CROATIA & MONTENEGRO TRAVEL DIARY

Hey there. Despite my initial proposal that I would blog more frequently, I haven't. The reason behind this is quite simple: Sometimes, we get too caught up in capturing moments and photographing an event that we forget to live in the moment. That was something I promised I would do this summer (and throughout my life)--to live in the moment and take each moment as it happens. I simply do not wish to just post stuff as it happens, but to actually experience it. Therefore, my activity on any social platform has been minimized.

Anyway. I have a bit of a confession to make: recently, I haven't been itching to travel. Not really. I mean, I do like travelling and exploring new places, but for the time being, I really just wanted to be home with friends and make a thousand and one memories. However, with the approaching prospect of travelling to southeastern Europe, a region I have not yet ventured, I was really intrigued and interested. First, when people think of Europe or having a European excursion, Western Europe typically in mind. Sipping wine in Tuscany, exploring Paris, eating tapas in Madrid, or drinking local beer in Germany. That is not to say that there aren't any tourists anywhere else (because there are, trust me). It's more that it's a local treat, one that not everyone is familiar with. Croatia and Montenegro is indeed one of Europe's hidden gems. Located by the Adriatic Sea, it boasts of vivid scenery, clear turquoise waters, gorgeous beaches, and endless sun. First residing in Budva, Montenegro, I was immediately struck by the glorious beaches surrounding the coastline as the sun began to set, illuminating a spectacular sunset whilst driving to the apartment for the week.

One surely cannot tire of walking a few meters from the apartment or location of residence to the beach. I certainly wouldn't tire of the ease of plopping on a towel or chaise and feel the sun skin my skin while dipping my fit in clear blue waters. Fortunately for us, it was incredibly hot when we arrived and the temperature steadily remained in the upper '30s for the week. Whenever I would enter the water, I could immediately feel the rush of refreshment from the water, cooling my skin. Due to its saltiness, the water in Budva, near Przno Beach, is buoyant. So essentially, you could lie in the water and you could easily float, without having to worry the current will pull you away or some mysterious aquatic creature will nibble at your feet. After soaking some rays and essential vitamin D, I would trudge through the water, swim to a relatively isolated portion of the beach, and just float there, admiring the scenery before. I could recall the times I would come across a photo from Budva and wondered where I would get the opportunity to visit such a beautiful place. And there I was, in that exact place where the photo was taken. While floating in the transparent cerulean water, my eyes were fixed on the nearby islands, with its intense sepia hue, contrasting the nearby brick buildings. The abundance of colour is perhaps one of the reasons Budva is visually pleasing to the amateur's or professional's eyes: the intensity instantly flirting with your eyes, capturing your attention in a titillating fashion. 

Afterwards, once the beach scene begins to grow old (it didn't), the many pathways provided many strolls through the city, stretching from Bečići to Sveti Stefan, the famous islet. Walking on the national road, the trees provide a canopy of much needed shade, making the several kilometer trek in torrid heat surprisingly bearable. Along the way, there are old villas that have been converted into luxurious resorts that provide isolation from the rest of the tourists and beach-goers in Budva. A little slice of quiet and relaxation against a posh backdrop on a secluded beach is indeed a recipe for leisure. Arriving at a portion of the road where an astounding panorama of Sveti Stefan is present, one lingers there for a moment, drinking in the scenery and the beauty of the place. Walking along Sveti Stefan beach, it is apparent that a once prominent area of respite in a time of turmoil is now also converted into luxurious and private villas. Taking a pleasant stroll along the beach, my sister and I made a necessary ice cream break, deciding that it is the perfect way to cool down in 40-degree weather. Instead of taking the same route back, we continued along a constructed pathway beside the beach, stretching along the shoreline. Many people decided to make their own little slice of heaven, by placing a towel and soaking the sun with a grand vista of Stefan, paint the local scenery, or simply snap a few (hundred) photos of the landscape. There is this air of romance that slightly lingers in the air, one that whisks on your a whirlwind romance that entices you in such a warm embrace that the idea of leaving such a place is truly heartbreaking. The copper-toned rocks among the bright teal water as the sun is shining directly without any visible clouds is a sight that one could constantly drink yet never be satisfied. It's a futile quench, since you're constantly longing for more. Drinking a mojito or a piña colada while munching on some salty snack, quickly eating a Magnum, or indulging in a pizza. Walking slowly to take in the view. Making your way to the beach to ensure a proper spot. Stopping at the local convenience store to grab a cold drink. It never got old. A languid approach to life is something anyone could adopt, even if it's temporary. It's good to take things slow and appreciate the simple things in life. 

Next, we made a short stop in Dubrovnik, Croatia. Since it was on the way back home, it would be a shame to come all this way without stopping in Dubrovnik. I've seen all the pins and pictures on tumblr; I was aware of the beauty that Dubrovnik boasted about. Affectionately known as the Jewel of the Adriatic, it certainly lives up its moniker. Exploring Old City on quite possibly the hottest day of the summer (I think it was around 42 C), we made frequent stops at the local ice cream store, surrounded by various tourists from all the corners of the world. With plenty of travelers from Spain, Australia, Britain, France, and America, the desire to explore the famed Dalmatian Coast. With the city walls high and prominent, it is not for the faint of heart (or pocket). Unfortunately, with limited amount of time, we decided to explore the Old City without an itinerary. We just simply ventured through the countless maze of thin alleyways, discovering a quaint little restaurant along the way or a famed hostel. A labyrinth of cobblestone, narrow streets, and sun-bleached brick, it was incredibly easy to get lost, but that was part of the adventure. Coming across a candy shop or a patisserie, we continued taking pictures of the famed structures, with its churches and building dating back to the 8th century.

The next day, the last full day before the long drive back home, we decided to soak up some sun at Lapad beach before making my way to Old Town again with my father and sister. Instead of exploring the city and uncovering a corner, I was on a mission: to go to Buza Bar. Buza Bar is literally a hole-in-the-wall bar that serves nice cold beverages. However, that's not the reason why I wanted to go there. It is constructed on the edge of rocks, along the walls of the city, with stairs and bars to ensure that one doesn't involuntarily fall off the edge. So, you can sit in a chair, order a cold Coke or Heineken, and then jump into the Adriatic. Which is precisely what I did. I've wanted to do that ever since finding out that my family and I would visit Croatia. So I jumped off a large rock into the sea, feeling exhilaration as my body met the water. After doing that several times, and watching a dare devil jump from a 17 m height, I was satisfied that I finally cliff jumped. Afterwards, we went with the cable car to the top of the hill, witnessing a splendid landscape of Dubrovnik. I was genuinely sad to go home, finding myself feeling a bit of remorse that I did not have more time to explore such a luxuriant town with rich history and beautiful landscape.

So Croatia and Montenegro was definitely a change from where I usually travel. It provided unprecedented diversity, leaving me once again speechless and excited for all the places that I have yet to see. People often tell you that when travelling, the places you visit is only part of the story. That is certainly true, but that's only part of the puzzle. The rest is how you make it your own personal story. Visiting the popular tourist attractions is good because you're in a famous city with famous landmarks, but also veer off the path a little bit. Get lost in an unfamiliar city. Ask the locals where the best ice cream/drinks/whatever it is you're looking for is. Make the city your own for your time there. Experience the city with all your senses.

REFLECTIVE THOUGHTS

Hey. Hello. Bonjour. Ciao. My beloved readers, I am so sorry that I've been horribly MIA for the past few months. The last time since I've blogged, it was after a spontaneous trip to Switzerland, and since then, I've focused on many things, the most important of them all being graduating. With my graduating quickly approaching, there really wasn't much time to fool around and procrastinate. Thus, I had to fervently dedicate my time in finishing the semester and the year well because how I finished depended on whether I would be admitted in grad school. As a result, my online actively has been sparse, and erratic, thereby making blogging temporarily unavailable.

In the meantime, I would also be travelling to Canada and Virginia, so I had to finish exams and essays, all while flying 8000 km. Returning to Canada was lovely, until the jet lag wore off and I was confronted with a strange mixture of emotions. Ranging from repulsion, happiness, anger, and sadness, I wasn't entirely sure what to make of what I was feeling. My God, I lived here for sixteen years and now coming back, it almost felt foreign, is what kept going through my head. I can recall vividly my life in Canada and what I did, but returning to my home and native land, it didn't quite feel like that anymore. And that really frightened me. I was looking forward to eating my favourite foods, like Timbits, speaking English all the time, and knowing that I wasn't a stranger in my own land. Yet, a few days after landed, I was perplexed that the current face of Toronto, of Canada, of my memories of my country, did not match up with what I was currently seeing or experiencing. This subsided, however, when my sister and I saw OneRepublic in concert. Singing all my favourite songs with my ultimate favourite artist was such a euphoric experience that whatever complex and puzzling emotion I was feeling suddenly blended in the background, unable to be perceived. After all, this wasn't about me musing on my past life, but rather experiencing it in the present.

After the high I experienced of seeing OneRepublic in concert, I was unfortunately faced with having to write final papers and finish final exams, all while packing for Virginia. I attempted to sort through my mixed feelings about being in Canada after living in Europe for a year and filtering everything through fresh eyes and perspectives, yet that was put on hold because I was now struggling to ascertain how I felt that I was graduating. I was graduating university. Four years have passed by, whizzed by like a blink. Without warning or precaution, it arrived, whether I was willing to accept that fact or not. Suddenly, a new wave of emotions swept over me, indulging my senses, yet pulling me in a deep pit of nostalgia. I was recalling everything that I did during my freshman, sophomore, and junior year of college, what I accomplished, what I failed miserably in, the mistakes I've made, the goals I made, and all the memories I've ever made at this precious place. Despite having 10 days at my disposal to spend time with my friends, it certainly wasn't enough. It was akin to a young child separating from his mother for the first time: frightening, exciting, nerve-wracking, and unapologetically intimidating. I was faced with visceral sensations of not wanting to leave, sensing that I wanted more time with my friends and peers, and wondering how in the actual world that 4 years passed by that quickly. I could remember walking through campus for the first time thinking that I had so much time at my disposal, that 4 years would be a long time, that 2015 was far away, yet here it was. Here I was, walking for my commencement ceremony, joining my fellow graduates in accomplishing a major feat in our lives. It was when I left campus for the very last time that I finally comprehended the gravity of the situation, bidding a fond farewell to the place that was my home for 3 years and to people who would remain in my heart forever. I wasn't ready for this; school didn't prepare me for the heart-wrenching adieu I would eventually pay when I would exit. In that precise moment, I was overwhelmed with appreciation, gratitude, and joy that I was given the utter privilege of knowing the people at my school and that their gift of friendship has touched my life in immeasurable ways.

Afterward, I partook in an excellent tradition that follows any graduation: going to Disney. I have to disclose something first: if you're not as excited, probably if not more excited that the three year olds on the park grounds, then you're doing it wrong. When I met my absolute favourite Disney princess of all time--Ariel--I nearly lost my shit. I suddenly forgot how to compose myself like a well-grounded university graduate because I was meeting the Disney characters that was the epitome of my freaking childhood. I squealed, I hugged, and I forgot how to compose myself because I was standing next to Cinderella and meeting Rapunzel. Although my youngest sister sheepishly telling Anna and Elsa how much she loved them, it was her riding the Space Mountain roller coaster that made smile to myself. A six year old telling me that a roller coaster wasn't that scary, but it was a little scary because of all the lights and how dark it was. Disney World revives all sorts of feelings that you didn't know you could feel, like being speechless when meeting Goofy and even though you know that there are people in costume, they are real to you. And so, this was indeed a perfect end to a wonderful chapter in my life. 

When I returned to Canada after a whirlwind two weeks in America, I kept thinking that I had finish an assignment, only to realize that I am a graduate and I had nothing to do. It was a strange feeling, not having to do any school. Of course, that would only last until October because another chapter of my life will soon begin. Since my nature is one that plans ahead, I have been preparing for this since January, with application deadlines, organizing documents to be sent, and finding a place to live. In the fall, I will attend grad school to further my studies in Psychology and my relocation this time will be in London, UK. When people would ask me what I'd be doing after graduation, I told them that I was going to grad school and working, their next question was where. Almost unanimously, their response would be along the lines of: wow, that's so cool; that's so exciting; or good for you! But what I was thinking was what the hell did I get myself into again? Once again, I found myself preparing to move to a place and country I've never visited. I had never once gone to the UK (unless you count a three-hour layover in Heathrow on route to Munich), but I would be moving there. So while people were congratulating me, I was having mini freak out sessions in my mind because I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. All I knew is that I wanted to go to grad school, be in a country where people predominantly spoke English, and live in Europe. I had never thought that I would be able to fulfill this dream of mine, especially while doing what I love: practicing psychology. I can distinctly remember going to Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Va with my hall one Spring day and there was a red photo booth, similar to the ones people see in London, and I naturally took a picture of it. While snapping the photo, I said to myself, one day I'll go there--one day I'll go to London and take a picture of the real thing. To be quite honest, I never would have imagined that it would entail with me moving there, setting up residence there. I suppose that's why people say you really can't plan for life because there are many times where life surprises you. Although the journey was hard and difficult, the end result is satisfactory, I would say. Even when I think to myself, Wow, I'll be moving to London soon, I can't help but be overcome with immense gratitude. Without the help of God guiding me in the right direction, I wouldn't be where I am presently. When I would be extremely anxious that I'm not cut out for this or that I can do it, it was then that I felt His kind embrace and heard Him silent my fears. So while people see it as an exciting move, I see it as a fruit of God's goodness and faithfulness. He promised that He would be with me, and I trust that He will stay true to His Word, regardless of where I am in the world. 

 { photo credit: tumblr }

This brings me to the most important part of this blog post: what I have learned. As much as I like to recollect what I've done, it would void of meaning if it didn't produce a meaningful experience or memory. To be honest, I'm glad that I'm done with university, particularly this school year, because it started so shitty, that I couldn't wait for it to end. I was pleasantly surprised that things started to look up in the spring semester. Yet, that is what life comprises of: several rainy or stormy days, but once the rain clears and the sun shines, the plains look replenished and the sight is that much more beautiful. During the past 4 years, I've learned that I'm going to make mistakes, and I have to learn to accept that, because that means that I'm human and I'm on a constant journey of learning. Just because I've mucked it up or screwed something up shouldn't stop me from moving forward. Learn to move on and forgive myself and keep moving forward. It is all part of the experience (no matter how painful or gritty is it). On the same token, I've learned to dream. I've dared to dream and do things. I never would have thought that I would live in Europe, yet my massive map of Europe that I bought from Barnes & Nobles with several colour-assigned wall tacks reminded me that I would see the places I've dreamt about seeing. I would eventually go to Paris, to Rome, to Barcelona, to Zakynthos, and to all the cities I've marked on my map. Without even knowing, I was dreaming with my eyes open, making my aspirations come true. People underestimated my ambition to go to university in the States, yet here I am, with a degree from a renowned university in Virginia. Regardless of what people say or how they discourage your dream, do not let them. Your dreams are valuable and precious and you are worthy of making them come true. So dream big. Live big. Love big. 

{photo credit: Tammy Hoang Photography}

These past 4 years, with its ups and pitiful lows, with heartbreak and sorrow, with happiness and joy, I have ultimately learned how to love myself. I am not my own worst enemy, nor am I bound to fail. Everyone is capable of achieving their highest potential, but sometimes, it requires a little push from people who see something in us that we are not capable of perceiving yet. So allow yourself to grow. Life is indeed an adventure because you never knew where you might end up or the people you'll end up meeting! It does make living rich, though. So do something daring, something you've always wanted to do. Do it for you. 

THE COFFEE DATE

{ So I took this picture while I was Luzern, noticing a couple eating and laughing at the edge of the lake. It was such a private moment that I didn't want to intrude so I quickly took the picture and left, without thinking much about it. I found it again while scrolling through my camera roll and this story kept circulating through my mind. I couldn't escape the story, of those 2 people sitting by Lake Luzern at sunset, so deep in the night, I began writing. I had no idea where the story was going, what was happening, or the plot. All I knew is that it was a story about a couple having a cute little picnic by the lake at twilight. So, this is the result of that. Please be kind and give credit where it's due. Let's keep the Internet as a friendly place. }

~ 

The Coffee Date

There comes a time in every person’s life when something so momentous, so spectacular occurs, you’re forced to question the reality of it all. With agony, I’ve waited for this precise hour to arrive, and now that it’s here, within my grasp, it’s difficult to comprehend, to realize fully just what events I’m setting in motion by placing myself in the right place at the right time.

My mind is swirling, drowning in the depths of my thoughts, restless as the waves, constantly rising and crashing. After seven excruciating, torturously, and unbearably long months, I’m finally here. I’m thinking of a million things at once, exerting difficulty to reign my emotions and silence my ardent feelings, yet I’m barely able to utter a comprehensible syllable at the ticket officer as I hand him my ticket. His tongue sharply pronounced every consonant and languidly brushed over the vowels, his inflection leading me to presume that he asked me a question. Unable to understand German, I timidly reply with Luzern, and he nods once and tears my ticket, and gestures towards a long corridor. The events leading up to the present are a blur, blending together into a single string of occurrences that somehow led up to this moment. The chances of my being here are outrageously slim, particularly when I recall of how my trip came to be.

I remember meeting him during my family’s visit to Switzerland. We had spontaneously decided to visit the city of Luzern, and zipping through the thin streets, I somehow ended beside him, colliding furiously into him, sending the tray on the ground. The tray that he balanced so sinuously on his arm tumbled on the cobble sending plates, cutlery, and pastries to the ground in an unfortunate instance, like futile trajectory. I could feel my eyes widening, the embarrassment manifesting in my flustered cheeks, my shaky hands, and the sweat building on my brow. A flustered sensation trickled down my spine, prompting me to suddenly scramble to gather the items and place them back on the tray. All this time, I had not locked eyes with the stranger.

“I’m so sorry” was all I could muster, repeating over again, wondering if he could hear my barely audible apologies. He muttered angrily under his breath, his inhales crisp and jagged, as if he was cursing extensively. His tone was metallic and low, his frustration rising, evident in the way his voice became more pronounced. I finally looked at him and I expected narrowed slits, furrowed eyebrows, and an expression mirroring exasperation and irritation. He continued to mumble irately until he locked gazes and he immediately stopped speaking. Perplexed, I stared at him, wondering why the breath in his lungs left his frame, peering at me with intense curiosity and a hint of passionate longing. His eyes searched my face, taking in all my features. Realizing that his decorum escaped him, he blinked nervously, dropping his head as he slowly retrieved the cutlery. A feeling was rising in my chest, a throbbing building in my heart. A heat swept over me, leaving my mouth parched and finding the need to gulp incessantly, though I was not thirsty. “I’m so sorry,” I said to him, hearing the shakiness in my voice.

I could see the wrinkles under his eye bunch, hinting at a meager smile. “It’s alright,” he told me, his voice low and deep, a comfort resting between us. “I was a bit clumsy.” He looked at me, his grin having a strange effect on my heartbeat. A pulse surged through my veins, invigorating my senses.

“I didn’t mean to bump into you.” I could hear my voice faltering, wondering why I had struggled to exchange a couple of words with a Swiss boy. He arranged the items on his tray and stood up, his stature pronounced. I took the sight before me: brown tresses lazily coiffed to one side, deep navy eyes, its hue rivaling the lake yet warm and inviting, and a tall build, his shoulders well-defined. His lustrous eyes scanned my silhouette, his chivalry betraying him. I was overcome with an inexplicable desire to touch him, a strange sensation of intimacy hovering between us, between two strangers in a street. My heart began to throb, the vibrations inside my chest surely audible to all the passersby in the street. I quickly straightened my jacket and left, without uttering a single word, feeling utterly stupid and behaving like a moron. More importantly, I struggled to explain these rising emotions, these sensations in my heart, my chest…They were entirely foreign, and yet, its pleasant arrival made me wonder—

I quickly shook the idea out of my mind, continuing on the avenue, walking towards something so that I could escape the recent events. It must have been only a few paces (I had clearly underestimated my pace) when I heard trotting behind me, hoping, praying, that it wasn’t him. Whoever he was.

“Wait!” I heard him call out to him. That same spark of electricity coursed through me, my pulse quickening at the sound of his voice. “Can I buy you a coffee?” he asked me.

His incredulous inquiry was so far beyond my expectations that I was temporarily frozen, unable to discern if this was real or if I was painfully pranked. His expectant expression was very real, but all I could manage was to let out an involuntarily scoff.

“Why?” I asked him, utterly curious yet completely mesmerized. “Shouldn’t I offer to buy you something, since I was the one who bumped into you?”

The corner of his lips curved just a little, just enough to send my heart in a frenzy. “Perhaps,” he began, finally hearing the slight German precision in his pronunciation. “But now thanks to you, I have an early break. It would be rude of me not to thank you.”

I studied for a few moments, pondering why his glassy eyes grazed over mine with an unfathomable yearning, and why my heart leapt so vigorously when he smiled slightly.

“No.”

He immediately manifested profound disappointment. He thought for a moment, the gears in his head turning. “May I ask why?”

I cocked one eyebrow. “I don’t let strangers buy me coffee.”

His smile widened as he extended his hand. “Dominik.” The second I firmly grasped his palm in response, a strange sensation brewed in my hands, frightened by the intensity of the novel feeling. More than that, I was scared of admitting that something was happening, something that outside my control, and I had no say in the matter. But I’m not going to say anything.

We entered the confiserie and uttering a few phrases to the woman at the front, he lead me to table near the window. He implored me to take a seat, as he’ll return with that coffee he owed me. I slowly took off my jacket, wondering how in the world I managed to find myself in a pastry shop in Luzern with a man that I did not know. He returned shortly with two coffees. He placed them on the table but did not place it in front of me.

“There is a tax,” he said, his voice dipping sinuously low that it was perilously husky, “for the coffee.”

I shook my head, pursing my head. “What is it?”

His smile exposed his perfectly lined teeth. “Your name.”

“Blair.”

He presented the coffee to me, nodding his head as he gazed at me with a slight smirk and playful glint in his eyes. But I wasn’t sure if it wasn’t from the bright reflection from the window.

We spent the entire afternoon talking, discussing subjects ranging from film preferences, aspirations, and excerpts of our personal lives. I found out that he is a student at the University of Luzern, that he works at the konditorei to earn extra cash despite the fact that he has a scholarship, and that he is a natural citizen of Switzerland. I told him that I was in Switzerland on extended stay due to my father’s business and the expression in his eyes appeared to be pleasantly surprised. When he asked me how long I would be staying in Switzerland, I replied by telling him four months. I would be lying if I didn’t say that I wasn’t happy by this interesting development. We continued talking throughout the afternoon, covering various topics with unprecedented ease, that I found myself slowly relaxing, my posture calm and my composure rested. Whenever he laughed, I suddenly wanted to stay, never leaving the café, and hearing how his frame rumbles whenever he chuckles heartily. Our conversation ended when an older gentleman with tanned skin and white hair approached Dominik, his pitch and his words even. Dominik stole a few glances at me while the man was confronting me, nodding in understanding. He came back and the sadness in his voice was evident as he said, “I have to go back to work now…” His voice trailed off and his glare was intense, peering directly at me.

“Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the air, not out of distress, but rather out of apprehension. Would I ever see him again? Will I ever talk to him again? Why did I even care?

I heard the sharp breath he drew in. “Blair, can I see you again?” I looked at him, incredulous, resisting the urge to smile at him. Of course you can, I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t want to appear too eager.

“How about I bump into you tomorrow, at the same time?” I quipped, my humor masking my delight.

He flashed his pearlescent grin at me. “I’ll be waiting for you, then,” he said, his voice soft and silky.

And that’s how it began.

At first, it was the “occasional” meeting in front of his café, where I could meet with him and steal him away for a couple of hours, all while he was working and tending to other tables, but I could still see him, and see the way the wrinkles under his eyes would crinkle whenever he would sneak a sly grin my way. Once his co-workers understood that a mysterious young woman met with him almost every day, there were snickers and jokes, with slight jests, so he coyly asked for my number one evening, while we were walking along the lake. He was slightly nervous and told me that people at his work know that I’m coming to see almost every single day and he didn’t want that to be the only time we talked or saw each other. I gave him the number I used while I was in Switzerland and from there, it blossomed into meeting at different locations, exploring new places, showing undiscovered parts of Luzern not typically visited by tourists, and he eventually showed me his apartment at the university. We grown close during my time in Switzerland; we exchanged personal stories, our aspirations, goals we plan to accomplish, places we have visited, silly moments that we experienced, and various other things that people usually discuss.

It wasn’t the stories he told me, the experiences he shared with me, or the many trials he’s gone through; it was the way he looked at me whenever he would disclose anything personal. It was one evening (usually when he would get off at work), without anything particularly distinctive about it, but I can distinctly recall that he shared something very personal with me, and I remember how his voice dipped, revealing a shaky vulnerability in his pitch while maintaining a softness that caused the hairs on the back of neck to stand up. There would be moments when his voice got husky and raspy, peaking sensuality without exuding much effort. His eyes would be kind and inviting, yet not allowing himself to intrude. The glassy reflections of the stars in his eyes produced a mesmerizing effect on me, gazing deeply and intently at him without recognizing the effect I had on him. He would fidget with his fingers, needing to do something while he discussed something troubling, and then he would stare at me with an unfathomable gaze, searching my face and grazing over my features. Smiling at the way I would lift my eyebrows or how my nose would crinkle at a disgusting fact he liberally shared with me, I often found myself wondering why he felt safe with me, why he wanted to spend all this time with someone he’s gotten to know over a span of a few months. All the shared looks, accidental grazing, miniscule touching, all the incalculable times my heart would race whenever he would gently place his hands on my shoulders in a comforting gesture, and all the times my temperature would spike whenever he was close to me produced a painful longing at a question I’ve been asking since the day I met him: what are we to each other? I know we’re good friends—he told me that he considers me very special to him—but I don’t think it can be said that it’s necessarily platonic. I notice the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, as if I’m the ocean and he’s dying of thirst. All this time and we’ve never actually discussed the rather fascinating nature of our relationship.

So in the middle of his animated monologue, I interrupted him, my voice low and serious. “Dominik.” He stopped speaking immediately, casting a concerned yet intrigued glance. “Can I ask you something?” The use of his full name also motioned a serious tone to my query.

He nodded. “Of course,” he replied, all while shifting closer to me.

I gulped, painfully searching for ways to formulate my knotted thoughts into coherent questions.

“Can I ask you something first?” he asked me, breaking my inner monologue into sudden silence. I just stared at me, unable to speak. “Have you ever…” he paused, sending my thoughts into pandemonium, though I suspected that he was gathering his thoughts or finding how to express himself in English. “Experienced with someone? With a boy?”

Oh. “No, not really,” I replied without composing a sophisticated reply to cover my vertiginous thoughts.

He got closer, aware of the little space between us. “Neither have I.”

I tossed him a playful smirk. “I would hope so.”

His chest rumbled. “You understand what I’m saying.”

I think so, at least. And that was the end of the conversation.

When it was my last day in Switzerland, we met at the konditorei, appearing very solemn and noticeably sad. He recognized the look on my face immediately because when we sat down at the table, he asked me if something was wrong.

There was really no way of saying, so I just spat it out. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

It was difficult to ascertain the expression on his face. He direly attempted to plaster a blank expression, but underneath, it seemed as though he was punched in the gut, his face contorted slightly, a painful anguish plastered on his visage. He visibly winced, thought he appeared very still, almost immobile.

“Will you be coming back?” he asked me, his voice small and fragile.

“I don’t know,” I said quietly, my voice trailing in the distance.

He manifested profound disappointment, throwing a surreptitious glance of agony at the window. Moved by his frozen stature and inability to communicate, I gently placed my palm on his forearm. “We can keep in contact, okay?” I attempted to appear jovial, but even my plasticity did not fool me.

“It won’t be the same,” he whispered so quietly, I wondered if it meant to reach my ears.

“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” A visceral desire washed over me, prompting a sudden need to wrap him in my arms, tell him that I don’t want to part from him, and that I would do everything in my power to stay here, to see the smile on his face, the expression on his face when his eyes light up, and how he can calm my inner qualms at his tender embrace. But I couldn’t.

It was a bitter farewell. We stood slightly afar, maintaining a sense of privacy without passersby feeling intrusive or stealing a private moment between the two of us. Without saying another word to each other, we wrapped each other in a tight embrace, his cologne lingering on my coat. We remained intertwined for the longest time, yet time was not enough for this private moment. Escaping the warmth of his chest, I pulled away, staring deeply in his vivid blue eyes, taking my last glance of his dark locks, prominent features, and tall stature. He placed his palm on my cheek, quivering at the contact of my hot skin. He eventually tore his hand from my cheek and I walked in the opposite direction, hearing a whispered three-letter phrase escape his lips, but I couldn’t be sure. Making my way to my family’s apartment one last time before driving to the airport, I wondered if I heard correctly or if my yearning heart conjured those coveted words to soothe my pain. It didn’t and I spent the whole voyage back home wondering if Dominik uttered the words I’ve been waiting to hear or if it was the figment of my imagination, concocted at the aching separation of someone whose feelings will never be revealed.

It would make a forty-five minute train ride difficult, for one very obvious reason: I have no idea where I stand with him, regardless of how much time has passed by, the many Skype calls and videos, the handwritten letters we’ve transmitted, and the occasional phone call. I have yet to know if he harbors strictly platonic feelings though seeking companionship, or if it’s something much deeper, so profound that it is difficult to express in words…Yet, attempting wouldn’t hurt. I tried looking out the window, gazing at the mountain peaks, watching the white-covered summits whiz by, enraptured by the clear blue sky, and offering solace to ever engaged mind, but it was to no avail. I hadn’t told him of my plans—that I was visiting Luzern—or even that I was back in the country. He knows absolutely nothing other than the fact that it’s going to be a normal day. So he thinks. According to his unsuspecting mind, he would leave work and send me a quick message about his day, what am I doing, and other words left unsaid.

The moment when I arrive at the train station, my stomach is in knots, I felt nauseous, inclining to vomit yet not quite queasy, and I could sense my knees buckling. I fetched my small luggage and left the building, feeling the blast of the wind as familiar as the embrace of an old friend. Suddenly, all the streets, all the corridors, all the pathways came rushing back, the map etching itself in my mind, clearer as I continue down the street, crossing the bridge and making my way to my favorite konditorei.

I silently pondered the possibility of him foiling my plan by the meager prospect of he knowing somehow. I did not suspect it, yet his astute observation was not in my favor. I recalled how I was in my flat while proceeding to tell him that I’m in Europe again, for quite some time I added generously. I immediately grabbed my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through the conversation, hoping I didn’t reveal any clues or accidently reveal my plan.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked me, ending with a smiling emoticon. How facetious.

I told him that I’m in my flat packing my things for a little getaway. That might have spoiled the whole thing. I’m going to Lisbon and then to Algarve with my flat mates.

An ellipse bubble appeared, waiting for him to transfer his thoughts onto text on a screen. “I didn’t know you’re going to Portugal. Isn’t that far away?”

Oh, that’s right, was my immediate thought, I must not have mentioned I’m on an exchange.

“It’s only a few hours by plane,” I replied, keeping it light and innocent. I skimmed over the rest of the conversation and found no evidence that would make him think otherwise. Yet, I was plagued with the haunting suspicion that somehow, Dominik knew, and my surprise would be ruined. As I zigzagged through the streets, my blood pressure rose, along with my anxiety and palpable wariness. When I got to the café, I looked for Dominik inside, upstairs, outside, but I couldn’t find him. With my poor German, I inquired a woman working behind the counter if she knew where Dominik was, but she shook her head in rapid German, telling me that she did not know. Keeping my head low, I fought the lump forming in the back of my throat, my eyes burning hot with anger and disappointment. A warm tear trickled down my cheek, livid that Dominik was not there, that I came all this way for nothing, that I didn’t tell him of my arrival, and that I would never get the chance to tell him how I feel.

Feeling incredibly stupid, I trudged through the streets, lugging my suitcase behind, abhorring every time the wheels clicked on the cobble. I managed to keep my composure, my face still as stone, my eyes straight, and my expression even; nonetheless, my heart was pounding heavily in my chest, my vision suddenly grew blurry, and my breathing became uneven. I avoided my reflection because the depth of repulsion I held for myself was beyond loathing. It was an acrimonious revulsion, one that compelled me to sit alone on the bench, overlooking the lake, breathing in an air of disappointment.

The only sensation pulsing through my veins was the bitter impression of betrayal. I pressed my palms against my face, desperately wishing I was back in Lisbon, with my mates, or soaking my feet in the warm waters at Algarve, but I wasn’t, and I absolutely loathed myself for it. I could have told him, I could have said something, I could have done something differently. My mind concocted multiple reasons, but none justified the remorse and misery that plunged deep within me.

I was prepared to leave, to return to the train station and by a one-way ticket back to Zurich, when I was puzzled at the ruffling sounds erupting behind me. It sounded like someone rummaging through a plastic bag, but I was so focused on how I could get home as fast as possible that I tuned it out. I fixated all my mental energy on how quickly I can slip out of this city unnoticed. Pretty fast, actually, I told myself somberly. Sighing deeply and despondently, I placed one hand on the luggage, prepared to run despite the fact that I was suddenly fatigued, responding languidly. I got up and languorously made my way towards the train station.

“No, wait, where are you going?” a voice called out behind me, his voice shrill with urgency.

I whirled around and recognized the figure standing before me. His eyes still as deep, his hair still as dark and thick, and his stature strong, firm, yet soft. But he looked different, somehow. He no longer wore a clean-cut visage; his scruff grew out to an attractive beard, little hair flecks reflecting ember in the evening sun. His eyes met mine with eager happiness, yet I could not escape the possibility that the intensity in his gaze rooted deeper than my probable departure. A carnal arousal burning behind those languid blues, contrasting the softness of his features, as sculpted since the last time I saw him.

Our exchange was not anything I expected it to be. I was waiting for him to approach me, embrace me with a tantalizing longing that could never be fulfilled, and smile amiably, knowing that it would never be. All those times, it was a composition that I was accustomed; it explained why I wanted to get closer to him, despite the strange distance lingering between us. Nothing went like I anticipated. I searched his face for all those familiar expression, but the one he was wearing was a new one, one I haven’t seen before.

“Well, I didn’t find you…” I began, probing why I owed him an explanation, gutted when the thought entered my mind.

“I didn’t know you were here,” he replied immediately, his voice sharp, appearing angry somehow. “And are you still going to leave?” I dropped my gaze, unable to look at him. I couldn’t answer his question. “Were you planning on leaving without dropping by, without…seeing me…?” His pitch fluctuated, revealing his vulnerability in a fresh light.

“That was before you showed up,” I retorted.

“When did you get in?”

“Twenty minutes ago.” Give or take.

“Please don’t go.” I finally lifted my head when I heard the slight crack at the end. My heart broke when I perceived the shattered gaze on his usually constructed visage. I was perplexed at his strange behavior. Why was he acting this way?

I sighed, unsure what to respond. Of course I plan to stay now that you’re here is what I really wanted to tell him, but instead, I clutched tighter on the handle of my luggage until my knuckles turned white.

“Why won’t you answer me?” He was angry. His eyebrows knitted together furiously as he took several steps closer, erasing the distance between us.

“Why are you angry at me?” I asked him.

I expected him to give me a loaded answer, copious with various reasons why, all invariably stupid, but I never expected him to do what happened next. I would hope (and often daydream), but I never thought it would actually happen.

He parted his lips and I heard the ragged breath he drew in, hearing the uncertainly as the air filled his lungs. He gently put what I now noticed is a small Coop bag on the ground. He placed both his hands on my face and I felt as if I was set on fire. I gulped loudly, abruptly forgetting how to breathe or how my lungs were supposed to work.

“Blair,” he started, pronouncing my name liquidly, peering deeply in my eyes, and noticing my own reflection in his reverent eyes. “I want you to stay.”

“Yes, I know,” I whimpered, disappointed at his answer. I forged all attempts to express my feelings, and opted for a plastic smile with sadness in my heart and fresh tears brimming my eyes.

“No,” he said quietly, “I don’t think you know.” He pulled me close, our noses touching with mere centimeters from my lips. Then, slowly with daring enthusiasm, he pressed his lips on mine, feeling my heart soar. Our lips parted after a few seconds and he wrapped me tightly in his arms, never wanting to leave his embrace. He brought his lips to my ear and I heard him whisper the same words when we said goodbye. Only this time, I didn’t wonder if I heard correctly or whether my imagination resulted in an incredulous fabrication.

I smiled, feeling my cheeks blaze, the blood surging through my veins as lightning. “Me too,” I told him.

I glanced at him, wanting to drown in those deep blue eyes. His eyes twinkled in the twilight, his smile too big for his face. He kissed me again, experiencing his elation at his contact.

“I brought you something to eat,” he told me.

I tossed one perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “What did you get?”

“All your favorites.” He was right: he purchased orange-flavored chocolate wafers, fizzy orange Fanta, a baguette with assorted cheeses, roasted peanuts, and other pieces of sustenance that I briefly mentioned in passing. He tenderly held my hand, leading me to the water’s edge and we sat by the lake, laughing, eating, and talking. I noticed glances he threw at me when I appeared unsuspecting, peering curiously yet adoringly, prompting me continue my ruse, permitting him to gaze at me with the same degree of intensity.

“Did you know I was coming?” I asked him before taking a bite out of the bread.

He shook his head. “Not immediately…” he paused, wondering if he should share the thought that flashed across his face. “But I hoped you would.”

“You did?”

He nodded smoothly. “I knew you were in Europe, so I hoped…that perhaps…you would make your way over here at some point…” His transparency was irrevocably attractive. “When I came back and Frieda told me some girl came in looking for me…I couldn’t help but aspire that it was you.” He halted, lifting a hand to stroke the back of my palm. He leaned closer and placed another kiss on my unsuspecting lips.

“And now, here I am…” I tossed him a playful smirk, a mischievous glint reflecting in his glassy eyes.

We continued eating and conversing with the same level of ease as before, prior to the drastic turn of our relationship. However, my inquisitive mind was just as erect, and so, without shame, I formulate my next inquiry with smooth precision.

“So, Dom, would you ever want to visit Leeds?”

He gave me a relaxed smile. “Of course I would. The question is, would I be welcome?” I gave him a flat expression. “So, there you go.”

We continued into the evening, until the stars twinkled celestially in the heavens and the illuminations reflected on the dark waters. The pulse of the city quickened and the bustling and chatter of folk buzzed zealously. He brought me closer, feeling the warmth radiate off his jacket.

“I’ve never seen Luzern at night,” I admitted, enchanted by the beauty that nightlife promised.

“Want to explore?”

I replied with a gracious smile, and that’s precisely what we did.

OH, SWITZERLAND

Oh, call home,

Oh, Switzerland,

You've taken way my breath now once again

I think those lyrics from The Last Bison's, "Switzerland" ring so true for me, that I cannot begin to describe it. (Actually I can, and I will.) I have visited the country before and it certainly won't be last time when I will venture there. Though...I have to admit, every time I find myself in Switzerland, I'm continuously mesmerized and I'm falling in love with the country again. The first time I visited Switzerland, in 2008, it was novel. The sensation of novelty was pulsing through my veins, taking in every building, every lake, every car, every street...everything was so new and exciting. The second time in 2010, it was an extended stay, and it was about taking in the Swiss culture, and living like a local for two months. Walking around the tranquil country side, while understanding the day-to-day life in Switzerland. It was a blissful period, where the sunlight would hit the windowpane of the flat we were renting, and while looking out the window every morning, a colossal panorama of the Alps would lay before me, taking in the majesty of the mountains before I start the day. Afterwards, all the following trips to Switzerland felt like coming home, a sense of familiarity would hit me whenever I'm there, with a new sense that is on the verge of my tongue. Yes, I would feel at home and with a familiar sense of peace, but I'm always amazed how I would manage to deepen my affection for the country. 

This particular time, however, it all came about rather spontaneously. My father needed to be in the country the next day and there were no good connections--no good flights, no trains that would arrive at a decent hour. So he would have to take the car. In the span of 90 minutes, the entire family hopped on board with the idea and within a couple of hours, we were departing for Switzerland, a gruelling 13-hour drive ahead of us. We drove through the night and at first, it wasn't that bad since there was not a lot of traffic. However, at one in the morning, somewhere in Germany, we pulled in at a rest station and tried to nap for two hours, before we continued our journey. I don't think I slept a wink, but somehow, time flew past and we were on the road again...only to meet a sudden snow squall. We were near Munich and it began snowing quickly and so heavily that we had to pull in another rest station to wait and nap a bit longer. Eventually, we arrived in Switzerland at seven in the morning, local time. 

After the initial fatigue wore off, my sister and I decided to venture through the small village, ignoring the rather bitter chill in the air and snow lightly falling in the ground. We paid a visit to our favorite supermarket--Coop--and bought a Fanta and a snack while taking in the surroundings. The next day, we visited Luzern, a beautiful city with vibrant cosmopolitan feeling of city life yet the quietness of a smaller town, not quite feeling overwhelmed by a vast mass of people. While walking around to find the town center and Lake Luzern, we passed by a park, and there were large groups of men playing giant chess while a young woman was sitting on a nearby bench reading a book. The sun was beginning to set, so it cascaded a colourful reflection on the buildings. Venturing through the many nooks and crannies, we found a little konditorei that had the best cremeschnitten I've ever tasted in my entire life (and that is not an exaggeration). Standing at the lake's edge with the sun already set and the cotton pink peaks of the mountain reflecting the cold blues of the water, it was everything that I loved about Switzerland: the ability to take quiet moments in the day while still humming with the busyness of life. The Swiss are known about their precision, so idling is not something they tend to do, yet I would imagine that it would be easy to take a couple of moments and enjoy the general splendour, especially when there is such a grand scenery to bask in. I could never stop looking at the mountains in awe, no matter how long I've lived there. The following day, we visited Lugano in the Ticino area, revelling in the Italian side of Switzerland. Expecting it to be warm, it was only 10 C, so it was still relatively cold, despite its temperate climate. Hearing Italian and indulging in authentic gelato and gnocchi was a pleasure, since it made we wonder what it must be like in Italy. (We were only 70 km from Milano.) It was a nice way to spend a sunny Saturday exploring the quaint lakeside town of Lugano, where, I must imagine, summer must be outrageously gorgeous.

But it wasn't the places that I visited or the the scenery (okay, it was, but not entirely). It was just being there, taking it all in again, reminding me why I fell in love with the country in the first place. It was walking around with snow blanketing the mountains, obstructing view from halfway up and drinking my favourite drink and eating my favourite snack while listening to the quietness. It was walking around in a new city and fitting in, not sensing dread when someone would point out that you appear or act foreign, clearly not fitting in. It was the politeness and respective nature of the Swiss that made me at home, like I can relax, like I can unwind without my mind having to focus on several different things at once, all of them including what could happen in the next few moments. It was a refreshing trip because I recalled proponents that I wish to carry with me, regardless of what country I live in or decide to move to, revisited favourite snacks and drinks that I could only find in Switzerland and it brought me back to my 14-year-old self experiencing these things for the first time, and found uninterrupted quiet time to actually hear myself think, ponder, and dream. Going away for a while is always encouraged because exposure helps you see what you're doing right and what you can work on. I could very well live in Switzerland; I really could. But for now, it is a fond friend that I frequently visit and spend time with, catching up on old stories, new adventures, and recent discoveries. 

MAKING IT PERSONAL

My main intention with the creation of this blog is to update people what I'm doing with my life, and that includes everything from what I'm wearing, what I did, where I went, what I ate, what I discovered, and how I felt. Oftentimes, I've omitted the latter part because it's much more convenient to share things at a superficial level. This is what I wore; I went here; this is my denouncement. But life is not composed of a series of fashionable attire nor it is all delicious foods worthy of being captured on photo. I want to maintain connection with people from school, at home, and wherever else I will venture in the world. If you permit me for a brief moment (or several), I'd like to make it personal this time.

So, with that being said, let me first tell you where I've been. I recently visited Karolyi Castle in Carei, Romania, where inhabitants established a castle back during the Austro-Hungarian empire. The location was quaint, since its quiet geography attracted many visitors regionally. However, I cannot necessarily laud the manor as I would with Peles Castle, in Sinaia, but it was still nevertheless a wonderful. The library conjured romantic and literary sentiments, some of which produced a vehement urge to go through and gaze at the books, wondering what person in which century devoured those stories. The grandiosity of the piano elicited a romantic inclination and momentary sensation of curiosity of what it would have been like to play the piano (or pianoforte) with so many arduous individuals as part of my audience. My propensity to romanticize and capture simple things with grand language revelled at the castle, wondering what must have happened in these rooms that are undocumented, what was exchanged that cannot be recorded in books, and what occurred that history in unaware of, that will only remain in the memory of the inhabitants. A million and one scenarios played in my head before returning to simple enjoy the moment at present.

With the arrival of extremely unpredictable weather, one day it will be -5C and snowing, the next day will be a torrential downpour, and the following day will be a pleasant day with 10C. As a result, dressing accordingly has somewhat grown to be a conundrum. Do I feel like dressing practically or fashionably? Thankfully, perusing through Pinterest has finally given me enough inspiration (and motivation) to document my outfit.

{ top: Zara; pants: H&M; leather boots: Manor; purse: Anne Klein; necklace: H&M; watch: Tissot }

~

I will warn you in advance: I'm about to get very real with you. (Well...as real as I'm comfortable sharing on the Internet.) If you prefer not to read this likely long post about my past several months, then, please, I implore you venture elsewhere. You are not obliged to keep reading. (Go on tumblr, watch a music video on YouTube, read a book...) You want to know what I have to say? Alright then, don't say I didn't warn you.

I've contemplated how I wanted to go about this. I really don't want to sound stuffy or regal, so I've decided to address you, dear reader, as a friend. So I'd like to imagine that I'm sitting at the Commons, at my university campus, in my friend's room, talking about the very thing I'm about to share. Before coming to Romania, I had the delusional idea that life here would be grand. I'll be living in Europe now, I have a different palette to choose from, I have a different place to go shopping and buy clothes (I still miss TJ Maxx), and I have new people with whom I converse. And it was fine; it was great during the summer. Everything I ever wanted in a summer chapter happened: I had good friends, things to go, a romantic interest, and places to see. And it continued that way for a short while thereafter. I appeared to be on Cloud Nine. It was fun, it was adventurous, and it was (seemingly) everything I ever wanted.

Then life happened. Things changed. I really cannot recall the hour or the moment when things changed or perhaps my perception altered. All I knew is that it was already happening before I was aware of it. I had entered perhaps the most difficult season of my life, without anything around me the goodness of God. Instead of gaining hope, encouragement, and strength, I was feeling hopeless, discouraged, and plainly all out of faith. I turned left and right, but no matter where I looked or how hard I stared into some obscure oblivion, I did not receive the answers to the questions I was asking, nor a reply to what I was saying. I continued with my routine, slowly withering away yet depleted so severely of any vitality, that I existed as a former version of myself. I so longed to hear words of encouragement, for someone to notice that I was venturing down a dark road, yet people are so caught up with a plasticity that perpetuates the culture of Romania that I didn't find solace or comfort in anything really. Church, people, close friends...I felt a variety of emotions, all of which offered no remedy for the injury that no band-aid can cover. After some time, I found myself distant from God, from the person I can always count on, that I can depend on, and that will love me unconditionally? I was crippled with the question how I got here, how I got to feel so far away from Christ. I've lost sight of who God is for me. I lost the joy, the laughter, the pure childlike wonder I had for my loving Father. Instead, I've listed reasons why He should have nothing to do with me. That's not who He is and that's not what He's like. I haven't heard a preaching that discussed the insurmountable depth of love Christ has for me, that when He looks into my eyes, He doesn't recall all the many mistakes I've made or flaws that I have. Instead, He gazes right at me, looking directly in the eye and whispers that He loves me, that my identity does not rest of what I've done (what I've done, past tense), but rather who I am, to Him. I've missed knowing that I'm called daughter, princess, beloved one, lovely one, beautiful one, instead of phrases linked to servitude that is more or less equated to a service an employee has to his employer. This theology of conditional love is so perpetually concurrent in the culture is absolute bullshit. Why are you painting a portrait of God of something He is not? Listening long enough, messages flooded my heart that consumed my heart. Instead of lauding His grandeur, His merciful embrace, and how sweetly and softly He whispers in your ears, the central message is that God will love me if I meet His conditions (which apparently are not even constructed by Him, but rather religious institutions). God is not vindictive, furious, or conditional; He is gracious, He is kind, and He is loving, forever and ever and ever. The God you're talking about is definitely not the God that I experience.

The best way to describe is that I was a sailor preparing a journey on my boat. I was accustomed to the seas, I adequately prepared for the journey, but then an unprecedented storm came and it shipwrecked me, and I was marooned. All my supplies were lost and I was lost at sea, without something to hang on to. I felt lost, without a hope to hang onto. Lying on a piece of plywood, the only thing keeping me afloat, I eventually ventured on the sea, without the slightest idea of where I was going or where I was. Then, ever so slightly, a light flickered in the distance, and as I would swim towards it, the light would intensify. Eventually, with the brightness of the light ever increasing, I found my way back to the shore, to the place where I originally had ventured. I felt like I knew what I was getting myself into, but I was horribly mistaken. If I take enough time to think of my life here, I'm filled with a thousand questions that I may never have the answer to. (Why can't people drive properly? Why do Romanians talk so much? Why can't you stay in your own (insert expletive) business? Do you feel the need to give your opinion on everything, even though I never asked for it? Why don't you respect people? Why can't you respect my privacy? Why do you judge me because I'm from Canada? What makes you think you're better than me, simply because you're from Romania?) Even from the simple way I act and think, I'm clearly set apart, but that is not necessarily a good thing. Apparently, I cannot think and act for myself without needing the constant validation of the opposite sex. I don't give a shit if the cultural norm is that the woman has to listen to the man as if she's some sort of lesser equal; I am able to think for myself, without needing to subtly put words into my mouth. I am not like you, primed to act like some sort of diva that believes that she deserves all the nice things in life, covering my entire face in tons of makeup, and revealing half my ass in shorts two sizes too small. If I want to wear makeup, I'm not a diva. If I have nice clothes, I am not some sort of spoiled princess from Canada that doesn't have to life a single finger. I so want to embrace this culture, but it often proves very difficult when there are many things I do not want to succumb to.

Though life has wanted to break down, to fail, to fall down, and to give up, I am not going to give that satisfaction. So while moving here proved to indeed be difficult, that's okay. Why? Because this gives me a chance to learn more about myself, about what I'm capable of accomplishing and doing, and more about who God is, in a world that attempts to say something different on the matter. That does not mean I don't feel the pang of nostalgia or absence of Virginia or Canada, because I do. I miss people minding their own business, treating every single individual with respect, driving responsibly (without having to constantly fear that you're going to get into an accident because some douchebag wants to be smart about it and cut you off just so he can advance a foot), and not manipulating people under the umbrella of grace. If I can make it in Romania, I can make it anywhere.

WELCOME 2015

It's 2015 already. Sometimes, it is unfathomable to comprehend how another year is upon us, and how much has happened in the previous year. With every new year comes new opportunities, adventures, lessons, memories, and special moments. However, I always like to reflect on the previous year to understand what I've learned, what I cherished, what I regret, what I plan to do differently, and what I accomplished. I'm constantly reflecting on things that went wrong, things that went right, and things from which I can learn (and hopefully not repeat!). I find time to be a really precious gift, so I tend not to waste it. Of course, spending hours idly on tumblr is certainly not time wasted, right?! Anyway, if you permit me to share with you some precious lessons I learned in 2014, then I will gladly share with you why it was one of the fullest years yet.


1. 2014 was the year of self-discovery.
I learned a lot of things about myself, many of which I would not have known had it not have been for difficult and hard moments. Moving to Europe, completely immersing myself in a different culture, exposing myself outside my comfort zone, trying new things, making difficult decisions, saying goodbye to particular people, and finding out who I am. I understand more of what I want, what I desire, what I deserve, what my value and worth it, and most of all, what is important for me. Whether it was moving 3000 km away, closing a chapter on someone, and taking a huge leap of faith, they were all catalysts for me, because I learned more about who I am and what I like, thereby growing more comfortable in my own skin. A very difficult process, indeed, yet a rewarding one at the end.

2. People will disappoint you. 
I naturally trust people. My first instinct is to trust without apology. That being said, I am conscious of any reason should I not. So when people are not what I thought they are, not behave in hoping that it would be good for the both of us, or simply let you down, I get disappointed. Yet, as I've learned, and will constantly learn, people will not be what you expect. That can be a good thing and a bad thing, depending on how you look at it. They can either fuel your motivation to keep moving forward, to let the haters hate, and keep doing your thing, or they can drag you down. Don't let people make you feel anything about yourself that isn't true.

3. Do what you love.
I love to write, I love to travel, and I love to constantly explore the endless possibilities. I started doing that in 2014, and I will constantly pursue that in 2015, with many different ventures that will soon crystallize in my life. It is not a selfish thing to do what you love. If you love to write, pursue that passion; if you love to travel, then go somewhere you've always wanted to go. Life is meant to be lived and enjoyed fully--do whatever it is that makes you happy.

Thus, as a final hurrah to 2014, here are my top 10 moments.

1. Starting the year in Madrid, Spain

I rang in the new year with my best friend in Spain and little did I know that it prompted a major path to self-discovery. It was singlehandedly one of the most profound moments I had ever experienced.

2. Flew to Istanbul, Turkey

Given, it was a mere 3-hour layover, and sure, it might not be super important, but to me, it was. And I'll tell you why: I vowed that I would never stop travelling, never stop learning, never stop exploring, and never stop wandering. So when I saw the Bosphorus out of the plane window, I would visit Istanbul and the rest of Turkey one day.

3. Appreciating my school's unique charm and essence

My university is truly unique and special. So when I had to say goodbye when I moved to Romania, all the memories, moments, people I love, and events that happened on campus came rushing at a visceral force. Virginia Beach will always be a home to me, not because of the locations, but because of the people and the impression they have left on my heart.

4. Being a tourist in my own backyard

I hadn't been to Canada in over a year, and considering that I grew up there, it was so foreign not to be there. No matter where I am in the world, I am truly proud to be Canadian. Exploring Toronto brought a sadness to the trip, almost like a sensation that I've passed some sort of life test and that it's time to go to the next level. Weird, I know, but that's just how I felt.

5. Celebrating my first 4th of July party

I've always wanted to partake in a 4th of July party. I see all my friends posting pictures of the festivities, so I wanted to experience the hubbub once in my life (or more...). This year, it finally happened.

6. The Lights Festival in Oradea

There wasn't anything particularly special about the festival or what I do. It was simply that the entire park was covered in lights, paper lanterns, lanterns, and candles, and it was all illuminated. It was so beautiful and serene, I wondered for a moment if it was real.

7. Exploring Brasov, Romania

An enchanted gem hidden in the heart of Romania, nestled between the Carpathian Mountains and Transylvania, it was a beautiful city to explore with its unique charm and character.

8. Driving on the Transfagarasan highway and seeing Balea Lake

A serene scene at the top of a mountain.

9. Celebrating 901 years at Oradea's Fall Festival

Thousands of residents coming in from all the nearby villages with numerous stands selling vin fiert (literally translated as boiled wine, a winter delicacy in Romaina), fries, meat, kurtos kalacs (a Hungarian pastry with sweet dough glazed with walnuts, coconut shavings, chocolate, sugar, etc.), and various foods and drinks. At the end of the festival, a spectacular display of fireworks illuminated the night's sky.

10. Snowfall in Cluj-Napoca, Romania

Travelling to Cluj to see the beautiful Christmas lights, it was a lovely surprise that just as we stepped out of the car to admire the lights, it began snowing! Not just light, fluffy snow that would quickly melt in under two minutes, but the heavy, powdery snow that would last. This happy Canadian squealed in delight upon seeing the white snow fall from the sky.

So, 2014, thank you for the memories, lessons, and places. I'm ready for you, 2015.