Turning 20!!

I'm turning twenty in two days time. 20. Two decades. I will not be called a teenager anymore. I'm an adult now. Oh shit.

When you're younger you think that twenty is something very far away. And as a little girl I thought I would have conquered the world by now. Well we can all say that that plan didn’t work out!

And for twenty years I can't say I have a lot of success to show for it. I mean apart from the years I spent in nappies and following that potty training where are my accomplishments? I have O'levels, ECDL and A'levels but everyone has those. I have an expired first aid certificate. I have a quite a few unfinished stories and an unfinished book. A year at university in a course I hated. Hair, which I can't remember its original colour, and approximately the same height since I was fifteen. I've basically never been abroad (I mean seriously who counts a day in Sicily as being abroad?). I don't have a license and I'm half way through another first year in University. And the only thing I'm using out of all this is my x2 timetable for my very tough and mind boggling work at Tal-lira.

That's not much is it. I mean you'd think you would have accomplished more in twenty years for fuck's sake! But maybe I did. I don't have a gazillion of certificates. The only kind of identification I have is my I.D. which still has a big fat 16+ on the side because I'm too lazy to go and change it. But I do have memories. I have a huge library of them. I have a collection of laughter, tears, happiness, anger, disappointment, pride. I'm surrounded by very special friends. I have a family who loves me. People who seem to think I'm worth keeping in contact with. People who trust me with their secrets, who have shared their best and worst moments with me, who seek my advice. People who make me think that maybe I'm not such a failure after all. People without whom I wouldn't be who I am today. People without whom I would be still a little lost ugly duckling.

That said it doesn't mean I'm anywhere near being a swan. But I do know I've changed. I've gained more confidence. I can defend myself. I'm no longer the quiet girl everyone forgets about soon after they met. I'm still not a social butterfly and at this stage I've accepted that I'll never be one. But that’s not a disappointment. I'm surrounded by great people. I may not know everyone but I do know the people I care about well.

I have scars left from bad experiences. I have numerous of embarrassing moments, most of them having booze as a protagonist. I have memories which leave a warm feeling in my heart. I have gained enough confidence to start this blog. I have aims and projects and plans. I look forward to my future without being scared. I have the weapons needed so that in another decade I won't say I have nothing to show for it.

So no I don't have any concrete accomplishments to show. There are no certificates attached to my life CV. But that doesn't mean I've wasted twenty years of my life. It's just means I've been preparing for the rest of my life. 

I guess that's not so bad after all. 


Pandora's Box

Isn't it awfully funny when you get that sadness deep in your heart for no apparent reason? Isn't it hilarious when in a few minutes you can go from being ok to being miserable? And isn't it extremely hilarious that your scumbag brain won't even allow you to cry though you're crawled up in a ball on your bed? I mean really what better way to end the day?

It's a big void. Like stepping into a black hole. It eats all you give and is never placated. Nothing soothes you tattered soul. Not writing this blog, not listening to your favourite songs, not even your little soft toy-like puppy. And when you think it’s too much, then and only then, the vortex of memories comes. And not one by one, no. They seem not to have learnt what staying in line means. Instead it’s a blast to the past, a blitz in your brain, enough to leave you vegetable, not enough to numb you.

And my brain face palm’s itself in disappointment. My heart sighs as it steadies itself for yet another long night, as the world around me turns black and I lay on my bed waiting for sleep.

Horrible unexplained emptiness. Loneliness when there are people who love you. Despair when you have everything. Anger toward yourself for being so stupid. Emotions. A lidless Pandora’s Box. And just a pinch of hope that tomorrow will be a better day.

I'm left rocking myself to and fro on my bed, a tearless face, an aching heart, a lost soul.



I want to travel the world.
I want to backpack around Europe.
I want to go on a road trip with my friends in America.
I want to grab a plane to an unknown destination.
I want to go somewhere where Autumn is really Fall so that I can step and hear the red crunching leaves under my feet.
I want to make a snow angel.
I want to stand under the Eiffel tower and have coffee and a bagel.
I want to start each year in a different city.
I want to go to New York, Connecticut, Los Angeles, Broadway, San Francisco, Chicago, Boston.
I want to walk in Central Park.
I want to go to London and see the Peter Pan statue.
I want to go to Africa and spend some time with each of the different tribes.
I want to photograph strangers from all over the world and put them on my wall.
I want to make friends with other wanderers with whom I'll never be in touch.
I want to photograph a war.
I want to sleep under the stars.
I want to eat spaghetti in Italy and taste 'vino' in the vineyards in Tuscany.
I want to have 'fromage' in France.
I want to go to Starbucks.
I want to visit a forgotten country in America and sit in the yet-to-be-remodelled cafeteria and write a book.
I want to wander.
I want to leave this place and come back only when I've had enough. Probably never.


The Dancing Puppet

One day he found in the attic four wooden plates attached to a tangle of strings and at its end a little lifeless, broken doll. Beautiful porcelain face, blue eyes, red locks and pink lips forming a perfect smile.

Hour after hour he spent on her. Untangling her strings, fixing her, making her dresses, turning her into a princess. And he'd murmur sweet nonsense in her hair in the hope of soothing her and bring her back to life.

Slowly his soft caresses started to effect her and she started to react when he pulled her strings. Her movements were coarse, his jabs where rough but they slowly got used to each other and fell into a smooth rhythm. He willed her to dance and she accepted, for she loved him and was grateful for his patience. Together they made a perfect match, bringing smiles on everyone's face as they saw here graceful dance and her lit up face.

But as time passed he started to get greedy. He wanted her all for himself. He didn't like all the attention she was getting. Because she basked in others' love and started to ignore him.

Hurt and jealousy turned into anger and it instigated revenge. So he went to a sorcerer's for advice on how to punish her.

The sorcerer gave him a potion that would make her dance forever. And she drank it because she trusted him. Thus cursing herself for life and with her he slowly realised he was cursed as well. For as her perfect smile turned into a frown his heart cried out for her.

But all he could do was watch her dance. So he went back to the sorcerer to see what he could do. And the sorcerer turned him into a puppet and he joined her in the dance.

And they belonged to him now but they cared no more. For now they were equals and were together forever.

Dance for me my puppets
Dance these steps I give
Dance until you can't no more
Dance the dance of death



I cannot do this anymore. It doesn't work this way. You take and take and don't give back. I'm spreading myself thin but it's never enough. How can I be someone's hero when I can't even save myself?

You want me to talk through the lips you yourself sewed together. You want my attention yet give me non of yours. You say you care but never listen. You want my confessions and then use the bullets to shoot me. How am I supposed to keep carrying on, just on words?

What do you want from me? Do you want a soldier? Yes, Sir. No, Ma'am. Do you want a lamb? Sitting and not speaking. Do you want a parrot? Repeating every word you say. Would that really satisfy you? Am I supposed to conform to your conditions? Be the clone version of you?

I can't.

I won't.

So all I can say is sorry. A word I know you loathe. But that is all I have. Sorry for not being who you want me to be. Sorry I'm not who I was before. Sorry I'm not who you thought I was. Sorry for being me.