Positive day

#29. Stop Focusing on what you don’t want to happen. -Focus on what you do want to happen. Positive thinking is at the forefront of every great success story. If you awake every morning with the thought that something wonderful will happen in your life today, and you pay close attention, you’ll often find that you’re right.” Marc and Angel Hack Life- 30 Things to Stop Doing to Yourself.

I found this one particularly interesting, in a list I was reading on Facebook this morning. Theusual things you should stop doing to yourself, like putting people’s needs way in front of yours, or being in a relationship for the wrong reasons, letting others overshadow your confidence and/or personality.

And number 29.

I usually stress. Constantly. Whether an exam I have to present, a party I’m going to, an outing with friends, trying new food, visiting far away countries. I stress a little TOO MUCH. I shake, I don’t eat, etc and so on. That doesn’t prevent me from doing things anyway, but it did prevent me to do so when I was a little younger. Now I stress for no valuable reason. Probably because my little senses are preparing for something going horribly wrong, whatever the event is.

When I read number 29 this morning, I had really wished I did so a few years back. Thinking positively. Seen it in a lot of books, explained and broken down into easily read sentences, and marked in light colors on posters in my bedroom. But never really just said to be understood. It kinda looked like “what I needed to be thinking”, rather than what should come naturally.

Well today I have my first midterm in a couple of hours, and hopefully enough I won’t let my stress get the best of me. Change don’t come in an hour yeah! But I do feel like it is time to untie the knot that my stomach has been squeezed in for a long time.

Do remember number 29, and never let your scare close you up from experiencing things you really want to inside.

Here’s a link to Marc and Angel’s blog: http://www.marcandangel.com/





Daily Prompt: Young at Heart- Not the time yet

The boring lesson goes on and my tired eyes shift into looking somewhere else besides the cleaned-too-many-times-board-it’s-not-making-a-difference-anymore. Splattered with wiped out zeros over zeros over exclamation points and hard underlining words that we should write in Red, he says, in RED PLEASE IT’S VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

I can hardly see the damn board, and to be honest I don’t want to anymore. I don’t know why I always get stuck in classrooms behind extremely tall human beings with wild hair. Look at that hair! Wait. What’s that?


I see it.


“What the hell is it though?”


Isn’t it obvious?


“No it can’t be.”


A conversation between myself and I isn’t enough distraction to cast me away from the obvious elephant in the room. That sneaky white hair, how did it manage to slip into such beautiful locks? Snuck right into hers like harsh truth.


I remember I used to make little promises with God for what seemed to be a fairly good deal.




“I SHAAAAAAAL!” at the top of my lungs


I could hear my mom giggling behind my door, and I would whisper.

“just please let me be immortal”.

Yeah I liked the whole vampire feel I would get while watching TV, although it seemed different from my reality.

Truth is I don’t like aging. I don’t think anyone does really. The “temporary” feel about us is very unsettling to me.  We make promises to ourselves; to become better people, make better choices, live a better life, and create a better future for our own future selves while our future isn’t even promised. Some of us want to leave a certain mark or stamp here and there, where a lot of scars have already been made. Sometimes I get days where my inner revolutionary person wants to rise up in plain morning, and other times I just want to get on with my day. It strikes me sometimes late at night (as the clichés go), that all I am building up right now, that is taking me so many hours of determination would someday lead to people not even acknowledging the fact that I existed at some point. I could scream now but later on I would not hear my own voice anymore, buried under whatever grounds covering my body, slowly getting colder, what a sickening description of the worst to come.

Should the success in our lives be equivalent to our names being widely known and spread out across countries, always at the tip of people’s tongues? It depends. It always depends on what each of us call success. It might be making it on the Nobel Prize list, or merely being satisfied and happy with your everyday encounters.

But we all have an end, and that is the undeniably harsh truth. Some people will never read this, others won’t understand it, and wouldn’t want to. In fact there are so many people in such a big world it’s getting easier to feel the tiny speck that is you, and what your life means to you. Why was I born, is a question often repeated, always trying to find itself an answer, trying to find ourselves and our talents and the love of our lives and all that baggage that comes with living in a society, but why should I die? My thoughts on aging follow each other on the same long straight road towards the same end. Ironically enough the only thing that comes with age, other than wrinkles, is wisdom. Yeah apparently we now know we have to put our children’s needs before ours, we start really taking care of our elders, not just the “clean the table hunny please” type of help. We start understanding more complicated relations and start following the news casted on that same channel we used to tell our parents to change the second that man with the same blue tie starts talking. We start being aware, figuring out the solutions to problems and not caring if it takes PAGE-LONG essays to explain, yet still not figuring out, why our lives should be taken away someday, why our hair is slowly turning into another color, not the one we used to see in our photo albums. Why grandma’s hands only get harder to touch and why she wont accept to look at herself in the mirror before leaving the house, only knowing that she used to admire her façade every chance she got, “back then”.

I guess, and I am only just guessing, that people tend to cope with what they have. With everything they have, including the big “END”. Here is where wisdom comes in, teaching you to CALM THE FUCK DOWN when you realize that the word teen will be leaving your age group soon. I remember how much it shocked me, to hear my grandmother actually making me believe she was on the same page with her situation, she didn’t mind it, and I still don’t understand how she could still smile after seeing herself become “what was” herself and “how was” her hair and “how incredibly sweet were” her friends back in school. I guess she had a successful life in her point of view, it seemed to show in her eyes rather than her smile, almost a little too forced. The good finally overcame all the difficult mornings, she stills goes on with this motto to this day, but I still know when I see that little white hair in my reflection, I will be in for an emotional morning.



1.the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.

The definition is spot on. Isn’t it always?

Being in school, sharing classrooms with teachers you hope not running into in a mall someday, because you just couldn’t handle the idea of them actually having a life besides wiping the chalk off the board and handing you back disappointing essay results. I didn’t expect much from them, except well, teach us the lesson in a less-boring way than other teachers do.

Now [in our beloved university] I don’t look for inspiration from them either, but they somehow never fail to disappoint. I am guessing it is something about talking to people who have matured from the note-passing in class and the outburst of jokes that only seemed to get repetitive. There is a different sort of air that fills our rooms today, full of professionals and PEOPLE in-the-making. You shouldn’t expect much from your classmates, in school or university, but expect world difference between teachers. Teachers whom you are now friends with. Whom you would actually like to run into in a mall at some point, or would like to go watch them play their instruments in music filled café trottoirs. They are the teachers that make you want to get out of bed at 7am just to witness them endure literary spasms, and see the electricity that comes out of their eyes when they are doing what they do best, they are the teachers with loud and firm voices, so determined to get facts and reality through your brain, while casually flashing a smile or mentioning your name in an example so you wouldn’t lose yourself in the drawings on your table. It is that teacher with the usual red tie and black blazer that you can’t help but complement when they suddenly shouw up in a different tie color the next day, and the woman with long blond hair, just enough make up, and a professional spaz bursting out of her usual laughter in class. Some of them are tortured artists:


  1. The tortured artist is a stock character and real-life stereotype who is in constant torment due to frustrations with art and other people.


Yeah. That teacher that plays an instrument, has built a ground-breaking career, had a chat and some whine with incredibly famous artists, yet no one has heard of his name in the country, and all you seem to want to do is watch him play his drums in the café and hope he sees you so he knows that you actually appreciate his art, and cared enough to listen in class whilst sitting next to your snoring classmates.

Keep your eyes open, some things would surprise you.



So I saw this youtube video that showed how to make a swan out of an apple. I’ve seen a lot of these videos before and actually tried to follow steps in some of them, only to end in complete failure. NOT THIS TIME i encouraged myself. NOT. THIS. TIME.

So I think you should try this one out!


Here’s the link

Careful with the knife!