Sweet dreams

          If I was asked when I was a child what heaven meant to me, I would have given a probably weird answer: sitting all day long - maybe more than one day - in a field full of poppies. There was to me something so fascinating about these flowers that I couldn't help but loving them. As a child I spent maybe too many hours thinking about these flowers and I even recieved them once. When I was 14 and I published my first poetry book( a rather local event, it was never meant to be a bestseller, so it simply wasn't, just a book read by teachers and family, just the dreams of a child.) there was this man - I could call him a family friend, a remote family friend, perhaps - who somehow found out about my obsession with  these flowers and brought me a large bouquet of poppies: it wasn't - of course - the kind of bouquet to give to a young lady, I think, but I was after all a weird girl. Weird flowers for weird girls.     Years later - let's just say nine years later -

If I were to chose what are those things that helped me go through my adolescence, I could say music and writing. There were Linkin Park and Green Day and some other weird bands and there were the beautifully colored notebooks that I used to call Diaries. When I walked on the street I listened to music. At home I would listen to music again and I would write. There were so many things I wanted to say to people around me, there were so many ways in which I would have loved to express myself, there were too many times during my literature classes when I knew the answers, I knew exactly how a main character must have felt. I had been that character so many times but yet I had to listen to some people that had no clue and still they were talking. Instead, I was speechless. Speechless all the time, words simply refused to get out of my mouth, the frustration is, therefore, easy to understand.    And then there was my mother, who helped accept myself the way I was. Big words, almost a chich

  Growing up in Southern Europe, you end up with the strong belief that nordic coutries are sort of Narnia. You know there are Denmark and Sweden and whatever, but in your mind everything is just a big Laponia, whose king is no other than big old Santa Clause. So when last days we celebrated children's day in Japain and we gave every child a free icecream, my boyfriend said: "What if the child is too small to eat icecream?". Naturally, I replied:"There is no such thing! This is Denmark!!! Only the strong survive, these kids are being fed icecream instead of milk! Only the strong survive!"    But I am not ignorant, nor stupid, so chill, dear Danes. There is not my intention to insult you or your beautiful all year around rainy weather(there, I did it again!!). Au contraire, I simply find it fascinating that the weather here is actually the opposite to what I thought before coming here.   Firstly, I am that kind of person that is freezing all the time and only

  Why take something that doesn't belong to you? Today I told my boss he put me one extra-hour, by mistake, on the payroll. He was surprised and I am not surprised that he was. He told me that I am very honest, but the truth is I simply don't cut corners when it comes to honesty. I am sure everybody has heard all these horror stories about romanian gipsies who take as much as they can get. Hell, the romanian singer, Puya, says in one of his songs :"when you land on the airport, hold your money tight." Therefore, I will just tell the story of a romanian leader, called Vlad the Impaler, who ruled in the 15 century. The thing about this guy is that, like me, he didn't cut corners when it came to honesty either. Therefore, the stories/historical documents say that he would kill/cut hands/do other horrible stuff to whomever dared to steal. "And he hated evil in his country so much that, if anyone committed some harm, theft or robbery or a lye or an injustice, non