Last one of 2010...

So following my sister's discovery that she had a gluten intolerance which is what was causing her belly to bloat, I decided that maybe I had it too. Upon weighing myself at my parents' house in Chester and noting that I seem to be about a stone heavier than usual, I thought long and hard and realised that gluten bloating probably doesn't weigh that much. So I joined a gym two days ago. I seem to be fit still - half hour run not tiring me out at all, followed by a short cycle, some rowing (not arguing, the other sort), some weights and some delicious stretching. I went back today and did it all again.

I feel great and this is all part of the next stage of my path. 2010 was about discovery and spiritual growth and while both will always be a part of my life, 2011 is going to be more about determination. Starting with the gym. This is what will set my intentions.

Thank you for following me throughout 2010. I hope my posts have been useful in some way - whether giving you something to think about, enjoyment, amusement, an aid to sleep, or whatever.

Sending you all much love and hoping that 2011 brings us all closer to the life we should be living, the one we all deserve, where conflict and anxiety lessen, where we feel less alone in our loneliness, where we feel loved and can feel love and have compassion for those we come across. Sorry if this sounds a bit wet, but really, loving properly is not about being wet - it's about being strong, passionate and alive. So there we go, may 2011 bring you strength, passion and life!!! Cheers everyone. xx

Very best wishes for 2011

Not all of you are Christian, but to those who are, Happy Christmas. To everyone regardless of religion, may you enjoy your winter break and enjoy (from the 21st Dec) the ever longer days for the next six months. 21st Dec, for me, is always a celebration and I find myself becoming excited, knowing that the short days will soon be starting to lengthen - the light is returning.

You may be wondering about my choice of photo. I've been looking through all my photos, partly as a retrospective, reflective exercise, contemplating what has been in the last decade and thinking about what will come in 2011. So much has happened to me since 2000 - I remember the start of the new millennium, wondering what would come. I would never in a million years have guessed all that has happened and all that I've done, but the biggest changes have come on the inside.

One of the most important things that I have learned over the last few years, is that it doesn't matter if you love me, or how much, or for how long. What matters is that I love you. Being loved is wonderful, don't get me wrong - my world revolves around love, in one form or another. The thing is, what makes me really happy, is genuinely loving other people. Faults and all. So I say again to you, this time in my own words - I love you, idiot. Idiot, because we can all be idiots sometimes and we can get so upset about the silly little things totally losing sight of the things that matter. Idiot, because we so regularly question if, or how much, or for how long someone else might love us. Love is love. It remains if you hold it gently in your heart and accept its comings and goings like the seasons and years.

I wish you all love in your hearts for 2011 (and longer!). May you find it easier and easier to truly love others and to accept love into your lives, in all the forms that it takes.

xx

SNOW!

Absolutely stunningly beautiful!

I woke to an odd coloured bedroom and leaped out of bed to look outside. Sure enough, the whole view was white and peaceful. The flakes are large and falling gently, and the snow on the ground is already a couple of inches deep. All I want to do is to go outside and make snow angels, but I am going to a wedding this afternoon in London and really ought to eat some cornflakes, drink my tea and get ready to leave.

I love it! Now that I officially have a home, I must go up to Manchester and collect my snowboarding clothes and walking boots, then snow playing will be a long-lasting pleasure rather than short-lived or a damp cold misery. :-)

Ooh, maybe we'll have a white Christmas!! :-)

My freewheeling curious mind - a minor rant

2010 in Zen? How could I have got that wrong? The title of my last post. Doesn't make a huge amount of difference to the meaning I guess. Up early this morning. At least, earlier than usual. I'm reading a lot at the moment. It all seems brain related. Read about a couple who've decided to ignore the clock going back and it's solved the problem of his cluster headaches and saved electricity. Bonus. Reading a fantastic book called A Brilliant Madness about, of course, manic depression, as this is my obsession at the moment. This one has a different slant to the others and focuses very strongly on the mood disorders being physical illness - chemical imbalance - not mental. And I think, as I always have done, about the distinction between mental and physical illness and, as usual, it irritates me. How common is it to feel depressed following a virus - post-viral blues? How many neurological-based problems have psychological outcomes? What about anxiety and manic depression causing physical symptoms such as nausea and digestive problems? Or allergy causing anxiety and a sense of impending doom. It angers me hugely that there is still such stigma against mental health problems, when really the distinction between mental and physical is so slim, barely a thread, that can easily be broken with your teeth. I understand that some 'mental' health problems can be frightening - psychosis for one, whether related to manic depression and therefore relatively easily treatable, or schizophrenia, or overuse of drugs, or... Alzheimers, Parkinson's, lupus, HIV (yes it can - I didn't know that one before!), multiple sclerosis - a multitude of 'physical' conditions... I don't like this distinction. It makes me feel uneasy. It reminds me of the way we all (myself included) have a tendency to need to box things up neatly. If someone is different we treat them as if there is something wrong with them and why should we do this? Who are we to say that this something is wrong? A lot of these 'conditions' have benefits which is why they have remained through natural selection - the mania of manic depression can have massively creative outcomes or insights, as well as sometimes being destructive, Asperger's provides those of use without it with a totally different way of seeing the world, which I have found in my own personal life to be hugely beneficial. For example, how many of you have seen couples arguing in public and she is screaming at him and saying "Well if you don't know, I'm not going to tell you!" as if he should be able to read her mind and has let her down terribly by not bothering to know her well enough to what is inside her head. Asperger's teaches us in a most striking fashion that this really isn't possible and why is it so hard to just say "Okay, well if you don't know, I'll tell you, because obviously you can't read my mind." How much more sensible and mature would a conversation of that nature be? Of course, some 'conditions' remain because a symptom of them may be promiscuity, but that's another issue.

I seem to be ranting. I am fascinated. Back to manic depression. Those with it often have family histories peppered with depression (or recurrent depression, which can actually be manic depression misdiagnosed with low level manic episodes that are so low they are unrecognisable - more likely if the depression was never effectively treated as such), anaemia, colour blindness, thyroid problems, alcoholism, other substance abuse including legal drugs such as tranquilisers), stories of eccentric relatives who regularly disappear into a dark room for days with a 'headache' or otherwise slightly bizarre behaviour, periods of lows and elation, inspiration, impulsivity. It's not purely genetic as environmental factors do play a part in triggering the condition, it would seem. It usually hits in late teens/early 20s. Then there are the psychlothymics who just swing gently from high to low on a regular basis and never need medication. Misdiagnoses can include depression, schizophrenia (especially for the 'good outcome' or 'quick recovery' ones), premenstrual tension, schizoaffective disorder. There's a whole range of things that people often get labelled with before being correctly diagnosed.

I don't know why it fascinates me so much, but something, somewhere, somehow, is beginning to make a lot of sense to me in the back of my little, freewheeling, curious, mind.

I am aiming to complete my essay on the use of creativity in Gestalt therapy this week, though more realistically I have postponed this until 'end of 2010' and then. Then I have time to write and I am so excited. It has been building up in me, frustratingly, for months, this desire to write and little time to do so. The time is coming and my fingers will soon flow with what they want to say, rather than what I have to say, as required by my college! :-) Wishing you all a fabulous week. If you're in the UK and reading this, wrap up warm. Snow is on the way again! xx

2010 in Zen

I am very aware that the year is drawing to a close. We have almost completed the first decade of this new century. I started the year by creating this - my blog: 2010 is Zen and so I start by asking myself if the title was true - was 2010 Zen for me? It was kind of a joke name, but in all honestly this year has been amazing.

I had a holiday in Thailand which prompted me to start my book - a book which is now part way through its second draft. A holiday with my beautiful friend Kathy, our adventures and chats, my meditations in the Buddhist temples. It was utterly delicious, despite my slightly unfriendly introduction to Bangkok. My memories are like a slide show of beautiful photos, enveloped in warmth, freedom and safety. Except the motorbike riding - that didn't feel so safe at the start and only felt moderately safe at the end! Thanks to Voluptua, the lovely bike and her owner Kathy for taking me on some fun rides and turning me from a total scaredy cat, to just a moderate one.

Then I found myself in Hong Kong for three months. I meditated, healed and practiced yoga regularly, I made friends there, some of whom I shall never forget because of their kindness, genuineness and acceptance. I was surrounded by sea and mountains, as well as an amazing city life - a drab grey city by day, that at night came to magical life, a world of diamonds made from sparkling fairy lights, of chance encounters and randomness. After half a year of no drinking, I indulged in the odd cocktail or two in rooftop bars with fantastic views and, rare for me, not feeling in the slightly bit chilly. This period also set me on my current path, to continue my counselling training, which is what I am currently immersed in, perhaps almost drowning in.

Then it was Croatia, my homeland, my heartland. Finding more about who I am, reconnecting with my Croatian heart - that was a special experience, shared with some special people who I'll probably never see again, but that's okay. If we're meant to meet up again, we will, and if not, well we had a great time. It was also very much a family time for me - my Mama and aunt, my cousins. Daily life in the heart of a city, surrounded by a beautiful - if frustratingly difficult - language, with family all around me. I feel so lucky to be part of my family - we might be difficult from time to time and we might be honest to the point of pain occasionally, but we're honest and we love deeply.

I wrote in my diary what I wanted to have achieved by the end of the 2010. The things I have achieved from this list include making a decision about my training, moving out of London, practicing more meditation and healing and writing a book and getting feedback on it. I wanted to publish my book by the end of this year, but some things take time and there was stuff I needed to learn before I got to this point. Perhaps I have also learned a little more realism and patience. Never thought I'd say that!

So, the next steps? Right now, get rid of this vile cold and endless snot. I'm taking herbal tinctures and infusions, mixed by my lovely sister who tries to make me believe they will taste nice with the addition of a little honey. I have to confess, though don't tell her, that I am convinced of their effectiveness if not their taste - the vile tasting concoction she gave me last night helped me breathe easy and sleep peacefully. For the first time in days I didn't need to sleep with tissues stuffed up my nostrils to stem the snotty flow. I am now able to look slightly more sexy as I sleep - always important to know that if you're going to be disturbed at night - for example by an intruder - that you can still look your best.

Next year who knows? There are things I know I will do and things I would love to do, but we shall see. One thing for sure is that I know I need to change the title of this blog.

I'll be in touch again before Christmas. I want to wish you a happy one, but this is far too early for me do so without irritating myself. Tell you what, I'll say instead, have a good week!! :-)

It's the simple things that satisfy

After doing a spot of college work and sorting out my notes, I have spent the rest of the day painting white paint onto walls and woodwork, and we shall start putting up the coving up shortly...once the correct adhesive has been purchased. I am very good at painting (if I may say so myself) and enjoy it hugely. Well, except painting the ceiling (which hurts my arms and fills my eyes with paint speckles), but there is always a nice strong muscley man to attend to that element of any room.

I shall be rewarded with sushi in a couple of hours, which makes me very happy indeed. :-) Suuuuushi. Yum yum. Nice slabs of raw fish, rice and perhaps some vegetables. Yummmmmy. :-)

I am tired. My hands ache, my arms ache, my back aches, but I feel satisfied. It has been a satisfactory day. Satisfaction has been achieved. It has all been wonderful satisfying. :-)

Time to smile and drink tea for a moment.

Kisses.

PS I discovered that golden syrup with finely chopped garlic, soy sauce, a splash of fish sauce and finely chopped chili (with seeds) is delicious when used as a marinade for chicken. Same sauce also used to saute spinach leaves and baby plum tomatoes as a side dish, and drizzled over sweet potatoes, regular potatoes and carrots once they landed on our plates. Deee-licious.

Movement

Not talking bowels here, they're fine thank you. Talking life progress. Today I was offered a voluntary counselling placement in Wokingham, a short train ride from Reading. It's a lovely area and very easy to get to. I  have to do undertake a six-week induction there (effectively) and then I have a two-hour slot in Woodley every Wednesday evening. I am so happy. :-)

When they asked me about working in their Reading-based clinics I said that I used public transport and they immediately decided it would be impossible for me to work from those locations. Honestly, I think it would be about a half-hour cycle ride. They were shocked, not being used to anyone travelling anywhere other than by car. Well, perhaps there are some advantaged of having lived the last 10 years of my life in London - you get used to life without a car. Guess I'll have to buy a bike in January then.

So, I am starting to sort a few things out and it feels good. Now back down to work!

Slackness

Not talking slackness of jowls due to aging here, as you might think. I'm not that old thank you very much, though I did notice that when I hang my head upside down the flesh accumulates under my eyes and makes me look like I'm about 60 years old. That was rather depressing so I shan't be experimenting with that look again.

No, I'm talking about slackness of posting. I have been slack. I apologise. I'm not very exciting right now.

Well, I've been running once a week for the last month - one hour, covering 5-6 miles in the time, which I am fairly proud of. I've also been mountain biking the weekend just gone - two hours, covering just over 8 miles - and that was wicked fun. Scary and I didn't quite manage to making it up again from a steep downhill into a muddy ditch. I also got mud in my eyes and was wearing a mud goatee for a bit (unbeknown to me at the time). Topped off with a Berkshire Cornish pasty and I was well happy. :-)

I've also got back into the social circle and have actually started to make dates with friends again. I guess this must mean I am feeling more settled. Either that or a little stir crazy. I feel the need to start implementing. In the language of my therapy training, I have left the fertile void of nothingness and I am now ready for action.

If anyone knows of a non-dysfunctional easy-going flatshare in Reading, please let me know! I can't be doing with squabbles over bills or washing up. I want easy, cup of tea? thank you very much! night night then, type of flatshare. The odd bit of fun is fine, but to be honest, I'd rather boring over fun for my homelife. For me fun is cycling and running and watching funny stuff on the big black box from time to time. For me fun is chatting for hours or having the odd dinner party. For me, fun is being creative with buttons and dye. Goodness, bring on the slack jowls, I'm clearly ready for them...

Benoit Mandelbrot

The father of fractals has died age 85. An astonishingly intelligent man.

Something he said, which has somehow got under my skin is reported in a BBC article "Mandelbrot was also highly critical of the world banking system, arguing the economic model it used was unable to cope with its own complexity."

It makes me feel very uneasy and I have an intuitive sense that he predicted something significant. It somehow reinforces my belief that cash should be stored in gold under the bed and ploughed into property ownership and not invested into pensions and stocks. Anything that is essentially not 'real' worries me. Somewhat hypocritical of me, given I don't own many things and all my money is in banks - intending to all be spent this year however, I might add.

For further information read Mandelbrot's book 'The Fractal Geometry of Nature' published in 1982. I haven't yet read it in its entirety and plan to purchase it.

Something that also pops to mind, relating to the ridiculousness of money and finances, is the book 'Fooled by Randomness - the hidden role of chance and life in the markets.' Now forgive me if I am wrong, but what I took from this book is that the whole world seems to revolve around a financial illusion that is unsustainable.

Now I shall go away and ponder these two seemingly unrelated things and work out what I really think.

96 seems to be the going rate

I heard today than an old friend of the family died on Monday. Doris Beaver was 96, the same age as my Great Aunt Ailsa was when she died in January. It seems 96 is the going rate then. Well, at least 96 - I hope to make it past that.

My Dad told me that she'd had a stroke a couple of decades ago and lived independently since then, up until two years ago that is. He told me she was never cantankerous. When I think of her I feel warm and safe - I remember her being a kind, amusing and generous soul. I remember photos in her living room and patio doors...at least I think I do. I remember a garden with trees. I remember she lived in Croydon, or thereabouts. We used to pop in on the way to or from Croatia, when we were small. I remember it always being sunny, but the summers of my childhood were all sunny and hot, in my memory that is.

This blog post is in her memory and is to express gratitude and thanks for the wonderful person that she was. My challenge is to be as non-cantankerous as she was. There really is no need. So kindness and gentleness all round, please.

It's not black and white

I've been studying cultural perspectives within counselling and it's making me think. I am a little wary of writing a post about ethnicity because I know it is so easy to cause offence or to be insensitive. I want to state up front that this is not my intention and I am just trying to make sense of stuff I'm learning right now. Think of me as a child taking my first steps if you think I am being naive or insensitive. If you think I am blind to something, please tell me - if no-one points me in the right direction, I may never see and I really want to learn.
---

I’ve never thought about what it meant to be white. It has never crossed my mind to think about it. It felt somehow insignificant. Apparently this is quite normal for white people. We don’t really associate with white ethnicity or ever think about its implications. Some studies say that we are ‘trained to be blind to the fact of our privileges’.

Now, for possibly the first time, I am thinking about my whiteness and the privilege it brings. I have always felt lucky, perhaps another term for privilege, that I am intelligent, that I am ‘good enough’ to always get a job. I recognise that I have been luckier than others in always having work, because I am bright, because I am attractive – I know this makes a difference in interviews – and because I am naturally sociable, outgoing and empathic. I have never thought about the fact of being white as helping me to get work, but now I do think about it, I wonder if perhaps I have been luckier than some because I am white. 

I wonder if despite being a ‘lovely person’ and actually being good at what I do, whether being attractive, white and unmarried has also helped me enormously. I wonder and I know for sure it’s true in some cases. I don’t feel guilty, I feel very lucky. Although I see that being white may have helped me, I also know that if I was shit at my work, I would not have been allowed to stay employed…but then I question that statement. Could I have got away with more, I wonder, because I am white?

Should I feel guilty then, I wonder? And I think, no. I used to feel terribly guilty (as a teenager) for being intelligent and having an easier time at school than others, but I know now that I shouldn’t have. I also know that it wasn’t always easy – there was being a foreigner with an odd name, there was not being rich or having attended one of the posh universities, there was having illness in the family, to cope with on top of ordinary daily stresses, on many occasions providing support that other people wouldn’t have had a clue about.

As long as I don’t boast or use my privileges unfairly to get one over on someone else, then surely I should be grateful for whatever I have been blessed with, and use it in a positive way to help me get on in life and to make a difference. Be grateful for what I have and accept the things I don’t have. Surely ingratitude would have the same outcome as feeling guilty. I would waste opportunities to make a difference and, for me, that would be a crime.

But then I come back to things that might change - I will always be white, intelligent and sociable, but I may one day be less attractive (as I age, perhaps) or I may not always be unmarried. I wonder how those changes would impact my chances of employment and I feel a tinge of anger that they may make things harder. I have, perhaps, taken for granted the things that make my life easier. I feel a tinge of what it must be like to have to fight that little bit harder for something you know you could do standing on your head, perhaps a million times better than the person who got the job, a little bit more attractive than me, a little bit more sociable, with money or connections I could never hope to have, or simply, a different skin colour.

Reality versus dream

Reality

I slept at my sister's house last night. I have just woken up and am about to cook some yummy homemade fishcakes for my breakfast.

Dream

I was in an odd place, not sure what it was, but I had a tiny poky little room with no windows and no light. It was stuffy and claustrophobic. I think we were all part Croatian in this place. Outside my door was a little landing and there was another tiny bedroom next door to mine. The person in it had a window. I was envious of the window. I couldn't work out if it was a he or a she. S/he spoke to me and apologised about the drunken behaviour the night before. I said to him/her "It's okay, you don't need to worry. I'm not really here. My body is actually sleeping in my sister's flat and I'm only here for a few hours. I wasn't here last night either, so I don't remember anything - I didn't hear anything, I wasn't here."

For him/her this was a life, s/he'd been living here. My room looked like I had been living there too, but I knew it had all been constructed for just those few hours of me being there, that I was really fast asleep in my sister's flat and that before my sleeping, I'd been awake and in Reading and London.

I then 'woke up' in my sister's flat and cooked some fishcakes for my breakfast. After I ate them I wiped the surfaces and put stuff in the fridge, then found these three homemade fishcakes and was gutted I'd eaten the shop-bought ones.


Reality

I was woken at 6am and then again at 7.30am (when my sister got up and then left the flat) and I guess that the combination of this left me confused. I heard sounds that didn't make sense. I saw bright lights that weren't daylight and my mind was so confused when I finally woke up into reality.

I woke up for real at 8.30am, relieved I still had nice fishcakes to cook. I felt I'd been asleep either four hours or 20 hours, but in reality I'd been asleep about 8.5 hours, but broken.

It's funny. The first time I 'woke up' I 'knew' I was awake. Now I am really awake I have no doubt that I am really awake. There is no fear that I am somehow still trapped in a dream.

What is it with this dream within a dream? I've always had them and always found them fascinating. Sometimes wonderful and sometimes irritating when I've lived a whole day and have to do it all over again, depending, of course, if it was a wonderful day or a difficult day.

The new thing for me, with this, was knowing where I was - asleep in my sister's flat. This hasn't happened before. I've always known I was dreaming before, but this had a different, kind of Matrix-esque quality.

Thoughts welcome. Please post. :-)

Bringing you sunshine

Today, for some inexplicable reason, I feel it's my purpose to bring you sunshine. I am not God, or a god, even, so I can't literally bring you sunshine, but I can make you feel warm and cosy inside, as if it was sunny. I'm not sure how to do this, I only know that I want to, so I am going to start with smiling. Can you imagine that? Me smiling. I am smiling at you. My eyes are looking at you, watching you carefully, to see how you're feeling. I think I see the corners of your eyes begin to crinkle. Now don't worry, it's not the sign of aging crinkle, it's the sign of a life well lived crinkle, a life full of laughter crinkle. These are good crinkles. I love them. I find them very attractive. The minute I see your eye crinkles, I know you laugh and this makes you attractive. I see the corner of your mouth start to turn up, you look a little bemused. You start to smile. The world begins to look brighter as if it was sunnier. You are aware of this and not sure how it has happened, but as you notice this, your heart begins to lift. You can feel a fuzzy warmth in your heart, kind of a like a cute little furry animal curled up in there...oh but stop, don't worry, not like furring of the arteries, not that kind of fur, no, more the fur that keeps you warm and cosy, the fur that is important for life and is there to be stroked and loved. That kind of fur. And if you don't like the idea of fur in your heart, scrap that idea. Go back to the sunshine idea. Imagine sunshine in your heart. Imagine it expanding to fill your world. Your world is now full of sunshine which will remain with you all day. So, throughout the day (and the weekend too if your memory is good enough), every time anything gets you down, just remember the sunshine in your heart and remember me sitting next to you, looking into your eyes and liking the smile I see.

Frustration

Who would have thought it would be so hard to find a Reading-based Gestalt therapist that doesn't cost the earth? Why is it so hard to do anything without a car outside of London? Why can't I find time to do the things I love doing? I am turning into a blob through lack of exercise and my brain is beginning to transmogrify into a heaving sticky mass of purple blancmange. My fingers are forgetting how to type. I keep dropping (and breaking) things that don't belong to me. My mind is being subjected to stultification. I haven't even been meditating. And I forgot to eat lunch. And I am cold. And there is no milk.

Okay, so I'm feeling very, very sorry for myself. I'll snap out of it shortly. I will. I have to. Things can only go up when they're down, right?

I have now eaten an egg on toast and I am going out to buy milk. And chocolate.

Feathers and new applications

As I was sitting meditating this morning, I saw a white feather float past the window. Upon opening my email, my thought for the day was this:

Like a feather, we float blissfully along on the winds of destiny.  When we simply remain light, our landing will be painless.  The lightness of our being allows us to catch hold of even a slight puff of wind to propel us upward on currents of warm air; so that we can follow our destiny.  

I quite liked it. :-)

On another note, I was trying to make my laptop faster when I was Skyping a friend so checked what other applications I had open and it really made me chuckle. Apparently the application 'Julia Danila' is running. She was very pleased to hear this.

Improvements in time management

I've not written for ages. Been too busy to think - with loads of work, calling about placements, counsellors, supervisors, starting college again, back and forth between London and Reading, and oddly, Ruthin, the town of my ancestors. I've been busy, shattered and struggling a little with time management, but today I cracked it.

I've decided not to do more than three days a week work (except in exceptional circumstances); to commit Tues-Thurs evenings in Reading every week, as well as weekends where I can manage this; to book in time for college work and essay writing every week; and to book in time for writing - though 'writing' at the moment means 'reading'. I am researching bipolar and loving it.

I read something somewhere that really struck me, I think it was on the tea bag of a Yogi tea, you know those little messages they have on the paper at the end of the string. It said something like:

"To gain knowledge, you must read; to learn you must write; to understand you must teach."

Photos from my cousin Krešo

Mali Lošinj at my Uncle Braco's house looking over the main harbour

(From left) Zrinka, Paolo, Željka, Teta Dubravka, Baka Leska, Mama, Braco, me, Vlatka, Mirijam, Alberto and Branka

Me and Mama looking over Mali Lošinj harbour from the house

To swim or not to swim

I am essentially a sociable person, I tell myself. I dislike intensely exercising on my own. The lido is in front of the house, the only heated 50m outdoor pool in London. It is lovely. I went a couple of days ago...but I am lazy, sorry...sociable. My sister won't wake up. I want her to trek all the way to London Fields so she can come swimming with me! But she won't reply to my texts... How selfish, I know.

Yesterday I started working again. Another week of work. It's great - bit of cash, slight easing up of the stresses of no cash flow (or at least, no incoming cash flow!). My day began when I walked into a huge cobweb, head first. The trauma of pulling a spider out of my fringe is imprinted in my shudder which remains from yesterday. Hideous. Yesterday was a rollercoaster, but a mainly pleasant one. Spider, work, shame, exquisite contentment, pleasure.

The shame was tripping over my own feet while sashaying past a load of builders. All girls know this shame, surely. We don't like being yelled at in the street by builders, or whistled...it can be embarrassing, but at the same time, we most definitely do. It's a sign of your womanliness. If they don't whistle or yell out a compliment, that is shameful, there has to be something wrong with you. Tripping in front of builders is the ultimate shame, mainly because they are likely to be there every single day for ages. I can only thank my lucky stars that I am not working every day, so they are highly unlikely to recognise me next time I walk past.

The exquisite contentment was having little baby Maia (my friend's baby) fall asleep on my chest for about three hours. I fell into that hazy, dozy, spaced out state of blissful contentment that only little babies can throw me into. She was so cute, despite (or perhaps because of) the whole body vibrations of wind, the occasional attempt to suck random bits of flesh on my chest or arm and the incredible gurning faces she pulls.

Finally, an old friend visited me for dinner and I felt, for a moment, as if I have my own home and can accept visitors.

This is my last day in London Fields, and with Pan the Cat. He came to find me this morning and sat next to me as I woke up, mewling at me. I think he knows I am leaving. He allowed me to give him a little cat head massage without hitting me or biting me and is now curled up next to me, sleeping, while I type. I didn't think this would be the case, but I've enjoyed looking after him and I think I shall miss him.

XX for Pan the Cat.

Plant pot

One of my Godfathers reminded me about my plant pot - the one my roots are in and that I take everywhere. Some people root into the ground; I have my roots in my plant pot. :-)

The sun is shining, the clouds have lifted and I am working.

Leave blank

Why am I even writing? I have absolutely nothing to say, but I want to chat.

I love being here, in some ways, having a little space, being on my own blah blah blah, but I am actually missing not being alone. I am a people person. I don't need to speak to them, but I do like having them around. In fact, having them around and not speaking to me is my ideal. I have my space, but I am not on my own. Every so often I can make a joke, or share a cup-of-tea-time. Okay, so I have a cat here and I do understand now how having a cat as a companion stops you feeling like you're on your own, but you know what? My opinion of cat-ownership is confirmed - it's like having a child. The cat, while I do feel very fond of him, is high maintenance. He is needy: he follows me around from room to room, he wakes me up to feed him, he wakes me up in the night when he gets scared, he sulks when I leave the house. Honestly, I'd rather have a baby than a cat. Babies don't moult. Babies don't make my nose itch and my eyes swell up. Babies grow up and learn to feed themselves. Babies leave home one day.

I am aware, as I write this, that a number of my close friends have had babies recently and would probably not sympathise at all with my complaints, being, as they are, in that post birth trippy haze of sleep deprivation, but goodness only knows, I feel like a new mother. He wakes me all the time - I've not had proper sleep since I got here. Every time he does something odd, I worry, not knowing what is wrong with him. The worst was last night when he spent the whole night going schizo and tearing around the place chasing balls at random intervals, just as I'd fallen asleep. He'd then charge into the bedroom and stand there looking at me with his big scared eyes, so I'd stroke his little head and make soothing noises. He wakes me by bringing dead bugs into the bedroom, I wake with his claws tangled in my hair, I wake as his feet land on my body in the middle of the night - this is not peaceful sleep.

But then, it's not really the cat. There is something else that is bothering me and I am not sure what it is. I have some freelance work to do, which is great. I seem to be making progress with finding a placement, which is great. I have been catching up with friends and seeing my lovely boyfriend. I'm staying in a lovely flat in a lovely part of London. All this is great. So what's the problem?

I'm not at home. I miss being in a familiar place which feels safe. I want to find a home. The problem is, I've never been settled. I've lived in over 10 houses in the last 10 years in London. When I was a kid, though I lived in the same house all my life, every summer we would all decamp to Croatia, to a random selection of new homes. Even in Chester, we moved rooms from time to time, as children left and moved out, or came home again after uni. Even there, when I was in the same room for years, I would constantly change my furniture around so it felt like a new space.

Was I born to be a nomad, I wonder? I want to settle, yet I can't settle. I wonder what it will take to make me stop still and just be in one place. I wonder when I'll find my home and it occurs to me as a write, that maybe my home isn't a physical location, but a feeling. Maybe my home is a who, and not a what.

Free things, like smiles

First he gave me free tomatoes and today he gave me 7p off my total and six free-range eggs. I wonder what he'll give me next. I like Siy's corner shop man. He makes me smile. I think he likes my smile. I think we should all smile more.

:-)

Veli Lošinj

 About time I posted some pics of my favourite place in the world...

Veli Lošinj main harbour

The view over the wall, around the corner of the flat

Mama's homemade tomato soup - beautiful and delicious

Dark skies and sea when the storm hit unexpectedly

Underwater at Javorna beach

Underwater rocks and pink plants

One of the benches that always remind me of Tug

In the water

Leaving the island by ferry

A snoring cat

He's snoring. I didn't know that cats snored.

Cats with special needs

I've never been a cat lover, but my friend needed a cat-sitter and I have no home. I've met Pan before too. That's not 'pan' as in the cooking implement, and neither is it 'pan' as in Spanish for 'bread' - it's the Pan of Greek mythology: the god of shepherds and flocks, of mountain wilds, hunting and rustic music, as well as the companion of the nymphs. I've always wanted to be a tree nymph so it seems fairly apt, really.

Pan, apparantly, has Asperger's and special needs. He is a bit special, but lovely. My friend also warned me about the little black and white ADHD cat that comes in - honestly this one ran in, ran around as if she was on speed, charged at Pan's food and started munching. Three times she did this. Each time I literally had to tear Pan's food away from her and give her the cheap cat food from the pantry, as instructed. I've not yet met the squirrel that I can also feed. This is not cat-sitting, this is catsquirrel-sitting.

My first night as a cat-sitter? I slept terribly. I was instructed to keep Pan in overnight as the foxes have been known to attack cats in the park opposite. Anyway, around 3am I was so hot, I had to open the window and the second it opened, Pan had squirmed out. He eventually trotted home, probably just excited by the novelty of being let out in the middle of the night. I was awoken twice by the feeling of a hundred feet on my body as Pan decided the spot where I was sleeping was the best spot to jump onto the bed. This morning he seemed fairly cheery to see me awake, and is now curled up on a cushion next to where I am sitting. He's quite sweet really. And you know what? Cat biscuits smell delicious - I really am peckish now and must get some breakfast.

The empathic civilisation

I have long thought that people are essentially good and wired up to love one another. Would love it if we (including myself) were all able to empathise with everyone else, seeing that each person is just another person - seeing the similarities among us, rather than the differences. Understanding that most aggression is defence, not attack, and feeling empathy rather than anger or hate. Since when did our own negativity ever beat or overcome someone else's negativity? Really. Certainly in my own experience, never. You haven't won if you beat someone in an argument; you have won if you don't need to resort to arguing in the first place. You're not fighting the other person; rather you are fighting your own ego, or maybe, your ego is fighting their ego - whatever is it, this isn't your true selves engaging in communication.

I would love for myself and everyone else to extend our empathy from those we love, or perhaps even those we see suffering on the streets in our home town, or seeing a small child cry afraid when it loses its mother, to the entire world regardless of race, religion, country or number of ears. A bit fanciful or unrealistic? Why not? Why couldn't it be this way?

Our brains fire up when we empathise as if we were experiencing the event ourselves. Most of us are wired up to feel what others feel - even those that struggle to see what others feel still get it, it's just harder for them to see. "We are not wired up for aggression, violence and self-interest, but for sociability, companionship, affection, attachment and the drive to belong." Do you believe that? I do. The first existential inklings of a child - that we are born and die with our own unique history - allow a child to develop empathy. Empathy is not necessary if there is no suffering or anxiety - it is about the ability to show solidarity with others who also struggle and fight for a good life.

As long as there is suffering and pain, we need to practice empathy.

Anyway, these rather random and perhaps disjointed thoughts came out of a short clip that a friend sent to me. It's a very interesting piece on the need for empathy in this world and is much better thought out than my writings. I have to apply for various placements and then take the rubbish out, before helping with plastering. Sorry I didn't devote more time to my logic and the development of my thoughts. Still, better something to make you think, than nothing, right?

This clip is only 10 minutes long. Check it out:  The Empathic Civilisation

And apparently the Bible got it right - we did indeed come from one woman and one man. I wonder if they could see us now, whether they'd be proud of us or not.

London

London: parks nice, my friends nice, my sister's flat nice, transport horrid, rude people horrid, smelly armpits horrid, people who stand on my foot and don't apologise horrid, people who smack me in the head because I'm too short horrid, people who don't smile back horrid, man on tube who pressed his buttocks against my back probably also because I'm too short horrid, people who try to lean on me to create more space for themselves on the tube horrid, endless hours spent trying to get around London horrid.

Why do so many people glare at me when I try to smile cheerfully at them? Will I end up like that if I stay in Horrid Town?

I want a magic flying bubble full of sunshine, peace and love.

The art of tree liberation

So I got the whole story from my Dad last night. When Tug was in primary school (about 60 years ago) he planted a mandarin pip in a plastic yoghurt pot, of which we no doubt had gazillions, yoghurt pots being one of the main items of it'll come in handy one day rubbish kept at home. He asked, in his little boy voice (not much different from his 47-year old voice) if they could take the seedling to Croatia to plant it.

It was duly planted, about 35 years ago (I imagine, though clearly I'm not doing great with numbers in this blog - this is probably the most accurate one) in a patch on soil known as The Little Garden next to The Shade. When The Shade was rebuilt, the Little Garden disappeared and Dad insisted on replanting the tree into the Main Garden, as he has done with a number of trees (or at least one) from his private Chester garden into the public general Chester area (to be shared by all visually, but harvested only by us, from number 24).

The little Mandarin Tree, now happily replanted was, however, being strangled by the new creepers in the also new Main Garden, so Mama had to engage in Tree Liberation. See below.

Once Tree Liberation had been completed, the Mandarin Tree was able to stand proud and tall (and visible as long as Mama held away the oleander tree which was insisting on being in front). You may notice that it is now almost twice Mama's height, which puts it at a wapping four foot!! :-)

Finally, I would like to add and clarify that this is Tug's Mandarin Tree (he expressed a certain possessiveness over the tree, so I thought I ought to clarify ownership, just in case he got upset).

Saturday to Tuesday

Currently trying to check in online and infuriatingly, it's not letting me. Technology? Pah! Give me a village with no post office anytime.


The duck and the cat – Saturday

[I found this in an online book by Paulo Coelho and really liked it so I thought I’d share it with you all. If only I’d come across this years ago. Hope you like it too.]

“How did you enter the spiritual life?” asked a disciple of the Sufi master Shams Tabrizi.

“My mother said that I wasn’t mad enough for the madhouse or holy enough for the monastery,” replied Tabrizi, “So I decided to devote myself to Sufism, in which we learn through free meditation.”

“And how did you explain that to your mother?”

“By telling her the following fable:

Someone placed a duckling in the care of a female cat. He followed his adoptive mother everywhere; then, one day, they came to the edge of a lake.

The duck immediately plunged into the water, while the cat called out from the shore, “Come out of there at once, you’ll drown!”

And the duckling replied, “No, I won’t, Mama, I’ve discovered what is good for me and I know that I’m in my element. And I’m going to stay here even though you don’t understand what a lake is for.””


Paulo Coelho: Stories for Parents, Children and Grandchildren – Volume 1 (http://paulocoelhoblog.com/internet-books/)

Transgenerational trauma – Sunday

Last night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept waking, afraid in case there was someone in my room. I felt anxious in the blackness of the night. It doesn’t happen often these days, but it was common when I was a child. I have always liked to have my back to the wall (whether I was sleeping or sitting in a room) and to have all entry points to the room covered with my eyes. I’ve never liked sitting with my back to a door, because I’ve always been aware that someone could come in and stab me in the back without me seeing.

I remember an exercise we did in my counselling course a few years back. I can’t remember if it was the first or second year. We were told to stand in the room where we felt safest. We were given 10 minutes, I think, to do this, because of course your perception of safety is not only influenced by the physical space you’re in, but is also relational to where people are in your space. By the end, we were all standing where we felt safest. The door was on the opposite wall to the windows. The windows covered the entire length of the wall they were on, but only the top half. I was diagonally opposite the door, squatting under the level of the windows. When asked why, I replied, “Well, it’s so I can see if someone comes in, there is no chance for anyone to be behind me, and no-one can shoot me through the window because they can’t see me when I’m this low.” I didn’t know where these thoughts came from, but they’ve always been with me, ever since I was little. They weren’t always there, just from time to time.

Another episode, and it may have even been the same day, one woman was discussing atrocities done during WW2 to Jews – her family are Jewish – and I started to shake uncontrollably and I felt intense anger. Another woman, and I shall never forget this, came to stand behind me and she just put her hands on my shoulders to calm me, which it did and I am not sure what else would have done at that point. It was the strangest thing I had experienced and I couldn’t explain it.

I explained to my tutor how I’d felt and my confusion about what had happened and she spoke to us of transgenerational trauma. This is where children pick up fears and anxieties from an older relative, usually a parent, someone from another generation who suffered an extreme trauma. This is often the case with war experiences, for example. This made sense for me, with my family, but I never checked it out. Today I did and I think I now know where some of my irrational fears come from. Once they were not irrational, but absolutely essential to survival and so they were passed on to me subconsciously to ensure my survival too. I hope I never need to verify their use.

Incidentally, now it’s bright and sunny again I am cheery and relaxed, ready for another day on this beautiful and completely unthreatening island!

Mali Lošinj – Monday

Well today we decided to leave the village of Veli Lošinj and we went on a little adventure to Mali Lošinj. Not that it started off being an adventure – I was merely intending to accompany Mama to the police station to renew her passport.

We got up (hideously) early to catch the 8am bus, which, it turned out, had changed to the 8.15am bus. Mama had not been certain of the times, it turns out, just hopeful! No matter, except maybe I’d been able to have breakfast first (very important, as anyone knows who has spent breakfast time with me). This little minibus it turns out is a free pensioner’s bus, but thankfully they accepted people under the age of 60 for just 10 kuna…or 12 kuna if you want a ticket. ‘Entrepreneurial’ man. I was happy not having a ticket.

When we arrived at the police station, Mama was told that she had to fill in a form, go to the post office to pay and then return to submit the form and receive her passport. Easy. So off we ambled into the centre to find a post office. On the way, we stopped for strudel (me, apple; Mama, poppy seed) and a very excited man decided to tell us all about a car that had been driven by a drunk person into the water of the harbour and was in the process of being lifted from the harbour – presumably the car rather than the man, who I assume could swim. All very exciting for 9am in a sleepy town at the end of a very long island.

We headed for a café to get some tea and toast before continuing our journey. Most essential. After this I began to feel moderately human. Hurrah.

Mama headed back to the police station with her paid-for form and I wandered around for a while, purchasing minor items such as superglue, tweezers and a token gift for a good friend who’s birthday I have missed through being here. [Side note to lovely boyfriend – I have been looking for pressies for you too, but there is nothing here that would not come under the category of ‘house clutter’ so currently your only present shall be my return.]

When we met up again after my short successful shopping expedition, we headed back to the bus stop. Again, the timetable made no sense whatsoever and my Mama had a vague feeling (as she often does – vague that is) that maybe the bus didn’t stop at the stop, but somewhere half way up the road at a random point along the verge. We walked a little and it was unbearably hot. It was at this point that my Mama decided hitchhiking might be a good idea – not an idea that she has ever promoted to me, incidentally, in fact, one she has positively discouraged. She was not being overly assertive with her little hand waves, so I took over and stuck my thumb out purposefully. After being ignored by maybe two cars and a truck, one suddenly stopped. Lo and behold it was my cousin with her son. What chance and luck is that? Nothing could have been better, except perhaps a rich old man who decided I was the most amazing person in the world and the daughter he never had, who then died and left all his money and belongings to me. Slightly less likely, however, so my cousin, on reflection, was probably the next best option.

Of course, I am now home, ready to start writing again, with a huge pot of tea (in the absence of my father I am able to use this one!) and I am prevaricating by sharing my eventful day…and it’s only 11am. J

One last thing – my sun allergy seems to have returned after an absence of about 20 years (and oddly, it has returned this year to my cousin too) and rather than taking vile fizzy horse-sized calcium tablets (which used to take me hours to drink while I sat there miserably with a peg on my nose), I am attempting to soothe my skin with cold chamomile tea, which I have also decided is an excellent liquid with which to wash my face in the morning. If there are any other thoughts or suggestions, please do let me know. It’s a little itchy. Thanks! J

Oh, really one last thing. I have superglue on my fingers. It appears to be a fabulous way to stop fingertips hurting for novice guitarists. Why did no-one tell me this before??

---

It wasn’t the last thing at all – Monday evening we went to my uncle’s house in Mali Lošinj, so the story of Mali continues.

It was lovely and I felt part of this wonderful family of slightly crazy people. He was there, busy cooking, his mother-in-law, his wife and their three daughters with their husbands and children. Incidentally, I discovered that mother-in-law is ‘svekrva’ in Croatian, rather close to ‘sve kriva’ which means everything wrong. Any Croatian speakers, please feel free to correct me if I’ve made a mistake.

My other two cousins from Zagreb, who stay around the corner from our flat in Veli Lošinj were also there, one with her own son too. Finally, me and my mother. There was mainly Croatian spoken around the table, but also much Italian as my uncle is the head of the Italian contingent; and English, for those Italians (brought into the family by marriage) not able to speak Croatian to those not able to speak Italian. The children, in the main, were fluently bilingual, switching between Italian and Croatian with ease and a smattering of English. All except one, the adopted child from Colombia who spoke Spanish and Italian, but not Croatian or English. Apparently he understands a little Croatian, but won’t speak it – entirely comprehensible to me, as I remember having exactly the same reaction to Croatian as a child too.

We started, of course, with rakija, followed by the first course of pasta with meat, followed by wine, followed by meat, many veggies and more wine. This was polished off with second and third helpings of meat and then biscuits and meringues, as many as you could shovel into your mouth without others seeing, followed, if you felt sick and full, by more rakija – for medicinal purposes only, of course.

Yes, this is most definitely one of my many homes. :-)

Two days left (including this one, now almost half over) on this precious island and I intend to enjoy them with fullness.

Thunder in August

My sister has now gone (at 6.30am this morning, while I stood, wearing PJs, next to my Mama and waving her off). It feels a little empty and I am sure I will miss her when I am on the beach later this afternoon, but for now, me and Mama are sitting in the harbour drinking tea and eating apple strudel, while I stealthily use the next door cafe's wifi. :-)

I wrote this the other day for my blog, for when I next got the chance to write. I have another five or six days here before I head back to Zagreb and I intend to make the most of it and of my Mama. My skill at scrabble appears to have been beginner's luck, so maybe I can practice these skills in my remaining time too. :-)

Love to all.

*

It’s a long time since I’ve been to Lošinj in August, usually preferring the less intense heat of July where the sea is a cold contrast to the hot air and rocks and there a special kind of clarity to the light; or the mellow warmth of September where the sea, rocks and air have the same kind of gentle heat.

August brings me the Lošinj of my childhood – intense heat, somnolence of air and movement, where the essentials oils of the curry plants and pine fill the air and heavy clouds slowly build over days and eventually break, blissfully, to release water and fire into the air and also in people’s lives. There is a specific grumpiness present on this island in August, which I’d forgotten about until these last few weeks, which you kind of just have to accept and ignore, like an annoying little sibling, until it is released by the storms and the air becomes fresh and light for a few hours, until the somnolence starts to build again.

I am now sitting up in bed and its 8am. The room is dark and outside it is raining – a gentle sound of dripping on the leaves of the oleander, bouganvillia, rosemary and, of course, my brother Tug’s mandarin tree that he grew from a seed from the fruit he had been eating, when he was a still a child. The gentle dripping is starting to get heavier and the drips are coming faster. Every so often, the whole room shakes with rumbling thunder and I get a shiver of excitement through my spine. Oh how I love thunderstorms!

Yesterday, after a delicious seafood lunch with my Mama and sister at Mol in Rovenska, the smaller harbour, my sister and I ambled over to what we call the Hospital Beach, because it used to be for people with skin diseases to cure their problems in our magical sea! After an hour of snoozing, we chatted a bit, I read, then we noticed some rather threatening clouds – black and white scallops and swirls, looking for all the world like containers full of water, ready to spill. The air was cooler, but the sea and most of the sky were still light and clear. The air smelled of rain however, so we packed up and left. As we hurried as fast as our little legs would carry us around the island, back to civilisation, the sea turned black as I have never seen it before and white crests appeared on its surface. The sky turned black and the wind picked up. We could see all the boats returning to harbour too, a sure sign that a storm was about to hit. We arrived home just in time, as the rain started to fall and spent the evening playing scrabble.

Mama has also been telling us stories of her childhood, about chopping wood for the fires, about the places she lived, about her school days. She told us also about when she first came to this island, in her early 30s, as I am now, and about how she had many relatives and friends decamping from her home town of Krapina to this village every summer and I imagine how that might be for me now, and I wish I could bring everyone here to spend a few weeks relaxing, taking in the healing air and enjoying the feeling of the clean, clear healing seas on their skins.

I am aware I have just one week left here, one week having already gone. I could live here forever, I am sure, if only it were closer to the people I love. My only unmet desire is, as always, to bring all those people I care about to this special, magical island. Out of all the places I’ve been to, this remains my favourite.

Poo

...is the first thought that comes to mind.

We arrived after a relatively peaceful journey, though two very early starts did make me a little less lively than usual. I musn't complain because my lovely man drove me to the airport before he went to work, which must have been hideous for him, particularly as we missed our turning and added a half hour onto our outbound journey.

(Thank you again, darling)

Anyway, like I said, we had a peaceful journey to the island and it had been lovely to see my aunt and cousins in Zagreb. I had a delightful chat with my cousin's kid about this and that - what he wants to be when he is older (a researcher, doctor, archeologist or miner, for some reason), what I will do now that I am no longer learning Croatian (find a job, a grant, a loan and study a course in how to make people happy - counselling) and how I learn new words. He asked me how I do this, if I am not studying in a classroom. I told him that I just ask, but it did make me wonder. How do we learn the accurate meanings of words, I wonder. I wonder, because I often don't and tend to make them up instead.

When we arrived in Veli Losinj, my first thought was how beautiful and overgrown the garden was and my second was "What's that smell?" I went to the bathroom and saw the floor covered in shit. Rather concerning. Mama had already discovered it and was busy shouting at the man who lives round the back. It turns out that he has the same outlet pipe as us and had managed to block it up, as he does every year, and never bothers cleaning because he is not on the ground floor, so it is no problem for him. Poor Mama drew the short straw (it being her house and her being used to cleaning five children's poo - my logic) and she mopped and cleaned with the bleach we bought especially for this purpose. Meanwhile, I hoovered the entire house of spiders (apologising to them as I hoovered them) and their cobwebs, bleached the kitchen and wiped down all the surfaces, doing a little tidying and focusing on my meditation while I worked.

As Mama continued to mop poo, the man from upstairs cleaned out the drains for us and I cooked a yummy vegetable dinner. Eventually, we were all done, the toilet, sink and shower could be used without forcing more poo out from under the floor and Mama and I sat down to eat a well-earned dinner. Then the thunder and rain started and it was so exciting!

We settled to do some internetting and discovered that Mama has lost her modem. Oh what a day! Thankfully, this village has come on a little in recent years and there are now places with free wifi in them. 10 Kuna (about £1) for a cup of tea, glass of mineral water and free wifi. There are silver linings to all situations.

Mama has returned from the butchers and I am off home with her. Day two almost over. Love to all. :-)

The Om Child

So I was sitting in Luton airport waiting to be lovingly collected (having already waited an additional two hours or so for my delayed flight) and thought I'd use the time well by listening to some mantras. I'd spent the entire day up to this point panicking about returning to the UK (even though this time it is only a couple of days), so I realised I needed to sort myself out.

So there I was sitting on the blue padded bench, headphones in, legs crossed in front of me, lotus style. My hands were resting in my lap and my eyes were open as I watched people mill around me, taking random little twists and turns like a stream of walking butterflies. Nothing untoward or odd about me at all.

Except there's this kid opposite me, maybe about seven years old, nine at the most, and he takes one look at me and then pops his legs in front of him lotus style, closes his eyes and holds his fingers in a meditation position - index finger and thumb making a circle and the other fingers loosely extended - hands resting on his knees. A proper little Buddha.

So there he sits, peacefully in front of me and every so often, I notice that one eye opens and he peeks at me from under his fringe. Is he making fun, I wonder, or is he joining in? How can he possibly know what I am listening to? I decide to wink at him and he smiles broadly and keeps sitting like a little Buddha until I leave the airport.

Randomness #2

Last night we had rain and thunder, the electricity waking me up and giving me back my energy. Yesterday ended up being one of the most enjoyable days for ages, as well as one of the most random, with some of the most uncomfortable encounters for a while (on which I shall not expand).

I woke up so tired having got to bed for 4am, but it was a night well spent (in the main) with people whose company I very much enjoy. I tried to sleep but a morning-Mama that potters makes for a sleepy Ninki, invariably. Some of us cannot sleep in the afternoon for hours at a time, not having yet transmogrified into doormice. Sadly. Maybe one day. When I am 70 years old too.

I think I have the beginnings of heartbreak. If I can use this word in that context. I have fallen in love more deeply with Croatia and got to know a part of me I hadn't really properly met before. I don't think I am quite ready to leave, but I know that this part will always be inside me now. I'll be back. Anyway, I have a few more days left of so much study and learning that maybe if I try hard enough I'll be ready to leave in five days. Especially if I spend more time with the people whose company I enjoy less...

Randomness

Today was definitely not a Ninki-day. I am now expecting gigantic amounts of luck, happiness and fortune to wing my way after the last 12 hours...

It started when I left my carefully prepared 'breakfast' sandwiches at home and then got the shakes from lack of sugar, but finally managed to find some food. My one litre bottle of water then spilled all into my bag wetting everything including my dress and only noticed by me when I saw the water trail I'd left behind me on the tram! I tell you, everyone was staring at me, like some scary girl from a horror film crawling out a slimy pond or something.

So then I arrived at the school feeling slightly perturbed and thought best to pop to the loo before getting on a coach for an hour, only to find when I tried to leave that someone had locked me into the school building. Fortunately someone came to let me out finally, after much shaking of the front doors and peering out of the barred windows.

Then when we were at our lunch destination a bug crawled down my dress and bit my tummy and all I could do was peer under my dress and watch him crawl up my tummy and finally fly out under my face. I couldn't get to him from below, nor from above, certainly not in front of everyone!

Fortunately this has been it for my mishaps. As we sang our final song at the end of a play we had to do for college, an enormous group of cute children joined in and then sang about five Croatian songs for us - it turns out they tour professionally and randomly happened to know the Slavonian songs we were singing for our play.

A totally random day, all in all. I wonder what my future brings after 12 hours of this... I await with curiosity, interest and an absolute lack of certainty about anything.

We're not home-grown Croats

This week has been culture-fuelled for me.

We went to the house of the artist/sculptor Ivan Meštrović (now dead), whose work I liked very much, albeit being somewhat dark and a little twisted in nature. Perhaps though, that's what attracted me. He would have been an interesting man to speak to, I think. I can't help wondering about the substance of a mind that would produce such images as those he created in bronze, marble and stone.

We also went to see two live bands: Lado and Cinkuši. My Mama adored the first (we managed to smuggle her in) and she tapped her size sevens and bobbed her little head along to the music - she looked like a little girl losing herself in the music, her eyes shining. That, more than anything, made me happy. It reminded me of when I was small and my Mama would play old Croatian songs on the piano while my sister and I danced around the living room, flinging off various items of clothing as we got hotter and hotter with our manic contortions. My heart was stolen by Cinkuši though, who somehow got into my heart, soul and feet with their beautiful beats and melodies. They had a very gypsy/Romany sound to them, I thought, slightly French, though I note they describe themselves as 'ethno-punk world music', whatever that might be...

Anyway, last night was Cinkuši and it was entirely and wholly my fault that I went out afterwards and did not get home until getting on for 2am. I have just one week left here and it was good to spend a little more time with those people to whom I have started to get attached, taking some time to get to know them a teensy bit more until we go back to the ways from which we came three weeks ago. It's strange, but for me there is something special about the folks on this course - they feel part of something I have not been able to define since childhood, that I now know is my part-Croatian-ness. Those people that I have connected with fit into my life and into my being in ways that home-grown Croats and other English people do not. In an odd way some of them seem to come from my planet more than most that I know. I am not sure how they'd feel knowing that I feel they come from my planet, but I love it. I need it.

Today is study and family time. Clearly I am procrastinating and putting off study until I update this, but that's the way it goes. It appears my time is up, sadly, but I really ought to get on with the deeply organised yet hideous grammar and vocab plan I have in mind for this evening, before settling down to watch a good Croatian film with Mama.

The letter J and mealtime

I want to write to you of the letter 'J'. This is rather a random one. I don't often use this letter, except when I write my sister's name as it doesn't really occur very often in English. However here it seems to be in every other word. I have noticed that my style of writing this letter has changed over the last few weeks. From a rather insignificant, feeble and weak little letter 'j' with not much substance, my letter 'j' has now been transformed into a full-bodied confident letter, with a deep sweeping curve, strong and healthy, fully on a par and able to compete with other letters. This I was contemplating in the shower this morning. I much prefer my new letter 'j'. Its style also seems to be sweeping into my letters 'g' and 'y' too. Most pleasing.

The other issue is meal times. I am venting, so I don't keep annoying my mother with my frustration with this language. Croatian for meal is obrok. I thought then that saying "I eat five meals a day" would utilise the normal plural and make it into obroci, but it turns out I must use a different case and make it into obroka instead. So many versions of one word. It would appear that I do not "eat five meals a day", but instead "eat five of meals a day", the non-English use of of making it GENITIV case. Oh when will this language seem logical to me?? Is my experience of Croatian how men experience woman worldwide, I ask myself? Is this just a lesson I must learn in order to understand how hard life is for the men in my life?

Identity split

So I've been thinking about my identity, partly because it's an element of my studies and partly because I've previously not really known which bits of me are my Croatian-ness and which bits were just Nina-ness.

We were talking in class about mothers being the real head of the family, always telling you how to cut your cheese, which knife to cut bread with, how to clean your clothes, when to change your towel etc, even when you're in your 30s (and presumably 70s too if they're still going strong) and have been doing all these things yourself for years, enjoying your choice of cheese, not quite cutting your fingers off, never being mistaken for a tramp etc. We were talking about mothers and fathers allowing their sons an awful lot more leeway than their daughters when it comes to being trusted to do things for themselves. I had a realisation (prompted by my brother) that this happens when the sons find another woman - their mother appears to trust them, but actually she has just let go, because there is another woman to look after them who can 'advise' on type of cheese to buy, which knife to use, when to wash clothes etc - they have been 'handed over' to another competent woman. The problem with daughters however, unless they're gay and find another woman possibly, is that they they will never have another woman to look after them - no they just have a man to look after. This means that their mother can never relinquish control (sorry, did I say control? I meant, of course, to say 'the advisory role'). Their poor daughter will never be looked after in the manner of their sons and therefore must forevermore be advised by their mothers about cheese, knives and washing. That is how it works. Then, one day, comes the baby talk - how to change nappies, when to feed, how to cook for young ones. It is never ending. I am sure if they were alive, mothers would also advise on funereal arrangements too, and possibly also beyond: how to lie comfortably and beautifully in death, how to avoid drafts while lying in a coffin, appropriate occasions on which to make beyond-the-grave visits to the living and so on.

I am guessing too, that no matter how much I might ignite internally (and sometimes externally) whenever these conversations come round and however much I might swear that I will never do that to my children, the problem is, I know I am always right and so most likely I will see my children doing things as I would not and I will be compelled to tell them so!

So we have a special breed of mother and an outside-Croatia perception of Croats is that they love their mothers (according to research). It is a tight family, at least from the outside, although on the inside of a family there are squabbles that are decades old, where the detail is long forgotten and where the subject matter is usually all about land - who owns that square metre of land under the stairs of the house inherited by five children and split up accordingly. They will fight to the death for ownership of this highly valued piece of land and once it is resolved, it will start all over again with their children because none of the decisions and resolutions were ever legally or formally recorded.

I have just come from lunch at my aunt's where we were eight - me, my Mama, two aunts, one uncle, two cousins, and the son of one of the cousins (minus his four front teeth). It amazes me how I ever learned any Croatian with them around me, because not once sentence was finished and not one word was spoken in isolation. That is, at any given time at least two people were speaking. Not once did anyone take the floor for themselves. In Croatian families at meal time you have to shout to make your story heard and probably more than once, and most likely your story will be told in parts, interspersed with someone else's more urgent words, or some commentary on the truth, practicality, validity, sensibility, or some other -ity of your words, sentence structure, ability to speak your language or tell your story.

This reminds me of one of our lectures about Croatian traits as perceived by non-Croats. Those that I am not proud of (and naturally do not associate with myself) I shall hurriedly list first and then I shall end with the ones that remind me of me and that I consider positive traits, so as to ensure you are left with a sweet taste in your mouth.

The 'bad' ones were corruption and conceitedness, neither of which I associate with myself.

There were also some that I didn't think applied to me that seemed neither good nor bad: patriotic (though I suppose I would need to define what 'home' is to me) and conservative.

The others I felt were wonderful and made me feel like I had come home when I heard them - I felt like I belonged to the people these words described, though of course perhaps my English modesty suggests to me that it is not up to me to say that these are my traits. They were:

• Dreamers, adventurers and explorers
• Individual and stubborn
• Clever, intelligent and capable
• Casanovas/good lovers
• Good looking (in the eye of the beholder - I know some who think I am and when the mirror is being friendly, so do I)
• Honest, faithful and open
• Brave and desirous of justice
• Love of their mothers (indeed, except for the above-mentioned 'advisory role')
• Making sacrifices (for me, for love only)
• Hard working (when required, otherwise balance and fun is as important)
• Hospitable (except when I forget to make the tea I have offered, or only have a tin of tomatoes and one carrot with which to make dinner for my five guests)

This is me and I like that. I wish my language skills were so good that I could jump in and shout quickly, as I do in English, but for now, my conversational skills are limited to groups of four people or less, or those who are polite enough to be quiet while I speak!

Now I must go and study outside in the 33 degree heat, because it is too cold in this house for me and my fingers are cold as I type, while I wear my scarf and wish I had my woolly walking socks on. No, it would seem that 25 degrees is too cold for me.

Fairies and forks #2

Well so it gets even more complex, this language, in relation to fairies, it seems... Got this email from my Mama.

I shall start at the beginning!

• Vila = fairy
• Vile = fairies
• Mala vila = little fairy (if there be such a thing) 
• there has never been given in my folklore the size of vila/fairy, but the men dream of a fairy as a very desirable woman (in folklore) 
• Vila = villa (that is a beautiful building)
• Vilica = jowl (as in of the jaw = čeljust) 
• Vilica = fork (to eat with)
• Vile = implement for turning hay over during haymaking (in that case a wooden implement, usually has three prongs) or cleaning cowsheds and replacing old straw (usually iron with four prongs)
• there is only a plural form in this meaning of the word.

That is all I can think of at the moment, I challenge you to find more meanings!

Fairies and forks

In English you might think there are no links between these subjects but in Croatian there most definitely is a link.

Vila is fairy. The diminutive of this should be 'vilica' according to the rules, however 'vilica' in Croatian means 'fork', so I ask you, what would 'little fairy' be in Croatian?? Any of you Croatian speakers, please let me know!! Comments welcome.

Ja ne prodajem zjake

This is what I heard this evening on my evening of tea, coffee and cake (to which my comment of "But I'm not hungry" was met with "It doesn't matter - you don't need to be hungry to eat").

"Ja ne prodajem zjake."

"I don't sell...what?" I asked my aunt and my Mama and was faced with two women in their 70s staring at me wide open eyes and wide open mouths, all teeth showing. Almost frightening on a dark Zagreb backstreet - if they hadn't been almost croaking with laughter. I couldn't help laughing either, but still had no idea what on earth they were saying. It turns out they were gawping at me. 'Zjake' means gawps - when someone is gawping. The phrase means "I don't sell gawps." All part of learning about Croatian culture...

I might write some more about what I've learned about Croatian culture. Being here has made me realise how much of who I am is actually Croatian and not just a bit odd. It feels like I have finally come home. I am among people who are the same as me. It's wonderful. A country full of me! :-)

PS It's not a myth - chocolate does help

Any packages containing dark chocolate and hazelnuts are always most welcomed.

I am not superwoman

Today is one of those days where everything seems to tip me over the edge. Danas sam bila na rubu. I think this is how it's said. The slightest words of comfort or understanding and my eyes well up, so it has been a sunglasses day!

The grammar is hard for me and as this is the first two hours of every day, each day, for me, starts with something I feel cannot do. I find this very demoralising. I came home and studied until late last night, though I did have a wonderful with conversation with the exceptionally funny and kind man in my life, which definitely cheered me up.

I have to keep telling myself, firmly, that I must focus on my current objectives:

JULY

• learn more Croatian (not all Croatian)
• spend time with my aunt and my Mama
• do things that keep me happy 
• run from time to time and do yoga when I can
• sleep enough and eat healthily
• chat with the exceptionally funny and kind man in my life
• read books and watch films in English or Croatian

AUGUST

• apply for jobs (not necessarily find one immediately)
• think of other ways to survive in case the job is not forthcoming immediately (when I return apply for temping jobs, and for grants and loans)
• sort out all course related stuff
• do things that make me happy (as above)

Anything else can be forgotten about for now. I am not superwoman and must stop trying to pretend I am.

Grmljevina!!! Thunder!!

Grmi, sijeva, vrijeme se mjenja, a ciganke varošanke još iz sela nema.

It's thundering, it's lightening, the weather is changing, and the gypsy town woman has not come back from begging in the village.

Academic quarter

Having a discussion with my big brother about Spanish time and how it seems to run more slowly than in the UK or, perhaps, more quickly, such that everyone is always late and everything takes ages to happen. Not sure what is going on, but things are always slow. We agreed that Croatian time is also like this.

When we started the Kulturni Program, they told us that one thing we needed to be aware of in Croatian culture is that everyone is always late, but that because our programme is so tight, we are only allowed to be five minutes late, maximum.

Apparently, according to my Mama, there is an 'academic quarter' in Croatia, which allows lecturers to be 15 minutes late at all times, although the students must always be on time. It seems that the relaxed timings in Croatia are also hierarchical - you must earn the privilege to be late.

Well there we are, this is my latest on Croatian culture.

My feet are clearly beautiful

So I was sitting in Zrinjevac happily reading my book and I hear a click. I look up to see a man taking a photo of my feet, resting on the bench in front of me. I glare at him and he puts his hands together and bows smiling at me, Japanese style. He is not Japanese. I can't help smiling back.

There's always a silver lining :-)

In among so much change, some parts of life carry on as normal.

My brain is starting to scramble languages and sometimes people speak Croatian and I think they've been speaking English. I guess this is a good sign, because it means my comprehension is switching sides. The air is warm and muggy and I am reminded of when I lived here, so many years ago, in different times when Croatia was still, officially, Yugoslavia. The sounds outside take me back to another time and the skinny street cats too. Everything here feels different to me, yet somehow the same as some other life I once had.

Those around me are familiar now, but not from my normal life. The thing is, my normal life, as was, is gone. The home I had, the job I had too, quite probably, and I will start the last stage of my counselling training when I return with a new group of people: people who are strangers to me right now, but who, in a few months, will know things about me that more than 99% of the world will never know.

Everything feels uncertain and my association with this changes, like waves on the shore. Each moment feels different - sometimes I am excited about what might be, sometimes uncertain and afraid, sometimes fearful that I won't find a job, sometimes concerned about how I will live, sometimes sure that all will be okay as it always has been okay and sometimes just nothing except wondering what will be and that, really, is something none of us knows for sure.

My belly has been bloated and I started to worry I might be pregnant, momentarily, (a thought that passes every woman's mind every so often). I then dreamt I was and the feeling felt so familiar (even though I never have been) that I awoke knowing I wasn't. I felt too different in waking life to how I felt in my dream. Funny how clever the mind is. I am guessing the bloating was a change in diet to enormous amounts of bread, which my body is not used to.

This morning I had cramps, which brought my confirmation. In among all this uncertainty and change, I woke up this morning with agonising cramps in my belly and was brought a reminder that some things continue - this monthly agony, while painful, is familiar. This means I know how I will feel each time the pain comes and I know how I will feel when it goes away, most likely fading this afternoon and disappearing by tomorrow. Though most of life is unknown and unpredictable, there are some things we always know. This, oddly, brings me comfort.