An evening yoga class, dinner, a movie and then I thought I was ready for my hostel bed.
I ended up counting the hours to dawn. Practically enough I could admire the nice view, the cars driving in the small hours and get a constant update of the time and temperature by watching the big electronic display. I have a blank around 02.00 am.
Do not know exactly what it was. Was it the person in the same bunkbed who snored through the night? Was it the heat?
Eventually I figured out I could open the window above my head to let some fresh air in. But not how to shut up my neighbour.
I don’t like leaving.
This does not mean that I do not like arriving, traveling or returning. But leaving always stresses me a bit, most probably because of everything I want to have done before.
I like to pack as orderly as I can and leave some kind of order behind me. So today I finished packing, waxed my legs, vacuumed while swearing profusely at the disobedient vacuum-cleaner letting off some steam and washed the dishes. I showered, blow-dried my hair and had lunch. I placed my lunch boxes in my ruck-sack and shook out the tiny gravel that inhabits our shoes these days.
Here I want to add that I am going away just around the corner for a yoga weekend workshop. I am looking forward to it, that’s not the issue. Once I am there, I will love it, but right now, I would much rather cuddle with my little baby niece.
Well, what to do? We all have our small weak spots and traumas. Mine comes from the millions of times – exaggerating of course – that I had to part from family during my child-and early adulthood. So yes, most things have a reason…That said, imagine how it must feel to leave everything behind to save your life and that of your family’s. Bears no comparison *watch this*.
Now I am winding up things and feeling almost cool. A few details need to be taken care of….and done! Now things look neat, I don’t look bad myself and I am soon off on a walk in the sunshine to the train station.
Wishing you all a lovely weekend!
Four years of blogging and I still love Februaries. I mean, I did love the month of February long before blogging was even invented – yes, I am that old…
Why I love February? Well, let me put out the connotations that make this month so attractive to me, in arbitrary order.
My birthmonth. The beginning of carnival and the kick off of lent. Fresias. Breakfast in bed. Winter spring. Cold weather. Long bright days. Birthday cakes and serpantines. Friends’ birthdays. Valentine’s day because I like red hearts and the celebration of love, despite all the commercial cheesiness – you can always remove the raisins from your cereal. Almond flower blossoms. The Chinese New Year. Semlor. The unique 28 days and the 29th bonus day every four years. Orange yellow tulips and the fond memories of departed family members.
So, that’s it. I don’t know if I have managed to convice any of you February sceptics out there, but I know that I want this February to last long.
I once met a Swedish-Turkish girl and being a curious linguist, I asked her about the word kefi, which in Greek stands for a joyful mood and disposition. Having kefi, not having kefi, doing something with kefi, being a person ful of kefi, etc. The reason why I asked, of course, is that kefi is of Turkish origin. Yasmin thought a bit about it and answered that yes, there was indeed a word with a similar meaning, keif. She explained that her little brother would sometimes say that he felt like taking a “keif banyo“, a feel-good bath I guess it could translate to. In any case, that keif banyo still resonates with me.
I particularly think of it when things tend to turn into obligations in my head. The spirit of that expression is something I want to hold on to. When I do my daily yoga, I am telling myself that it’s my keif yoga.
Equally when I go for my long walks, I make sure to savour them, because they keep me going. Between Monday and today, I have recorded 41,60 km on foot and without earphones. But I want to keep my walking an act of kefi.So whenever I am becoming too much of an uptight Lutheran, Zorba the Greek reminds me that life is not the same if not infused with the right amount of kefi. As we all know, it ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it.
Not as in snowed under with work, but rather as in being in a state of semi-isolation in a wooden cottage in a snowclad landscape. A secluded cosy place with the necessary: some food, a pile of books, a fireplace and good company. Making simple choices such as what to eat and when, which direction to go to for a walk and what kind of tea to have while reading a good book. That somehow sums up how I would have liked to spend a couple of days during the holidays. The end of the year was good, though, I cannot complain. I spent lots of time reading and taking long walks in the mild weather.
The holidays are over though and there is no time for the unfulfilled. The new year has begun and the cottage in the woods feels remote. Water has already flown under the bridge and anyway, one cannot step into the same river twice.
I have never quite understood why the new year should start in January. I do not sense any renewal vibes in this first month of the year, which I have never had any particularly sympathy for. I am currently in a blue cynical bubble, but I am telling myself that a tiny bit of grumpiness once in a while can’t be harmful. Thankfully a nice layer of sparkling snow (and -18 degrees this morning) has arrived to help out in this awkward beginning and show the real face of winter.
For the time being I am not in the mood for making lists, resolutions and big projections. I am taking it day by day, until the horizon broadens and lights up. Until I have turned the page and shaken off the uneasy feeling of this forced transition.
Few things capture the mood of the end of the year holidays as well as reading books. Actually, few things are more topical than reading books. I wish that the world could go on a mini sabbatical to relish in reading books and the reconvene.
This is one of my latest reads, The wasted vigil by Nadeem Aslam.
This novel is situated in the country side of Afghanistan and the protagonists are a former CIA agent, an old British doctor, a Russian woman, a young Afghani female teacher, and her fundamentalist compatriot. Criminals at the scene of a crime. Their personal stories are woven together against the background of a ravaged country. Nadeem Aslam not only creates an interesting plot – he also provides a wealth of historical, geopolitical and cultural information and facts that are of great relevance in our days.
The next book is already on the table, and I am picking up threads. The more I read, the more I want to read, because one thing leads to another and the world is just so magnificently complex. I end up looking things up on the net, taking notes and learning some fascinating things. Highly recommended.