There are times when I feel a sort of anxiety about writing on this blog. I secretly hope nobody who knows me reads it. And if they do, I hope they don’t know it’s me.
It’s strange to write what’s on your mind on the internet, knowing that anyone, anytime, can read it.
Strange, yet interesting.
And I like throwing my thoughts in the ether of this virtual web.
I’d go even more honest and uncensored.
I noticed I don’t really like worrying about a purpose of a post, or about a structure.
If it were up to me, this blog would be kind of chaotic. But I guess it is up to me, so maybe that’s the way it’s going to be. Who knows? We’ll wait and see.

Nice or well?

Sometimes you want to be a nice person, and you end up working against yourself and being the one who has to lose.

It’s possible that all this nice act might happen because you want to be seen the way you think you are.
But no matter how good of an opinion you have of your level of kindness, a time comes when you put everything in balance.

Which loss will I accept? What weights more?
The loss in the way the other person sees me? Or the loss of my comfort and well being?

In the situation I am now, I reached the point where the discomfort is so uncomfortable that I’ll take being seen as not so nice, maybe even selfish.

Let Go

I don’t want to let go
Yet I want to start over

Begin again
Erase everything
Forget all

Is my first day.
I only know future.

What is the past?
There is none.

Mind pattern

Not sure what this blog is about. Is it about me? Can I do that, have a blog about myself?
It’s about my thoughts. That’s something I’d love to do. Just write about whatever I think. It’s the way I’d like this blog to be. And the kind of blog I’d feel most comfortable writing.
I’d prefer to write in a mixture of English and my native language.
How many people could understand what I write in that case? Probably just a few. But it’s ok with me. I’d like to be unseen.

Unseen but expressed.

I remember when I was in secondary school, I wanted so much to be able to write in such a way that if anyone (mostly my father) would find my diary, they couldn’t understand it.
I tried to learn the Cyrillic alphabet. But then I found out he knew it, and I gave up the plan of having a secret alphabet.
I became a little paranoid about him reading my diary. Because I knew he did read it. Once or many times, I don’t know.
What I do know is that for a while he kept quoting from it.

I never thought about this before, but I think … is it possible that this is one of the reasons why I can’t write in my native language? It’s strange that even if English is not my first language, I only began learning it when I was 12, yet, I keep wanting to use this language when I write. Could this be it?
I often considered myself as being in between languages. There are things that come in my mind in English, and I know that they mean but I can’t find a similar expression in my mother tongue. Then, there are many words in English I don’t know, and I need to search for them. I can’t express myself with ease and completely freely in English, either. But that’s because of a lack of knowledge. With the other language, it has to do with deeper issues.

With the other language, it has to do with deeper issues.
And it’s interesting to see how issues come out from the depth of your mind when you write about them.
I did think in the past that that could be the reason why I stopped writing and didn’t even have a diary for a long time.
But I never thought that it could be the reason why I keep trying to write in English even if it’s not as easy for me as it’d be to write in my language.
When a pattern from the subconscious mind comes to the surface, it’s always a joy to identify. I love it. And I’ll do more of these streams of writing thoughts.

If I knew

If I knew what it’s like to have a blog, I would’ve started earlier.

If I knew … I would’ve …

It looks like this is one of the memes of my life.

If I knew it wasn’t such a disaster to leave, and that I could (and did) survive very well, I would have left earlier.
If I knew it wasn’t that hard, I would have started earlier.
If I knew it wasn’t that easy and that it’d take some time to get used to it, I would have started earlier. And I’d have been further along the way by now.

You can always stop if you don’t like something. But you can never go back in time to start earlier.

Too little, too much

This weekend went by like most weekends.
On Fridays, I’m so looking forward to the weekend only to realize, by the end of it, that it over too soon. And worst of it, without me doing too much.
And it’s not just the weekend. That’s true for the whole week. Fridays come too soon, and so do Mondays.
It’s already February. In one week it’ll be the middle of February. And I hadn’t progressed too much on the goals I set at the beginning of the year. On some of them, I hadn’t even started working.
I was thinking today that I’ll need to find a way to focus. To focus on what’s important to me, on what’s important for my life.
And maybe it’ll be a good idea to select a few goals to work on at a time. I feel a little overwhelmed when I think of all the areas where I want to improve my life. I want to organize my work better, organize my house, lose weight, live healthier, be on time with the things I need to do for my job, write regular blog posts here, improve my English and … I am enrolled in two courses right now. Oh, and I forgot about the master’s degree. I’m on holidays for the month of February, when it comes to it. But I do have to choose a subject and title for the final paper until the end of next week.
I should feel overwhelmed a lot, judging by this list, not just a little.
It looks like before focusing; there is some trimming to be done here.
If you’re wondering why you postpone things, it’s a good idea to write everything done. And if it’s a long, humanly impossible to do all at once list, like mine, get in the trimming mode, first.


During my years in the cult, I had the mindset that this life doesn’t matter and what’s important is the next life.
I kept postponing living and kept dreaming: in paradise, I’ll do this or that.

Most of my dreams weren’t undoable things. And they weren’t morally wrong, either. I could’ve at least give them a try.
Then, at some point, this question came to my mind: what if I do now the things I dream of doing “there”?

If you think about it, the next life is just an extension of this one. We don’t have two lives; there is no “other life.”
One person has one life, extended or not.
And since life is one and me there will still be the me here, why was I pushing my dreams for some other time in future?

Why did I want an everlasting life since I didn’t fully use, nor enjoy, the trial version?
How about doing now and here the things I want and can do. Because every moment of life matters, regardless of where it unfolds.