Enjoying Life … Without Skydiving

Ten years ago if you had asked me about what fun things I want to do before I die, I definitely would have listed up skydiving or traveling on a motorcycle across South America like Che Guevera, or work at a vineyard somewhere in California for a couple of months.

Now I can’t imagine doing any of those things.

In fact, I’d be scared as fudge.

Physically ... 

First of all I’d not be able to take a few things just from a physical point of view.

When I was 20 and I went to Six Flags in the States, I remember how much fun I had riding one insane attraction after the other.

And then, three years ago when I went to Universal Studios here in Osaka with my friend from Germany I was very hesitant to get on the Dream-Ride roller coaster with her. In the end though, I didn’t want to be a party-pooper so I gave in.

But I tell you … The moment I was in that seat and the bar went down, I knew that Dream-Ride would be my personal nightmare.

And I was right!

I died a thousand deaths that afternoon. I thought all my intestines got loose and were free falling inside of me.

So, now, just thinking of bungee jumping, skydiving, paragliding or anything close to that makes my heart stop.

Crazy worrier

Secondly, I have a very special talent for worrying and overthinking my brains out.

Let's say you and I played a psychology-association game and you’d say

Brazil

I’d shout back like I wanted to desperately win a quiz game

Zika!

getting mobbed!

that young couple on a bus … mm … mm … she got gang raped and he, he was beaten to death! 

And only after noticing the horror on your face I’d change my answers and continue with

carnival,

Copacabana,

dancing on the streets,

the Jesus statue,

beautiful women in bikinis

and so on. But it would be too late. You’d already have diagnosed me with specific phobias and panic disorder or something along those lines.

Anxiety disorder 

The truth is that you wouldn’t be too far off with your diagnosis.

The other day when I told a friend of mine, who is also a counselor, a story about how paralyzed and scared I felt about a task I was in charge of at work, she explained that I might have had an anxiety attack. She also mentioned that, if I find myself in situations like that often, I could see a counselor for that.

Apparently, anxiety and panic disorders are one of the main reasons people go to therapy for.

To be honest, I wasn’t too shocked or surprised to hear her saying that to me, which in itself was a little surprise.

Instead it made sense to me.

I guess it was because for me it’s easier to deal with a problem when I have identified it and when I know what’s going on. I’m sure that a lot of people function the same way.

Knowing that I might be having occasional anxiety attacks empowered me in a way.

Identifying the issue, knowing I have to accept it, and trying to look for a solution or a strategy is an approach that works for me.

It makes me wonder though ...

Still, it makes me wonder … When did I become this person, who overthinks everything, who is so worried, and so afraid of so many things?

More than anything that thought makes me sad because it makes me feel like I’m missing out all the fun I could have in life.

Of course it’s good to be cautious and aware of what situations we are surrounded by, but it can’t be healthy to be so anxious. On top of that it exhausts you and limits you on a daily basis.

On a mission 

With my counselor-friend’s comment I was on a mission. Since due to financial reasons counseling was not an option at this point, I checked the Internet for how to deal with anxiety attacks.

One article I found was explaining how to have control over your fears. One strategy was the most striking:

Instead of worrying about something ALL the time, you decide to make time for your fear e.g. from 4-5 pm, like it’s an appointment at the dentist, and you give all your attention to it - from how it makes you feel, to what options you are etc. 

Once the time is up, you make sure not to waste any more of your precious time on this matter. 

I find this method really helpful.

Overall the online article made me realize how much more I could DO and BE if I wasn’t full of fear and if … and hear comes the real issue … I had more self esteem.

The real issue 

I was told so many times to be more confident.

“Confident” is a word I have a difficult relationship with.

It’s a word that brings up anger and a defense mechanism in me. Whenever I hear someone saying to me “you should be more confident” I get so upset I could turn into one of the dragons from Game of Thrones and my fire spits would scream

“What do you know about me and my life to judge me so quickly, to categorize me and put me in the “no confidence”-box?”, “It’s not that easy, you know! I can’t just turn “confidence” on and off like it’s a light switch!"

So many people use the word without thinking about how hurtful it is to hear it. It’s not like you are being told you have no PC skills and that you should work on them. No!

Your confidence is low because somewhere along the way when you grew up someone or something broke or damaged it. Often you don’t even know it’s low. All you know is that you never feel you are good enough.

And when – for whatever reason – an overly confident person runs over you like a truck by telling you to be more confident, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach.

You’re overwhelmed. You are exhausted from trying hard to be your best version and still you somehow you always come across a young chick telling you to be more confident. Just like that. Like she is telling you to take an umbrella today because it’s raining.

And why do these type of people enter your life again and again?

(Hold on to your seat!)

Because you haven’t learned your lesson yet.

Because the real issue is not them.

Because the real issue lies within yourself, and as long as you don’t face the issue, it will come back in different shapes as different people. 

Until, one day, you get the message!

Mixing up things 

For the longest time I believed that people who talked to me like this didn’t really know the real me. Only a handful of friends know how hard I’ve been trying all these years to work on myself on a personal level.

Every time I think I need to work on a weakness, I throw myself into a situation where I have no choice but to deal with the issue and grow.

Doesn’t that take a strong heart?

Am I not brave to face my weak points?

If you knew that about me would you still tell me I have low self-esteem?

THAT thought there snapped me out of my own constructed reality.

That’s when I understood that I had been wrong all along.

Having a strong heart and soul has not really much to do with confidence.

One can exist without the other.

The simple truth is that every time I was told I wasn’t very confident it hurt so much because it was and is true.

And when it’s true, all that’s left to do for me is accept it, embrace it even, because my low self-esteem is as much a part of me as my brave soul, and if I want to ever work on it, I need to look IT in the eye and say “Hi there! So, how are we gonna do this?”

And maybe, hopefully, even if I won’t be able to sky dive, I can at least start being less anxious and stressed out about driving a car here in Japan, back home in Germany, or anywhere else in the world.

And since confidence is – as anything else – about loving yourself, I can learn how to love myself and my body more, go swimming in the sea, try out snow boarding or even join a snorkeling course with my husband on our next beach vacation abroad.

In other words, I could enjoy life more and have FUN. 

Back Home in Germany, Part II

silence

Usually when I spend some time back home in Germany I kind of look forward to going back home to Japan, for many different reasons.

This time though (as you can read in my post “Germany Part I”) it was a very special and wonderful trip.

I guess that's why, on my first morning back in Osaka, after my husband left for work and I was alone in our apartment, the silence hit me hard.  

I was already missing my mom. Her and also all her neighbors and the daily happenings in and around her house.

the neighbourhood 

My mother lives in a social housing that consists of four homes.

Below her live retired, half deaf Annamaria, whose laugh makes you jump up the ceiling because it sounds like she's screaming for help. Occasionally she screams at her 85-year old sweet mother, who has learned how to swing like a light bell in the wind to her daughter’s moods.

In the building across lives my mother’s longtime Turkish friend and fellow sufferer from mean mothers-in-law.

Her name is Ayla.

To me is the spitting image of Catherine Deneuve – simply an attractive, beautiful woman at any age. She is very stylish, materialistic and pragmatic thinking when it comes to men, very generous, and fun loving. BUT …

She wants things her way, which drives my mom nuts, especially when she gets home from work after a long day and Ayla catches her at the door yelling over from her window that she has prepared coffee and that she wants my mom to come over.

That’s how it is with people who have a lot of time on their hands.

At first Ayla says it like a purring cat, but then when my mother refuses politely, Ayla’s voice turns into a pissed off Mexican drug cartel boss and she gives my mom a hand gesture that says “Fine! Whatever! You are no fun!”

But before her face disappears behind the curtains she always remembers not to go too far. That’s when she says "Okay. Goodbye!" and gives in like a little girl that’s being told to go change and get ready for bed. 

Two blocks further down the road lives Miriam, a very attractive woman, who is a social worker with a very spiritual mind. When you look into her blue eyes you feel so calm – like a baby in a cradle. She is a bit of a vagabond in her heart and relaxing at home is stressing her out. Therefore, on her days off, she comes over to my mom’s building a couple of times a day to enjoy a cigarette break.

And then there is Agatha! She lives by herself but her three grown children visit her quite regularly.  She is my mom’s next-door neighbor, who has moved in not too long ago but the two have bonded so much over a short period of time that it feels like they live in ONE house.

On days my mom comes home tired from work, Agatha will leave a sweet note, or a little present, or flowers on her door to cheer her up, and on days Agatha comes home late, my mom will surprise her with some delicious Turkish dish.

They know when not to impose on the other, and when to come or go over to have a chat to vent, cry on each other’s shoulder or laugh from the bottom of their hearts about.

knock knock 

They even have a little ritual to check on each other. Their toilets share the same wall and when they hear that someone’s in the toilet they knock on the wall. The first three knocks are to check whether it’s really the other person, since both of them constantly have people over. The other person confirms with three knocks back. With the second three knocks they want to know whether everything is okay. Three knocks back mean “Everything’s fine!” but two knocks mean, “Come over! I need you (for whatever reason)!”

for each other

Since Miriam is an old friend of Agatha’s you’ll see her a lot at Agatha’s place and you'll see my mom hanging out a lot with them. Nevertheless, especially my mom and Agatha always want to make sure that none of the other neighbors feel left out.

The best part is how they all take care of each other. When Annamaria and her mother need a lift to the doctor Ayla, Agatha or my mom will help. When someone finds a bargain at an apparel shop, she’ll buy it for the others when she knows that’s what the others would want to have too.

When someone needs a lift to the airport, whoever has a car and the time, will do it. 

When my mom wants to go to IKEA or by a cell phone, Miriam is always there for her. 

my favourite time 

During my one-month-vacation in my home town the best times were when Agatha paid us a visit late at night. She’d be standing in front of the door in her pajamas, hold her mug in her hand, and ask with an impish smile on her face “Are you guys up for some coffee?”. Then you’d hear my mom scream from the kitchen: “Agatha, come in! Coffee is ready!” and Agatha would tiptoe in.

family and friends

My mom is never alone. There is always someone around. Seeing her with her friends, especially with Agatha, made me feel so grateful for all the love and care around her. She deserves nothing less because she always gives so much to others.

Being an only child and having chosen a life in Japan, far away from family, I often feel guilty or sad for not being there more, mainly for my mother. Knowing that she is “in good hands”, I felt a hint of relief this time.

Not too long ago it was my mom feeling like that about me. Now it seems things are the other way around.

When the silence hit me in our Osaka-apartment, I guess moments described above are the ones I miss the most. Right there and then, alone on my sofa, I noticed how much I long for this feeling of having family and friends around.

Of course, nothing is perfect. Occasionally there is tension between my mom and her neighbors. They have misunderstandings, little quarrels, good and bad days, fed-ups and days when they just want to be alone, just like any other human relationship.

But at the end of the day they still have each other. 

They can talk about things they worry or feel angry about.

They can share funny moments and laugh about them together.

They learn from each.

When holidays come up they know that they don’t have to feel alone throughout the whole time.

They can analyze each other’s thoughts and give each other advice.

In constellations like these there is always the danger of crossing boundaries and experiencing disappointments due to our own high expectations.

But family and friends are also a chance to learn how to respect other people’s spaces, how to lower expectations, and accept people the way they are. Not every friendship will let you learn these things, especially not when you make a lot of mistakes. That’s why the friends and family members, who love you for who you are, are a true blessing.

But I’ve learned that friends and family members who get your hackles up are equally a wonderful gift. It's just hard to think of them that way when you are not in your Dalai Lama mode. They give you an opportunity to learn how to accept someone the way they are, how to be more understanding, and also how to protect your own boundaries.

It’s not like I don’t have good friends here in Japan. I do! I so do!

But I have some very good friends and family I’d love to be closer to.

They might or might not know how much I miss them on a daily basis, how much I have learned from them, how grateful I am for them being there for me when I have a low and being happy for me for the good things happening to me, and most of all for liking me for who I am.

Thank You! :-) 

a good life

Though this would be the perfect ending for this post I want to add that we all need good and healthy friends and family around us.

I’d like to finish with a video from TED Talk and the longest Harvard research on happiness (what makes a good life).

sadly

P.S. Last month Maria’s mother past away. Ayla and my mom were there to help – they called an ambulance, but it was too late.

R.I.P. Maria’s mother. We will miss you. 

The Power Of Social Media

things happening THERE and having an impact HERE

For everyone who hates talking about politics, finds talking about politics boring to such a degree that you almost break your jaw from yawning, or doesn’t care full stop, I’d like to say that what’s going on in the U.S.A. is more than just politics.

I find it pretty interesting on so many different levels.

Here is what I think.

First of all, let me say that personally, I’d vote for Bernie Sanders.

Higher taxes for a better social welfare and health care system, tuition-free colleges and universities, quality education, and a government who takes global warming issues serious should be given standards. These are just a few points Bernie Sanders stands for.

Yet we distrust an old scarecrow looking man who speaks like a communist because we have been taught, “clothes make people” and that communists are evil.

I might live in Japan, far away from what is happening in the States but one way or the other the result of this presidential election WILL have an impact on me.

Though a lot of times due to powerful lobbies and very powerful men pulling the strings in the background the U.S. President’s hands are tight, he/she still holds a key position when it comes to shaping the countries general attitude and structure, as well as influencing the world through international agreements.

What he/she decides on how to approach the Syrian problem, the role of the U.S. in the Middle East, security standards across the nation, the refugee and immigrant issues, as well as facts on global warming will reach me in waves here in Osaka, Japan. And since I have family in Germany and Turkey, any decisions related to those countries will have an impact on me as well.

Whether I want to believe it or not, if I decide to fly to the States after November 8th 2016, how I will be treated at the airport there, will probably depend on who has won the elections.

If it’s Ted Cruz or Donald Trump I’ll be screwed. I’ll probably have to spend at least half a day in police custody because the lady at the security check thought I gave her attitude when she had to ask me twice to take off my shoes only because I didn’t understand her thick southern accent the first time she asked.

If it’s Hillary Clinton then security check will not only want my fingerprints but also count ALL my birthmarks.

And if it’s Bernie Sanders then I can imagine that even though I have to go through the security check process customs services will be friendly to the extend that he/she will wish me a pleasant stay. Maybe.

social media

On another note, we all know the impact of social media on all of us. The Arab Spring and how the power of human connections online through tweets and YouTube videos helped overthrow governments is a good example for that.

But only after I’ve seen the change of attitude towards Bernie Sanders and Donald Trump on Facebook over the last few months, it fully struck me how fascinating and terrifying at the same time the power social media can be.

At the beginning Sanders was more or less an outsider, someone with funny hair, whose speeches were utopian like messages.

Trump didn’t seem that much of a threat. A funny clown who has “the balls to tell it like it is”.  

Clinton was depicted as the experienced politician, who knows how to play the game and who’d fit the role of a president the most.

Things changed over time though. Thanks to many late night TV hosts, comedians, actors/actresses, and people who cared so much about the political landscape that they made little video clips they posted on Facebook and other social media, more and more Americans and people around the world could witness …

… How Hillary is just playing along. What she says has no soul, no heart. She says what she knows people want to hear.

… That Trump is not only funny but also dangerous. And some finally understood that it was time to stop laughing about this guy because his methods, his messages, his hate are a door straight to fascism.

And that every little successful step Bernie has had over the last few months has been posted online by his fans and followers. His caring, kind and peaceful way in little gestures and speeches have been roared into the world.

Like a Disney character he attracts little birds to his podium.

awareness

One should not be fooled though.

First, any powerful tool can be used either in a good or bad way. The same counts for social media.

In this case I’ve witnessed how Facebook helped Bernie get out his messages and make huge successful steps in winning at caucuses.

The more they point out his wins, the more we are ready to believe in his success.

And suddenly we don’t think his stormy hairstyle reminds of a Hippie.

No! People have started thinking of his hairstyle as a cool trademark.

Second, Bernie is far from being perfect! For example, the fact that he defends the NRA (National Rifle Association) and that his speeches about equality don’t reach all people shine quite a different light on him.

I’m not sure if he could have gotten so far without social media. I personally doubt it.

The sad truth is that we make up our minds based on images created for us. These images can make or break things.

But what if those images were produced by “bad” people? By people with intentions that only serve THEM and their beliefs? By people with extreme views?

I'm not just talking about the presidential candidates here. I mean this in a more general way.

My wise history teacher once said that anything extreme – good or bad – is ultimately something ill natured.

I believe that there is truth in that.

As I said at the beginning: From all presidential candidates I’d choose Bernie Sanders and I’m glad he exists and fights but I don’t agree with everything he stands for and I take the posts on Facebook that support him so extremely with a grain of salt.

Let me put it this way …

The French Revolution was merely a series of events dictated by a hungry mob. The fact that we teach school children today that the revolution was driven by great men with glorious ideas about human rights is because we pick parts of historical episodes and put them together in a way that gives meaning to us.

It makes total sense that a hungry mob is not as charming and selling as glorious ideas.

The scenario of a bird flying on Bernie Sander’s podium is a cute but fairly unspectacular episode. But when you add comments and music to the video clip, edit it right, post it a billion times on facebook and compare Sanders to other politicians and what evil birds THEY attract to their podium, then you have a completely different and powerful story.

I'm glad that the same social media techniques have worked to show what a ridiculous man Trump is and what kind of dangerous path he would be taking us. 

People don’t like dry facts. People like good stories.

That’s how things are and how things always will be.

I’m not any different. I get drawn into those stories. I guess that’s pretty human.

What I try to do though is to be aware of being pulled into a story, so that I know that I need to pull myself out of it again in order to be able to see the WHOLE picture and not just pieces of a story someone has arranged for me.

This rule of thumb I use counts for Sanders, Cruz, Trump and Clinton as much as for anything else in my life. 

Perspective

Two years ago I was not eager at all to buy a home in Japan. Not having the financial means was the main reason but there have also been other reasons. ...

I have friends in Germany who own homes that are between 50 and 100 years old. They are decent, beautiful homes past on from grandparents to children and grandchildren. They are true treasures, true investments.

In Japan on the other hand you wouldn’t consider calling buying your own place an investment – in general you could say: the older your house the more it’s value decreases. On top of that you’ll find a lot of new, tall buildings in Osaka with "Panasonic Homes" that people love to buy because everything is new. Unattractively new! But that's what most people love here. 

To me those places feel soulless and boring (not that I’m asking for ghosts or anything similar but I'm sure you know what I mean). Every home looks more or less the same. The kitchen, the bathroom, the toilet … Wherever you go … All homes seem to get their basic interior done by Panasonic-like companies.

Since over the last couple of years a few things have changed for me and my husband I've started to think differently about buying a house.

We got married one and a half years ago we became more and more open to the idea of having at least a base in Japan, in case we consider living abroad one day. We thought, instead of paying rent, it would make more sense to pay off our own home. We could still rent it out if we thought of moving overseas.

We kept our eyes open for something old - something within our low budget – which we could renovate.

I wanted to stay in the city center so I could cover most distances by bicycle, and be fairly mobile most of the time.

We wanted something rather spacious, but for a reasonable price.

In short, our budget and our image were like me and Serena Williams playing tennis together: It simply wasn't matching.

It became a question of being lucky and of how much we were ready to compromise whether we could find the ideal home or not.

Finally, after many house viewings and disappointments, we found the perfect place for us.

It is a bit far from the station and a little more expensive than we had planned, but it’s spacious for Japanese standards and it has a huge terrace. The thought of being able to create our own green oasis in a hectic city was what convinced us to say YES to this charming little apartment.

The moment we decided to get the place I started to go coocoo.

I was so excited about making this place as personal and individual as possible, that I became a Pinterest fanatic.

I pinned pictures of rooms that I wanted to recreate, I researched on the Internet where to get second hand furniture, low-priced wallpapers, curtains, and statement-rugs. I calculated in what price range each item was supposed to be in order for us to stay in our budget.

For a whole week I turned into a home/interior design zombie and was probably air-pinning pictures in my sleep.

At the same time my husband, my practical-thinking better half, went through a mental financial crisis. Rightly he was worried about whether we’d get a loan and under what conditions, and how much he could let me have things my way. I have a decent good taste, if I may say so, and I’m horrible with money – which makes me the worst economical house wife on earth!

On top of that, I started to have my own crisis:

A couple of times, while I was looking for information online, I was quite frustrated with my limited options here in Japan:

I can’t read the language well enough to 1) look for the right keywords online to find information on interior goods and 2) navigate on Japanese websites, especially when they are not well organised. Japanese websites do make you wonder: Is it my Japanese that's shit or is it simply the website that's poo?

It’s also a challenge in Osaka to find used furniture for a decent price. Keywords like “antique” and “vintage” magically drive costs up. Instead you need to search under “junk” to find what you would easily find at regular flea markets in Europe or the States.

Here a few examples for what I thought can be done easily but turned out to be potential money pits:

·      I wanted to have one Japanese room with an old Japanese painting-like wallpaper in golden colors. Just getting that done for one only wall would cost between EUR 1.800-2.600/$2,000-3,000.　Since the original paper costs so much I thought I could get a digital deco version of it but because there is little demand in digital deco the price doesn’t differ much from the original paper.

·      I wanted all door and window frames to be painted white. Turns out that the material used in our new home and in Japan in general is not real wood and I was explained that painting over the existing material would look cheap and come off easily.

I’m totally into DIY and in order to keep costs down it looks like I will be working with the carpenters and painters, which I don’t mind at all.

Indeed, I’m looking forward to that.

But what I CAN’T get in my head, especially when you live in Japan, is how considerably simple things, …  in this day and age, …where humanity prepares for life on Mars,  … are so difficult to achieve when you are not wealthy, patient, and fluent in Japanese.

Overall, my husband and I both had our ups and downs these last couple of days.

We were thrilled to find the perfect home, we were scared to make such a big commitment, we were worried about our loan and our future finances, we were frustrated about limited options, and we even a had moments of sadness when we thought that a few close friends and family were not as excited about our news as we had expected.

Then, while I was walking home last night, I had a moment of reflection.

It just took us less than two weeks to feel stressed out about our new home, when this is supposed to be one of the happiest moments in your life.

First of all, is buying your home really supposed to be one of your happiest moments in life, like they say about your wedding day?

Buying your house and having your wedding are important milestones in life, but happiness is not being measured that way.

Happiness is when the person you are with makes you feel good.

Happiness is when you sit on a bench and feel the warmth of the sun in your face and smile about it.

Happiness is when someone gives you shit just because they feel like it but instead of responding with anger you react with understanding and see beyond that person’s anger.

If we could see things in perspective on a more regular basis than we could … maybe … enjoy life more and be more grateful for all the little things and accomplishments in our lives.

When you zoom out of your troubled world you'll see things in perspective. 

This world is big.

There are so many wars, so many people living life in fear, so many not having a roof over their head …

And here I am stressing myself out about doorframes that I can’t paint white.

It’s a legitimate problem; I don’t want to dismiss it like that.

But I shouldn’t and won’t let it grow in my mind.

This house can hopefully teach me how to be patient and take my time with things instead of planning out EVERYTHING within a week. Every wallpaper, every picture in the house, and every vintage lamp will find its spot eventually.

Just one more thing about perspective:

Yesterday in the news, they showed three mysterious lights in the sky and people were wondering whether those were UFOs.

Extraterrestrial life! Aliens traveling faster than light, living a life in a different galaxy! Now if THAT doesn’t put things in perspective, I’m asking you, WHAT does!!??!! 

Some pictures of our new home … 

Stay tuned. 

Convenience Overload?

A couple of weeks ago, when I visited a meet up organized by Jacqui and Amanda, I met a very sweet Brazilian girl, who is a freelance lawyer and who has been living in Japan as long as I have.

Yesterday, when we met for lunch, we chatted about many different things – from how palm trees lift up your mood, how body aware Brazilians are, and to how shamefully expensive fruits are at Japanese supermarkets.

We talked about our everyday lives in Japan and because we both sounded like we miss things back home I couldn’t help but ask the annoying question I ask anyone, who comes from a place with a mild climate and palm trees all over: “What … on earth … are you doing here? Why don’t you just go back?”

When I get asked that question it makes me feel uncomfortable, sometimes even angry because I feel thrown out into a dark cold forest and my brain freezes for a second.

Why?

Because these harmless looking questions are not as harmless as they seem.

Deep down they are the real deal! Besides the fact that they make you feel like you have to defend your choices in life, they leave you know choice but to look closely at yourself and your life.

And we all know how good we are at fooling ourselves day in and day out, how well we distract ourselves with going to work, coming back home, doing meaningless things in our free time and making plans for the future just to avoid thinking about what it is that we want from our lives in order to feel truly happy.

It’s not easy to give an answer to “What do I want to do with my life?”, “Am I happy where I am?”

And when something is not easy, it’s damn easy not to confront yourself with it.

… Until you live in Japan for a decade and someone asks you that twisted cursed question:  “What makes you stay here?”

I’m aware that not everyone feels this way but a lot of us would say back “ … because it’s a convenient country”.

That is indeed an undeniable fact about Japan.

Japan is one of the most convenient countries you can think of.

You feel terribly hot in the summer or cold in the winter and Abracadabra you’ll see a vending machine right in front of you. At every corner you’ll find a convenient store that's to your service 24/7. Department stores are open all year round! And when you are a white foreigner at the tax office and you don’t speak the language then officials usually fill in documents for you or help you file your tax because the faster they are done with you the less they have to torture themselves with speaking in English.

At home in Germany department stores and shopping sites are closed on Sundays. If you run out of food on Saturday evening you are followed by a feeling of unease because you know you have no choice but to run to the supermarket if you want food on your table for Sunday. Officials are often in a bad mood and expect you to know as much about their work as they do. And if you don’t speak proper German get ready to live in a world of constant insult and humiliation.

For all the reasons above and more one can definitely say that convenience is a blessing.

But is it really? Is convenience truly a blessing?

What price are we paying for this so-called convenience?

       Besides the fact that eating sweets especially late at night is not good for your health, in order for me to be able to shush my craving for ice cream at 1 am in the morning by going to the convenience store, there is probably a single mother working late at 7/11 to make sure her kids have a roof over their heads.

      In a country that never rests, you’ll find it hard to arrange a get-together with friends unless you inform them 2-3 months in advance because everyone works on different days, and some people even work on Sundays.

·      BECAUSE I live in a convenient country that’s famous for its fabulous service my husbands gets called at 11 pm at night by customers, has to work late hours every day, and is not able to take five days off for his wedding and honeymoon without having to deal with his boss' nasty comments later on. 

Naturally, if WE receive good service from someone, someone else receives good service from us. 

It’s undeniable that service in Germany could be better, and that supermarkets are closed on Sundays.

But at least – without wanting to generalize things - our weekends are there to spend it with our loved ones. Our evenings are for us and not duty-trips to the bar with co-workers. And when we want to travel to the other side of the world, we usually get more than five days off, so that the trip doesn't feel like having spent it mainly on a plane.

Having more time to ourselves doesn’t necessarily mean that we don’t avoid thinking about what makes us truly happy and how to follow our dreams. Not at all. We all get caught up in in our hectic lives and barely take the time to question our lifestyle.

But it just makes me wonder how much convenience we can actually bear without falling apart or going insane? 

On the bright side though … Without this crazy lifestyle here it might have taken me much much longer to realise that I need to get out of this circle of "constant matrix performance" if I want to discover what's out there for me and my life. 

Exceptionally Unusual Things To Do In Your Town

What do you do when you have been living in Osaka as a foreigner for a long long time, and you had your ups and downs with this city, with your life in Japan, … and when the regular things you do on a daily basis are meeting friends for coffee or lunch, going shopping, and … going shopping, or just window shopping because you can’t spend money all the time?

You go to the courtyard and watch a trial. That’s what you do!

One of my friends has been doing this for quite a while now. She has lawyer students who throw legal expressions out in the lessons she barely understands the full meaning of. And when she decided to become more familiar with legal terminologies, she thought that going to trials might be a nice idea. She figured that she’d also have the chance to practice Japanese and Kanji.

So, one day, when she texted me to ask when we can have coffee together, she also added “Would you wanna come and watch a trial with me?”

I first thought she mistyped something and then I wondered - because I'm insecure about my English skills as hell - whether she was using a casual English expression for something else that I didn’t get, so I double-checked what she meant.

But trial, as in courtyard trial, she really meant.

Hell yeah! Of course, I was in.

We met up with two of her friends – an American girl, who knew quite a lot of Kanji, and a Japanese lady, whose main job was to resolve any of our misunderstandings about what was said at court.

Our first job was to decide what trial to attend.

We had quite a few choices but then it came down to picking between a theft case and a drug case.

What’s the fun in theft?

Obviously we took the drug case.

While walking up to the room we chitchatted like chicken at a farm. When we reached the door we waited sitting down at the bench outside and continued giggling and babbling with volume down.

For my friend this was a regular thing but for the rest of us this was a whole new exciting and exquisite new world that had just opened up in front of us. How could we not feel excited? We were fired up! Beside ourselves! Thrilled! Ready to go in!

Finally, when we entered the room, we were instantly quiet as if someone had put an invisible blanket of silence over our heads and bodies. It wasn’t only the room that required that attitude.

It was the fact that this was the trial of a middle-aged man who was accused of having used illegal drugs.

We were in the middle of the misery of another person’s life.

In front of us we were to witness a man’s life reaching its low.

While we listened to the trial, taking notes of the contents and new words we heard, the heavy weight of the situation became our companion. It followed us until after the trial was over, when we left the room, left the building and walked a couple of blocks. There our serious companion said goodbye to us and we were back to our chicken state - laughing and chatting.

Nevertheless, I won’t forget the feeling of the trial, and the thoughts it stirred up in me. 

It made me think of how many people out in the world go through some serious shit in their lives due to the lives they have, the circumstances they are in, the choices they make, the (bad) luck they have …

I told my friend that I was really impressed by her hobby. I told her that it would be a great motivation to think of more “cool”, unusual, fun, cheap or even free, let’s not forget “legal” things one can do in Osaka or one’s own town.

Though going to trials in your free time is hard to top - cheers my friend - I’m wondering if you have any ideas or suggestions for what to do in our / your town?

If you do, let me know. 

Music and its Magic

I have never learned to play an instrument, I end up listening to mainstream music because I don’t make the effort to discover other bands and music, and if you asked me what music I’m into, I couldn’t give you any answer, unless you let me think for half an hour.

Still, music is something very special to me. It’s the soundtrack to my life.

It moves me, takes me on a journey, makes me want to dance, helps me fight through a work out, eases my pain, brings me to tears, and creates images in my mind that I wished I cold share with you as music video clips.

In fact, if someone offered me a job, where all I had to do is listen to a song to create a video clip for it without having had to study anything specific, and I had the best team on my side, I would so say “I’m in!”.

But, oh well!

The other day I watched a Tim Minchin video (I posted about him on the “Lau..haha..gh” section), where he performed something that crosses my mind on a regular basis.

What if you had your personal orchestra installed in your brain and it played the matching music to whatever goes on in your life? I admit it could be annoying at times but wouldn’t it be hilarious as well? 

(The first few minutes demonstrate what I / Tim Minchin mean):

Last week my friend, who plays the French horn in a classical orchestra, invited me to her last concert with Carmina Burana as its main program.

I love Carmina Burana – it’s ideal for movie scenes like the following:

A monk in his cowl with the hood on, walks down a dark candle lit medieval church hall with its high ceiling, and is about to commit an evil act.

Make all that slow motion! Like in the movie “Elizabeth - The Golden Age”!

Brilliant!

Goosebumps!!

So, me and another friend got cozy quiet seats in the third level balcony because we were both sure that we’d nod off at some point. Before Carmina Burana they played two other pieces I didn’t know, of which one is called Lauda Concertata by Akira Ifukube.

That’s when I did something I’ve never done before at a concert: I fished a piece of paper and a pen out of my bag and started creating a story around the music, just out of an impulse. I didn’t know where the story would take me when I translated the first images in my mind into words. The more I played along, the more I put effort in the story. It was so much fun!!  

Lean back and imagine the story telling as a black and white silent old movie. 

Setting:

Around the time when Jack the Ripper took place – 1880s/90s.

Foggy and dark streets of London at night.

A Jekyll-and-Hyde-type of murderer walks through a poor district, looking for a new victim.

He doesn’t want to kill anymore. Instead he wants this madness in his head to stop! But he can’t help himself. The beast in him is unleashed and thirsty.

Finally, his eyes spot the right victim.

A poor looking young woman in old clothes, who stands at a bridge, obviously thinking of bringing her life in misery to an end.

He feels drawn to her. Almost obsessed with putting his hands around her throat to watch her breathe her last breath.

He approaches her and just when he is about to let his hands do the work, someone attacks him with a strong kick in his stomach and then face. He falls hard on the ground and has to grasp for air.

He looks into the eyes of a young Asian man in a Chinese costume.

He can’t move. He is in pain.

He just hears the girl scream.

The Chinese man presses a handkerchief on her face.

She passes out and falls into his arms.

Before the murderer can get up, the Chinese man is already on the run with the girl on his shoulder.

New scene:

Early morning.

Countryside.

Wide fields.

You see the back of a horse running like the devil. On top is the Chinese man with the unconscious girl in his arms.

They reach a busy port and get on a big ship.

Finally, when the ship is on the open ocean, the girl opens her eyes.

Frightened at first, she tries to free herself from the Chinese man but then he tells her that she is the lost and found granddaughter of a famous and rich English lord, who lives in New York now. He tells her that he was ordered to find her and bring her back to her grandfather.

They arrive in New York.

A beautiful rich townhouse.

She meets her grandfather. They fall into each other’s arms.

Finally, she is safe and at home.

A couple of months pass by. Grandfather spoils her with beautiful gifts, takes her to events …

The Chinese man is her bodyguard but also a silent and wise companion.

One night the three attend a party.

The girl dances and has fun. Then she goes out on the terrace to get some fresh air. She is alone.

The Chinese watches her but the grandfather orders him to come inside. He leaves for a second.

Little does he know that the murderer, who is actually a well-respected doctor, visiting N.Y. on business, is at the same party, and that he has discovered and recognized the girl. The murderer follows her to the terrace intending to finish what he had started in London.

He kidnaps her.

The Chinese is back but he can’t find the girl. He catches a glimpse of a flying cape in the far distance. The murderer gets on a carriage. The Chinese follows them.

Meanwhile the murderer has knocked out the girl and his taking her to the docks. There he gets off the carriage and pulls his knife out.

The Chinese finds them but he is far. He sees the knife and shouts.

The girl opens her eyes.

Right in that moment the murderer stabs the knife in her chest.

Before the Chinese reaches the girl the murderer runs off.

The Chinese holds the girls in his arms. His eyes are in tears.

She smiles at him with love but then dies.

He cries and kisses her lips.

Shortly after he is filled with rage. He looks around and sees the murderer running towards the bridge. He quickly carries the body in a hidden corner to come back for her later.

He runs after the murderer. He catches him. They fight on the bridge.

The Chinese has no mercy. The murderer wants to kill him with his knife but the Chinese holds his hand and pushes the knife in the murderer’s throat! He is out and falls off the bridge into the deep sea.

The Chinese stands on the bridge. Alone. Devastated.

After all, he couldn’t rescue the girl from her fate.

THE END.

When the piece ended, I was hyped up. Excited! Thrilled by the classical music that put this story in my head!

I desperately wanted to share this experience with my friend next to me, so I turned to him and while everyone was clapping I explained to him what game I played and summed up my story. He looked at me, smiled and said “That’s really cool!” .

When I asked him whether HE thought of something when he listened to the piece, he looked up with an “I’m ashamed to say this”- grin and said: I thought of The Little Mermaid.

We burst out laughing.

For the rest of the afternoon it was Sebastian the crab from The Little Mermaid singing Under the Sea that was stuck in our heads.

So much for going to a classical concert.

Little Things That Make Me ME

Before reading my post check out this article from The Telegraph. 

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/wellbeing/health-advice/highly-sensitive-people/

Little Things That Make Me ME

I understand that you can’t just read one source and believe that it is the mother of all … truth.

I also think that you need to be careful with claiming right away to belong to a specific group of people just because you read some scientific research and its diagnosis.

Still, when I read this article I felt a certain kind of relief.

Imagine you have pain in your body and you don’t know where it’s coming from, and how long it will last.

You feel miserable but you don’t know what to do about it.

You try out different things but nothings helps.

You start to feel scared because you don’t know what is going on with your body.

Finally, when you go to the doctor and you listen to his/her diagnosis, and especially if it’s not something very serious, it feels like the pain is fading away because now you know the name of the pain, and now you can track its origin.

Knowing what’s going on in you makes you feel like you are back in control.

You are more in tune with yourself again.

That’s the kind of relief I’m talking about, and that’s how the article made me feel.

In the last few months I’ve come to get to know myself more and more.

I'll explain what I mean by that. 

I believe that some people are lucky to have a strong sense of who they are from a very young age on. Of course, they “shape” as they go along, but overall they know who they are and just add skills from then on.

In my case, I always felt like a huge drop of mercury - Since my childhood I was used to adjusting myself to all kinds of personalities and situations to such a degree that I forgot to work on my own shape.

I asked myself many times: “Who am I really?” “What makes me ME.

Here are just a few things I learned about myself in the last couple of years:

I need to believe in what I do for living in order to be happy.

Competitive environments make me unhappy. I like working in a team where people like supporting each other and help each other grow.

Dairy products give me headaches.

I have counseling skills.

I am artistic, innovative, and passionate, but I need to learn how to add facts to my visions and statements in order to reach a broader audience.

I’m a gypsy in my heart – I can’t imagine living in one place for the rest of my life.

A mild climate makes me feel alive. 

I’m really not good with numbers.

...

Knowing all these things about myself help me choose the lifestyle I want and need.

I wasn’t aware of a lot of my skills until my last job and especially on a personal level I blamed myself a lot for all the things I lack in. Things have changed …  

Now I’m in the process of learning about and embracing my personality traits. It takes time but articles like the one above help me understand who I am, and THAT helps me figure out how I want my life to be and what I need to do for that.

Some of us are lucky to start at an early age, and for some of us the process starts at a much older age. Luckily enough, it's never too late. 

One Week Of Porn

Almost a year ago I decided to quit my job. 

Looking back at everything, I can say that despite the stress, the long hours, the oh-well-at-least-insurance-and-transportation-are-covered pay, and the lack of genuine team spirit, it was a time that I’m very grateful for … now. 

I learned so many practical skills and so much about myself.

It also helped me understand what I didn’t want for my life. For one thing, I didn’t want to be in a competitive environment.

I want to do something more social.

I also knew that I needed to take a break to figure out exactly what it is that I want for my life.

Who would have guessed that in the upcoming time – before focusing on things that I’ve always wanted to do, like studying Japanese at school, doing volunteer work, starting my own business and starting a blog, I first had to go through a week of porn?

And that’s what happened – I had an intense week of watching online porn.

I don’t remember details about how it all started but it was something like watching a sex scene in a movie that got me hooked up.

I was afraid of using my laptop to look for porn because of catching a virus, so I put in some keywords in my cell phone thinking any damage on the phone would be on a smaller scale and could be dealt with less embarrassment at Softbank.

After having visited websites that FOR ME showed scary jaw-dropping penis sizes, disgusting elements of painful and consent less looking positions, terrible acting, and cheap quality in many ways, I knew that “female friendly porn” were the keywords that I could live with.

I can’t recall the first porn session I had but from that moment on I was in porn universe.

I couldn’t have been more excited about learning things like  “cunnilingus”,  “tribbing / scissoring” and “strap-on with a glass dildo” if I had been to a Bobbi Brown shop, was introduced to the multifunctional Pot Rouge, and got some free creamy concealer samples on the way out.

Despite my “busy” schedule that week, I managed to meet two friends for coffee and because porn was all I had on my mind I couldn’t help but bring up that topic while enjoying Golden Assam Tea and an apple pie. 

One friend was fairly shocked about the news but tried not to show it – you know, be open-minded about it - which was funny to watch. Bless her.

The other friend looked unimpressed, as if she had to deal with a late boomer. She said that she had an intense porn phase a couple of years ago but that she got over it quickly.

It just hit me right there and then! What had started as an innocent, stress releasing, fooling around with online porn had become an addiction.

I was addicted to porn!

I was able to confirm that after reading the online article “ 14 signs you’re addicted to porn”. Number 8. and 9. were totally me.

8. If you can’t go days without masturbating to porn, because masturbation isn’t really about masturbation or getting off. It’s about finding an excuse to watch porn.

9. You use porn as that little golden carrot to power you through projects and studying and writing papers. “I will do one more problem set, then I will masturbate.” That or you procrastinate your work so you can watch porn.

I was also starting to think that porn is how sex is supposed to be and THAT, my friends, although I’m sure you can add some porn elements here and there to spice up your love life, is far from reality. And I mean that as a good thing.

At the end of the week I was EX-HAUS-TED from watching porn for hours – online zapping to the next video clip, always hoping for a better video, a better orgasm, a new insight and then ending it with a quick menage a moi (a sophistcated French way to describe „masturbation“).

At the end of the week I was tired and bored of watching porn. My brain was numb, and my eyes tired.

Also, reading an article on what porn does to your brain, which is not a nice thing, I’m telling you, was quite helpful in order to endthis whole affair.

Check out the article here: 

What watching Porn Does To Your Brain

Memories Or No Memories - That Is The Question ...

A lot of people seem to remember their childhoods or past events very clearly.

I’m not one of those people. I am a little concerned while I’ll say (write) this but I have a slight suspicion that about 70% of what I believe to be memories of past events in my life I actually made up in my mind or mixed with stories revolving around old photographs. 

My parents were born in the late 50s and come from a small village in Turkey. I’m pretty sure there was no romantic story of how they met. It wasn’t an arranged marriage but maybe something similar, although, once they had met, so I remember my mom saying, they have had a crush on each other. 

I was born and raised in Germany. My dad was a plumber and my mom worked at a factory. I was born around 6 pm - truly considerate of the fact that my parents were blue-collar workers. 

On the contrary, some of my friends’ parents were doctors or architects, who had chosen each other out of conscious love when they were students in Paris or met at a charity event and one spilled caviar hors d’oeuvre over the other.  

Having heard stories like that from friends when we were all in elementary school I must have felt pressured to come up with a romantic story for my parents.

When you are a child it’s hard to embrace your identity and feel proud of your parents for what they have accomplished in their rough lives. Instead, let’s be honest, most kids are embarrassed for whatever reason when it comes to their parents.

I was, back then and so I made up this story:

It was a nice day at a lively park somewhere in Turkey in the mid 70s. My dad was sitting on a bench reading a communist book. My mom approached the bench and was about to sit down when my father suddenly reached out with a startled sound trying to stop her.

It was too late. My mom had already turned around and set down on a gum someone had spat out there. My dad tried to explain to her what just happened and though she was shocked about probably having ruined her new skirt, she found it cute how clumsy and shy my dad was when he offered her his help. They chatted for a good while and promised each other to meet again at the same place the next day. And so they did …

I have to say, I am impressed by how smart I was in that age not to have added any glamor to the story or chose a fancier location like Rome or even Istanbul because nobody would have believed it.

I believed it though! For quite a long time I truly believed that that was the story of how my parents met. I don’t even know the truth.

I’m sure I asked my mom or my dad and I’m positive they told me something. I suspect though that I wasn’t impressed by it or that I didn’t like it and therefore created scenarios in my head.

How often have I done that in my life, I wonder? And what does that say about me?

That I’m a dreamer, a lunatic with a vivid mind, who needs help?

Then again, I don’t mind having a vivid imagination and making up stories. In fact, it’s what makes me me. I’m quite a visual person and if my brain could control a camera, lights, an orchestra and actors/actresses at the same time, I would produce a short video at least five times a day and present it to you like a gacha, a toy that comes out of a vending machine, with a flourish of trumpets.

I just wished that I could remember an event in the past without creating additional sub stories at the same time, just so I know what really went on in my life.

Do you know what I mean? I’ll never find out what I have deleted in my mind and have replaced it with.

I’ve started to question a lot of my memories:

Was “Sleeping Beauty” really the first movie I watched in the cinema?

Have I really stood in our door way with other kids from the neighborhood and said to St. Nikolaus, who was about to give us presents “Are you not Daniel, my aunt’s boss?” and then looked at my mom and the other kids who gazed at me in disbelief?

 Did my grandma really tell me Turkish fairy tales when she tucked me into bed? Did she tuck me into bed? 

I really don’t know for sure.

It’s funny though that on the other hand I can recall very clearly how something felt, smelled, or sounded:

 I can still smell the burned plastic of the bottom of our home phone that the naughty son of one of our family friends put on the stove to see what happens to the phone when you turn the stove on. 

When I put on sun lotion it always takes me back to a beach holiday in Turkey we once had and I can still remember how it felt to have warm sand between my toes.

I can also still feel how the floor was shaking and trembling when my aunt ran up to my cousin who started screaming and hitting because a relative had just told her that she won’t be able to go to her father’s funeral in Turkey. I can still hear her painful scream in my ears.

I don't think I made that up. Just that bit is a true memory!  

A Late Wedding Speech

This post goes out to my dear friend.

This morning my friend’s husband texted me to tell me that my friend was sick. That she had a stroke. That she is recovering slowly and that she is weak at the moment.

I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. I never thought I would get a call or message like that about any of my “core” friends. Of course there were plenty of moments in my life when I felt deeply sad when someone I knew went through tragic illnesses or worse with their loved ones. Somehow though I must have been thinking that my “core” friends are untouchable when it comes to diseases or accidents, just like super heroes. If my post were a movie I would definitely play the first few lyric lines of Pat Benatar’s song “Love is a Battlefield” in the background where she sings:

We are young

Heartache to heartache we stand

No promises, no demands

…

We are strong, no one can tell us we’re wrong

…

Just that part and then it would tune out. ...

I’m glad it was a text and not a call. Bawling my eyes out on the phone is the last thing her husband needs at the moment. I couldn’t help though thinking strongly that I wished I could be there for her, for them. I wished that I had enough money to say “I’m getting on the next plane” and a couple of times I cursed the ocean between us because I can’t just go and visit her in hospital.

It’s really difficult to stay away from drama, strong emotions and unhealthy thinking patterns when you have Kurdish blood in you.

I wondered if there was anything I could do instead. Something realistic.  Something to cheer her up.

And then I remembered …

About five years ago that dear friend had asked me to do a speech at her wedding. The fact that she was about to marry an awesome bloke with a name as hilarious and cool as Indiana Jones, composing a speech for her using that information should have been a piece of cake and a guarantee for laughter.

I turned her down though. I told her that I didn’t know what to tell the guests besides stories that would make her mother fall off her chair. I was simply an air head who didn’t realize what an honor it was to do a speech for her.

You’ll want to smack me upside the head when I tell you that years later I asked her to do a speech on my wedding day and she said yes without any hesitation. 

I’m five years late, it’s not her wedding day, and there are no guests staring at me but if I could do a wedding speech today, it would go like this:

We met 17 years ago as two German au-pairs in the States in a small town in the Midwest and we belonged to the same agency, which arranged regular get-togethers for all the au-pairs in the area. For us two to become friends was as unimaginable as a kitten becoming friends with a duckling or a giraffe with an ostrich.

And yet, it happened, just like here:

She was a city girl and had a lot of experience in a lot of different things. I, on the other hand, grew up in a small town with parents from Turkey and when I started to have the first signs of becoming a woman, I’m sure my father would have loved to just lock me up in a tower like Rapunzel. He didn’t have to because I wasn’t rebellious enough do anything to rock the boat at home.

Until I met my friend.

Who rocked my boat.

Until I almost fell out of it.

And I can’t thank her enough for that because for the first time ever I had real fun in my life and I felt safe with her. She always had my back when I dared to break out of my small world in small steps.

I remember some jaw-dropping memories:

·      In a family restaurant she explained to me different positions for sexual intercourse by drawing them on paper napkins, which were spread out on the table when the waiter served us. You can imagine his face.

·      When we were staying with a friend at a hotel and they locked me up in the bathroom as part of a “truth or dare” game and I wasn’t allowed to come out until I was able to fake a loud orgasm.

·      When we went trick or treating on Halloween in proper costumes and giggled every time the door opened and we were asked if we are not too old for this.

·      When she explained to me how to put in a freakin' tampon without having a trauma for life and I wrote the steps down like I was writing notes in a lecture at university.

She is the only one I know who can still look stunning when she goes to a barber and gets a five-dollar haircut. At a party she can get into a heated discussion about manual transmission with a bunch of guys and turn around to the girls five minutes later to tell them where to find the best lip-gloss on the net. She is a pure Gemini – witty, smart, soft-spoken and versatile and simply fascinating even when I think I want to jump on her throat when it takes her a full hour to decide which of the two Onitsuka Tigers sneakers she is going to buy.

Our personalities and lives couldn’t be any more different. One day before my wedding at the last get-together I had trouble with my PC and she came over to help. She shook her head with a smile about what an illiterate I am when it comes to computers while she fixed the problem within a second. I couldn’t help but think how this girl wants to be friends with me when I seem to be ten years behind her in my life choices. And yet, we are friends! I’m really proud of being able to say that.

It’s no surprise that a gorgeous girl has found a wonderful man and that the two of them are a safe recipe for a happy marriage.

A pat on my shoulder! I managed not to use “Indiana Jones” in my speech. I’ll save that for another time.  

Inspiration On Detours

Currently I'm working part-time for my friend.

Yes!

When reading that first phrase some of you might have some kind of eye-twitching going on thinking "Why on earth are you working for your friend? Don't you know that that's a big No-No?”

I actually do know that that's a big No-No, which therefore makes me an even bigger bobo. 

But that's not what today's post is about.

I promised my friend to help her organize her English school by setting the foundation straight and creating a hybrid teacher-manager position someone could later take over and complete when I think it is okay to let go. It took us a couple of months but finally we were ready to conduct a number of interviews to hire that person. 

Overall, we met a lot of decent, sweet, hardworking people but no one topped Hannah. 

She is one of those people who have a stable core, are overall content with themselves, know who they are, what they like, and what they don't like, and for that reason alone, in some twisted way, you feel good around them. 

After talking to Hannah for ten minutes the thought "Please, let's be friends!" hijacked my mind. I must have looked like a little puppy with its tongue out when chasing its favorite toy but I managed to calm myself down. 

She gets off on a tangent quite often but she tells stories so well. She adds a lot of meaningful pauses while giving you a funny look in between and although she uses her face and hands a lot to express herself you don't feel exhausted or annoyed by her like you do with some people. I guess it’s because she does it in a classy Katherine Hepburn-way. 

If she knew she'd strangle me for this but in some mysterious way that "pausing-and-giving-a-funny-look-thing" she does reminds me slightly of a female, quite attractive version of Bill Nigh in "Love Actually" who sings "All You Need Is Love" as a Christmas song. He cracks me up in that movie.

Hannah just blew us away with her positive, energetic, witty way and since she had everything we needed for the position, my friend and I knew that we have to get her for her school. 

I'm sure you have met people in your life who inspire you to be a better version of yourself. It's their presence. They are so in tune with themselves that that energy seems to catch up with you. They are people who get a long with everyone and everyone loves them. You want to be around them not because they trick you into it but because they love and accept themselves the way they are, and I mean that in a positive and healthy way. Their happiness is within and you can feel and see that. There is nothing more attractive than that. 

I went home that day and I naturally wanted to be a better version of myself. I had left work really late and I was hungry like hell, which meant that going home and cooking something was not an option anymore. I felt like Terminator looking for Sarah Connor. 

It turned out that my husband was also late and starving. We decided to meet up in front of our house.

Normally I would ask him to come up with a suggestion for where to eat out because I am too hungry to think straight. He would know from my voice that if he didn't provide a plan within the next 5 seconds I would eat him alive. 

But not that night! That night I managed to laugh about us standing on the crossroad like two stoned chickens who have no idea what to do next. I treated my husband like I wanted to be treated as well in that moment – with respect, understanding, and humor - and I believe it was because I felt inspired by Hannah. ...

Obviously we offered her the job and she accepted.

When my friend and I met up with her a second time I was excited to see her again but after the meeting I felt that something in me had changed.

I ended up doing something I do very often. I started to compare myself to Hannah. 

As Theodore Roosevelt rightly said: “Comparison is the thief of joy”. 

There is nothing worse you can do to yourself than to compare yourself to someone. You will always do it in a way that puts you down. And, oh boy, am I good at that!

Luckily, I caught my thoughts and actively observed how they made me feel small, unloved, and misunderstood. That way I could handle my emotions better. I was sitting right in those emotions, like they were a cloud of pillows in a Pasha’s harem.

What I needed though were instructions on how to get myself out of those emotions. I came across an article, which helped me find a direction.

Surprise! Surprise! 

It always comes down to liking yourself, being kind to yourself, and shifting your focus on yourself because everyone has a unique story, a unique personality that can’t be compared to anyone else’s. 

I need to learn how to appreciate what I have achieved in my life so far and measure all that by my own standards.

I keep telling myself, the only way to feel a step closer to happiness is by becoming aware of certain moments and turning them around. Like when I have a hard time accepting a simple compliment from someone and then I would need to remind myself to embrace that compliment without any “but” and with all my heart. I believe that’s the only way to not choke under that cloud of pillows of emotions.

Hannah is an inspiration and I’m grateful for being able to see that.