Rainy day blues

Published: April 7, 2024 / Updated: April 7, 2024 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

I like blues. And since yesterday – I like rainy days.

The second statement came as a revelation to me. I have always, as far as I remember my grown up life, yearned for the sun and the warmth. I had never been happy on a rainy day, ever. If it’s raining, it means there is no sun, the sky is gray, I’m stuck inside or, if I do need to go somewhere, I’m likely to get wet. Yuck.

I know what you are thinking: ‘Change your attitude, girl!’. But let me tell you something – you telling this to me does not make any difference. I have to come to that conclusion myself.

Ever since I started working again, after my daughter was born, my everyday life is a constant state of rush. I rush in the morning, I rush at work, I rush in the evening. I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I got about a million things to do every given moment! Even on my days off, I cram so many things to my ‘to do’ list, that I end up exhausted at the end of it.

You get the picture, right?

Yesterday something clicked. It’d been raining since the morning and I was at home with my daughter. When we cuddled up on the couch, watching the rain through the window, I realized that I thoroughly enjoyed the moment. I did not need to rush anywhere and I just sat there, watching, having my daughter close to me. I suddenly wanted more rainy days in my life, so I could have more peaceful moments like that.

The revelation came from within, so it’s natural and acceptable to me. It’s not forced upon, even when it comes from the friends and family with the best intentions.

Talking about changing one’s attitude, you do know I love movies. Recently I had made a (conscious) decision to stick to the movies based on true stories. These I enjoy the most and I tend to learn from them. These often show important reminders about life, and I appreciate that.

‘The only power we have in this life is our perception of life’ (Brian Banks).

‘2 prisoners look out from a cell. One sees mud, the other sees stars’.

How well I understand this now.

How well Beno understood this.

‘How can you be happy if you are so poor?’ – I tried to understand it. He grew up with nothing.

‘I’m just a poor nigga’, – he used to often tell me. Yet in my eyes, he had the ability to live life, no matter how hard, to the fullest. And that made him richer than most. Still, it bugged me, as I was not able to have the same perception of life. So I kept asking him. ‘How can you smile and be happy?’.

‘If I was miserable, I would still be poor’, – he told me. He chose to be happy.

Which brings me to the following question – which one of us wants to get old? Certainly not me. Never! But listen to this: ‘One day you will also get old. If you are lucky’.

How many young ones die? Is living well into the old age so much worse than the alternative – dying young? Beno died, and he does not get to see his beautiful daughter every day. He does not get to spend precious moments with her. He gets nothing.

And that’s the attitude of gratitude, acquired on a rainy day.

If I die tonight

Published: January 7, 2024 / Updated: January 16, 2024 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

This has become part of my daily prayer. This is the reminder I tell myself late at night, stressed out about the worries of tomorrow.

I shouldn’t be, right? Tomorrow may never come and we never know what’s around the corner. I know that better than some of us. And still, worry and stress are my frequent companions.

A couple of days ago I was doing a personality test and there was a statement to which I had to choose a number on a scale from 1 to 10 (least applies to most applies). The statement read: ‘I can relax easily when I want to’. Jeez… how do I answer that? Is my daughter with me? Then no. Is she away? Who’s watching her? I can’t relax completely if she’s not with me (anything can happen at any given time, like any other mom would tell you). The question got me stressed out.

Starting with the school that my daughter will need to go to (next year, mind you) and the new apartment I’ll need to find for us (close to school, of course) to wondering if I’m meant to stay single for the rest of my life and the amount of work that awaits me the next day, my nights have become a real chaos.

‘What if I die tonight?’ – I ask myself.

And just like that I smile, I breathe out the longest breath, the weight disappears from my shoulders. I relax.

‘If I die tonight, my last thoughts will be of my daughter, who is right here next to me. Because she is the most precious in my life. If I die tonight, I can say life is beautiful, because I am here living it’.

At first I found it scary – why do I need to think about death in order to appreciate life? But is it really so wrong? Life and death are parts of the never ending cycle, and without one you can’t appreciate the other. Knowing my life can end this very moment puts my thoughts back on track.

A book I read recently made a big impact on me.

I am not a big fan of self help books. And this is not one of those books. It’s a book that dares you to be brave and say what you think. Life’s simply too short not to speak your mind.

I wanna state for the record that the author’s use of the word ‘dope’ was too much for me. I was interested in what Luvvie had to say about being brave, but I found it a bit annoying to read ‘dope’ in almost every other page of the book. Apart from that, it hit home.

To me, being ordinary is the equivalent of boring. To me, gray is the most boring color out there. To me, average is worse than the extreme of any given range.

Luvvie encourages you to be ‘too much’. If somebody calls you too (anything), it just means that the room you are in (or the audience) is too small for all (whole) of you. You just need to find a bigger room.

‘You are too clingy’, – London boy announced after I came back form London. Imagine – I had to feel some part of him at any given moment. I had to touch him to know he was real. This is how big my need to be close to him was. That rarely happens. I had the same need to touch Beno, always, anything and everything, any part of him. To me, it’s a beautiful thing. It’s who I am, it’s not too much.

I brushed off the remark. Then I quoted some pages to London boy. The book has an entire chapter on how TO BE too much (too anything and everything).

Speak your mind, speak the truth, be bold. Sure, don’t be reckless. If doing so leaves you hungry and homeless, literally, don’t do it. But if it helps somebody, including yourself, go for it.

So why hide how I feel about a man? Why not remind myself that when I’m gone, the only one remembering that I worked so hard or stressed out so much (sometimes without a reason) will be my daughter? Even now, reading her bedtime stories, she identifies me with the character that works too much. ‘Just like mama’, – she says.

‘If I die tonight’… I breathe out… and I smile.

The L word (part II)

Published: November 24, 2023 / Updated: November 24, 2023 Vilma The London story

You know how the girls do anything and everything to get ready for a date?

I did it all: I dyed, I waxed, I polished, I soaked… You name it, I did it. I was not going to London as I was (having said that, I do take pretty good everyday care of myself, I believe. But it could always be better).

‘Mommy, where are we going?’ – my daughter kept asking me, once I had told her about the trip ahead of us.

‘Where do you think we are going?’ – I wanted to keep it a secret. It was more fun that way.

‘To England’, – she said.

What? How?..

She was my daughter. She could feel London running through my veins (although she had not mastered her geography and could not figure out the difference between a city and a country). Weeks later, feeling confident in herself, she told me that London was a continent of Africa. Bless her little cotton socks.

I was so looking forward to the trip. Three years of dreaming.

‘Vilma, just keep in mind that we will not…. and I will not… and I can’t…’ – London boy was setting boundaries alright. ‘We are not walking in the park holding hands. I hope this is clear’.

I instantly adjusted my expectations from 200 to -5. ‘I can do this, I expect nothing’ was my mantra days before we were due to fly out.

I knew I had made this a very big deal for myself. I couldn’t help it. I really, genuinely adore the guy. I tried to imagine the moment we meet. I tried not to think about it. Whatever I tried, I was a mess.

‘Mama, I changed my mind. Please tell me now’ – my girl couldn’t take it anymore. We had agreed I’d tell her our destination upon boarding the plane. But she needed to know before. She did last a long time, as she asked for this once we arrived at the airport.

‘Ok. We are going to London’.

‘Oh!’ – she sounded pleasantly surprised and a bit excited. ‘It’s where London boy lives?’ – she did know more about him than I had led on. I was an open book, even to a four year old.

‘Yes’.

‘Will we get to meet him?’ – she got even more excited.

‘I don’t know. I can’t tell you’ – I told you this was fun, for both of us, I think.

The flight did not seem long. The airport transfer went as planned.

You could say that the whole way I was busy with logistics. Until we reached the 21st floor.

I believe by then I could not think, I just needed to see him.

When we located the right apartment, I asked my daughter to knock on his door.

She knocked.

The L word (part I)

Published: November 11, 2023 / Updated: November 11, 2023 Vilma The London story

I can’t concentrate, my breathing is too shallow and I smile like a fool. I think I’m in love.

I’d say it’s about damn time.

Let’s start with a fact that my daughter has a vivid imagination. Very vivid. And for a long time her only response to my any statement or question was: ‘When I lived in England… ‘. It was cute at first but then it started to annoy me a little bit. She had never lived in England. I had. She knows nothing about it.

So after her many responses of ‘when I lived in England…’ I decided to do something about it.

We we going to go to England.

And not just any part of it, but the best part – London.

When I started to put a plan in place I decided to keep the trip a secret from my daughter. Her birthday was coming up so this was going to be a part of my gift for her.

I was surprised to find out that so many people I had talked to about it have not been to London. It was hard to believe – London is just 2 hours and a bit away on the plane. There is a huge expat community over there. So many of my friends had lived there (some still do) for years. And I myself had been to London so many times! Wait… What?

And then it came to me. I have not visited London many times. I have done it only once. I’m talking about a proper visit, where I got to walk, see, eat and take pictures. That was 11 years ago.

All the other times I was simply at one of London airports, catching a connecting flight back home. Ha! And personally, when somebody says they’ve ‘been’ to a city or country, but had only seen the inside of the airport, that is the true ‘not been there’ to me.

So I felt that visiting London after many years would be good for me as well. Of course, though, it was all because of my girl – she had to see what England (and London) was all about.

My friend Karla saw straight through me:

‘This is like Homer Simpson getting a bowling ball for Marge’s birthday just because he wants it himself’, – she said in her voice message.

That is after she found out I was going to take Mia to London and we were going to FINALLY meet London boy. Not only that, we were going to stay with him. Yup, you read it right, this was happening.

For the sake of me I can’t really remember how the plan fell into place. I am not sure whether he offered to stay with him or I asked. All I knew is that we were going to London and something big was going to happen.

Here’s a gentle reminder: I’ve know the guy for almost three years and I’d done it all (mostly begged) but he never came to see me.

And now, with everything set in place, bags almost packed, all I could think about was his question:

‘So will you kiss me when you’re here?’

Out of the blue

Published: September 16, 2023 / Updated: September 16, 2023 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

I was not prepared for her question.

Our summer had passed without major ups and downs. I’d say that we had finally settled in, a bit over a year after coming back to Europe. My daughter has friends, lots of them. I made friends, too. We are happy with the way our life is. Of course, going gets tough at times, but it’s only to be expected, and we get through it.

By the time the fall came, another summer romance ended. The men that I meet are simply not what I’m looking for. And what I’m looking for remains a mystery. ‘Good luck with that’, – I can almost hear you say. And I agree – good luck to me, not knowing what I want.

I had closed all dating apps. I feel free and I feel good.

The school year has started again and the fall routine has set in. We had been blessed with peaceful moments.

Until the day when a friend came for a visit. I’d met him in Mexico around 2 years ago. Our date was pretty ordinary, and it didn’t leave extremely good or bad memories. We had kept in touch all this time checking in on each other every once in a while.

‘I’ll be in your city in September’, – he announced one day.

He travels all the time – it’s what he does. And this time he was in my neck of the woods. Of course, it’s always a pleasure to see a familiar face.

I had warned my girl that I would come to pick her up after work with a friend. I didn’t say much more, as that’s what he is, a friend. And so our walk to the kindergarten on that day was full of talk and smiles, of catching up, the conversation flowed easily.

When I saw her, playing outside, I expected her to run towards me shouting ‘My mama is here!’ just like she always does. She runs, she almost flies, with the biggest smile on her face. This time she just stood where she was and she watched. My friend was walking by my side.

When I came up to my daughter, I saw tears swell in her eyes. I saw sadness and curiosity, and I heard hope in her shaky voice: ‘Is this my daddy?’ – she asked, still staring at him.

Oh, Lord… I did not expect that. She knew well her daddy had been gone for a long time now, she knew that. How could he be alive? How could she ask that?

Without looking back at my friend, I realized the sun was just behind us while we walked, and we must have looked like (un)familiar faces to her. But still… How could her daddy possibly walk next to me?..

But to her, it seemed entirely possible. It broke my heart.

‘No, my love, this is not your daddy. It’s a friend I had mentioned to you before’, – I told her, pulling her into embrace. At that moment she seemed so unsure of herself, of her surroundings. I held her close to my chest till I was sure she was OK. And then I held her for a bit longer.

If only… If only one day a miracle like that could happen.

(not only) mother

Published: May 5, 2023 / Updated: May 5, 2023 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

One day, when my daughter reads this, she will get to know her dad. My words will paint her many a picture. My blog will tell her many a story. She will get to know him well.

She will also get to know me, her mother.

What kind of mother am I?

  • The one that stops traffic to get her daughter’s balloon.

… I told her to hold it tight. She did until a second later she didn’t. Once we turned round the corner, she lost her grip and the strong wind took it away. Shouting ‘Don’t run into the street, stay here!’ I started running after the balloon. Looking back, it was tremendously funny. At that moment, it wasn’t. She was crying, and I was chasing the god damn balloon. The cars stopped (thankfully the traffic was not that heavy), the drivers smiled and nodded in understanding, and I managed to get hold of it. I felt like a hero. She stopped crying. I carried the balloon the rest of the way home…

  • The one that asks a stranger for a tulip for her child.

… She’s been telling me for a while she only liked red and blue flowers (the courtesy of the Spider man). There were many beautiful flowers on the way to her kindergarten. Tulips were plenty as well. And my girl had to have a red one. Sure, I could have bought her one. But where is the fun in that? So we tried to find a tulip that belonged to no one, so we could just pick it up and take it home. Alas, all of them were fenced up – beautiful, but unattainable. Explaining that we always needed to ask, and take ‘no’ with the same grace, I asked an older lady pottering in her garden if she’d agree to give one rose to my daughter. ‘Only one?’, – the lady wanted to be sure. When I nodded, she asked: ‘Which one?’, this time addressing my daughter. My girl picked the biggest, most beautiful flower…

  • The one that needs kisses and cuddles more that her daughter does.

… I fear the day she no longer wants to hold my hand…

  • The one that smiles to herself when her daughter talks about her dad.

… ‘Mommy, I really want daddy’, – she says before falling asleep. ‘I know’, – I do know. ‘So he can put twins in your belly’, – she continues and I smile in the dark.

  • The one that worries.

… ‘How can I protect her from all the bad in the world?’ – I ask. ‘Unfortunately, you can’t’, – he says. ‘But teach her values and be as real as you can.’

  • The one that hopes ‘I love you’ never ends.

… ‘To infinity and back’ – is what I say. ‘To the moon… To all the houses… Always…’ – is what she says. ‘Mommy, I know everything ends. But our love will never end’…

  • The one that never learned to be patient.

… ‘You need to make patience your friend’ sounded good when I read it to her, a little girl barely 2 years old. But what looks good on paper doesn’t necessarily work, for me, in real life…

  • The one that lies sometimes.

… Before she was born I swore to myself I’d tell the truth and nothing but the truth. That was until her first tantrum. After that I believe little lies don’t hurt anybody and make life more peaceful for both of us…

  • The one that believes in her beauty.

… No matter which way you look at her, inside and out, not doubt and 100%, she really, she truly is the most beautiful girl in the whole world.

  • The one that feels grateful.

… The most blessed person on Earth, because I got her…

That’s me alright.

In a room full of strangers

Published: April 16, 2023 / Updated: April 16, 2023 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

When asked for an update, my friend Karla said: ‘I have a nanny. She comes once or twice a week. And I go to these meetings, where…’. I stopped listening as soon as I heard ‘and I go’. Me? I also go. I go places with my daughter or I don’t go at all. I don’t have a nanny.

Am I happy? Of course! Is it difficult to find new friends, make connections? Yup, it certainly is.

And that was all I needed. That update from Karla. Nope, it’s not what you think. I still don’t have a nanny (working on it, promise you), but I did get to go out (one of those rare occasions).

It doesn’t matter where I went (it was way too hot there, I was literally sweating and my face was burning. Talk about trying to make a good first impression). It doesn’t matter who was there (people from all walks of life, plus a cockroach, which I noticed half dead under the table). And it really is not relevant what we drank (I had a glass of wine in a pub. But it could have been worse). What matters is that I was alone and did not have a beautiful little girl to hide behind.

I don’t know how many of you are at ease walking into a room full of strangers and striking up a conversation, keeping up that conversation, not to bore others and not to be bored yourself. I certainly am not. And on my way there, I did want to turn around and go back home, telling myself and didn’t need any of it and the safety of my own home was much more inviting. But you don’t know me well enough if you think I give up so easily. I love meeting new people and hearing their stories. I also don’t mind sharing my own stories. The problem is how to get from the point where you enter the pub to the point where you are telling stories.

I entered the room holding tight to my glass of wine, smile plastered on my face. ‘Fake it till you make it’, – I repeated in my mind.

The six or so people who were already there all looked up. ‘Keep smiling,’ – I told myself.

As fast as I could, I lowered myself into a chair next to the closest person.

The glass safe at hand, I looked left and right, listened, and kept smiling. Once there, surrounded by others, it didn’t take long for me to join in. I listened, I talked, I even laughed. I could also feel more than one pair of eyes boring into me. It’s like the people couldn’t get enough of me, I’m not kiddin’. Conversation flowed. It went from that person to another one, and then to the third one and so on. I was finally comfortable in my own skin.

It felt good. I had a great time, and I tried really hard to forget about the cockroach. Soon enough I announced to my new friends I was about to leave. Timing was everything: being one of the first ones there made it easier for me to join in conversations; leaving early enough, when I was in the highest of spirits, allowed me to end the night just right .

With a genuine smile on my face I left. It was a good night.

Except it was not quite over yet.

‘I’m glad I met you’, – my phone flashed a message. I did take the numbers of those I talked to the most.

‘Thanks for a good company’, – a flash from a different number.

As I got ready for bed, I whispered: ‘Thank you, Karla’.

Short story

Published: March 4, 2023 / Updated: March 4, 2023 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

A couple of weeks ago.

‘You should invite me over,’– I write to him. You know that when it comes to getting what I want, I’m not the shy type.

‘Come over,’ – he agrees. Oh my god. This is finally happening.

‘Can I really come?’ – I have to make sure. I can’t afford getting excited over nothing.

‘I’ll see you in April.’– Yes! You sure will.

A few days later.

‘You will come to meet me at the airport, right? You remember the story I told you? Besides, you need to put in some effort, too.’ – I am not making the same mistake. The last time I flew over to meet a guy it turned out to be a disaster. I swore to myself to never ever fly anywhere to meet a guy again. I’ve done that one too many times. But for this guy, gosh, for him I’d do a lot. However, I learn from my mistakes. Thus the message above.

‘I’ll visit you. It will be easier for me’. – OK, cool. It will be much easier for me, too.

The next day.

‘I may just buy a ticket tonight’. – What a tease he is.

‘You are such a tease,’ –  he knows words mean nothing. He likes to play games.

‘I have no choice. You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.’ – He’s right. This feels good.

The next morning.

‘I had a dream about you. You only need to show me a picture of a ticket and I dream of you.’ – It was a beautiful dream. I tell him all about it.

‘Nice dream.’ – Hm. A bit dry, I’d say. It wasn’t ‘nice’. It was beautiful.

Later same day.

‘So are you coming over on those days that you mentioned?’ – I need to know. Let’s get this settled.

‘No, sorry.’ – Reasons follow that I don’t care to acknowledge or remember.

Pause.

‘You are not sorry. And I finally take ‘no’ for an answer.’ – I’m tired of this game. I want to delete his number. Why keep it? I want him gone from my life. But I do nothing.

If I could read the world

Published: February 10, 2023 / Updated: February 10, 2023 Vilma Life in Europe: Back Home

What were you thinking about when you were 15?

I was definitely not thinking about the problems in our society, the major issues affecting everybody in our world. Unlike Anne M. Frank, barely 15, who was writing in her diary, sometime at the beginning of the 20th century, about the sad reality of women being inferior to men. And it was not enough for her that it was unfair. She needed to know the reasons behind it and what she could do to change that.

‘When I was 15 I was probably thinking most about my then boyfriend’ – I told Kristina, after I shared Anne M. Frank’s thoughts.

‘You were lucky to have a boyfriend’.

‘Why? Who needs boyfriends?’ – and we both burst out laughing.

Beware, today I talk about books, not boyfriends.

‘My own words’ is lying on my coffee table.

This would never have been the book of my choice. But, luckily, sometimes others make choices for us.

I have always been into books, from the very young age. My dad used to read a lot, my mom still does. So whatever books were brought home from the library, they would land in my hands as well. Dad used to read lots of detective stories, including Agatha Christie, and adventure books.

However, my 3 favorite books from childhood were without a doubt the ones below:

I had read each one of them a million gazillion of times, no kidding.

Fast forward 30 or so years, I guess it‘s not surprising, that when asked to make a short presentation about myself at my new place of work less than a year ago, I talked about books, especially the last one. And how the phrase ‚Every day is like a lifetime‘ stuck with me.

‘My own words’ is a very different kind of book. I did skip some parts and I’m struggling to get past page 143, but the book hooked me with the 2 savvy advises given at the very beginning:

‘In every good marriage it helps sometimes to be a little deaf’ – doesn’t it just so!

and

‘If you really want something, no matter how hard it seems to achieve, you will stop worrying and you will get it’.

And although the latter one makes me want to contradict straight away and say that ‘really, not everything is that easy, not always we can just go for it’, deep down I know it’s true. If we really really want something, we find a way to get it done. We make it work. I’ve done it myself. And if I start with ‘but I don’t have time’ or ‘it’s so difficult’ it just means that I don’t want it enough.

The book goes on to tell the stories of women who fought for gender equality and did many other great things. Who, years before, paved the way to what we find an ordinary way of life today.

And what have I done? What have I achieved that would make a difference? But do I have to? Do I need to be yet another superwoman?

Let’s just say that thinking about it all is a very good start. Isn’t that the whole point? Whether we like the book or not, in my eyes, if it makes us think and question our life and our choices, it’s a damn good book.