Simple Pleasures

Life lately has been a bit... meh. I don't like my job, I'm still having trouble finding friends in the place I moved to six months ago, and I'm constantly frustrated by tiredness and a lack of time to dedicate to things I especially enjoy (blogging among them!) But even though I'm constantly "living for the weekend" and counting down the days until the end of my job, I have to keep reminding myself to see the positives and grab the happy moments. So rather than having a rant, I thought it was time I made a list of all the little, beautiful moments I come across each day.

Pockets of sunshine:
The weather has been up and down this summer, but when it's beautiful I'm sure you can all agree how depressing it is to be cooped up in a stuffy building for eight precious, sunny hours each day. But thankfully the days are also longer, so I grab that sunshine whenever I can. In the mornings on my way to work, on the way home, and either sitting on my balcony (this is a nice novelty indeed) or in the back bedroom which gets the evening sun. It's not much, but what little I get certainly puts me in a better mood :)

Natural beauty:
I know it sounds like a bit of a cliché, but when I spend all day in a gloomy work place the beauty I see on the way to and from work or through the windows really does cheer me up and gives me a little something to wonder at each day. What with the blossom turning into every shade of rich, full green, the appearance of flowers, the way the morning sky looks on a sunny day (or even a grey day), I have enough inspiration to paint several paintings if I had the time (and half the talent) to do so.

A big cup of tea:
My post-work ritual this year so far has been to make a nice strong tea in a good sized mug (I bought several of those large Cath Kidston mugs for this very reason) and to put my feet up for half an hour (or longer, if I have time) with a good book. My go-to tea for this purpose has been Hampshire Tea, which is a blend of Assam from All About Tea in Southsea (if you're a local tea lover and you don't know about this shop yet, you need to check it out). And, as mentioned earlier, if the sun's out this ritual is that much more blissful.

Books:
I mentioned in my last post that we've finally acquired a pair of bookcases, and I've got to be honest, few material objects make me happier. I know I'm a bibliophile when just the sight of all my books together on their shelves make me feel good, seeing all those adventures I've lived and all the new stories just waiting to be discovered. And book-buying has also become quite a regular thing, although that's not so great for my bank account :o

Spinnaker Tower:
For those of you who aren't familiar with Portsmouth, Spinnaker Tower is a tall, sail-inspired landmark that can be seen from quite a way away. To me, it's a symbol of a city I grew to love when I studied at Portsmouth University, and since we've moved back to the area, I was chuffed to find that we can see the Tower from the balcony of our new apartment. It's comforting to be able to see it every day, and I always feel a tinge of nostalgia and affection. I've done so much moving around throughout my life, but Portsmouth is still one of my (many) homes.

Coffee dates:
I once said that no weekend is complete without a trip to a tea/coffee shop, and maybe a piece of cake. For some reason, my partner and I don't seem to do this as often as we used to, but it's still a pastime I love, and it's an extra special treat on the off-chance we get to do this on a week day after work. Combining tasty things, a nice atmosphere and good company is a great way to while away some minutes and have a good old catch up.

Home:
Six months after moving, I expected my home to be how I want it by now. But it turns out that "decorating" is taking longer than expected. We took on a furnished rental apartment, and while the furniture is nice, it's just not really me. Nevertheless, I've managed to combine the minimalistic vibe the furniture demands with hints of the brighter colours and art styles I enjoy. It's slowly coming together, and while I still have pictures to put up because I have yet to borrow/acquire a drill (so adult), it's finally starting to feel like my home (and when it's technically my first home, it means so much more). So it's those little objects and details that are "me" that make my home all the more lovely to spend time in, whether it's the pictures I collected over the years, little ornaments and stationery items, or the likes of bedding and cushions that are mine (I sound like a fussy old lady, hehe). As of a couple of weekends ago, I also now have my collection of crystals dotted about, and whether or not they do have special vibes or powers, the flat certainly feels more positive, and I finally feel like we've landed, like this is our home.

So if you're in a similar situation and you find yourself living for the weekend, just remind yourself of the little things :)

Hampshire, UK, June 2016

The Food of Love

I was never one for cooking. I believe in eating healthily, but despite that, cooking has always been a chore. As a child I hated being asked to help with dinner, while my brother was eager to be in the kitchen with mum, spurred on by childhood dreams of becoming a chef (he is now studying Accountancy, but cooking is still a hobby for him, as far as I'm aware). So, when I was seventeen and getting ready to head off to uni, my mum played a trick on me to make sure I could fend for myself in the big, bad world. She and the family headed out for the afternoon, leaving  me with instructions to have a spaghetti bolognese on the table by the time they came back. Sure, I knew the basics, I had had no choice but to help with dinner occasionally, but I had never cooked a meal from start to finish before. Aside from the fact that the onions were a little too al dente for our taste, the meal was a success. Seventeen year old me was brimming with domestic pride.

Let's fast-forward a few years, past the kitchen highs and lows of university where I learned to make a cracking veggie lasagne but resorted a little too often to Super Noodles, or else cooked my carrots but forgot to defrost my chicken. Like many freshers, my diet wasn't the healthiest, especially not during that time when I ate everything my mother wouldn't let me have as a child (why did I think that white bread was that good?) But a mixture of gaining a better understanding of nutrition and living with housemates who were good cooks eventually gave me a few useful strings to my bow. Yet despite a preference for a Mediterranean style of cooking (I refer you to my Spanish upbringing) and picking up a few tips and tricks along the way, I couldn't consider myself a good cook. And the main reason for this is performance anxiety.

Sure, I can cook for myself. But if I make a mistake, or something doesn't taste good, what does it matter? Better luck next time, I can learn from my mistakes. But cooking for other people, especially people who don't know me very well, is stressful. I have recently come back from a year in Hamburg, and while I picked up lots of tips and recipes from my German hosts, cooking for them was for me akin to sitting an exam or going to an interview. I dreaded it. And it's not just getting it to taste good. Things like getting everything cooked in time, cooked at the same time, and getting a meal to the table while all the components are still hot are things I'm just not very good at.

But three weeks ago I moved in with my boyfriend. I'm not a housemate any more. I'm not a lodger living with a host family. I'm not living with my parents. I am the woman of the house, and while I've been waiting to start work again (next Monday, not long!), naturally it's up to me to cook dinner while my boyfriend is at work. And it's interesting how, despite my dislike for cooking, now that I have to do it every night I'm starting to enjoy it. I don't get that stage fright with my boyfriend. I trust him not to judge and criticise. Last Sunday, while enjoying a lamb roast which I surprised myself by cooking rather well (I don't recall cooking lamb before, so you can understand me being pleased with myself) I realised that over these past three weeks I haven't put a bad meal on the table. There were one or two dishes which I considered mediocre, perhaps, but no disasters, no burnt veg, nothing horribly greasy or tasteless.

I've always had a love for food, but never a love for cooking. Until, perhaps, now. My mum's guidance hasn't gone to waste. Her love of flavour and all things Mediterranean have influenced my cooking, and I've taken that and combined it with what I've picked up from my travels and people I've  lived with, such as ways to make vegetarian foods appealing to a meat eater, and that German love of something as simple as butter to add flavour to any dish (so yummy, but so naughty for the waistline). Sure, there is bound to come a time when I make a total mess and we have to resort to a takeaway pizza, but for now I've found something out about myself that I'm quite proud of: I can cook, and I'm eager to get better at it.

Norwich, UK, July 2015

On Living the Dream

Around about ten years ago, I imagined that my life by 2015 would be quite different from what it has become. For a start, teenage me was a Francophile, and I dreamed of living in France. I imagined having a little provincial cottage, somewhere in the countryside but not too far from the city, with a flowery garden, an art room full of oil paintings and shelves upon shelves of books. I imagined being an independent woman, a successful translator or maybe, just maybe, a published author.

Of course, none of these things have happened. Francophile me turned into a Germanophile. Idealist me turned into a realist. And that independent young woman? She got a boyfriend.

I always was romantic. I couldn't wait to fall in love. But the image of me being a wife and mother always battled with the image of me being strong and independent. For a while, I saw no reason why I shouldn't have that ideal bachelorette dream for a few years and have a boyfriend. That was before I drove not one but several boyfriends up the wall by jetting off on semesters abroad and talking about my dreams of living overseas. I have been selfish, but I can't regret it. Few people have the chance to live their dreams and I was determined to take every opportunity handed to me. But when another person enters the equation, there comes a point when you have to make a compromise. And the agreement to compromise came when I realised I was finally tired of long-distance relationships.

It was about two years ago when I started to consider moving in with my partner. For a long time I had held on to that idea of having my own place, completely my own. But when I graduated university, went back to live with my parents and failed to land the dream job straight away, reality took a big bite. Today's economic situation isn't a friendly one for people looking to live alone. It's not even friendly for some couples wanting to live together. So when I finally let myself consider the possibility, I warmed to the idea. I had been with my partner long enough for it to be suitable, I knew he was secure and stable and would look after me if times were hard, and I figured it would be a great way to really get to know whether or not we are right for each other in the long run.

There was just one last thing I had to do before I took the plunge: spend a year in Germany. It was the one last selfish dream I had, the one shot at doing something by myself before I became one of a pair, and I knew I would regret it if I didn't do it. So I did it, and while at the end of my placement it hurt to tear myself away from a country I have come to love, I have now freed myself up to truly take any opportunity that comes my way, for the first time in my life.

As of two weeks ago, I am now living with my boyfriend in Norwich, UK. After we've been waiting for it for so long, the feeling hasn't really sunk in yet. It's partly because my biggest worry right now is finding a job, and job hunts tend to stop me from really enjoying things (I'm a worrier, oh dear). But little things remind me that it's finally happened, such as the objects I collected "for my home" finally making an appearance, the strange enjoyment of cooking dinner every evening (I don't usually like cooking) and the card from my family congratulating us on our first new home. Things will probably start to settle quite nicely when I finally get a job and we fall into a routine. The routine of our life.

It's not the dream I had ten years ago. I am yet to land the dream job, publish that novel still waiting to be edited and buy a pretty cottage in the countryside. But it's a dream my boyfriend and I have shared for the past two years, and we have other dreams, dreams that are slowly becoming plans. Dreams that might just become a reality, if we work hard enough.

It's enough for us, for now.

Norwich, UK, June 2015