Shine Like The Sun

You know how it is: you're excited to start a new job, you have the initial exhaustion and nerves and learning, and then the newness wears off and you're faced with routine. And then it's a different type of exhaustion, it's that frustration of never having the time or energy for doing things you want to get done. Suddenly the only thing you seem to have any energy for in the evenings is vegging out on the sofa watching telly that you don't even enjoy.

That's how it's been for me these past three weeks. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have a job, but being thrown back into full time work combined with tax issues, a spot of homesickness and having to run my own home have taken it out of me. And so, last Thursday, I had gotten myself into a real grump. Fortunately, I had someone there to listen and give hugs, and d'you know what? Getting it off my chest was exactly what I needed to do. I suddenly felt much lighter, and I told myself I had to stop being miserable and start being happy. So, that evening, after Chinese takeaway (comfort food does wonders), I sat down with my journal which, as mentioned a few posts back, I've been keeping especially to remind me of good times I've had. I set to work catching up on it, but not before glancing back at what I wrote during my last few weeks in Hamburg. And it took me back to a promise I made to myself, which had since been pushed to the back of my mind with all my moving and reluctance to leave Germany. I felt so surrounded by lovely people who thought highly of me, and I realised I wanted to be that person they saw me as, inside as well as out.  Not the nervous little mouse paranoid that I was a nuisance, an annoyance, and that nobody liked me, but instead the smiley, cheerful girl that the people in Germany had come to know me as. And one comment stuck out in particular: one of the most loving and selfless ladies I've ever met told me I shined like the sun, and to keep shining. And so I made my promise, I told myself I would feel like that person they described.

So, on Thursday, I told myself to stop being grumpy for no real reason (and honestly, there was no real reason, just a few little things that I was allowing to get to me) and that from now on I will remind myself to stay cheerful and grateful, and to keep repeating positive mantras. I'm in a new chapter of my life and I have lots of things to appreciate, and just because I don't have much time on my hands to do things I enjoy (reading, writing, being creative, for example) doesn't mean I can't make time. Life is good, it's high time I shine inside as well as out.

Norwich, UK, August 2015

A Window to the Soul

I've been making up stories for as long as I can remember, but I was around 12 when I realised I was a writer. My first "novels" were a ghost story and a soppy teenage romance full of cheesy lines and stereotypical characters, and far too many descriptions of hair colour. Before long, I was making lists of names for characters, maps of a Narnia-esque fantasy world and profiles for my imaginary people. But the thing is, I have this rule where I never let anyone read my work until it's finished, and aside from snippets and short stories written solely to gain feedback from my creative writing circle, I haven't ever finished anything.

But last November I made a breakthrough. I finally finished the first draft of a novel I had been working on for three years, the first novel I had good ideas for and the first time I knew I had to finish something. This determination spurred me on to begin the second draft, A few weeks ago, after spending a good six months tidying up the timeline and adding scenes that joined up the pieces of the puzzle, I started writing the third draft, this time focusing on dialogue and getting facts straight. But then the doubts that have been simmering away in the background for years finally came bubbling to the surface, throwing obstacles in my way.

Like any writer, I've had doubts before, such as writer's block when I wasn't sure where the plot was going or the cringing when I felt like my writing sounded terrible. But this time, the doubts are crippling me. At first I despaired of my dialogue, which has always been one of my weak points. But now I can see that dialogue is just a trivial symptom that I can shelve along with writer's block and cringing. The real problem has been niggling away at me since I started writing this novel, but now it has come crashing into me, and for the first time I am seriously considering abandoning all my hard work.

Because I realised this isn't like my other attempts at novels. In the past, my writing was pure fiction, such as fantasy worlds with cliché scenarios, heroes and villains and quests. But this novel isn't like that. This novel, while fiction, draws on real experiences and real feelings, because unlike teenage me, I have now lived and felt and seen. The plot and characters may be figments of my imagination, but the saying goes that the best writing comes from the heart, and I have applied that in my novel.

Despite my half-hearted attempts at toning it down (another saying is that writers should be honest and not worry about what people think), I am only too aware that my novel gives quite a raw insight into my soul. And although I want people to hear what I have to say, I'm afraid of showing who I am and afraid of how I will be judged. If it were only perfect strangers who were going to read what I've written, I probably wouldn't care. But the people who are going to read my novel include those who know and love me. And let's not be too optimistic; they may even be the only ones to read my writing.

And so I've stumbled across the writing problem that seems to be the least talked about. I have read books, blogs and Pinterest pins full of advice regarding character building, strengthening plots and improving dialogue, but aside from the quotes telling you to "be honest", "don't care about what people think" and "the best writing comes from the heart", I haven't come across many accounts from writers having to get over the crippling fear of exposing their soul to their nearest and dearest. I feel like I've come too far to give up now. I have two beta readers - a best friend and my boyfriend - waiting impatiently for me to finally let them read my work, and my family are asking me when I'm going to show them the fruits of all these years of labour.

Perhaps I will give up now, at the last hurdle. Or perhaps I will shelve it away until I stumble across it at 80 and do a Harper Lee. Or perhaps I'll just grin and bear it.

The best writing comes from the heart. Now I just have to decide whether or not I should let people see me at my best.

Norwich, UK, July 2015

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

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A Year in Hamburg

At the end of last summer, after two years of working hard to raise the money, I finally got to Germany, the country I was determined to return to after spending the best five months of my life as an Erasmus student in Erfurt, Central Germany. I had never been to Germany before Erfurt and my expectations weren't high, so you can imagine my pleasant surprise when I arrived and discovered just how awesome a country it is!

This time round, I was lucky enough to get a placement as an English language assistant at a school in Hamburg, a new part of Germany I had never visited before. I don't drive, so a city is perfect for me. It turns out I wasn't quite prepared for such a big city!

Although thrilled to be back in Germany, my impression of Hamburg was quite neutral at first. I'll be honest, I think I was just overwhelmed. The cities I was used to had a population of around 200k. I was also living with a host family for the first time, which took some getting used to. I can safely say that my hosts have looked after me very well, and there is no way my German would have improved as well as it has done without them! As for work, I got a placement at a Stadtteilschüle (a general secondary school) in Finkenwerder, which is a district in the south of Hamburg. Travel to school included a trip across the Elbe by ferry, and while I often grumbled about the 6am wake up call, I couldn't stay grumpy for long. A boat trip at dawn accompanied by such beautiful scenery is food for the soul.

So yes, I was overwhelmed at first, and a little indifferent to the city, but that indifference soon turned to wonder when I joined one of the free walking tours which start daily at 11am outside the Starbucks on Rathausmarkt (the City Hall Square). This three-hour-long trip covered everything from the beginnings of Hamburg to the aftermath of WWII, and it wasn't just history I learned that day. In those three hours, I got to know Hamburg the way you get to know a person. In other words, I discovered its identity.

Thanks to the walking tour and plenty of pavement stomping by myself (which often resulted in me getting lost), I stumbled upon quite a few haunts and favourite spots which mapped a wonderful time in Hamburg for me. Here they are, more or less in order of discovery...

Rathausmarkt, Jungfernstieg and Alster

Any visitors to Hamburg will most likely start off their trip with a look at the stunning Rathaus (town hall). You're not likely to get a good picture of the building from the square itself, but if you stand on the bridge near Jungfernstieg U-bahn station you should get a better view. Surrounding the Rathaus is a feast of architecture, shops and cafés, and just across is the Binnen-Alster, the artificial lake where the Alster river ends. Both the lake and the river itself are inspiring, especially on a sunny day, and I fully recommend a stroll around the lake, then across the Kennedy Bridge to the scenic banks of the Alster river. Be prepared for house envy and a strong desire to paint the clear colours of the Alster. Perhaps you could even stop for ice cream or a coffee.

Planten un Blomen

As mentioned, I got lost a lot, but at least I found plenty of parks, among them the most beautiful park I have ever been to. Planten un Blomen (accessible via U-bahn station St Pauli or Stephansplatz) has a lot to offer, from quiet little nooks amongst beautiful flora to rose gardens, a Japanese tea house, play areas and a huge botanical garden. For me, Planten un Blomen had something I simply cannot find in the UK. A lot of time and money has clearly been spent on it, but not only that. The park seems to be well respected, with minimal littering, vandalising and antisocial behaviour, making it a pleasure for all ages. If only every town had a park that was just a fraction as pretty and peaceful as this place!

The Elbe

This great river flows from Hamburg to Dresden and beyond, making Hamburg the important harbour city that it is. Although a walk along this riverside may not offer the best views, you will come to love the cranes of the floating docks and the coming and going of ferries, cruise liners and container ships. Many of my walks along the Elbe began at Landungsbrucken, which is also where I caught the number 62 ferry to Finkenwerder every day. Landungsbrucken is a charming set of buildings, which also neighbours the entrance to the old Elbe tunnel (which you can walk through to the other side of the river). From Landungsbrucken you can walk East towards the Portuguese Quarter for a bite to eat or a few drinks, or further on to the Elbphilarmonie and Hafen City. To the west you will find Fischmarkt, and further along either on foot or by the number 62 ferry, you will come to Neumuhlen, a quaint little corner of Hamburg with its very own beach, bars and scenic walkways with a peak into riverside gardens. The perfect destination for a sunny picnic or a get together with friends on a summer evening.

Schanzenviertel and Karolinenviertel

If you're a fan of the alternative, Sternschanze is your U-bahn stop. This was my go-to place for hippie and vintage shops, funky bars and the odd curry or falafel, and the people you'll find here are as colourful as the place itself. Don't be surprised to see punks "fishing" for money for "grass", but I can assure you they're pretty harmless. Schanze has a fun, artsy and multicultural vibe, and it's great for a spot of retail therapy.

The Christmas Markets

What's Germany without Christmas markets? Hamburg provided my first real taste of a German Christmas market, and although I knew it would be pretty special, I didn't expect it to be magical. The Rathausmarkt was converted into a winter wonderland, complete with Santa in a flying reindeer-led sleigh. The food-smells, the lights, the unique items on sale, the decorations and the displays on top of the market huts... I felt like I was five years old again. You haven't experienced German Christmas until you've had a cup of Gluhwein and a nibble of Lebkuchen at a Christmas Market.

The Reeperbahn and Fischmarkt

Of course, no review of Hamburg is complete without mention of the infamous red light district. But I'll be honest, I kept my distance throughout most of my time here. It wasn't the strip clubs and sex shops that bothered me, but the hoards of (mostly drunk, British and male) tourists everywhere you move. Otherwise, it was like any other strip of nightclubs and bars, which I've lost my taste for since discovering that nothing can live up to the nightlife in Spain. But it's not all tourists and sex shops. The Reeperbahn actually has a lot of cool bars to offer, as well as theatres and decent restaurants. When I finally did decide to have a night out on the Reeperbahn, it was with a good group of friends who knew where the best bars were, and the evening ended at the legendary Hamburger Fischmarkt. I'll be honest, I didn't know what I was expecting, but it was certainly worth it. While outside a general market was to be found, inside the fish auction hall a full on party was taking place. A local band had the place rocking, there were people having breakfast, a fischbrötchen or a cup of beer, and all were having a damn good time. This was probably one of the best experiences of my time in Hamburg, and although Fischmarkt is only open on Sunday mornings between 4am and 9:30am, it is well worth going to, even if it's just the once.

Aside from the above, I made plenty of other discoveries in Hamburg, such as Stadtpark, shopping in Altona, wandering around Eppendorf where I lived, and visiting art galleries with my hosts. There were plenty of museums and things to see, and it's a great idea to see what discounts are available for each place. But most importantly of all, my time in Hamburg was simply perfect. I found great friends, did the things I set out to do (top of the list - learn German!), learnt plenty of new things and had no problems and no stress. Perhaps someday I'll live in Germany again, but for now I remain forever grateful to Hamburg for looking after me and for the people who made it great.

It's been a fantastic year.

Hamburg, Germany, June 2015

Seeking Inspiration

I have just spent an hour trying to decide what to write for a blog post. I am still very new to blogging, and although I have lots of ideas (which is why I finally started this blog), I don't always feel like writing something from the list of topics I have prepared for myself. I'm feeling restless and in limbo at the moment, as my time in Germany is coming to an end and I'm feeling both happy and sad to be leaving. When you finally accept the fact that your time in a place is drawing to a close, sometimes you just want to get it over with.

But it has been two weeks since my last blog post, and if I mean to take this seriously, I need to keep it up, right?

So what do I write about when I don't know what to write about? The advice I come across most often for beating writer's block is to just write about anything. And the first "anything" that popped into my head was the things that inspire me.

Breakfast inspires me. There is something about mornings, the promise of a new day, sunrise, birds singing, the sound of rain or the radio playing cheerful tunes to get you in the mood for a good day. I love the versatility of breakfast, and the way it varies from home to home, country to country. I love starting my day with boiled eggs, fruit and musli, fresh bread, honey, cheese, even the occasional full English. And of course, lots and lots of tea (or a milky coffee, if no tea is available!) Breakfast with good friends, breakfast with a book, breakfast on the go, whether that be a flask of tea and some biscuits on the way to work or a takeaway coffee and a bun from a bakery in an exciting city, it's my favourite meal of the day.

Another inspiration: stationery. I'm a writer, and I have a nostalgic love of postcards and letter writing, so of course, I have an unhealthy obsession with stationery (unhealthy for my purse, at any rate!) Those notebooks waiting to be filled, the pretty writing paper longing to be sent to penpals new and old, pens of all colours and styles, notecards and postcards featuring famous paintings and vintage photography... It might seem like something trivial, but these simple pleasures are enough to brighten any day.

New discoveries, whether that be travel, or simply finding a sweet little shop or a café with just the right atmosphere, always provide fuel for my muse. I have been on many a holiday or city break that has awoken a gnawing desire to create. Many a poem has been written thanks to travel and I've found so many ideas for paintings. And, I'll admit, the chance to tell stories of my travels has been another reason for creating this blog (keep an eye out for my next post). When I'm not travelling, the postcards mentioned above provide some relief for my wanderlust, as well as scrapbooks, coins I've collected, and holiday snaps.

And if the arts can't inspire me, what can? There is nothing that makes me want to create more than seeing, reading or hearing art. Afternoons spent in art galleries or browsing DeviantArt; reading wonderful books or poetry or even just seeing bookcases full of books at home or in a bookshop; lyrics and haunting tunes that speak of emotions and stories and other times. For all its downsides, the internet sure has brought me closer to the arts, and over the years it has helped me to discover what sort of person I am. Perhaps humans can't fly or turn princes into frogs, but we can create, and that is how we make our own kind of magic.

There are so many other sparks of inspiration, things that I come across in every day life: the way the light falls through a window, certain clothes or hairstyles, trees blowing in a breeze, water, the orange-gold glisten of raindrops on a window pane at night, patterns on fabric or wallpaper, trains, certain smells, baking, holding hands with a loved one, the seaside, a lamp- or candle-lit evening snuggled up doing something relaxing or creative, clouds, crystals, beads, colour combinations, animals, positive blogs and instagram accounts, chats with best friends, favourite stories...

Considering an hour and a half ago I had no idea what to write, I sure am feeling inspired.