토토사이트 정류장；바카라사이트, 카지노；카지노사이트킴

포커게임；바카라사이트,카지노사이트,온라인카지노사이트

A Slice Of Me — Fri, 25 Oct 2024 10:31:11 GMT

My personal story

Little did I know that my home wasn’t a place but a feeling within myself.

Since I Iran, a haunting question kept following me: Where do I truly belong? It’s not a matter of geographic relocation; it’s a search inside me for that feeling of connection. In my first year in , my room felt like just a place to sleep. Nothing felt like mine. I often felt like a stranger. Homesickness became my regular visitor, and everything around me, people, places, even new experiences, seemed to lose their color.I daydreamed about finding a new place that felt like home, anywhere but where I was. I was in a tiny city north of Italy, but my soul seemed to wander elsewhere. I was so disconnected, so sad and . This was more than just a feeling, I deliberately avoided decorating my room, convinced it wasn’t my but merely a place to stay, so why bother?At first, I thought I’d find that among the people I knew. The ones you think would make everything better just by being there. But when I finally went back to my parents’ place in after a whole year away, it hit me hard. Everything had changed. My dad wasn’t around anymore; he found a job in another city. My mom stayed in Tehran, just for me. The first night back in my old room felt overly strange. My sister, with whom I used to share my room, wasn’t there either; she moved out with her husband.My stuff was all packed away in boxes on top of the wardrobe, clothes I didn’t even recognize anymore. My bookshelf was empty, and my paintings were gathering dust in the closet. Some of my papers and posters were still clung to the walls, untouched since I left. It was my old university schedule and a calendar tracking my study hours to do IELTS exam that were still hanging there. Now my own room felt like just a place to sleep.

Photo taken by the author, Padova, Italy, September 2020

Throughout my year and a half in Italy, I was chasing a sense of belonging in the people around me — my friends in Padua who eventually moved away, my loved ones back in Iran, or in friends scattered across the globe. I was searching for it anywhere but Italy. Little did I know that my home wasn’t a place but a feeling within myself.Maybe I caught a glimpse of that feeling when I relocated to Sweden, in my tiny dorm room in Stockholm. Decorating it with scented candles and family photos that made it feel like home, even though my true home wasn’t physically present. I realised if home truly resides within me, then it follows me wherever I go — from a small dorm room in Stockholm to destinations yet to be discovered.After Sweden, my journey led me to Germany, where I continued my search for that feeling of belonging. Today I know that home isn’t a destination on a map but a place within my heart. It’s a sense of comfort, security, and peace.

Photo taken by the author, Berlin, Germany, July 2023

Leaving Iran wasn’t a decision I made lightly. It wasn’t because I didn’t love my country or cherish the deep bonds I shared with my family and friends. In fact, it was precisely because of them that the decision weighed so heavily on my heart.I left in pursuit of a better, more stable future, driven by my passion for and a desire to create a life where I could thrive. The political and economical situation in Iran put a shadow of uncertainty over my goals, and I believed that going elsewhere would offer opportunities for my growth and fulfillment.But stepping into this new chapter of my life wasn’t without its challenges. While I hoped to make new connections and build a life in my new surroundings, the pain of grew more every day. It felt as though my heart was scattered across different corners of the globe, with me navigating the spaces in between, never quite feeling like I fully belonged anywhere.For those fortunate enough to have stability in their homeland, the journey of leaving may seem less daunting. But for me, the decision to leave was very difficult. I missed birthdays, watching my nephews grow up, being there for my parents as they aged, missing the last goodbye with my aunt before she passed away, and not being able to attend her funeral.These absences were challenging for my soul to bear. Knowing that things are not good back home due to , political and economic instability always makes me worrried. It’s a constant pressure that I carry with me all the times.Initially, I thought I could test the waters, perhaps pursue my master’s degree abroad and reassess the situation from there. The thought of leaving permanently was terrifying, and I hold on to the hope of a possible return to my homeland.Yet, as time passed and circumstances shifted, I found myself building a life here that I never imagined. I’ve achieved dreams I once thought were out of reach, such as pursuing a . However, sometimes I find myself not entirely fulfilled because I cannot share these moments of joy with the people who mean the most to me.

Photo taken by the author, Stockholm, Sweden, January 2022

Returning home would mean letting go of the life I’ve built here, and staying here means always having a part of my heart absent. It’s a constant war between longing for the comforting embrace of home and embracing the opportunities that await me in this new chapter.Ultimately, it feels like I can’t have everything. Nevertheless, I persist in this journey with hope in my heart, that one day, I’ll discover a way to reconcile the pieces of my scattered heart and cultivate a sense of belonging that goes beyond and physical distances.I know many people who have left Iran, with the intention of never returning. The challenging circumstances in our homeland have led many to question whether it still feels like home, pushing them to search for that sense of belonging elsewhere.Initially, I believed this to be a unique phenomenon primarily in Iran. But later I learned we share more similarities than differences. The war between Russia and Ukraine, all the horrible things going on in the middle east; in Palestine, Syria and now Lebanon have shown that displacement and the search for safety and stability are experiences shared by people all over the world.Many are forced to leave behind their homes, families, and memories in the hope of finding peace in unfamiliar places. My heart aches for those struggling with this, individuals packing their bags, and going on a journey from one place to another. It aches for all of us, who searches for a place that feels like home in the chaos and uncertainty of the world around us.Read more of my stories …

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This article was published on October 25th, 2024 in Long. Sweet. Valuable. publication.

was originally published in on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

양방 배팅；수익구조；바카라 에이스

A Slice Of Me — Tue, 15 Oct 2024 20:34:25 GMT

THE STORY OF HOW I OPENED MYSELF TO LOVE

“Love is to change something new within you,” as someone wise once said.”

Blossoms, Germany 2024

These days, talking to people feels like a chore. I try to connect and smile, but it seems like my presence doesn’t matter much. I could pack up and leave, and nothing would change. Nobody seems to need me here. And moving to a new city or country wouldn’t make a difference; I’d still feel the same because I wouldn’t have anyone there either. I’m so disconnected and drained. My therapist calls it emotional burnout-I have zero energy left. Dealing with people’s pretentious behaviors and games is so exhausting. Maybe people were playing such games before, but it didn’t affect me as much as today because I had some inner resources to deal with things. Now, they drain me more than they charge me.I’m tired of being there for others when I have enough on my plate. My phone fills up with unread messages, but I don’t have the energy to respond. I prefer being alone, sleeping a lot to escape.This can be dangerous sometimes because when loneliness becomes overwhelming, I can end up doing things I wouldn’t expect. Things that are not good for me. Last year, for example, I entered a relationship simply because I couldn’t bear my own loneliness. I wasn’t in love, and I wasn’t even enjoying what I had. It was so stressful and filled with anxiety, but the thought of leaving was even more frightening. I used to judge people in similar situations, and now I found myself becoming one of them.He was a partyer, emotionally unavailable, and dishonest person. We had little in common. I stayed in that relationship for too long, and when I finally left, I realized the pain cut much deeper than I could have imagined. Loneliness is tough, but it’s far better than being with someone who destroys me. He made me sick, both physically and emotionally. Learning this lesson came at a big price for me. It left deep wounds on my soul that I’m still recovering from.

Sunset, Potsdam, Germany 2024

Sometimes I hear people around me saying that life goes on and I am young, so I will feel better later, and the future won’t be as it has been in the past. I think this way of thinking comes from an assumption that I will have a lot of time ahead of me. But what if I end up like my cousin? Her name was Reyhane. She was the same age as I am now when she died. Her death was so sudden and unexpected. She was a very ambitious artist. She went through a divorce, gave everything she had to her husband to get custody of their 2-year-old. She started a life from scratch, moved to another city, took so many courses to become a hairstylist, and became good at it. When she finally started her own business, the car accident happened; her son survived, but she died.Her son witnessed his mom’s dying. Later years, It was heartbreaking to see how he had to shuffle between households, from his father’s and stepmom’s to his grandparents’ and now my aunt’s house. Unfortunately, my uncle hates him, believing he’s the reason of his daughter death. Even as I write this, it feels surreal, like a scene from a movie, but it’s the harsh reality I’ve witnessed. My cousin’s artwork, her brushes, colors, clothes, her smile, ambitions, and love-all buried with her for almost ten years now. Why do we assume we have endless time?Fran also told me about his cousin while we were together in the rainy streets of Berlin. We had no umbrella; I was covering my hair with my scarf, and he was wearing a hat. We stood outside a closed bar, the rain pouring down and washing the streets clean as people rushed past us. He was looking at me, while shifting his look occasionally to the cobblestones of the street. His voice trembled slightly as he began to speak. They were like brothers, growing up together. While Fran had a father, his cousin didn’t. As they grew older, his cousin got involved in drug-related crimes. While Fran found his way to university, his cousin slipped into a life of crime with no one to take him out. Fransico’s eyes filled with regret as he spoke. “I can’t shake this feeling that I’ve abandoned him,” he told me. “He’s my family, my roots. I feel like I should’ve done more to help him, to save him from this life.”

My room view, Germany 2023

Maybe vulnerability has been the key to the connection between me and Fran. We share a lot of our feelings, stories, and thoughts. I’m amazed by how deeply he understands me and how gently he cares for my wounds when I’m vulnerable around him. He told me that none of our feelings are invalid and that we need to take care of them even if they don’t make sense.It was March and I was feeling unwell, so I decided to leave Berlin for a brief holiday and chose Paris as my destination. Wrapped in my long black coat, I felt the Parisian elegance. I was wearing my glasses and my blond hair was moving gently in the air. Beneath the coat, I was wearing a black dress that had pink blossoms on it. As I wandered the streets once Sartre and Simone used to walk, I imagined them sharing kisses at this very crossroad, then hand in hand, discussing philosophy for hours in their favorite café.I walked in an old cemetery, where they now lay side by side. Their names were written on the stone, one above the other. The tomb was decorated with flowers, letters, and even transportation tickets. Among them, a card stood out saying: “thanks for making the world a better place.” Sartre passed away eight years before Simone, with her caring for him in his final years. For some reason, it’s comforting to see them buried together, after all the other lovers who came and went.In another life, if I were French, perhaps my name would end with the letter “e,” like Claire or Sophie. Maybe my dad would have been a writer, and my mom, a chef in a cozy local restaurant with so many customers. In that life, I might have found myself dating more girls than guys and experiencing fewer struggles, yet still feeling like something was missing.If I had met Fran in that scenario, perhaps we wouldn’t have clicked as much. It might have been challenging to relate to him if I came from a privileged family. Perhaps it would have taken years of traveling the world, maybe even meeting someone like Valentine and journeying with him for a while, before I started to develop feelings for Fran.

Potsdam, Germany 2024

Valentin once said that we crave the love we give to be returned. I knew I loved him deeply, and I couldn’t help but share this with Fran, confessing that Valentin was the love of my life. Yet, deep in my heart there were moments I questioned Valentin’s feelings for me. At times, his affection seemed undeniable, but then, unexpectedly, I felt that he pulled away, leaving me in doubt. It made me wonder, how crucial is reciprocity in love?Fran entered my life through his ex-girlfriend. Without her introduction, our paths might never have crossed. After she moved away from Berlin and they ended things, I remember her spending a night in my room, her eyes full of tears. She was crying and telling me no one had ever made her feel the way he did. Those tears left me with a sense of guilt, especially since Fran began to show interest in me.“What stops you from being with Francisco?” My therapist asked me in one of our sessions in February. “I think the main reason is her. I don’t want to hurt her. And also, there’s a lack of attraction. What if everything ends up being exactly the same as it was with Valentine?” I told my therapist.When my friend and Francisco ended their relationship and she left Berlin, Francisco and I started seeing each other more often. It was during this time that I began to notice a change in how he looked at me, how he spoke to me. I could sense his feelings for me were deepening. But it just reminded me of the pain in her eyes, the way she spoke of him, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason for more hurt.I then began to become hesitant to be alone with him. I thought if I could just keep our interactions casual, in groups, then maybe any possible feelings would fade away. Was I ready to explore this new dimension of feelings for Fran? The answer was complicated, and so, I kept my distance. It was a conscious effort, a way to reassure myself that I was not going to let anything happen between us. No more pain, especially not to someone I cared about deeply.She once said, “We’re here to love; that’s what life’s all about.” Was I unintentionally pulling her past love towards me, shifting his attention away from her? Was I the reason he wasn’t going back to her?I had to talk to her about it. I wanted to know how she felt about Fran and me. Her response surprised me. She said she had already sensed this coming and that she was okay with it. She reassured me that our friendship would remain strong, no matter what happened between Francisco and me.

My room view, Germany 2024

Before my trip, Francisco gave me a letter. He handed it to me on the train and asked me to open it later, after I had left. I waited until I reached Paris to read it. Inside, I found a small piece of paper, with his delicate and neat handwriting, so similar to mine. The letter said:“Many people and recent situations have inspired me to write to you about love, but you were undoubtedly the main inspiration. I have discovered that we can love others without expectations when we learn to love ourselves without expectations, without fear, without guilt. This has already changed my life, and I want to thank you for all our conversations. I want you to know how important you are to me. I want you in my life, and I want to get rid of the fear of losing you. I want to continue building this safe space that we’ve created. I want us to keep caring about each other and maintaining this beautiful connection that we don’t need to name.“Love is to change something new within you”, as someone wise once said. I’m looking forward to seeing love change new things in ourselves. Thank you for being here for me, for helping me to know myself better, and for making me believe I can be whatever I want. You’re the most incredible person I have ever met. If you ever feel like love doesn’t love you, I will be there to tell you I’m sure love does love you, and I love you too.”Folding his letter, I felt an urge to reach out to him. His words had touched me deeply. “I love you too, but what if I mess it up again? What if I get hurt again?” I confessed over the phone, my heart was racing with uncertainty. “I want to proudly say that what we have is the love I’ve been searching for. It’s a choice we make to be together, not because we need to, but because we truly want to. But I’m so scared. What if I’m only feeling this way because I’m so lonely?”When I returned to Berlin, I was surprised to find him there waiting for me. There he stood, wearing that familiar smile. I asked him, “Why did you come all the way here?” “Because you shared something very important, you were vulnerable, you opened your heart, and when you do that, I want to give you love,” he replied. He looked down at my lips, and this time, I was not hesitant. I leaned in and met his lips with mine.

Berlin, Germany 2024

“If you’re afraid of things coming to an end, would you rather know now or later?” my therapist asked me.“Before, I always wanted to know as soon as possible, not to waste my time. I was always ready to find reasons to leave, to protect myself from potential hurt. But now, I just want to hold onto these feelings for as long as I can. I deserve to feel this way, and I hope it lasts. Even if everything changes eventually, I want to keep feeling this way for as long as possible.” I replied.“What do you think has changed your mind about accepting his love?” My therapist asked.“I think it’s that I started to love myself and to silence the voice inside me that said I was unworthy of love. I got so tired of doubting whether I deserve what he’s willing to offer me, and what I can give him in return. I still have my fears; it’s scary to be close to someone, and it’s also scary to be so alone. But I no longer want to fight my fears or try to feel my emotions in a certain way. The only thing I want is to stop making decisions driven by fear. It’s pointless trying to be fearless. I just don’t want to be fearful anymore.” I explained.They say love’s opposite isn’t hatred, but fear. And somehow, fear doesn’t grip me anymore. I’m not scared of falling in love, because this time we already were in love. Just the thought of him makes me smile, as if it’s beyond my control.As I walk down the street, I see pink blossoms everywhere. The sun warms my face delicately. With each step I take, I feel the peace within myself. I’m thinking of the journey before me. There used to be a shadow cast over all my relationships, a fear that held me back. It influenced my actions, my feelings, the people I chose, and how they hurt me, as well as how I hurt myself. But now, something has shifted within me. It’s as if a weight has been lifted, allowing me to embrace love openly. I am hopeful.Spring has arrived. Not just outside, but also within me.You can check out my for more stories…

Love in the Air (Part Two) was originally published in Summit on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

바카라 커뮤니티；토토 사이트 커뮤니티；온라인 카지노 커뮤니티

A Slice Of Me — Mon, 14 Oct 2024 20:12:41 GMT

The journey of how I opened myself to love

“Love is not something between you and someone else. It’s something within you.”

Spring blossoms, Germany 2024

“Did I ever mention your scent? Picture a stunning balcony overlooking a big lake, a gentle breeze caressing your face. In that moment, you feel truly alive, fully present. That’s exactly how you smell — it’s crazy, but that’s the best I can describe it.” Francisco told me.The air was thick between us. I could sense all the things we left unsaid. He looked at me, his look went down to my lips, like a silent invitation flying in the air. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to lean towards him and meet his lips with mine. The truth was simple yet hard to admit-I was scared. If he had tried to kiss me, I knew I’d pull back. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to or because I didn’t love him. I loved him so much. I didn’t want to reject him. I didn’t want to hurt him with my hesitation. It was strange. My heart was torn between love and fear.This fear acts as my protective shield, maybe subconsciously, guarding me from potential hurt or . It stops me from letting someone get too close. So far, my romantic connections have either involved feeling too emotionally close without physical attraction, or experiencing some attraction but with much less emotional closeness. It’s strange and hasn’t worked out in any case. However, what remains consistent in both scenarios is that there’s always a distance. I think deep down, I prefer to keep some distance, maybe because I believe love usually fails; so it’s wiser to shield myself with this space rather than diving too deeply in love. On the other hand, I feel and crave closeness. Not just socialising that remains on the surface. I crave for profound connections, but whenever I get it, it’s scares me. It feels like I am torn between wanting connection and solitude at the same time; it’s paradoxical.

December 2023, Potsdam, Germany

It was an amazing evening in December with Francisco. He and I have been close friends for a while in Berlin; he was the ex boyfriend of one of my friends. It’s been almost a year since we first met, a year full of ups and downs. This time, we met at his place for the first time. It was a tiny studio apartment with a big bed, a small desk, a chair, and a tiny dining table. We sat across from each other, with some pizza and Italian wine on the table between us. It was cozy, and we shared something deep.I read my story to him; it was a piece of my soul, with my wounds on display for him to see. The story described a character who believed that she doesn’t deserve . I felt vulnerable to read it for him, but it didn’t scare me. He took my hand while listening to me, and I knew he was truly listening-not just hearing the words, but understanding the raw emotions behind them. After dinner, we walked in the streets, lost in conversation that seemed to stretch on for hours.“I can imagine being in your life forever. I can live next door to you when you have kids and are married. I can even look after your dog or your kids! It sounds crazy, but I know I can stay in your life for that long. I know how I feel about you won’t change over time.” I said to him while my eyes were shinning without any fears.He seemed surprised and happy. He smiled at me and said: “Have I ever told you the person who made me feel the purest love, was the person who suffered the most that I have ever known. It was my grandmother. I think I learned love from her. What is love for you?”

My room view, 2023, Potsdam, Germany

“Love is to change something new in yourself,” I began, feeling the weight of his look on me. “It starts within you. Love is not a feeling. It’s not a noun. It’s an action. It is something you do. You start by loving yourself, by getting to know who you truly are. It’s a journey that may involve various experiences- traveling, doing art, engaging in conversations, sharing your feelings, falling in love, getting heartbroken, going to therapy, writing, reading, going for runs, eating good food, listening to music, or spending so much time with yourself.”I took a deep breath before continuing. “You do everything to accept and love yourself for who you are. And if there are aspects of yourself that you’re not happy with, you work on changing them.Love is not something between you and someone else. It’s not something that happens to you. It’s not something you wait for. It’s not something you find. It’s something that comes from you first. Something within you.”As I was speaking, I could see that look in his eyes. He was understanding me so well and had a big smile on his face. I continued :”Love is about embracing yourself fully. You live your life, feel your emotions, give yourself a hug tightly, and love yourself unconditionally. Only then, if you fall in love with somebody else, you can keep this path. You see yourself from another perspective, and keep changing yourself. You do everything to accept and love yourself for who you are. And if there are new things that you don’t like, you try to change them. Love is to change something new in you.”As I finished my sentence, I realised that now we were both looking at each other and smiling.

My room view, 2023, Potsdam, Germany

Falling in love without feeling sexual attraction wasn’t new to me. This happened with , my Russian lover, who stood out in every way. We met in a tiny city near to Venice. I knew him as a friend for some time. Our first date lasted about 12 hours, filled with endless conversation that just clicked. Our connection was special, allowing us to talk freely about anything. He was so open, could speak several languages and has traveled all over the world. Being with him was like having so many different doors open to you, each showing you a different part of the world. Our love was strong and unconditional, surviving long distances, being in an open relationship, being a couple, or simply as friends. The form didn’t matter; the love was always there.I distinctly remember a moment on his rooftop as we watched the sunset, when he questioned my fear of expressing myself. “Why don’t you share your thoughts and feelings more? You’re so smart. If you’re worried about not being understood or judged by someone, wouldn’t you rather know now than waste years finding out?” he said while lighting a cigarette. I looked at the setting sun and felt speechless. He was right. There was something transformative in his words, in someone urging me to be fearless, to be myself, and to be open. Something new was happening in a way I had never experienced before.My love for Valentin was so profound that I valued his happiness over whether we were together or not. It was a selfless kind of love, not possessive. I was at peace when we were having our relationship open. It’s hard to explain what he and I experienced together. We made this joke that we were like Simone de Beauvoir and Sartre. Like them, we delved deeply into philosophical discussions, helping each other grow. Similarly, we were also each other’s primary partners while exploring connections with others.Our relationship didn’t last because we lacked a sexual connection. He believed a good relationship doesn’t require discussing sexual chemistry; it naturally brings with it. Whereas, I believed that in a good relationship, you can discuss anything. I still don’t understand why I was not feeling attracted. He was so charming. Maybe the intensity of our love overwhelmed me. My therapist suggested that because of my fear of getting close to people, my mind might be creating distance subconsciously. So, even though we had a strong emotional connection, I unconsciously created the physical distance between us. I’m not entirely sure how much I trust this theory and it’s still a puzzle for me.

My room view, 2023, Potsdam, Germany

I felt powerless to change the situation. I wanted to save a relationship that wasn’t working, and it hurt deeply. I was heartbroken and sad. Eventually, nothing worked out. We never explicitly said it’s over, but we both knew it was the end. We kept in touch after this, he even told me that he loved me about a year after we separated our path. Only I knew those three words of “I love you” coming from him is not from a place of possessiveness and it’s pure appreciation. However, I can’t deny that the pain of the breakup didn’t fade quickly. Not feeling the physical spark with someone I loved made me question myself. It affected me so much that for some time, I thought I was asexual. Actually, maybe I am. At least I know sex isn’t a big part of my life; I don’t crave it, nor do I find myself attracted to people in a sexual way. It’s always the emotional connection that comes first for me. I view sex as result of a profound emotional connection between individuals rather than simply a physical urge.I visited a sex toy shopping website last week. I guess the thought of buying a sex toy wasn’t about physical pleasure; it came from a deeper feeling of loneliness and doubt about my romantic future. I doubted whether I’d ever find true love or a relationship that truly fulfills me. It was a lonely feeling, and I was exhausted from trying. Some of my friends had suggested trying dating apps or meeting new people, but it just doesn’t work for me. I don’t think it’s about meeting new people at this point.Even meeting the right person doesn’t guarantee a lasting connection. I’ve lost faith in my ability to maintain a good relationship, even if I find the right person. I know I have a tendency to self-sabotage. The pain I have felt didn’t always come from another person. Now, I know I can hurt myself too. I can hold onto something that isn’t good for me, and I’m afraid of doing that again.It was a cold night in January when Fran visited me in my apartment. I shared some of my writing with him, and it moved him to tears. It was about being . I quickly fell asleep that night. Then, I had a bad dream-I was running away from myself, feeling lost and lonely. In the dream, the more I ran, the more the scenery blurred into an endless loop of unfamiliar streets and shadowed faces. I felt disconnected and exhausted. Waking up, the realization hit me hard-I was terrified of love. The thought of opening up, allowing someone into my world, and the risk of being hurt again terrified me. So I decided to tell him about it.“We’ve talked a lot about our relationship, what we want, and what we’re afraid of. We both love each other deeply. You’re ready to move forward with this feeling, but I have paradoxical feelings. Despite loving you deeply, I don’t feel attracted to you. So, I think it’s better if we drop this discussion and don’t talk about it anymore (at least for a while). It doesn’t seem to get us anywhere, and I just keep feeling pressured and drained out. I’m sure you understand what I’m saying, right?” I texted him.He replied, “Like you said, I was ready to move forward with this feeling. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I’ve never met anyone even close to who you are in my entire life. Your ability to be yourself, your openness, and the experiences you’ve had deeply resonate with my values. I was ready, and it was scary and amazing. It was a new feeling, but not moving forward was new to me as well. I think it’s best for me to take a step back. I am sure everything will be okay because I trust you with my heart, and because of the foundation of our friendship, we will always be in a safe place.”His words were like another wave of conflicting emotions that washed over me. I never told him to stop trying, but it seemed like he had reached that decision on his own. Part of me wanted to believe that his decision brought relief, a way to stop worrying about where our friendship was going. But deep down, it felt like a breakup. I wasn’t just sad because I felt like I was losing him. I was also saddened by the loss of the potential future that could have been.

Sunset, Potsdam 2023, Germany

I was aware that Fran understood me deeply. Perhaps that’s what frightened me the most. He knew about my fear of love, yet he asked me to be with him. I didn’t say yes, but somewhere deep inside, I hoped he would never stop loving me. It’s not that what I told him wasn’t true-it absolutely was. I like to believe that if I ever change my mind, he’ll still be there. Yet, there’s this fear that one day he might grow too tired and just let everything go.Am I toxic? It’s crazy that I’m like this. I often complain about dating in Berlin and how love stories here are so complicated-full of excitement and confusion. Maybe it’s influenced by the city’s vibrant clubbing culture; after all, Berlin is known for its lively nightlife. People here are usually open-minded and free-spirited. Relationships can be casual or serious, but many prefer to keep things relaxed. I went on four dates in one month, only to find out that each person was already in a relationship. I’m sick of the hookup culture, open relationships, and people not being authentic or playing games here. But it seems like I can exhibit the same behavior that I criticize in others-pushing away something that I may deeply want because I’m so afraid. And then hoping that it will stay there until I’m ready.I didn’t used to be like this all the time. A few days ago, I talked to an old friend after so much time, and it made me realize how much I’ve changed. He remembers me as this energetic, social person — always surrounded by friends, constantly traveling, and forever keen on meeting new people. Looking back, that version of me seems like a distant memory, almost like she’s lost to the past.I’ve changed so much. These days, I prefer being alone rather than forcing myself to enjoy social gatherings that no longer bring me joy. Despite my efforts, I haven’t been able to have a fulfilling social life here. Fran might be the only true friend I have left. With others, the connection usually remains on the surface; our conversations never dive deep. I usually don’t share the real stuff-for example, talking about the nights I cry myself to sleep feeling so lonely, or how last summer, I found that I was suspicious of cancer after a doctor’s visit. I had to do more tests and wait anxiously for the results. Those were days that stretched like years for me when I was alone and had to go through this by myself.To be continued in part two….You can check out my for more stories…

Love in the Air (Part One) was originally published in Summit on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

카지노사이트 슈퍼카지노 ⭐바카라사이트；카지노사이트킴

A Slice Of Me — Sun, 13 Oct 2024 19:46:41 GMT

Hidden treasure in Rome

Rome knows how to melt your heart; you just have to let it.

Dear friend,I’m holding a glass of Aperol spritz, and this is the view in front of me. It’s a hot April afternoon in Rome, about 25 degrees. I’m wearing my black dress, feeling the Roman elegance. A slight breeze touches my face.On the way here, we climbed a hill. There were many people around in their stylish outfits-tourists and Italians. We ascended numerous stairs that seemed to stretch up to the sky. The stairs were made of stone and they were old, like everything in Rome.After climbing so many stairs, we entered a garden filled with tall trees. There were no tourists here, only Romans. I guess this is one of Rome’s hidden treasures. I only hear Italian being spoken, no other languages.It’s hot, and the sun is shining directly on my face. I take a sip of my Aperol spritz and feel better. It has ice in it. I take a piece of ice into my mouth and let it cool me down.The view is spectacular. It takes my breath away. There are so many beautiful buildings in front of me. It feels like sitting in a park with a large balcony in the middle of Rome, admiring the city. Rome knows how to melt your heart; you just have to let it. It is so beautiful, maybe the most beautiful city in the world, at least for me up to now.There is a big church on my left and a few more on the horizon. Far away, you can see trees blending into the cityscape. The street below curves to the right, with many cars passing by. I take out my sketchbook and start to draw.Valentine is sitting next to me. I love him a lot, and I’m happy we’re here together. Now he is talking to me about his girlfriend. I like that we’re so open with each other.Too bad, I finished my drink. The sun is shining intensely, and there are two boys next to us. One of them is shirtless. He reminds me of a character from “Call Me by Your Name.” He looks very young and has a beautiful body like the sculptures in Rome. They’re smoking weed; I can smell it from here.People around me are speaking Italian. I don’t understand it, but I like it. I think if I were Roman, I would come to this place a lot. And if you were visiting me, I would bring you here.I know you would like to write your diary here or read your book, maybe Fernando Pessoa’s poems. This place feels like a little escape from the chaos of the city, a spot to sit, relax, and savor Rome.

The place is called Villa Aldobrandini, with the stairs located on Via Mazzarino. I really think you should visit this park. I painted the view for you to find it easily. There is a part of me there, you should visit that place.Love,Me

Write For Us! — Admiring Multipotentiality

Hidden in Rome was originally published in Admiring Multipotentiality on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

토토사이트 폭탄；바카라사이트, 카지노사이트

A Slice Of Me — Sun, 13 Oct 2024 19:42:37 GMT

Story of how fear and love are connected

The opposite of love is not hatred, but the fear that love may never accept us.

Photo from

I dreamed of riding a horse through a big city. I was riding so fast when he suddenly appeared on the way. From distance, his face was unclear, but I knew it was him. I recognised him by his long, messy, curly blonde hair and ginger beard.

I quickly turned away. I didn’t know why I was running away from him; I felt a force inside me that was pushing me to escape. The horse went further and further away until I couldn’t see him anymore, though I could still feel his look on me.

Without looking back I kept running. Then, there he was, standing in front of me, blocking my way. I was so afraid.

I suddenly woke up from the dream. My heart was racing rapidly.

I got dressed, and left the house. The weather was warm, and a nice breeze touched my face. I went to my favorite café and ordered a cappuccino. This was the café where I had first met Jack. It was small but cozy, with staff who always smiled. The lights were dim, creating a special atmosphere. The tables were old, and there were some sofas and chairs. One of the couches had a broken leg and was propped up with books instead of being fixed. Near the entrance, a few tables and chairs were set up on the sidewalk.For our first date, we sat at one of the outdoor tables. Jack went to the counter and bought drinks for both of us. Even though it was a typical move, it made me feel good. We played backgammon together, the deal was whoever loses would buy the next drink. I lost.Jack was a 26-year-old guy with messy, curly blonde hair and ginger beard. His room was always messy. His desk was filled with empty beer and wine bottles lined up in a row. His bed was always unmade from the night before. He had trouble sleeping at night, so he developed various rules to help him sleep. The room curtains had to be fully closed, and the room shouldn’t be too warm or too cold. The window had to be open, but not too wide to let in noise.He needed a heavy blanket, with two pillows under his head and one between his knees. He always wore a sleep mask and listened to podcasts with earphones until he fell asleep. Even with all these changes, it took him hours to fall asleep. That’s why he often slept in, and he often said, “I couldn’t sleep well for several nights.” This was usually followed by his story about having ADD, explaining why he had sleepless nights.Contrary to what he said, Jack’s ongoing lack of sleep and endless sadness revealed a deep hatred and anger toward himself. He hated himself deeply. He didn’t want to deal with these feelings. If he acknowledged these thoughts, there was only one way out for him: suicide. So, he kept his mind busy with distractions. Ignoring what bothered him was a skill he had. He did this through many parties and gatherings he attended, along with alcohol, drugs, and sleeping with multiple girls. He claimed this all started when his heart was broken in the past when his longtime girlfriend had left him for someone else.In one corner of Jack’s room, there was a half-open suitcase spilling its contents onto the floor. It symbolized everything he left unfinished instead of resolving his issues; he constantly escaped from himself and his problems. And all these thoughts that made it hard for him to sleep.In addition to these aspects of his life, Jack was a wanderer who had traveled to so many countries. He loved adventure and had a great talent for cooking. One could imagine him in a parallel universe as a successful chef running his own restaurant. His taste in music was fantastic; he could play both guitar and piano very well. Music ran in his family, with nearly everyone passionate about it and mastering at least one instrument.Jack was intelligent but often procrastinated on his schoolwork until the last minute. This pattern continued throughout his school and university years; he would wait until the end and then work hard for a few weeks. A few days before university projects or exams, he would take ADD medication and work tirelessly in the library, ultimately getting good grades.Jack had good general knowledge about most of the things; he knew a lot about biology, geography, science, and technology. Besides his native language, he spoke German and Spanish fluently. He loved reading and enjoyed doing crosswords in his free time. In school, he wasn’t popular. For many years, he wasn’t very fun wanted to be a top student and he had trouble making friends. His parents became worried about this and decided to move him from a private school to a public one, hoping he would improve. Apparently, in the public school he gradually changed and made more friends, but his shift from focusing on academics to socializing had its consequences. His work ethic suffered, and studying became difficult for him.Jack had only one sister who was very different from him. She lived in London with her German boyfriend. Unlike Jack, his sister was organized, precise, and successful. She was more like their father than their mother. This might explain why Jack didn’t have a good relationship with his dad. His father couldn’t understand Jack’s world. Their minds worked on completely different levels. They were never truly connected. For his father, life followed a natural path; school, university, work, and starting a family. Jack had a special talent for disappointing him in each of those areas.His mother, on the other hand, was different. She always supported Jack, and they had a good relationship. She was fighting cancer, and Jack always thought about her. Even in moments when it wasn’t obvious to others — like when he stood at the club’s corner lighting a cigarette — his mind was busy with the deep fear of losing his mom, a fear that never faded.Jack would sleep for long hours at night or suffer from restless insomnia. He spent a small part of his day studying at university, while the rest was dedicated to socializing with friends. On weekends, he often went to clubs and came home the next morning drunk and exhausted. This cycle repeated over and over.Maybe the heavy drinking and drug use had changed his appearance; at twenty-six, he looked like he was in his mid-thirties. Months passed in this routine, and he lost a lot of money. His family, especially his parents, became worried about his life in another country. Using the excuse of visiting his sister’s boyfriend’s family, they traveled to Germany to check on him and understand his situation.They were sitting around a large table in the same café where we had our first date. I walked in, looking for an empty table. As I scanned the room, I spotted Jack. I immediately headed toward the exit and quickly left the café. I didn’t know why I was running away from him; it felt like some force was pushing me to escape. My heart was racing so fast, and my breath became short. I sat on the sidewalk and cried uncontrollably. I wanted to go back and kill him. Anger and sadness filled my entire being. Instead of returning to the café, I wandered aimlessly through the nearby streets, and cried loudly.He used to tell me I stood out from the other girls he had met. That I was brave and confident, and I had some kind of fearlessness inside me. He said that I was strong and he loved that about me. He hated himself so badly, but he hoped to win my heart.

Photo from

Part of him truly wanted to be in love and stay in love. And when I noticed that side of him, I slowly fell for him. He was ready for love and had told me that several times. Little did I know that, sometimes following the same pattern he had for years, he was sleeping with other women from time to time. He didn’t tell me anything about this because he was so afraid of losing me. Still, he felt bad about himself. He was caught between who he was and who he wanted to be.I always value people’s feelings and empathize with them. However, I often end up with people who weren’t good for me. My first romantic experience was with a boyfriend who loved me so deeply. He showed his feelings through many gestures, eight months of patience and effort to convince for a first date, filled with bouquets, gifts, poems, and love letters. I finally agreed to enter my first relationship. This relationship lasted three years, during which we both invested a lot of time and emotion. Unfortunately, things took a dark turn and became emotionally abusive. His persistent love turned into stalking, and his romantic gestures became manipulative tactics.This bitter ending left me deeply disappointed in love. In the years after the breakup, I found myself in a series of dates or better say short-term relationships, trying to balance my two main fears: the fear of loneliness and the fear of getting hurt. However, the constant flow of people coming in and out of my life wore me down, leaving me completely drained.I felt completely drained when I met Jack. I hoped to find someone who could rescue me from loneliness and bring hope back into my life. I wanted to build a mutual relationship and believed that by being honest and expressing myself, I could create a strong foundation for that.Our love wasn’t dramatic. There were no bouquets of flowers, gifts, or endless daily conversations. Our romantic moments didn’t resemble the any love scene in movies or books. Each time we met, our hearts didn’t beat faster.I liked that everything was going slow and steady. It helped me to be less afraid of getting close to him. Neither of us was overly passionate about the other. Being together and enjoying each other’s company was a conscious decision that we both made. In the first few months, whenever we had an issue, we talked it out, and everything was easily resolved.On that specific day, I was wearing a brown shirt with a skirt that reached down to my ankles. My long black socks extended up to my thighs. I took off my skirt and hung it on a wooden hanger beside the door. The walls of the room were tall and painted white. I sat on the chair. It was white or some kind of cream color and it felt cold. I spread my legs apart and placed them on both sides of the chair. It was so uncomfortable. I placed my head on the chair and looked above. The ceiling was white with an ugly lamp in the middle. I was stressed.The doctor approached and asked me to move closer to the edge of the chair. I moved and the chair made a disturbing noise. It didn’t feel good. With a quick look, the doctor said things weren’t fine. My eyes were still at the ugly white ceiling. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my legs, making my body shake involuntarily. My waist twisted and I pulled my back into the chair instinctively. There was an intense pain in my body.The doctor was taking a sample and said, “It will be over soon, be bit more patient.”I continued to look at the ceiling; it was white and ugly. It didn’t take long, perhaps not even a minute, but it felt way much longer. My heart pounded fast and anxiously. Finally everything was over, but I was still in pain. My eyes fell on the doctor’s sampling stick, it was covered with blood.I was bleeding. The doctor handed me a few sanitary pads. I got up and got dressed. The doctor mentioned the names of several diseases and began writing prescriptions.“More tests need to be done to make sure of your condition.”The doctor’s lips were moving but I couldn’t anything. I only nodded my head as a sign of acknowledgment.“The medications I’ve prescribed are a bit strong. If you have stomach issues, you might experience discomfort, but you have to take it.” The doctor said.I tried to keep my emotions hidden, but I was angry. The doctor offered some words of comfort, “Healing takes time. Make sure to ask your partner to get tested.”I didn’t know which one hurts more; that I was ill or that was betrayed. The pain was intense, and the bleeding didn’t stopped. My legs were weak, and I couldn’t get up. I wanted to cry, but it wasn’t the time. “I’ll also write you a prescription for a vaginal ultrasound. Don’t forget.” Doctor said.“How can I go for a a vaginal ultrasound now that I’m in pain? It will probably be much more painful than this.” I responded.“There’s no other way; I’m sorry,” the doctor replied with a particular coldness.I headed towards the exit. I felt like my body was paying the price for Jack’s betrayals. Paying the price for his wrong choices, for sleeping around and lying to me. Just a few hours ago, I only had my , and now, in addition to that pain, I was ill as well.Our relationship met its inevitable end, much like all the other girls Jack had been with or all the boys who had disappointed me. However, Jack still thinks about me, but he doesn’t want to see me. Not because he’s afraid of me, but because facing me means confronting a part of himself that he wants to avoid. It means being reminded of everything he dislikes about himself. A reminder of the voice inside of him that says: “ You are a failure.” He is the same person as before; he continues sleeping with different girls, drinking, smoking, going to late-night parties, and taking drugs. But now, self-loathing festers deeper within him.My medications are finished, and I’m healthy now. However, Jack’s memory is still painful. I don’t want to see him. Part of me hates him so much, while another part wants to escape from him. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because facing him means, in fact, confronting a wounded part of me; a reminder of all the pain and sorrow. I am the same person as before; I am afraid of relationships and I don’t want to be lonely either. But now, my fears are intensified. Now, more than ever, I am afraid of people and love. My fears have found confirmation-a resounding echo that says love don’t love me.

If you want to read more about people I met, check out

Author’s Note:I wrote this story a while ago when I was in feeling so hurt after my heartbreak. Maybe the best thing about life is that nothing remains the same. All that pain is gone at the moment but what I learned is that we need to be so careful about what we choose to experience cause some experiences can just bring us so much misery and pain, even when you have the intention of experiencing something amazing which can be love.

Love Don’t Love Me was originally published in Story Saturday on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

빠이까우；바카라사이트,카지노사이트,온라인카지노사이트

A Slice Of Me — Wed, 09 Oct 2024 18:19:17 GMT

When love is an illusion, all that’s left is the pain of knowing.

I’m smart enough to study the Universe, but I can’t understand if one’s heart is not enough, then what will be?

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There he is, in my bed, holding another woman in his arms.I throw my heart at him and a few moments later; I saw it torn apart.What would you do when your heart is not enough for love?There he is, standing next to me while he is so far away from meThere I am, trying to fix one more time.Strong enough to confront this one more time.I’m smart enough to , but I can’t understand if one’s heart is not enough, then what will be?I am I’m brokenI don’t need to be savedI need to be safeMy head is spinning,I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the marijuanaIf it is psychedelic reality or it’s just unrealityHe said we’re friends, but how could he be so ignorant about me?I’m not mad cause he didn’t me back.I’m mad cause he was so indifferent.My heart is beating super fast like that it wants to leave my chestAs I was given zero time to move on.I had to witness them both together.I close my eyes like to fall sleepTo end this unrealityI opened my eyes againAnd I saw them kissingI doubted at firstJealousy conquered me, and I thought that I’m wrongSo I told herShe kissed me and told me it’s all in my headThere is nothing in realitySo I smoked, and I let alcohol to travel in my bodyBut I still saw them cuddlingI saw them arm in arm just a few hours after he said those words.He said he is broken to be in love with meAnd there he was, holding her in his armsJust a moment after this talkIs it psychedelic reality?or is it unreality?

Unreality was originally published in Poetry Genius on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

카지노를 즐길수있는 호텔；바카라사이트,카지노사이트,온라인카지노사이트

A Slice Of Me — Wed, 09 Oct 2024 09:58:08 GMT

A good way to get to know yourself

How automatic writing helps to discover your-true-self!

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I’ve recently started to practice automatic writing. I started after seeing on "The School of Life YouTube" channel explaining about it. Automatic writing is a technique that encourages expressing thoughts and feelings without overthinking.I try to do this every day; I choose an emotional topic and then write as fast as I can for two minutes without pausing. The goal is to uncover raw, authentic thoughts and feelings that often remain hidden. When you express yourself freely, what comes out can be quite different from what you expect.Automatic writing reveals the real thoughts and feelings we often try to hide. It’s not an exercise for those aiming to be great writers, but for anyone who wants to practice authenticity and meet the version of themselves, they might be too scared to face. Here, I share some of my automatic writings with you below.

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Words to my love

Darling, I want to tell you how much it hurt me when you went out with your friend for the entire day. It came as a surprise to me. I feel a bit jealous of how much time you spend with your friends and how much you hang out with them. You keep telling me that she’s your best friend or that they’re your family. I want to be your best friend. I want to be your family because you’re all those things to me. I got angry when I was trying to tell you all this. I guess all I needed was to hear: "It’s okay, love. I understand how you feel."I needed your validation. I needed more acknowledgment and validation. Like you telling me: "It's so human to feel this way. There's nothing wrong with it. I'm sorry if I caused that!"

How I feel today

I feel so down. Sometimes this happens when I have to do something I'm not fully comfortable with. And today, that thing is going to a social day at work. Everyone from the university is in the city for a day of socializing with other PhD students and professors. I was the one who told the organizers that they should invite everyone, not just a few people from a few groups. That's what they used to do. Now they’ve invited everyone. So, as the person who complained about this, I feel like I should be the first to be there. But I’m not.Doing this simple task of just being there and enjoying a day of not working but socializing with others feels so difficult for me today. I have zero motivation to do it, and I’m only going because I have to.

Summer love

This is how I remember it felt. He was exotic, the most attractive weirdo I had ever met. He was energetic and optimistic. He was a fighter. He was free—like a bird, a free spirit.I remember dancing in his arms, his neck so close to mine that I could feel his breath. My heart was beating fast, and I wanted to melt into his arms, to stay in that moment forever. He was free, and he helped me feel free. He saw me, and I saw him—our true selves.My summer love... the summer love that is now so far away. I can still remember the glow in his eyes when he looked at me, when he was falling in love with me, and when I knew he was in love with me. This love, this is love, this love...

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The day she got married

I feel both happy and nervous," she told me on the day she got married. Then I thought to myself:
I want to feel happy and safe the day I get married. It doesn’t have to be marriage. It could be the day I look at my partner and tell myself, this is it—this is the person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.

She got married without telling me anything. We used to tell each other every thing. Used to...
It’s a weird way to phrase it, but I guess that’s how it is now. Actually, it’s the most accurate way to phrase it. Not telling each other about the most important event in life shows how things are between us. I don’t want to fight it. I just observe and accept things as they are.

I won’t try to change anyone or myself. I’ll let her be... and let myself be.
That’s my new way of connecting. And to be honest, there’s a certain freedom in this approach.
I love her the way she is and I’m free.

스케일 안전한 카지노사이트 보증업체 먹튀검증；토토먹튀블러드

A Slice Of Me — Thu, 05 Sep 2024 21:01:53 GMT

There should be another sign that says “No Talking at All, Especially If You’re Annoying the Person Next to You.”

Trees, Denmark 2024

I’m in the back of the plane, on an aisle seat. We’re taking off. The plane tilts up, and it feels weird sitting on the back of the plane. Here, every small movement of the plane feels bigger. The engines are very loud.Two people are sitting next to me. They’re talking in a language I don’t understand. Their voices are annoying me. They’re so loud and close to my ear. They don’t stop talking. The plane is already noisy. Having more noise doesn’t help.They don’t look much older than me. One is by the window, and the other was initially sitting behind me. But when he saw the empty seat next to his friend, he moved to sit next to me.I wish I could put my headphones on and listen to some music, but I know that during takeoff, my ears will get irritated. The two people sitting next to me are incredibly annoying. Everything about them bothers me-the way they wave their hands in the air, the pitch of their voices that rises and falls, even the sound of their laughter. It all feels like nails on a chalkboard, driving me crazy. With every laugh and every word they exchange, my irritation grows. It’s like they’re purposely trying to get under my skin.It’s 8 PM, and I left work straight for the airport to escape on a weekend trip. Maybe I’m just too tired, which is why I’m so irritated by these strangers. Now, we’re flying high above the clouds, and even though it’s evening, the sky is still bright. The sun is slowly sinking towards the horizon.I wish I could just look out the window in silence, losing myself in the peaceful view. But instead, I’m stuck here in the middle of all the annoying noise that the two people next to me make.I try to focus on the view, thinking it might help me relax, but then one of the guys pulls down the window blind. Just like that, the comforting view of the sky is gone and I am trapped with their voices, which somehow seem even louder and more annoying than before.I wonder what they could possibly be talking about so intensely that keeps them so engaged. It’s like they’re having a deep conversation at a party rather than sitting on a plane surrounded by so many strangers. What could be so captivating that it blocks out everything else? they’re so wrapped up in their own world.Maybe one of them is dating the other’s ex, and they’re arguing about it. I imagine that could lead to some intense arguments-one furious, the other defensive, trying to explain himeslef. But now I see one of them is smiling, so it can’t be that.

Copenhagen, Denmark 2024

He is moving his hands in the air like he’s trying to explain something complicated, maybe some important idea in physics or math. Maybe he’s a mathematician, and the other guy just doesn’t get it-he can seem a bit clueless. I just decided one of them is smart and the other is not. I have no real reason to think like that, I just decied to imagine it this way in my head.They should have another sign here besides “No Smoking,” one that says, “No Loud Talking,” or maybe even, “No Talking at All, Especially If You’re Annoying the Person Next to You.” My ears are popping, and it’s painful. I try to distract myself by reading a few pages of my book, but it’s no use.Finally, the seatbelt sign turns off, which means my ears are going to be fine. I put on my headphones and start reading my book. It’s a book full of short stories that take me to a place far away, where the noise around me fades away.I’m listening to music louder than I usually do, trying to block out the noise around me. My ears occasionally pop from the plane’s movement, and even with the music, I can still faintly hear the two guys next to me. Occasionally, the guy beside me moves his arm, and his elbow bumps into mine. It happens so fast that I don’t feel like I can say anything, even though it’s really annoying.I’m hungry and just want to get there soon. I’m glad it’s a short flight-it’s an hour flight from Berlin to Copenhagen. But even one hour feels like a lifetime. The pilot announced we’ll be arriving shortly. The sun hasn’t fully set yet. The flight attendant tells the annoying guys next to me to open the window blind.Now I am sure they’re definitely not talking about physics. One of them waves his hand around like a fish swimming, then points his finger forward to make a strong point. The plane shakes as we land. The plane shakes as we land. I keep my headphones on, hoping we’ll be off this plane soon.The plane has just landed, but we’re still waiting for it to park. I take off my headphones and start putting them away when, out of nowhere, one of the guys next to me turns and asks, “Excuse me, do you know if we can use our credit cards in Copenhagen? The ones we use in Germany? We don’t have any Danish cash with us.”“Sure, you can. They often accept cards; it’s different from Germany,” I reply.“Thank you. Have you been there before?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.“Yes, I was there about a year and a half ago, or maybe more,” I say.“Wow, do you like the city?” he asks.“Yes, it’s my favorite city. I’d love to live there,”“Wow, the book you’re reading-I’ve read it before.” He switches topics unexpectedly.“Oh, nice. Do you know the author?” I ask.“Yes, he’s famous in our home country too,” he replies, nodding.At this point, I’m ready to get off the plane, but we still have to wait. The doors are still closed, and it feels like we’re stuck here forever. I’m surprised by the sudden conversation, especially after how annoyed I’ve been earlier.There’s a brief silence, and then one of the guys interrupts. “Do you live in Berlin?”“Yes, I do,” I reply, maybe a bit coldly because I’m not eager to continue the conversation.“We do too. Are you from the UK? Your English is so good.”“No, I’m from Iran. And I really don’t have a British accent, but thanks for the compliment about my English.”“Wow, I couldn’t tell. So did you come directly from Iran to Germany?”“No, before that I lived in Sweden and Italy.”“Wow… why did you move around so much?”“Because of my job,” I continue after a short pause, “Because of what I study, basically.”“Can I ask what you do?”“I’m a PhD in astrophysics.”“Wow… that’s amazing. You’re so sociable to be a scientist.”“Haha… yes, it’s true, some of the nerds can be socially awkward.”“It’s very impressive. We live in Berlin and came here together. We’re both from the same country and met here.” He changes the topic again.At this point, they probably mentioned their jobs, but I’ve forgotten the details now. One of them is a PhD in economics, and the other works in a bank or something. The conversation is a fast exchange of information, with no pauses between topics.“What do you do in your free time?” one of them asks, then continues without waiting for my answer, “You know, my friend is really good at dancing. He even teaches it.”“Oh really? What kind of dance?” I ask.“Salsa,” he replies, “but he’s exaggerating. I’m not a teacher yet.”

Copenhagen, Denmark 2024

The conversation then shifts to my hobbies and passions. They seem genuinely impressed and keep showing their admiration. It feels like they’re on high, and I’m struggling to keep up with their fast pace.Nearby, a guy who seems annoyed by our chatter moves to a row further away. Now I doing what these guys have done to me to someone else, annoying people. Maybe they’ve done drugs or weed and are tripping. Whatever it is, something seems off.“Are you going to meet someone here?” they ask.“Yes, an old friend from home who just moved here. She’s waiting for me at the airport, and I feel bad that she’s been waiting so long. But I don’t know why we’re not leaving the plane! This has never happened to me before!”“Oh wow… So your friend came all the way to get you from the airport? That’s so nice of her. Is she going to drive you to her place, or are you going to use public transport?”“We’re going by public transport, by bus.” I reply.Why am I answering these questions? Why are they asking me all of this? Am I crazy? I ask myself.“Do you know why it’s taking so long? This is so weird.” I say to them.“No, we don’t know either,” they both reply.In that exact moment, the door to the plane opens. One of them pulls out his phone and asks if he can take a selfie with me. I agree, and he takes the photo. I say goodbye and quickly leave the plane and the two guys who used to be so annoying.The goodbye felt so natural at the time. It was more like, “See you later, either in Copenhagen or Berlin.” I don’t know why I felt that way.I finally meet my friend at the arrivals area, and she takes me to her apartment in Copenhagen. We enjoy a lovely dinner together, catching up on old times.Before going to bed, I open the book I was reading on the plane to start a new story. The story is about three people on a plane-two men and one woman. The men are talking loudly, and from time to time, they glance at the woman, who seems annoyed by something.

As I go through the story, I’m stunned to read their conversation. It is exactly like the one I had with those two guys a few hours ago. Every detail, every word, every gesture is there, in a chapter called “The Two Annoying M en on the Plane.”

Originally published at on September 5, 2024.

에볼루션 카지노 사이드 배팅；온라인바카라

A Slice Of Me — Thu, 08 Aug 2024 10:37:32 GMT

Memories that never fade

Memories of the people I loved, tied to the sweater I once wore.

How many people do you hear talking about an ordinary activity as a source of joy in their life?

Germany 2024

We first met at a big second-hand market. By “we,” I mean me and my soft blue sweater. We were not supposed to meet because I had no intention of shopping. It all happened after lunch with Gigi in Berlin and an impulsive decision to visit the local second-hand market in front of the restaurant.Gigi was a girl I met randomly at a student party. She was standing in the yard, rolling herself a cigarette when I got closer and asked, “Hey, can I have one?” She gave me that one and started rolling another. I still vividly remember her black curly hair and glasses that were similar to Harry Potter’s. She seemed easy and open to approach. We chit-chatted a little bit and exchanged numbers to meet up later.About a month passed when we met again. It was a casual talk in a student cafe. I ordered some hot tea and she got a big bowl of lentil soup. Usually when you meet a new person the initial conversations center around your background, job, interests, relationships, and things like that. Basically information that you need to make a folder for that person in your mind. Usually, you feel connected when you find similarities and things in common, like if you both enjoy the same sport or share a passion. I guess that’s how it works for most people. But for me, it’s a bit different. I click with someone through unusual questions and weird replies. I’m talking about good weirdness, little oddness that adds a unique flavor to life, like the bit of salt you sprinkle on your food. I’m not talking about creepy weirdness that makes you want to stay away from someone, but rather the extraordinary people that who aren’t afraid to stand out from the majority and can enrich your life.This moment happened with Gigi when I asked her what she enjoys doing in life. “I really enjoy cutting salad,” she said with a smile and a glimpse of excitement in her eyes. For me, that was the moment of connection. I knew there was something special about her. How many people do you hear talking about such a simple and ordinary activity as a joy in their life? Usually, everyone tries to impress others with extraordinary responses. That’s what I liked about her, she was down to earth and genuine in her answer. There’s nothing more attractive than that in a person you’re talking to.The third time we met was at the restaurant right in front of the second-hand market. It was me, Gigi, Mary — who was visiting me at the time — and Gigi’s flatmate, Lucy. The restaurant was quite popular for its Asian cuisine, and we decided to order a variety of appetizers to share. While we waited for the food, Gigi took her BeReal. I was smiling as I sat next to Mary; we were both wearing turtleneck sweaters — mine was cream, and hers was white. In fact, both sweaters belonged to me; I just lent her one for this special lunch. Gigi and Lucy seemed very close, just as Mary and I were.Gigi took out a bag of tobacco and cigarette filters from her bag and started to roll. Now that I look back, this image of her holding a cigarette filter between her lips while handling the rolling paper and adding tobacco is definitely one of the most vivid images I have of her. After she prepared two cigarettes — one for herself and one for her flatmate — we left the restaurant. In front of the restaurant, there was a large market in the small plaza. The wind was a bit chilly, but people were still standing behind tiny tables, selling their clothes and used items.We had walked around about half of the plaza when I saw the sweater for the first time — a soft, dark blue sweater with a unique texture. It stood out and was impossible to ignore. I went closer and asked for the price. It wasn’t expensive, only 7 euros. But I didn’t need a sweater. I didn’t need to shop. I hadn’t even planned to be at that market. Yet something told me I should buy that soft, warm blue sweater with its unique texture. I couldn’t resist it. Gigi and Lucy were standing a bit farther away, smoking. I asked Mary what I should do. She told me to try it on. I wore it over my turtleneck sweater. Even though my skin wasn’t touching it, it felt so soft.Now I wanted it even more. I was hesitant, mainly because of money. I was broke at the time — so broke that any kind of unplanned spending or impulsive shopping would affect me. But this was different. I knew I wasn’t one of those people who can’t resist shopping. I don’t usually get carried away by a beautiful sweater. Shopping isn’t a frequent activity for me, and my purchases are usually planned and intentional. So, this connection with a second-hand sweater was rare. It really was. I took out the cash, paid 7 euros, and the softest dark blue sweater was mine.

Berlin, Germany 2024

That day was different. On the way back, Mary and I bought so many health care items-face masks, nail polish, and hair dye. We spent the entire day on self-care, dyeing each other’s hair. Nothing worked for my hair; it’s pure black, and it’s so difficult to color without bleaching. But Mary’s hair looked really nice. It was my first time seeing how easy it is to dye hair when you have a blonde base. The next day, I met up with some of my other friends, and I was wearing my beautiful new sweater for the first time. It felt wonderfully soft and beautiful.Little by little, I began to like my sweater even more than before. I lent it to my best friend to wear while she was staying in Berlin. It was exactly one year after I had bought it.I took the sweater with me to my new apartment, to work, to parties I was invited to, to different places I traveled to like Rome or Stockholm and even overseas to Iran. I took a selfie with it while hanging out with co-workers in a tiny village near Berlin. We all looked so happy in that photo. I was standing next to a friend from work who is now graduated and has left Berlin for the US.I wore that sweater the first time I met the love of my life. It wasn’t love at first sight. There was actually no love at all the first time we met. I met him because of Gigi. They were a couple at that time. Before meeting them that day, I had a date with myself in Berlin. I wore my soft blue sweater and went to galleries and many museums in Berlin. And in the evening I met Gigi and her boyfriend. If someone had told me that evening I would meet a person I would fall in love with a year later, I wouldn’t have believed it. Gigi and her boyfriend ended their relationship a few months after we met. Still, if someone had said I would fall for Gigi’s ex, I wouldn’t have believed that either.Life has a funny way of surprising us. I never thought I would buy that soft blue sweater when I was so broke. I certainly didn’t expect that sweater to be present in many of my important memories. I wouldn’t have imagined wearing it and meeting a friend’s partner — a friend who used to be a random person at a party from whom I asked for a cigarette. And I never would have believed I would fall in love with her ex.

Potsdam, Germany 2024

The night I kissed him, I was wearing that sweater. I didn’t know we were going to kiss; it was just a coincidence that I happened to be in my dark blue sweater. By that night, it had been eight months since Gigi left Berlin. I don’t think she will ever come back, at least not to live here. We were still friends, and we still are. But now I’m the friend who is in love with her ex, so she holds a certain distance from me.Last week, I lost the sweater on the bus. I had gone on a picnic with Gigi’s ex, and on the way back, I accidentally left it behind. I was holding both sweaters — mine and his — and somehow forgot mine on the bus. I realized it only after we got off, just as the bus left. In that moment, it felt like I had lost not just a piece of clothing, but all the memories I had created with my friends and loved ones. The sweater had vanished, along with Gigi, a friend from work who moved to the US, and all the memories of wearing my sweater with Mary, or seeing my best friend in it. All those moments were gone now.My beloved blue sweater, which had brought me closer to so many people from different parts of the world and joined me on countless adventures, is now gone. It feels strange to think about all the moments we shared. So if you ever find a warm, soft blue sweater in a second-hand market, don’t hesitate to buy it; it might change your life.

Originally published at on August 8, 2024.

Worn with Memories was originally published in Story Saturday on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

먹튀검증 【토토먹튀블러드】 먹튀 보증업체 추천 토토사이트 관련된 먹튀검증업체 사설 토토커뮤니티

A Slice Of Me — Mon, 31 Jul 2023 16:37:40 GMT

In the absence of love, fear lingers.

They say the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear. And right now, I feel very, very scared.

Photo by on

I was lying in bed, and I don’t remember when I fell asleep. Then, like magic, you appeared in my dream, entering my room gracefully. I was still asleep. You sat beside me and kissed my forehead softly before lying down next to me, holding me in your arms. When I finally opened my eyes, there you were, right beside me, and my heart was filled with mixed emotions — anger and a deep sense of belonging. Without saying a word, I got up and opened the door, motioning for you to leave.As the morning light filled my room, I woke up, realizing I had been dreaming. I grabbed my phone and saw a message from you asking if you could call. Did you appear in my dream on purpose?I chose to leave the message unopened. After getting ready for the day, I stepped out of my home. Around noon, your call came in, and I answered. You sounded apologetic, saying we hadn’t talked the other night when I called. You asked if there was something urgent I wanted to share.

Do you know why I called you that night? I asked myself. It was the end-of-term party, and everyone kept bringing you up. Each time someone mentioned your name, it stirred sadness within me. It was past midnight, and the night felt unbearable, so I left with a heavy heart.

It was pouring rain, and I started crying loudly. My tears mixed with the raindrops as my sobs echoed in the empty street. When I got home, I looked in the mirror and saw someone from a tragic novel — my makeup was smudged, my hair was wet, and my clothes were heavy with rain. The rain kept pouring, and I leaned out of the window, shouting,“F**ck you, Jack.”Then I threw myself onto my bed, buried my face in the pillow, and cried loudly.Your voice from behind the phone interrupted my thoughts, “I asked if there was something you wanted to tell me that night?”I replied, my emotions still raw, “No, I didn’t have anything specific to say; but you could have called me the next day to check…it’s been a few days.”You responded, “I’m sorry, I forgot.”It was a pattern I had grown familiar with — whenever things didn’t align with your wishes, you would say you forgot or attribute it to your as if it were beyond your control. But truly, Jack, was it really beyond your control? When we were apart, you claimed to lose focus and forget to think about me. Do you remember your birthday? I was seated in front of you, but you forgot me. I placed your gift right in front of you, hoping for a moment of excitement, but you barely paid attention, quickly diverting your focus back to your phone to continue making clubbing plans with your friends.My heart shattered, and I said, “My decision has changed; I’m not coming with you. You can go with your friends. Have fun.”You realized that I was upset, but you were so preoccupied that you didn’t understand why. Or at least pretended not to understand. It felt like you couldn’t see or hear me. At that moment, you seemed like a stranger — someone I didn’t recognize and couldn’t like anymore. I was deeply disappointed. I took the train home, crying the whole way.I responded over the phone, “I’m very angry with you. Why do I have to suffer so much, while you act like nothing affects you? The fact that you were with someone else doesn’t hurt me as much as knowing that you kept important information from me. I trusted you. You were my best friend here, and yet you couldn’t even think about me. No one has hurt me as much as you have until now. Instead of accepting responsibility and truly apologizing, you try to justify yourself with some senseless reasons. I regret ever getting to know you. It feels like all this time has been one big mistake that ruined my life. You apologized, but you weren’t truly sorry, and you didn’t understand the position you put me in. It’s so that I have to suffer this much.”“I’m really sorry and upset, and it hurts even more when you say I don’t care about you. It really hasn’t been like that. The way you talk about our relationship makes it seem like it never existed. It’s like it was all one big lie. That really hurts me. What can I do to ease your anger?” Jack replied.“Maybe I should punch you hard in the face. Or scream at you. The fact that I felt like you didn’t hear me and didn’t see my anger made me even more furious.”“It’s not like that. I am genuinely upset. I understand, and I don’t blame you. I get that you lost trust in me, and that’s why our relationship fell apart, but I don’t understand why you want to kick me out of your whole life. Am I that terrible? Where do these thoughts come from?”“From a heart that’s truly broken.”“Can we see each other?”“I don’t know. I need to think about it.”And then I hung up the phone. A part of me calmed down listening to his upset voice. Yet, on the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for finding peace in your pain.I wish everything was like a dream, and when I opened my eyes, this ridiculous nightmare would be over. I wish I could give you another chance. You would change, and my heart wouldn’t be broken. I wish I could feel more longing than anger and sadness.I am afraid of my own decisions, disappointed in the choices I made, especially in choosing you. Selecting someone else like you terrifies me the same as the possibility of being hurt again as deeply as you hurt me.They say the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear. And right now, I feel very, very scared.

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Echoes of a broken heart was originally published in My Fair Lighthouse on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.