was invited to assist to the entire reconciliation lunch, to see the reconnection between the abandoned daughter and her parents, and to witness it all. The fact that I did not understand what they were saying but felt the positive change and the peace in the room adds to the intensity of the memory.

One or two weeks later I worked my last shift there. I like to think that I helped this girl and her family, as well as the little child. I don’t know where they are now, but I hope my presence that day made a difference and somehow, selfishly, I wish they all remember me. Maybe with a big smile when they think about that European woman eating their spicy food with the right (which means of course the left) hand.

My colleagues listened to me sharing my memories and they told me that they could not have done it. They would have been too afraid to go there alone, and much more. But for me it was work and although I was a bit scared, I was also acting as a professional. We are capable of so much more than we think we are.

Working with the little ones now is an enriching job. I love it a lot. But I am also happy I was able to make memories and experiences like the one mentioned above. I’d like to know what became of the little family. Unfortunately, that’s not how these things work. Anyway… This is a memory I will cherish and treasure forever.

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music

As most of you faithful or long-term readers know, I am a big fan of music. In the beginning the blog was all about music and I shared a weekly Friday 5. Those were links to songs I listened to a lot that week. Most Friday 5 posts have since been deleted and the blog transitioned into something different, more personal. Even more personal than music. For me, the genre is not very important, but I tend to be drawn to rock, alternative, indie, and mostly prog-rock. There is something about guitar riffs, bass drums and bass lines, something I enjoy. I also love 80s music, so many great and/or cheesy songs were written in that decade – my birth decade . And, even though only few would expect it, I love piano music. It is calming, soothing. It can be very sad and emotive; and it sounds beautiful on vinyl or live.

I am a moody person, but I am also open and curious. In my experience there is a fitting song for very situation and for every emotion. Sometimes music also triggers certain emotions and those inspire my writing more often than not. I think it is a beautiful way to create art and to leave an impression on the listeners. Through the years, I made many memories that are pinned to a song. It created a soundtrack to my life. And that’s a comforting thought for me.

This is a link to my music collection. Eclectic at best. It’s the good, the bad, and the embarrassing, I’d say. But it is also the music that kept me company over the years.

http://discogs.page.link/zc83L6fneS7mu86z5

https://discogs.page.link/zc83L6fneS7mu86z5

And here is a link to many hours of music on Spotify. I know, musicians don’t get paid and all. And I am torn about using the platform at all, but in the end, I listen daily and almost all day long. The easy way might be the lazy way, but it is what it is. To be fair though, I buy many records and CDs.

There is something about unwrapping and album from it’s cellophane wrap and holding it for the first time. I study the cover, the lyrics (if they are shared) and read the booklet from front to back. Like a little ritual.

Today, I had a beautiful album in my mailbox, and I did what I described before. I studied it from every side, enjoying this new arrival. It’s moody piano music with impressive vocals. The lyrics are poetic and the piano create a beautiful atmosphere. I am talking about a record by Martin Herzberg & Felix Räuber called “the art of dreaming”. It was released recently (October 20th) and only a limited number of vinyl was made. I was lucky enough to be in time to get a signed green copy. I listened to it a couple of times this afternoon and it is wonderful, just the right music for rainy and grey autumn days. It sets a fantastic mood.

Fun fact: I met Felix in 2013 and wrote about it here: https://micqu.org/2013/02/05/go-see-maximilian-hecker-felix-rauber-now/ I never forgot that night, even though it was quite embarrassing for me. You want to know more? Read the old post. It was a night to remember indeed. Do you have encounters that stayed with you through the years? I’d love to hear about it.

I am passionate about music, but I am very bad at describing it or reviewing it. I like most music I like because it triggers a kind of emotion in me. To me, that is like magic.

What’s the last song you listened to? Mine was “come around” by a British band called Corella. Corella were suggested by a playlist that focussed on Paolo Nutini’s music.

Do you still buy physical music or do you stream? (Which platforms do you use?)

In my life, music is very important. How about you? Do you have a favourite song or artist? I am curious to know about you. To be honest, right now I don’t have a favourite artist and somehow my favourite song was played so much lately that it is has lost it’s magic. I used to love Kate Bush’s running up that hill. It was the perfect mix of beautiful vocals, music to remember and poetic lyrics. Curiously, while I wrote this, another favourite came on: New Order’s 1963. I heard that song on the radio when I was a kid. I was one of those recording songs off the radio, and this one grabbed me right away. I had no idea who it was or what the song was called. Mind you, this was before the internet invaded our homes. It took many years before I found the song. There are two versions, but only one of them gets me in the feels.

I could ramble on and on about memories and meaning of this or that song. And I will, if you leave a comment for me. 🙂

Thank you for your continued support, and happy listening.

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EXIT – U2 – SoundCloud

Listen to EXIT – U2 by Weather Systems on #SoundCloud https://on.soundcloud.com/kaE2S

https://on.soundcloud.com/kaE2S

It’s Friday and I was very busy today in the kitchen. I have guests tonight and so I had to deep clean and make desserts. Main menu will be a Fondue, which does not need all that much preparation. Usually, I am quite good in the kitchen, but somehow, today most stuff ended in a culinary disaster and I had to improvise.

At least there was new music today.

I may write an update later, to tell you how it went, but maybe not… The couple that comes to visit often leaves late and we drink a lot (sometimes even too much) but it is always memorable and I like them a lot. Apart from being great friends, I sang with him in a band and wrote lyrics for him. And, I mentioned them by name in WORD THIEF, because not many people from my daily life support my poetry the way they do. They keep pestering me (in a nice way) to take part in a poetry slam, but for now, I am keeping my ground. You’ll never see me on a stage with a microphone again. That ship has sailed. Anyway…

Enjoy the music and your Friday night

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Light and night

Lights at night or my interpretation of street photography.

Musing:

We all suffer differently. Why do we often think that our pain is more valid and deeper than anyone else’s? It’s not a competition. We live very short lives. Nothing is eternal and one day, everything about us will be forgotten. Hopefully. One day everything that made us special will be gone and every trace we left will vanish into thin air. As if we never even existed.

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All Saints

Yesterday, it was Halloween and today is All Saints Day. In different parts of the world, those days have different meanings.

Where I am from, Halloween used to be that fictitious day seen on TV in American shows, just like Thanksgiving. We never understood it because it never existed here. But somehow, Halloween made it over the big pond and became a thing here too, and although trick or treating is still not common, it happens here too. More common are big parties at clubs and bars.

When I was a kid, All Saints Day mattered a lot. My grandpa passed away when I was ten and my grandmother insisted we visit the cemetery every year on November 1st. Uncles and aunts were present and the visit to the cemetery was followed by a big family dinner – lots of alcohol included. A year before my grandma passed away, it was on November 1st as I was driving her back home after dinner at my aunt’s, she apologized to me for how badly she had treated me as a kid and for how cruel she had been during my childhood and teenage years. It came completely out of the blue. I never expected her to even acknowledge the abuse I had suffered. But, it mattered. It didn’t erase the scars on my skin or on my soul but it mattered. I don’t think I saw her again after that night. She passed away on November 12th 2016. I remember those moments vividly because I was so focused on the road, there was a lot of fog and it was dark.

For years my aunts and uncles, and I too tried to keep up the tradition and do what grandma would expect of us. We gathered every November 1st at the cemetery. But true to my label as the black sheep of the family, I refuse to go there today. I don’t need to stand in front of a grave to remember this woman. And I surely don’t need to pretend to be part of a family that does not even reply to texts or phone calls. Petty? Maybe. Childish? Surely. But I need to do what is best for me and my mental health. There is a part of me that feels obliged to visit the cemetery this afternoon and that part also wants to see the family and be a part of them; but there is also a part of me that absolutely loathes going there. In the end I will decide on a whim.

I have been thinking about her a lot these last days and I think it was fuelled by me not being all too well. I don’t want to blame grandma for any of this, but the time of the year and everything that comes with these days still has an impact on me.

I am 40 years old. But when it comes to past hurt or pain, I am still (and will always be) a child.

It’s the middle of the night. Hopefully, goodnight. By the way, check out my IG account (@micqu_1), maybe there is a pic or two you’ll enjoy.

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Not the best day

And this means it is time for candles, a cup of tea, and a cozy blanket as trusted companions on the couch.

I was still not at my best today and decided to pamper myself a bit. I was alone. And felt lonely today too. I took a long bath with lots of bubbles, I like that. I put on a face mask, plucked my eyebrows and cut my hair and straightened it. And I also painted my nails (midnight blue with glitter). Yes, I cut my own hair and I do it quite well, or so I think. And when I was done, I put on a nice dress. I still don’t feel 100% but at least I look decent.

I am often alone, but I haven’t felt lonely in a while. I don’t want this feeling to come back and I don’t want it to persist. I am fighting it as best as I can.

Tomorrow will be different. Right? Right! Because it always gets better. I know it. I experienced it before.

I am tired, probably going to bed early tonight.

Big hugs from me to you

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Sunday Scribblings #143 – silence

Every Wednesday Aaron shares a writing prompt. This week it was “Silence”. Visit his blog for weekly prompts and other cool post (like questions of the week and movies he hasn’t seen). It will be well worth you while. I like these posts and although I don’t want to commit to writing for these prompts every week, it is also great fun to get involved. If you look in the search bar for Sunday Scribblings, you will find that I used my voice and did not stay silent. And I like that quite a lot.

My mind is never silent. The above photo was taken yesterday during the afternoon. I was cleaning some stuff and got caught up with these journals. They are the homes of many thoughts and memories. They hide the beginnings of stories and allowed me to write down poems without spell checker or grammar checker. These journals, that picture is also a testament to my inner struggles. My sorrows and joys. Everything is written down in there. Secrets disguised as fiction, fiction disguised as reality. Nothing is as it seems. And although everything is true, nothing is. The words and memories are reminders of those exact moments. They don’t mean much anymore, but a decade ago they were true and real and important enough to be written down. One moment these words were everything and the next the turned into nothing. Noteworthy is also, that I rediscovered many letters and postcards, tissues and scraps of paper that helped out as paper when sudden inspiration hit, and pictures too. Pictures of people who don’t exist in my life anymore. Letters of people who don’t have a voice in my life anymore. Memories of people who don’t hunt my dreams anymore. I spent a lot of time with old thoughts, and to my surprise they didn’t try to hurt me anymore. They lost their power over me. Haunting thoughts and memories are silent now. Just like so many people who used to be a part of my life and aren’t anymore.

Silence is never easy for me. Silence feels like rejection. It fuels my insecurities. Silence is rare. And because it is, I am already filling the next journal with parts of me. My story. Relatable or not. Important or not. It doesn’t matter, but I know that writing is my saviour and it keeps me sane when everything else is silent. Or when it is too loud.

Do I make any sense or are these mad ramblings of an unquiet mind? What do you think?

It’s the loudest silence that writes the most beautiful words. Don’t be afraid to listen to your mind. And write. Sing. Dance. Everything will be okay. And one day, you will be able to turn the page of your journal. One day you will open it for the last time and close it too. There is nothing left to add. Just, silence.

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Ex-friend

It’s Friday, October 27th. Today, when my shift is done at 4pm, I will have a week off work. To be honest, I don’t need the vacation time  yet, but school holidays are school holidays. And that means, I stay home. No need or reason to complain though. I am a very lucky girl indeed.

Yesterday, a special woman turned 41. She used to be my best friend. I still think about her often. But I am very aware that our friendship is over. She and I, we met way back in school. We were 15 at the time and we had nothing in common. She looked a bit like punk with her hair being stuck in every direction while I was more like a Goth. But somehow, we found common ground: music and movies. And we understood each other. She was my best friend and I really loved her. But I also took her for granted after a while. And still when I was in well and my depression started, I chose to find excuses instead of being honest and inevitably, one day, she snapped. Back then I did not understand because of me it came out of the blue, but in hindsight I now understand. She was and probably still is a very cool and unique woman. I am very grateful for everything we shared. But I am also confident that we are too different now and that we cannot be friends again.

So yeah, I thought about her a lot. I do it every year.  Is that weird? Probably. In this relationship, I made many mistakes. I take the blame.

Anyway… Today, I will see a children’s theater called Jump. A piece without speech. I admit, with my own kids, I never went to the theater. In my former jobs, it was never an option either, but now as a teacher I will see a theater piece every other month, and I am looking forward to it. I really love this job so far. I should have dared to make this move a lot earlier. But I always thought that I was not good enough or talented enough or whatever. With my education – a degree as an educator, finding a teaching job is very rare. And I got lucky. I am very aware of that. I am very aware that I only got this job because one person left in just the right time. Because there were 15 positions available and more than 120 applications. The job I got was the 16th position. A job that was not advertised yet. When I took the job, it was with the thought that I could leave for a job that was closer to home after a year, but to be honest, the distance is less of an obstacle than I thought. And right now, with the awesome team I am working with, I don’t want to leave or quit. I love it very much. I keep repeating myself. And I am afraid to jinx it, I admit. And yet…

You may notice that I talk a lot about my job. It is because it defines my daily life. My work and my kids are the most defining things for me. Maybe it is not what they call work-life-balance, but it is the way I like it.

Ah, soon, I will have to get up. This post will be scheduled for a couple of hours later… That means, I wrote this post today, scheduled it for a later hour, and slept for a couple of hours.

(For now, I get up every morning at 5 to be at work at 7.10am. And every day apart from Fridays, I am done with work at 11.45. With exceptions (teachings and team meetings).

As I said, I will be off work for a week now. I am looking forward to sleeping in, hehe

On that note, good night and good morning.

Posted on

it’s Thursday

throwback Thursday, as they call it. There were several random things on my mind for this throwback Thursday. Often, I just go back and share an old thought or post. But last night, I had many memories. And I want to share some with you.

Six years ago, I had just started a new job. Same as now. My hair was long and wavy, and I decided to cut it short. I cut my hair from waist-length to chin-length. For me, it was a huge change. I didn’t have short hair in years, but it felt right. And it felt good. I remember the hairdresser who asked several times if I really wanted to cut my hair and she even called a colleague to assist, saying that she was not used to doing this. But I was daring that way and I was experimental that day. After the haircut, I went to work and since it was October my colleagues first thought that my hair was tangled in my scarf; it wasn’t. Most people were amazed and positively surprised. Most people, Amalia cried when she saw me. She could not understand why someone would cut their hair. And to this day, there is no reason to that decision. I got up that morning and felt like changing my style. Ever since then, I cut my hair short a couple of times, the last time in December 2020. Since then it was growing back and I have almost waist-long hair again. With one change though, my wavy hair grew back as really curly. And I like it a lot that way. I also like my natural haircolour. It’s not red but not brown either. There are orange streaks in my chestnut hair and it is completely natural. Of course, there are more and more greys these days, but that too, I like.

So, six years ago, I was working at a nursery. I worked with babies aged 2 months to 2 years. I loved that job. A lot. Then came the moment I injured my shoulder in late 2018. I remember it exactly, it was at work and I had a kid on my arm who was throwing a tantrum. Something snapped in my shoulder and I was in agony, but I kept working. I only really allowed myself to feel the pain after my shift, when I was unable to bend over to tie my shoes. I went to a doctor. She didn’t touch me, she only said you seem to have snapped the breasts muscle. Loose some weight and it will be okay. But I didn’t trust her. She never touched me or my shoulder. A couple of days later, I saw a different doc who conducted different tests. He let me move my arm this way and that way and on an échographie the damage was clearly visible. He was mad when I told him about his colleague’s diagnosis. And so a long journey began. I had several cortisone injections and was put on extensive sick leave in order to take things easy. I saw a physiotherapist several times per week who help with massages and needling. (Needling is simply put damaging the muscle with acupuncture needles to make them twitch and heal themselves). Nothing worked for more than one week. I only remember 1 painfree week from that time and it was in October 2020. After that my doc said he couldn’t do anything else for me anymore and referred me to a surgeon. Again, I had to take several tests and it resulted in surgery in March 2021. I was in official recovery until July 2021, when I was told that I could never go back to my old job because of unforseen circumstances and new issues with my arm. I was lost, very very lost. And I embarked on a new journey to find a job I liked. I worked with pregnant minors and teen moms. I liked the job, I loved the shifts I worked but I didn’t like the team. I left for a job with Family services. I became a social worker, a case worker. I supervised parents who were not allowed to see their kids on their own. It was an interesting job, but due to my own history, it was very hard on me, and after very few months, I quit. And then, I got back to the start. I went back to were I had worked at the nursery. Same site, different group of kids; I now worked with kids 7 to 12. I felt relieved to be back there, it was like coming home. I stated that it felt like moving backwards to be able to move forward, and I stand by those words. Because after exactly 1 year, I left that place again. This time, it was by choice and with a feeling of closure. Ever since I am working a teaching job with 3 – 4 year olds. In all, in six years, I had 5 jobs. And it is kind of embarrassing, but I also feel a bit proud. I learnt something everywhere I was and I left parts of my knowledge everywhere too. Mainly the last two years shaped my career in a way I never thought possible. But I am glad I dared to quit time and time again. My shoulder issues are still not resolved and most days I am still in pain. But it is okay. I am not sure if the pain is easier to manage these days or if I simply got used to it.

a completely different memory to share is the one about me and music. I used to be a singer in a band. We were two singers, one male, one female. It was a great time, until the men decided they didn’t want a girl in the band and they asked me to leave, because I couldn’t sing and stuff like that. Fast forward to a community called Do it Yourself Hard (DIY Hard) for a compilation, songs were gathered and as a hidden song on there compilation, you can hear me performing a spoken poetry piece. (On Bandcamp, the album is set to private or I would share a link here for you) This collaboration also got me involved in a project called Endling, where I can be heard reading poetry again. But, the highlight of my musical career must be when a band called Weather Systems put one of my poems (the best pessimist) in a song and when Daniel Cavanagh narrated one of my poems. This one is quite special for me and although I am not 100% satisfied with the outcome, I am quite proud that this happened at all. After all, I was a fan of the band Anathema for years. It felt like a great honour. Though I admit, it didn’t do anything to enhance my book sales.

I shared a lot, for now, I think. Next week, I will share more memories. Maybe. Probably.