A blue suitcase

A blue middle-sized suitcase, placed on the sofa and waiting to be filled, is a constant reminder that he is leaving soon. Things, mostly clothes, are piling up around it, waiting to be folded in. He will probably start putting things in sometime soon and I’ll watch quietly, trying hard not to tell him how to do it. In the end he’ll figure out that I’m better at this than he is and I’ll throw everything out and carefully place everything back, just the way it was supposed to be, because I know how to do it properly.

The hour when the phone will ring and his brother will tell him that he’s on his way here to pick him up is closer and closer. I’m not happy about it even though I know that he’s excited. It’s not that I don’t want him to go, or that I’m not happy for him. It’s just… I’m already missing him. Knowing that the blue suitcase will soon be gone… knowing that the apartment will soon be quiet and empty… knowing that in the evening I’ll go to bed alone and that no one will be hugging me in the morning… knowing all this is killing me.

I try not to look at the suitcase and I try hard not to think of the moment when I’ll be left alone. I want to take advantage of every moment spent with him, remember every word and smile. But no matter how hard I try I can’t change the fact that I’m already thinking of the moment when he’ll come back and we’ll empty the blue suitcase together and put it away until one of us, or, preferably, both, leaves again.

100 words: Restlessness

I lay in bed, wide-awake. I think about everything and nothing, knowing that pondering upon the same things over and over again won’t solve anything; knowing that wondering about the same questions won’t give me any answers.

I’ve tried doing everything I could remember to beat insomnia; I’ve spent hours trying to remember what my grandma did when I couldn’t fall asleep as a child. I did remember all her secret recipes but none have worked.

Even listening to his slow breathing doesn’t calm me down. Restlessness is boiling inside me and I can’t find a way to appease it.

100 words: A little boy

Although the clocks moved back we slept in yesterday. I’ve been told that there will be snow this weekend but nonetheless the big white flakes falling from the sky took me by surprise when I passed the kitchen window, still half asleep.

“It’s snowing hun“ I said and he literally jumped out of the bed, with sparkles in his eyes; he transformed into a little boy for a short moment.

I caught him staring through the window several times during the day and each time I saw that little boy in him, happy and enthusiastic as only children can be.

Snapshots: The theatre

Standing in our bathroom, I take one last glance at myself in the mirror and nod in approval. We’re going to the theatre and I walk the fine line with my outfit and makeup, I don’t want to over do it, but I still want to look appropriate.

“How do I look?“

“You look perfect, as always“ he answers and kisses me on my cheek. That doesn’t help much but I secretly smile, satisfied.

***

We're waiting at the bus stop, talking about the performance we just saw in the theatre and at the same time, we both notice a young man in his late teens, with a bottle of vodka in the back pocket of his pants.

“He’s probably a freshman, stocking up for a wild party“ I say, thinking of my first year at the university and smiling.

***

The bus arrives and as we're walking towards it I notice a girl I vaguely know. She is a friend of a friend and we aren’t in good relations since our friends birthday. She enters the same bus as we do and we successfully ignore each other. I’d say hello if there would be any eye contact but I prefer to go my way without interacting with her.

***

Just as we're settling down in our seats a young boy sits in front of us and draws a bunch of papers filled with some sort of equations out of his bag. We both lean forward, curious what they might be but I quickly give up, knowing that equations never were my strong point.

***

I lay in bed, hugging him tightly, deeply inhaling his perfume. My body relaxes as his scent fills my nostrils and I close my eyes, feeling safe and happy.

The escalator

Mr Starlight and I were going down an escalator when we saw them; her, faced upwards and him, turned with his left side toward us. Both of us immediately knew that they had a huge argument, probably just a few minutes earlier, it was plain on their faces.

She was wearing a lovely white summer dress with a wide red belt and had an angry look on her face, with traces of determination. He was looking around, confused, nervously licking his lips when he looked her way. He never looked at her, just in her general direction, probably checking out the territory.

In the middle of the escalator, we quietly slid past each other, them avoiding any look and us watching them carefully. The second half of their ascent went unchanged but it seemed like it took forever.

“I wouldn’t want to be him right now” I said as they disappeared through the doors at the top.

Photo taken from here.

A distant father

We were sitting in a Thai restaurant, enjoying our lunch, when a father with his two daughters occupied the table next to ours. He was making a business call when they walked in and didn’t end it when they were seated. His daughters, one of them about ten years old and the other probably fifteen (you can’t be sure with today’s teenagers, can you), were reviewing goodies in their shopping bags. They purchased quite a few things – a few pairs of shorts and blouses, some jewellery and something from the bookstore.

The scene reminded me very much of my childhood. My parents are divorced and when M. (my biological father whom I call by his first name because he doesn’t deserve to be called Dad; for the purpose of this story I’ll name him M.) remembered from time to time that he had a daughter and picked me up, he usually took me to some dingy pizza place (dad at the next table at least took his daughters to a fancy Thai restaurant, I’ll grant him that), and he always spent half of the time talking on the phone about some very important business that couldn’t wait.

I glanced toward the family on my right and met the younger daughter’s gaze. She quickly turned her head away and I felt angry with myself for giving her an unintentional but obvious sympathetic look. It felt like I was trapped in a time capsule; one moment I was sitting in a Thai restaurant with Mr Starlight and the next I was in some pizzeria with ugly interior design, trying to amuse myself while M. was occupied with a phone call and some woman sitting at the next table looked at me with pity in her eyes. There was always a woman who looked at me and felt sorry for me and I’m wondering if they too had similar experiences with their distant fathers.

After finishing his phone call the father directed his attention to the menu and when the waiter left with their order a couple of minutes later, the three of them looked awkwardly at the table, probably wondering what to say to each other. This was the first and only distinction between them and M. and I.
M. is a very chatty person and he was always bragging about something; either his new car or the holiday he and his girlfriend went to, but most often he talked about his work. I don’t remember details from his monologues but I clearly remember one thing – he was always portraying himself as the best, a superhero of some kind. He was always a leader of something and someone; even when his own business went bankrupt and he worked for other people once again, he boasted about being the boss.
When we ran into someone he knew or went to visit his family I became the object of his praise. “Look at how pretty she is and she’s very successful in school, in fact, she’s the best in her class,“ he said over and over again. And that was pretty much all he could say because he didn’t really know me. On one occasion, when we were fighting over the fact that I didn’t call him Dad, I asked him if he knows what’s my favourite colour and flower. His answer was red and rose, which I both genuinely hated. “That’s why I don’t call you Dad“ was my answer and that was the last time he opened that topic.

I hope that those two girls are luckier than I was and that their father knows what their favourite colours and flowers are. I also sincerely hope that he isn’t usually as silent as a grave while spending time with his daughters. If that’s the case, those girls at least have each other while I… well, I have the best Dad I could imagine, someone, who deserves to be called Dad. Although he’s my stepfather it’s he who raised me, it’s he who was always there for me and he’s the one who knows that my favourite colour is green.

A perfect set of cups

Yesterday Mr Starlights parents visited our apartment for the first time and they had the honour to be the first people who drank coffee from our new tea/coffee set, bought just a few hours before its first use.

When we first moved to this apartment, almost two years ago, we noticed that we didn’t own a set of cups; a proper set of cups with plates, for coffee and tea. We had plenty of lovely mugs though, but none of them matching each other. We agreed that we must have a set of cups and added it to our shopping list but there was always a good reason to delay this purchase.

The main reason why it took us so long to buy a set of cups is that we don’t really need them. We don’t get a lot of visitors and those who come by regularly like to have their tea or coffee in big mugs because they drink it with milk. We also like hot beverages with milk (and two teaspoons of sugar, please) and those cups we already had proved to be very useful.

Unlike us and all the other people we know, my in-laws drink espresso. Plain black coffee; no milk, no sugar. A shot of coffee one could say. They usually drink it from small espresso cups and we wanted to be good hosts and make an impression; the visit from my in-laws proved to be a good reason to finally buy that coffee/tea set.

Choosing the perfect set of cups proved to be a more challenging task than either of us expected. An even harder one since we didn’t have the slightest idea what we wanted. It took us quite awhile to pick out a set that we both really liked but we finally did it.

Photo was taken by my lovely friend Alja, you can find more of her magnificent photos here.

In the air

Future – 24 hours later, Sunday 29^th of May, 7pm 

I’m sitting on an airplane to Barcelona as you are reading this. This is my very first flight and I’m scared, hoping that it will all go smoothly.

Present – Saturday evening

I’m sitting on the sofa in my in-laws living room and quietly tapping on my computer, writing this post and making plans for our trip at the same time. I’m excited and nervous, happy and scared.

I try not to think about the flight and I struggle not to panic needlessly. I prefer to daydream about exploring streets of Barri Gòtic and watching beautiful old buildings. I daydream about a long walk through Parc Güell, admiring architectural masterpieces of Antonio Gaudí, and a visit to el Museu Picasso de Barcelona. I daydream about smelling and buying exotic spices in Mercat de la Boqueria and sitting in una cafetería, slowly sipping coffee and watching the locals.

Past – lunchtime, Sunday 22^nd of April

I’m sitting in a restaurant, having a lovely lunch with Mr Starlights parents.

“We were thinking,“ says my father-in-law. ”Do you have anything planned for next weeks holidays?“

His question draws our attention and we answer simultaneously. “No.“

“Would you rather go to Iceland or Barcelona?“

Future – 24 hours later, Sunday 29^th of May, 7pm 

Obviously, we were ecstatic and didn’t know what to say at that moment. I am a city girl and I love exploring unknown cities so I preferred the latter but I didn’t say no to Iceland.

Circumstances ruled in favour of the capital of Catalonia and now here I am, sitting on a plane headed to Ciutat Comtal (City of Counts).

Photo taken from here.

Handbags

I recently bought a new handbag, which was followed by moving contents of my old handbag to the new one. This is always, without exception, an interesting experience; I’m even considering calling it a journey.

You see, women tend to carry around a lot of things, almost all of them equally important and/or needed, and all of them need to be carefully moved to their new, most often bigger home. I’ve noticed that my handbags are getting bigger as I’m getting older and there are more and more things I can’t leave my home without. A makeup bag is one of those essential items my life depends on; and those also tend to grow as years pass, just as wallets do. There are several other objects that I can’t live without – a planner, a water bottle, hand moisturiser, sunglasses, my iPod and so forth. Then, there is also clutter that ends up in my handbag by chance, such as wrinkled receipts, old theatre or movie tickets and an old pack of gum; those can usually be found at the bottom of a handbag or in some more or less secret compartment. The clutter won’t be transferred to the new bag; instead it’ll be thrown away or, in some rare cases, left in the old handbag.

I always grab the first chance I get to move things from my old bag to the new one. This is usually in the car; while Mr S drives us home from the successful hunt I admire the catch and make the transition. This time it was different though; I bought the bag in the city centre and had to survive the whole bus ride home with my new acquisition patiently waiting in a huge pink shopping bag.

As soon as I got home I took my new precious out of the shopping bag and proudly displayed it on the white sofa, which is used as storage for all sort of things rather than sitting. The right end is reserved for my handbag and the left one for Mr Starlights bag; between those two we usually put our clothes when we change and don’t feel like folding them right away. From time to time it becomes a bookshelf when I put a bunch of books that need to be returned to the library right next to my handbag, making sure I won’t forget them at home just in case I’ll be leaving the apartment in a hurry the next morning.

I recently bought a new handbag, which was followed by an interesting journey. Moving contents of my old handbag to the new one always includes finding an item or two I forgot about and it recalls a happy memory that draws a dreamy smile to my face.  

Photo was taken by my friend Alja, you can find more of her magnificent photos here.

100 words: Bedridden

I don’t have a cold very often but when I do I’m very well taken care of.

He always orders me to stay in bed: “I’ll bring you whatever you need or want;“ and so he does. I sleep most of the time but when I’m awake he always asks what I want to eat and conjures up even the most extraordinary desires I have and makes sure that I’m comfortable at all times. To be honest, he spoils me rotten.

I hate having a cold but nonetheless I’m glad to know that he’s here to take care of me.

Photo taken from here.

100 words: Not Valentine's

He woke me up quietly with his sweet, gentle voice.

”Honey, wake up.“ he said.

“I don’t want to get up just yet. Can I stay in bed all day, please?“

“I’ve made breakfast for you, it’s already on the table.”

”You’re too sweet.” I smiled and got up.

On the dining table I saw a plate with scrambled eggs and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, my favourite breakfast.

It wasn’t Valentine’s day, it was an ordinary day. I don’t need a special day to show him how much I love and cherish him and neither does he.

Photo taken from here.

100 words: A crazy little thing called love

When I look at him I don't just see the man I have fallen in love with; I see so much more.

I see the man who is always by my side no matter how tough I am to deal with.

I see the man who loves and respects me despite the many downsides I have.

I see the man who still has sparkles in his eyes when he looks at me.

I see the man, who I truly love as I have never loved before.

I see the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.

Photo taken from here.

Love letter for a friend

"Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." (Anais Nin)

Friendships are the most fragile relationships in the whole world. A friend is not obligated to be a friend to someone; it’s his or her own choice to be someone’s friend and to stand by his or her side no matter what happens.

Friendships are fragile, I’ve experienced this many times. 

I’ve also experienced this very recently; I thought I've lost one of my best friends. I thought I’ve lost a person who was by my side each and every day for the last eight years. 

She was by my side in good times and bad, in sickness and in health.

When six years ago a doctor told me I have a chronic disease she was by my side.

When I broke up with three of my ex-boyfriends she was by my side.

When I met Mr Starlight she was one of the first people I’ve told that I’m madly in love.

When I was accepted to the university she was by my side and she was sincerely happy for me.

I’m grateful and happy that I have such a good and loyal friend. I’m grateful and happy that I have more than one good friend for whom I am sure will be by my side no matter what happens. 

We had a fight and I was afraid I’ve lost her. But our friendship is stronger than that. We mean too much to each other to let such an important and loving relationship fail.

She is by my side in good times and bad, in sickness and in health; I know this for sure.

I hope that You also know that I’m here for you, no matter what.

I promise to be true to You in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love You and honour You all the days of my life.

100 words: Insomnia

I can’t sleep. 

I’ve tried everything – I don't eat before going to bed, nor drink tea or coffee; even hot cocoa or warm milk with honey don’t help.

I’ve also tried counting sheep, cats, dinosaurs and other creatures… unsuccessfully.  

I usually fall asleep when Mr Starlight hugs me tight but for the last two weeks even this doesn’t help.

It’s 3am, I’m sitting at my desk, typing on my computer and listening to Mr Starlight’s steady, heavy breathing. 

I’m envious; I want to lay next to him, to sleep and dream about lying on a perfect beach with white sand.  

Photo taken from here.