Tuesday, December 31, 2019

2019: Year of Regress?

For as long as this decade has been going, I wrote my own "year in review". I also usually made one for work, including this year (check out rewind.youtube for a flashback of my career this year), so the decade closing in is one hell of a project for me. Usually the biggest question I have to ask myself is if it was a good or a bad year; this time, I will have to ask myself if I'm happy with the outcome of the decade, when I only have one other decade I consciously lived to compare it to. And then, there is the fact that yes, this is the fourth turn of a decade I have been alive for, and that in itself clouds the perception as, with more time passing by, positivity lasts longer, but life shorter.

Having said that, without a doubt, this decade which pretty much lasted through my entire twenties, probably could not have been better. I was not one of these people who had it very easy in their twenties. Those lucky sons of bitches that had an easy time are disguising themselves well, as I never really hear much from them. There could be two reasons: 1. they keep their secrets to success hum or 2. (the far more likely possibility) being in your twenties simply isn't that easy. I started out the new decade as a first year in uni, obviously without a clue about what life is and what I was going to do with mine. "Be a journalist" or something along the line of "working for the media" was the big idea, shared by around 95% of the people in my graduating class, none of which now do anything remotely connected to what we thought we would be doing today.

The most prominent memory of my decade is the one of crying my eyes out, unable to stop, because I simply did not know I would ever "figure it out". After uni, I was thoroughly lost. Shocker really, I'm sure nobody can relate - not! My dreams of my PhD working out, my only ever real plan at a future, failed. I wasn't behind it enough, I was the wrong choice for the candidacy and had I really tried, I would not have finished. But who knows, right? I could have shot for my plan in high school of becoming a Hollywood star, in which case I would probably be dating Harry Styles by now, obviously. I mean, who really knows? It's not like what I ended up doing today was ever an active pursuit. And how could it have been: the job didn't really exist yet. Neither did the building I work in or the team I am on.

I could go on, again, how Egypt, falling in love, getting a tech job and overcoming the various bad things that happened changed my life, but that's just the way life is: stuff happens, you learn from it, hopefully don't fall apart. Through the cracks, I see a very exciting life; three decades of unexpected, undeserved and underestimated awesomeness. This decade was milked, and everything that was possible to happen, happened. It makes me very optimistic about the future, as this coming decade will hold adventures I can't even picture now. If I want to ever become a mother, this decade will be when that will likely happen. I'll also hopefully live in much fewer countries and will hopefully start owning my first car, if it makes sense. Maybe, just maybe, at 31-year-old, I might actually stop living with roommates. And, let's pray, that whatever will happen, I get to have a dog.

This past year got me closer to it, but mainly, it just showed me that my progress was regress in some departments. After the bad things that happened in my relationships, I am fully aware why I watch my friends get married and am, myself, nowhere close to ready for that. My career which I prioritised in the 2010s has borne the fruits I wanted, but my personal life definitely suffered as a result. This year, I really only worked. I love the job, but I really did not do much else - and I regret that. This job allowed me to speak at events in seven countries, I shared a stage with Nico Rosberg and met HP . Baxxter, so complaining is ridiculous. But while traveling and working 24/7, yeah, you really cannot date or sit down to write a book, two thingsI would have quite liked to do. I progressed professionally, but I allowed it to compensate for the regress I have been making in human relationships.

The last few days I really thought about what I want in the new decade, and I suppose that is the problem: If I knew, I could pursue. But I don't. I didn't actively pursue the best things I have in my life now. I have learned my lesson and I get it: life is hard to predict. But for now a little bit of focus on processing the last decade sounds like a good idea, so I don't carry that stuff around with me. I'm pretty much exactly where I want to be at the turn of the decade, I am merely scared I will be in the same place by the turn of the next one. Progress is essential. For me more than anyone. I want a dog, a house and a new hobby, but I need more quiet, a creative breathing space and the courage to reflect. It seems easy enough to see through. So I suppose what I'm saying is... bring it on, roaring 20s. Looks like I'm ready for you!

Sunday, December 8, 2019

Travel Pro Tip #X: Duty Free Saves My Skin

“I want a job that lets me travel!” You’ve heard the sentence. And if your life has gone in any way like mine, you laugh inside every time someone says it. There were times in my life where I, too, loved traveling. Those days are definitely in the past. Also, work travel isn’t holiday. You almost never see any of the places unless you really try, and that in turn is exhausting. “Exhausting” is the only word I can think of, by the way, when thinking of any sort of air travel. But, God damn it, I live on an island, and so every time I go anywhere for work, I have to get on a plane. I hate flying so much, my two “holidays” this year so far were booked to Dorset and Scotland. As flying, airports and general travelness had taken a toll on me, I had to come up with something that would make it better. Enter my airport beauty routine: I do facials at Duty Free - FOR FREE!

Yes, you read that right. I go to Duty Free shops and, depending on time, go through their entire range. Hanging out at the airport is one of the worst things to do, and whatever you do, you always look horrible after a day of traveling - unless you do it like me and test the most expensive, extravagant beauty products. None of that is forbidden. In fact, if I really loved something, of course I’d buy it. Well, to be completely honest that’s probably a lie because I do test the whole La Prairie range which would have a combined value of almost a thousand pounds - and that is not happening. But man, is it good.

Last week, when flying to Dublin, I arrived 20 minutes before gate closure. That is enough time for my favorite routine: Lancome Absolue X Rose Cleanser, then Tonic, the eye serum and cream as well as the Absolue X light serum and day cream (or night, depending on the time, of course). After I went through it, I did a little stop at Mac to test some lipgloss and the Mac lady literally said: “You’ve got great skin, you look like you just had a facial!” I kid you not, that really happened. I mean, that whole range is about 500 dollars so I better look that way. I told her, I kind of did just have a facial. 

Sometimes, when I am super early, like on today’s flight to Warsaw, I do a little face mask as well. Not all of them are clear, so sometimes I take a little amount in my hand and apply it in the bathroom. A really nice Sisley one called Black Rose I liked a lot costs 90 pounds, so that’s actually a great value treatment right there. One time, on International Women’s Day leaving Geneva, the store assistant literally helped me apply it. “You deserve to be spoiled”, she said. If the product she was applying hadn’t been 156 pounds I would have loved to buy it just for the major sales job she did. But I don’t have that kind of money.

The truth is, without the full range of Shiseido currently on me, I would be looking rather tired right now. But the range is called Cellular Renewal and everything I applied has a combined value of over 250 pounds. Other than Clinique and Clarins, I have found most of the products worth the money though. Sure, I can’t afford them, but if I could and would apply them every day I can definitely see myself looking like JLo at 50. Until I can afford them, I will keep testing, so when my investments take off and I actually become richer I will know what to get, right away. Today’s Cellular Renewal Mask for 84 Euros will be top of the list. Thank you for saving my teint, duty frees of this world!

Sunday, December 1, 2019

4 8 15 16 23 42: How "The Island" Healed Me

Summer has gone really fast. This whole year has. I genuinely can still recreate every memory of walking along the shores of Dorset in August where I got a cottage by myself for a few days to relax. I had less than five pieces of clothing with me, only really needing a hiking outfit, yoga pants and a summery dress which I didn't end up wearing. I had tan lines where my hiking boots sat, I was, outside, for eight or nine hours every day, walking through the most stunning scenery, and I allowed some thoughts to go through my head that are usually safely stored away in my insanely busy life. And because I did, it's easy to see how they had changed when I did the same thing again in Hawaii this month. 

I have been haunted by a ghost for now three years. I tried a few things to exorcise this ghost, often claiming I did it. But I never did. This ghost is pretty private and not the subject of a public blog post but it was there almost every time I wrote a word in the last two years and a half. The ghost led my fingers to write many of the things I wrote over that time period without ever being named. But being haunted is scary, let me tell you. Having a ghost show up whenever you walk through a countryside by yourself, when you give your mind the chance to reflect and remember, makes you scared of the bliss that is relaxation, winding down, being alone. In Dorset, only a few months ago, that ghost was with me. In Hawaii, it finally left me alone for once.

Hawaii was the first time in a long time I was smiling when I was walking through these amazing places. There is no place I love being more than where fresh air, silence and the color green are the ghosts. I got off the plane in Hawaii smiling so much the airport staff laughed. There were many moments I just couldn't believe where I was. These things keep happening to me that blow all of my expectations, and my eyes didn't stay dry thinking about the fact I was on an island in the Pacific, like Jack, Kate and Hurley, which I never imagined I'd ever be lucky enough to visit. Never! And yet there I was, picking up a car to spend a week driving around that island, enjoying the bliss that is a mind free from my ghost.

Distance really is a thing, isn't it? I didn't think about anything but the amazing beauty I was seeing when I headed to my first dinner on the island. I was eating a fish taco, drinking a beer and listening to a local singer sing Hawaiian songs while a woman was dancing the hula and dolphins were frequenting the bay the restaurant was located at. I joked to the girl I had just met that if I went home the next day the trip would already have been worth it. When you fill your body with that much positivity, amazing things will happen. And it really, really was just the beginning of all the amazing things that would happen.

I met a guy the next day who ended up doing most of these amazing things with me the whole week long. He was an "island boy", so very different from my "city girl". We talked for hours - including about ghosts. Mine was in the back of my mind sometimes but the stunning adventures I was getting up to occupied the front of my mind. There were many moments I wanted to "freeze", trying to memorize colors, scents and sounds so I'd have an easier time remembering them. Some moments are just so good, no memory would ever be good enough. And therefore the ghost stayed away. The conversations I was having with this guy made me realize that the back of my mind is where the ghost belonged, nowhere near my attention. In a way, this guy became an exorcist: his years on that island had equipped him with the mindset I needed to be taught to leave the ghost somewhere. Somewhere else.

What was it about that island that was so healing? Sure thing, the stunning views, the fish taco, the company and the absence of any duties do a little magic. But above all, somewhere along that week, I recovered my self worth. My crazy life, so busy and full of things that are supposed to keep the ghosts at bay, was on hold without the solitude of an island making me think about all that had passed - and hurt - in the last three years. I could feel my heart rate returning to normal, my jaw relaxing at the sight of the rolling hills and my mind being utterly filled with gratitude instead of dark memory. I think, maybe it was time, I just never gave myself the chance to have this experience. I think that's what they call "processing feelings". I suppose I just allowed to let a bit of the "Mahalo" in. It's easy when you wake up to THIS every morning...

Saturday, November 30, 2019

If London Was A Man: A Love Letter To The City

Find a man that looks at you like Faf De Klerk looks at the Rugby World Cup, they say. Or other equally relevant comparisons. I have often thought about what I want to be to whoever loves me. I believe you can see it in someone's face, if you're loved or not. I've seen the look twice, maybe I gave a look back. When I looked at London from seat 34F on British Airways flight 993 yesterday, I realized I was giving the city the look: my eyes felt watery because it was so beautiful, I felt a sense of coming home and recognized small things from the distance that other people in the other seats ending with F wouldn't be able to see. And then it dawned on me: I'm looking for London; I'm looking for a man that makes me feel like London does. 

If London was a man, I'd marry him. I've said it a million times. London has always been my favourite city and one year after finally moving here properly, I'm still in love. Just like real love, who knows how long that will last, but one could argue it's the single best relationship I've had. But let's get real into it: what does London have that I look for in a partner? I've dated plenty of good men, yet they were Cambridge, Hamburg or Rio de Janeiro: all wonderful places I definitely loved… but nothing when compared to London. 

When I was on the plane, coming home from Berlin, I had the funniest sensation. I had taken off from Berlin thinking that I'm stupid to live in the UK. I can have Germany, for crying out loud. And Germany is hands down the better country. It's a great fit for me: people laugh about the same things as me, they know all the shows I watched as a kid and they recycle like madmen. It's a great match - on paper. Most people fancy it. But then you see London. The plane flies over Victoria Park first and you remember how you sat there in the summer in a bikini with your friend, drinking beer and eating strawberries. You see a green dot that is the building you work in. And you see the exact running course you used to take between Holland Park and Kensington Gardens. In short, you are coming home, to familiarity. And that's exactly the feeling Berlin, or any of the other men, I mean cities, can't give me.

And all the other cities are great, too. I find it hard to imagine that I will only love one man for the rest of my life once I've found one. There will be other men that tickle the fancy. But there is only one London. I walked around Hamburg this year and sincerely attempted to picture life there. It's a very easy thought: it's a great city, with more affordable housing, with a much better quality of life. I also returned to Scotland and looked at the amazing life people live up in the Highlands, how they have what I crave so much: peace, tranquility and the ability to have a dog. So if we're honest to ourselves, there will always be other cities. And men. There will always be the possibility of starting fresh with someone new, someone different. But if you have found London, the others just don't compare. 

It's precisely this notion that makes me realize what makes London such a good partner: yes, I want freedom, the outdoors and a dog, but what I want most right now is opportunity, excitement and the ability to grow and expand culturally, personally, professionally. London lets me do that. It gives me a deck of cards I can use to become the person I want to be, doesn't limit me or direct me. If it's not achievable here, it's not achievable anywhere. A partner should do exactly that, no? Enhance your life, not change it, lend support for all the things you want to achieve. And if things go wrong, help you steer the wheel towards a new idea. I've not met, or loved, a person or place other than London that has given that comfort. But ultimately, that's the goal: not do it all alone, but together. 

The last couple of years, dating a handful of pretty great men, I also found a pretty great fault in myself. I am one hundred percent not myself to anyone I've known less than ten years, never mind who I just met. It's not like I'm faking it, but I just take a long, long time to trust anyone. This ends up manifesting in me being nice enough but ultimately not the person I'd be if I was laying it all out there. Only the right person would get that pleasure, which probably isn't always a pleasure but more often than not. London, however, let's anyone be who they want to be. It makes me feel comfortable to walk past a goth gay couple, covered in tattoos from head to toe, making out in the middle of the street. In London, they feel accepted enough to be whoever they want to be. That's inspiring, and the pursuit of a relationship I'd want to be in, away from judgement or caution. Anyone uncomfortable in Hackney can try Clapham, anyone hating Whitechapel can flee to the white haven of Hammersmith. There's literally room for everyone. 

So London gives me comfort, it excites me, it's helping me grow, allows me to be myself and makes me forget all the others, but the biggest reason, well, is really the difference between love and like: I feel lucky every day to be here. I have enough in my life to make it in London, the greatest city in the world. I am one of millions of people, yet feel like I am winning the lottery. Everyone else's love story with London doesn't take away from mine and I feel London smiling at me, and me only, when I walk through the Heath. I'm aware of my privilege to call a place my home that can make me feel all this. Just like finding the love of your life, that's not a thing that happens in everyone's journey. I've not done anything to deserve this, but still receive it. And that's the feeling I am looking for in a person, too: feeling lucky to have found them. Who can explain these things? They don't seem to make much sense. But ultimately, they make us happy and whole most of the time. Like I chose London, I'd like to choose a person to look at with those eyes. But not everyone is London… 

Monday, September 30, 2019

Stress Kills: What I learned From My Mammoth Month of Travel

I never get to blog anymore... what an awful sentence. It was true about five months ago, when I was already coming to terms with the reality that my job, at least for its initial super-exciting year, was taking over my life. Hobbies, such as blogging, had to be replaced by the ones one cannot skip. There are only so and so many hours in the day, and hobbies such as yoga and reading cannot be skipped, because if I do, I die (maybe not immediately, but a lot earlier). But then came the summer, or, as I will refer to it in my 2019 review, the busiest time of my life. Even yoga and reading are now luxury. Life is a cloud of stress, appointments and responsibilities, plus all the thinking about things I would like to do. But I wouldn't be me if I didn't use this experience to draw on the silver lining: I just had to become more efficient about stress.

Before the summer, I was receiving my first few speaking assignments. I asked my manager about which ones we would say yes to, and since the first two coming in were asks from abroad she couldn't follow herself, I jumped on the chance. Then, weeks later, whoops, there are five more requests, some of which I can't even say no to (neither would I want to) and homework from myriad of other teams. Suddenly, a full time job means full time, as in all the time there is. I did weekends and late nights, fully knowing this wouldn't stay this way. It was all fun and great experience... but ultimately tiring.

I never had to do anything. But I wanted to. I loved working hard because the outcomes were great. But my body was taking note. In July, after a stressful time at work and personal things happening, my face blew up. As in, I literally woke up and my face was gone: my eyes were swollen shut, my whole face was twice the size and without a cold compression on it I could barely speak. My body had reacted to the stress. While it wasn't just the job that time, but my body literally saying "no" to an emerging personal situation, I learned something important: I cannot fool that body. It knows things. I can try to be the person that can deal with stress, but give that body something it doesn't want, and it will find a way to let you know.

In this case, my body was saying no to a reemerging relationship before I even realized I didn't want it. There are signs, and my mind is slower at picking up on them than my body. Some of them can be read if practicing mindfulness. But if you want it or not, reality will get ya. Sooner or later. Sometimes powering through is what is necessary. Then, my body usually just pauses the exhaustion for when it's ok to come out. It's like there is a certain amount of relaxing that has to happen; a process of finishing a stress response cycle. The more stress occurs, the more time is needed to finish the cycle. There is just one problem: There is no time. I don't have time to do everything I NEED to do and actually finish my stress response cycle. Thankfully, there are ways to cheat.

For me, to relax, I need to either be alone and "do nothing", so watch a show or read, listen to music, or do yoga or run. I definitely need time to be alone, otherwise I don't think, and thinking, I suppose, is what is needed to process what is going on. Lord knows I'm not good at processing. But procrastination of these relaxing activities will become a problem for me. Sure, going out for a drink or going shopping is also fun to me, but it doesn't help my stress cycle. I have found that to actually get my heartbeat back to normal, I have to become more efficient about relaxing, because I never have time to do it.

Step one: regular yoga. I take time at lunch to do it. Meetings piling up make me want to skip it sometimes but I just know that they won't be productive if I do them strained. So yoga is, and should be, a priority in the day. If I have no access to it, like in the past two weeks on the road, I can virtually watch the stress build. After a week like last week, I'd need ten hours of yoga, and that, of course, is not an option. Which brings me to step two: regular long breaks. I don't think I've ever been as stressed as now, so yesterday I checked into a spa. It took me four hours in the sauna to actually stop contracting my neck. My heartbeat was insane. A three hour nature walk this morning was the first time in a month I actually realized I wasn't clenching my teeth.

When everything happens - and with everything I just mean too much - actually saying stop is a skill. Listening to your body is not a talent, it needs to be learned. Just like speaking, and dividing by three, and the capitals of the world. But nobody taught us. Quite the contrary, with all the pressure on performance, a ticking time bomb and influences our bodies were simply not created to withstand, we have to put effort into learning. And I feel like I am in need of some more tutoring. All I know for now is that, as little as I know still, I do know when everything is too much - I just need to get better at catching the moment before I get there, and actually act accordingly. 

Wednesday, August 21, 2019

"Any Dream Will Do": How The "Joseph"-Musical Opened My Eyes

My mother had always wanted to see the musical "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat". Of course, in Germany in the 90s, the last time the show ran there, it had a different name. And Joseph, the biblical son of Jacob, had blond hair and blue eyes because: 90s. Political correctness or representation was not an issue then. But money was, for us. We dreamed about going to see musicals like Joseph dreamed about his coat. But before we could make it, the show ended there and 25 years went by before the opportunity presented itself again. This year, for six weeks only, the show was playing London Palladium. On my mother's birthday. No longer too poor to see a show, I got her a flight to London and see the show on her 66th birthday. As the show opened with the song my mother had been singing for 25 years, we both couldn't hold the tears back. The reasons for that were complex…

When I was eleven, I came to London for the first time with my separating parents. I was a child and blown away. I had never seen anything like this place and didn't understand what people were saying. London was "the world" to me and I was determined to live in it. One day, I dreamed, I'd live there. Spoiler alert: I did it. But then, with my schoolbook three sentences of English, feeling like a whole new world was opening up with the new language, couldn’t have dared to dream. No kidding, English opened up a couple doors for me. I mean, I’m not blogging in German right now, eh?

My mom and I discussed the journey it took to get there; there being HERE, grown up, steady and lucky - in London, the place I always dreamed about. Much like Joseph in the story, my way also led to Egypt. When the pyramids made up the backdrop of the London Palladium, I choked up a bit. I wouldn't have seen the connection then but in order to have the future I have now, in London above all places, those two years in Egypt were essential. Looking at the backdrop and feeling grateful for everything that part of my life enabled me to do was quite the reaction, and most likely one that not everyone in the audience would have. In the last couple of years I have learned to look back at that time in Cairo and really appreciate it which, God knows, was impossible to do while there.

Joseph did all this talking about dreaming, ya know. Not the kind of dream I had last night where I took five different buses to get to the airport this morning fearing to be late. What I heard in the song "Any Dream Will Do" was encouragement: dare to dream big. I agree that it takes courage to dream. Once the dream is there, and it doesn't come true, the only outcome is disappointment. You'd think there is no downside of dreaming and it’s regular practice for little kids. But it couldn't be; it's scary. I dreamed really big as a child. I saw myself as a Hollywood star actress winning the Oscar one day. Why not me, I thought. But dreaming is different from believing, and I forced myself to do both. I was disappointed so many times. So many of my dreams did not come true. But the ones that did are jaw-dropping.

Now, I am not a Hollywood star actress. I am also not living in the Central Valley in California where many a dream of mine was set (I know, sad!). I am also no longer a journalist which was my dream for most of my adult life. But both of these dreams evolved, while the initial one I had as a child never did: be a woman, with success of my own, in a worldly city like London; have a career that allows you to tell stories; live a life that makes you proud on your deathbed (if they don’t come up with immortality until then, that is, in which case, be rich enough to buy immortality). Granted, we are not at the end of my life, hopefully, and I have a bunch of other dreams I am currently trying to make come true. But our tears when the musical started playing were not coming from memories, but from appreciation; appreciation of a trivial thing as simple as being grateful for being able to finally see this musical which, really, is anything BUT trivial. It’s a huge blessing and our lives are full of them.

As an eleven year old in London, we also saw a musical. I remember the organisational team saying that it was expensive but my mom said that “when you’re in London, you just have to do that”. The money was invested, and we saw “RENT”. I remember nothing. I didn’t even know what it was about, didn’t understand a word. The music and dancing seemed nice though. As my mom and I were sitting in our seats at the London Palladium last week seeing “Joseph”, I remembered that. What venue was “RENT” playing at in 2001, I wondered. I had to laugh a bit when I looked up its Wikipedia page: the musical had been playing at Shaftesbury Theatre. Next to Shaftesbury Theatre, there would have had to be a construction site where they built my future office in 2001. Today, I look at that theatre from my desk every day, but neither my office, nor my company, never mind my job, existed yet. “Any dream will do,'' he said. No shit…

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Ode to Beyonce

Tonight, I was fining myself on my balcony with my flatmate after a glass of wine, singing along to Beyonce. Yes, a normal Tuesday night acknowledging our generation's biggest boss. For the first 13 years of my life, I always tried to hate what others loved, and vice versa. But I woke up, thank God! And would you look at that, I just said 13 since that was exactly the age I was when I first bought a record that Beyonce was involved in. "Survivor" by Destiny's Child. I had learned enough English to know what "child" meant in German, but I thought "Destiny" was a person, and the band was named after her daughter. And although I couldn't understand her words, I realised tonight that Beyonce influenced me with them then, without me knowing.


"Survivor" is what we were singing tonight. I can translate what I was singing age 13 today. And man, is that one easy message to get behind, right? I didn't even know then that I was one such "survivor". I didn't know what it meant to "survive" because that means there would have to be a threat to overcome, and I hadn't been threatened. Yep, cute! Not so much now. I believe I actually did survive at times, rather than just getting through things. I learned the only way, the "hard" way, that "after all of the darkness and sadness, soon comes happiness", and that "if I surround myself with positive things, I'll gain prosperity". Although it's a good song, only life can teach you just HOW good it is.

I wasn't particularly raised to be a strong woman by my family. I did go to a Catholic all-girls private school where being a girl was obviously not an issue. The premise of the school was "we can do everything a boy can" which, I know now, is incomplete: it's about doing the things men do just as well. The things I am most proud of achieving in my life are things that can compete with whatever a man can achieve, not just women. And for that, I had to be a survivor because that just isn't reality just yet. I don't want to feel good about having achieved something as a woman; I want to just achieve whatever is possible - for everyone.

Beyonce is a great example of that. She isn't just a woman, she's also also a racial minority. Both being black and a woman usually doesn't help achieving (anything!). And of course, her talent makes up for some of that. She's just a fucking great artist. But let's not talk about how great Beyonce is because everyone knows already. What is significant to me is that she has found a way, through pop music, through visuals, through fashion and through empowerment, to shape a young girl that wasn't even aware she could be influenced. At age 30, I am able to see her for her artistic achievement but I need to also acknowledge her for the change she has caused in my life when I was barely able to make my own decisions yet.


I went through the lyrics of "Survivor" and genuinely couldn't find a line I don't understand today. Shit, I've been through some bullshit in this life. And none of that made me quit. Obviously Beyonce was barely older than me at the time and probably didn't know what she was singing about either. But I'm sure she does now. She has pulled off things that aren't even feasible rationally, like making Alexandra Burke win the X-Factor, sing a rendition of "Can Yo Feel The Love Tonight?" that isn't an absolute joke in comparison to Sir Elton - and making a silly little pop song that teaches 13-year-old girls to never give up! What a lady...

Tuesday, June 11, 2019

"It Is What It Is": Even Love Island Can Teach You Things

Oh, there are so many word jokes I could make to start off this post. Anything with "cracking on" or "loyal" works. But the bottom line is, I'm just happy Love Island is back on the screen. This might be an unpopular opinion but it is my job to analyse pop culture, so even if I didn't enjoy watching it, there's no way I wouldn't. For those who simply believe Love Island is a show devoid of substance, full of superficiality and with no value to society, I say - so what? People enjoy it, and I do, too. And even in this seemingly senseless program I found lessons for myself. And actually, the show's language is to blame for that.

The first couple hasn't even hit the Hideaway yet but the tagline of this year has already been decided on. "It is what it is" is this year's sentence soon to be found on myriad Primark shirts. I hated that expression before the show and now that I see in what ridiculous context it has been absolutely staged to appear on the show, I hate it more. Joe even said "it was what it was" last night and I almost cried. No, lads, it isn't what it is. When has this sentence ever been useful?

I guess it makes sense to say "it is what it is" when you seriously couldn't care one bit less, and I would assume that applies to most people in the Love Island villa. They came for love - and fame. But mostly, for the fame. So, when Molly-Mae doesn't like them back, they are arguably more upset about the prospect of being dumped from the biggest show in the country rather than being 20, super good-looking and single. So yeah, maybe things are what they are but those who really care would never use this bullshit sentence. Maybe that's why I have never - until just now.

To be facing rejection from someone you are interested in should probably generate a different response. How are these people so chill about being turned down by someone they are interested in? It's not what it is; it's shit, and annoying, and maybe unfair - pick your adjective. Or better, consider doing something about it. The attitude of these islanders, but really of the whole earthly population, to just go "it is what it is" when things ask for a response is making me go anything but "it is what it is". It makes me want to speak to every one of them individually and tell them to step it up.

I know, I know, it's cool to be cool. We all want to seem so chill, nothing can phase us. "Me, liking you?", they might as well say, "are you crazy?" Actually expressing to somebody how interested you are in them has never been a weakness, yet that entire house says it to a camera guy only. To anyone but the person they like, it seems. And rejection doesn't phase them because, lo and behold, that could make them seem vulnerable or less in control. Funnily enough, that would maybe result in them being liked back.

For me, watching Love Island is a fun little window in how much it sucks to be young. I pity every single person entering the villa. They're so young and clueless. I know, of course, because I was even dumber and more clueless at their age. I didn't know "my type". What I know now, though, is that "the type" is a construct in their head that will impede their success at love rather than help it. Also, I cannot believe they think the type "bad boy" will actually work out for them. "Bad" is not a good word, ladies, or my branding these days is off. But maybe they will learn while they are on the show - and I'm here for it!

Thursday, June 6, 2019

Back in Hanford, CA: Do Things Ever Change?


Last Saturday, I rented a car in Santa Monica and headed North. Past Burbank and Santa Clarita, I chose to keep going. I did not stop at Magic Mountain or along any of the beautiful places along the mountains. I was heading into the Central Valley. All the cars that were driving beside me finally got off the Highway and less and less people stayed on course north. And for good reason: why would anyone rather spend their Memorial Day weekend in Bakersfield or Fresno if they could also stay south of the Grapevine? The only reason I could think of was the one I had, driving to the “city” of Hanford, where I used to live, to revisit a life I had said goodbye to over a decade ago.

As Hanford was coming closer on the GPS, I no longer needed it. I started thinking about the last time I was in there; I couldn’t drive back then and cars didn’t have GPS. My own life had also not seen a lot of progress: I didn’t have any degrees, had not lived in Cairo or worked for either Amazon or Google. Or anyone, to be exact. I was only a few weeks into having had my first drink and I had just befriended this weird-looking guy called Conor. And although this sounds like a long time, I got off on 12th Avenue, drove over to Grangeville towards a very familiar house which had a poster up on the garage reading “Welcome Back Sina! We Missed You!”

Now well over 13 years ago, I asked my friends David and Daniel’s parents for help. I was facing homelessness during my senior year and needed a place to stay for a bits. The Medinas were part of my church and had allowed me to crash their family on occasions since they met me at one of the boys’ football games. At 16, I had made a T-Shirt for my favorite Husky football player, like every Hanford West Husky had. Mine was #50, Daniel Medina, their son. Knowing them now, it makes sense they loved me, because they loved everyone who liked their kids. But objectively, them loving me made no sense, and it still doesn’t. Although I didn’t stay with them then, they helped later when I was staying up every night to talk to them on the phone in the weeks after my father’s death. Relentlessly, they said prayers for me every night and invited me to spend Christmas with their family because mine had stopped existing.

I walked into the house on Saturday, where Hot Cheetos, my favorite PopTarts and a gallon of Sunny D were waiting for me. 13 years ago, I had written down all my favorite American treats on a post-it which Momma Medina had kept. Then we sat down and had a chat. Where do you even start after ten years? I had asked myself beforehand if it would be weird. Back in the day, they had referred to me as their daughter from Germany but lots had happened since. Maybe my eventful past with their son had made it weird, I thought. But it wasn’t weird. Love of a certain kind is not affected by time or events, and that is the love I feel for them. And now evidently, the love they feel for me.

The boys and I then hit “downtown Hanford”. I had spent virtually no time there in high school because other than the Farmers Market on Thursday nights and the best ice cream shop in town, downtown Hanford had nothing to offer, much like the rest of the city. Often referred to as Cowtown rather than its actual name, Hanford had not changed much. Only me. I was also above 21 for the first time, so we hit a bar and had a beer. A good day in Hanford is incomplete without a visit to La Fiesta, the best Mexican restaurant in the city. And another highlight was waiting for me as we returned to the house: Marcus, my bestie from high school, was joining us by the pool in the backyard where we had ice cream for dessert.

naps and dogs... like wow!
The next couple of days had more of the same. And although there is nothing new in the 559, being ten years older in the same place is a different experience. I witnessed my first Hanford thunderstorm with actual rain from the porch, went back to the mall that is now more like a retail ghost town (thanks, Amazon!) and visited my first Hanford bar where I got a buzz from one rum and coke for four dollars that tasted like straight rum. Americans! First and foremost, however, I felt a sense of achievement: last time I had been there I had dreamed about and imagined being an adult, now I was one.

At no point during my high school years in Hanford did I imagine my life would go the way it did. But hasn’t it been amazing? And how lucky am I to be able to come back to those small places that shaped me and still find people who love me. I often feel torn between wanting to be a small town person, but simply not really fitting into that life. But am I really a city girl instead? Where is the balance between London and Hanford? I love both and I could see my life, ten years from now, going either direction. Coming to Hanford made me see that, whatever the size, a place to call home just has to give you this feeling. And those people. And a good burrito.  

Friday, April 19, 2019

Notre Dame: What (Should Happen) Next?

Where do you find out about the apocalypse, should it happen? Do you have news alerts? Are you on Facebook so regularly, the real breaking news reach you because you liked "CNN"? Whatever it is that informs you of bad thing happening, it definitely went off this week. No, nobody died, and no, this time no terrorism. No, it was an old building on fire. The mighty Notre Dame which survived 800 years of destruction, World Wars, Civil Wars, revolutions and earthquakes almost didn't survive people. People in charge of restoration. People who should have known better. But oh well...

Before I start complaining about how there could be a fire this destructive at a sight like this, let me get to the bottom of what really bothers me about it: how is this the biggest news story of the month? I am a huge fan of Notre Dame, one of the most beautiful buildings in the world and a cultural treasure chest that impacts lives. Yes, the beauty and significance of Notre Dame could hardly be overestimated. At the same time, I had to wonder: why is social media going nuts over this? It's a fire, and people who have actually visited Notre Dame would know it's not the first one. Within hours we thankfully learned that the building was not lost, although many treasures were, like its spire. But: is the attention this is getting justified?

Ask a historical or art lover, or a Frenchman, and the answer is probably yes. I agree that this fire is bad news but isn't this what happens when you try to keep an ancient cathedral around for centuries? I was sad to see it happening and scared this masterpiece would be lost. At the same time, I knew that probably wouldn't happen. Fires destroying parts of medieval buildings is not a new concept either. Go to anywhere in East London and you will find it a pretty great place to be despite it being completely destroyed back in the day. Let's not even talk about Berlin which was destroyed not even by fire but human beings, the much more ridiculous force of nature.

The cathedral on the Île-de-la-Cité I visited in January had only existed in that shape much less than 200 years. As far as I remember from my recent trip, I was surprised to see how little of Notre Dame was actually 800 years old. The surrounding buildings were older than most of Notre Dame. Parts being destroyed and rebuilt were literally part of the history of the building, so big deal, we will have to do it again. Of course that doesn't trivialize just how crap the news were of Notre Dame being on fire but the truth, in my eyes, is that nobody got harmed and thanks to Emmanuel Macron's bulletproof austerity plans the French reserves will be filled with eligible dough to bring back our lady, eh?

Oh, what a beautiful bridge: could this be a political issue? I sure hope so. The minute I saw the news alert, I said to my colleague that it'd be interesting to see how Macron was going to justify the insane amount of money this project will cost to the Yellow Vests at the Place de la Republique on a Friday afternoon. The reason we don't build monuments like the Notre Dame anymore is that it's too effing expensive. Sure, in the Middle Ages, when wages for church builders were optional, something like this could exist because leaders were vain, but how are they going to justify that expense today? Good thing a couple of billionaires already provided all the money.

I totally get why people are outraged. Grenfell was on fire two years ago and I don't remember seeing that amount of money anywhere, never mind from the government. This ridonculous bill will hopefully buy Notre Dame a new roof that is not like the last one. When old is destroyed, let's find a way to express what is new. The French government will be able to hire the biggest designers on this planet, they will undoubtedly have a vision for the building that is current but true to the original heritage or the building. When the Twin Towers came down, I don#t think anyone would have suppested to rebuild them. What we have instead is a new era. And I hope we can have a new era of Notre Dame. And a new era for France not too much later after that as well...


Sunday, March 31, 2019

Tatort: How A TV Show Connected Me To My Country

One of the pillars of being German is watching Tatort on Sunday nights. With over 1000 episodes over the last, I think, 40 years, Tatort isn't just a show, it's an institution. "What are you up to tonight?", for example, is a question nobody dared asking in the mid-2000s on a Sunday, when half the population would watch the the various detectives, one more German than the other, solve crimes. Except me. I never did. When Tatort reached peak popularity, I was a teenager in the States. So I knew that everyone at home watched Tatort, but I wasn't home. I never watched much TV so this whole craze passed me by - until a few weeks ago when I watched my first Tatort.

I had been home in Germany, hanging out with my friend on Sunday night. Her mother was over with her knitting tools and Tatort was about to start. She expressed she was only staying, if we watched it with her. I thought I could stay for a while, then leave. I didn't think I'd enjoy 90 minutes of a TV show; I never watch stuff that long. But I didn't leave. I needed to know how Inspector Borowski made the murderer confess. It had happened: I loved Tatort like every good German would. And while I tried to explain what I liked about it so much, I actually realized that it might be exactly that: Tatort is a German gem, a cultural phenomenon and in its presentation as German as it gets. Finally a show I can identify with.

In the last few weeks, while starting my last job, I have come to see more than ever before how much I like Germans. The German leg of my new job is by far the best. When I watch videos on YouTube, which is my job, the German ones are way better, smarter and funnier to me than the others. My German colleagues are definitely the funniest. And speaking in German, about Germany, about history, about everything we have in common just because we are all from there, has been so nice for me after all this time "away from home". We can laugh about wanting a process, we find Lothar Matthäus funny and we remember Alex K. - Superstar. I am the last person that seeks any sort of exclusivity, but I find it hard to believe that for onlookers who are not German, we would make any sense.

I can't explain why I have to genuinely laugh out loud when I watch German late night shows, but when I watch the likes of Jonathan Ross, Alan Carr or whatever their names are, the best I can do is crack a smile. Obviously, internationally Germans are not known to be very funny, but I find them way funnier than any of the British. And maybe it is the same as loving Tatort: just understanding. I understand why the German detectives act the way they do. They barley smile which isn't crazy because, of course, they're German, they eat their Butterbrot in the morning and drink their Feierabendbier after work. They crack jokes about all kinds of people, being mean is funny. They are like me. 

On a recent trip with my German team in the Bavarian Alps, the playlist was entirely German. I usually didn't enjoy a playlist like that because I would worry about those in the room not "German enough" to be able to appreciate Schlager. But that night, everyone knew the lyrics to Atemlos, those who had grown up in Germany could also sing Pur Hitmix from front to back. No German ever WANTED to learn this song by heart, but it just happens. And in that, I made a discovery that took me a few years to make: whether I want it or not, where you're from will never change. I can never not be German even if I burn my passport. I will never run late, I will never stop loving a clearly defined plan, a measurable process, a color code in documents and Tatort. The lyrics to Verdammt ich lieb' Dich can never be unlearned. Even after a decade away from the Fatherland.

Friday, March 1, 2019

Beyond The Glitz: Why The Oscars Are So Fascinating

In March 2002, I was on a ski trip with my extended family. It’s funny how you remember certain things from childhood, and not others. One of the memories from that trip is taking a hot shower after a full day of skiing, and how blissful it felt to have those cold feet thaw, the muscles relaxing and a cup of hot chocolate waiting in the living room after. One of the most vivid memories, however, was from that Sunday. It was Oscar Sunday, Whoopi Goldberg was hosting, and as I was a big fan of films and there was no school on Monday, I decided to stay up and watch the whole thing. There was something about the Academy Awards that I found very appealing. I didn’t know what that was then, but this year, I believe I realized what it was.

Sina, age 13, did not really speak English. I watched Whoopi Goldberg crack jokes on something; as in, I knew what the joke was about, but not what the joke was. She said the word “actually” a lot which I didn’t understand and couldn’t look up because I wouldn’t know how to spell it (“achshully”? “ackshelly?”). Then, I watched a few people win awards and thanking people, none of whom I’d ever heard of before (everyone seemed to be thanking a man called Weinstein but who was he?). It is a wonderful memory because I remember not knowing. We don’t really remember when life started to make sense or a certain skill was actually learned, but what I remember from that night alone in the living room in Zermatt is not knowing Hollywood, not knowing English - and not knowing achievement.

On Sunday, as I watched the Oscars Red Carpet for the first time in years, I realized how I was no longer seeing fame and pretty dresses, but people who came to be adored. Sure, they dress up and they pretend, and the whole Spiel is foreign and ridiculous to me just like to any other person. But in the moment they win, it is NOT about the dress, it is NOT about who they know. These things are important to the attendees but mostly, because most of them will lose that night. The winners, however, get one moment, 45 seconds, that they will remember for the rest of their life. Not because of their dress or because of who was in the room; because it is likely the biggest acknowledgment of their craft they will ever get. It is that knowledge that makes me have goosebumps every time I watch someone go up that stage.

Me at the Kodak Theater in 2009
It was none other but Lady Gaga who made me see that the reason I enjoy watching these people win an accolade is being a witness of an individual being recognized, seen, acknowledged. “It’s not about winning”, she said in her acceptance speech, but about "not giving up". It’s such a good feeling getting an A for a test you studied hard for, right?  Now, imagine working on a dream for your entire life, putting everything you have in it, and being told “Get to F***” more often than not. You’re used to feeling like a failure because everyone thinks you are. It is a dream, acting. Or making movies. Or being creative in any way, shape of form. People think that’s a waste of time. And then suddenly, for some reason, you find yourself on a stage, the whole world watching, because the best in your craft believe that your persistence was worth THEIR time.

In my life, there was also much of that. I've tried exceptionally hard my entire life and when something good happens, I do usually feel like I deserve it (as much as anyone deserves anything which I generally think is a ridiculous concept). For most of my childhood I dreamed about winning an Oscar myself because it was the only time I had seen acknowledgement to this extent. Today, I know acknowledgement is what I'm after, not the Oscar. I want to be recognized by my peers as being the best in my trade. For that, of course, I will have to become the best first. But when the day comes, and not if, I will remember those who got me there. And if I have any say in the how it will happen, I will most likely wear Chanel.

Thursday, February 28, 2019

Getting Over It: When You Realize Your Heart Has Un-Broken

I have been working very hard on awareness this year. About a year ago, I started daily meditation. One of the first times I did it, I had a panic attack. In the attempt to silence my thought, I ended up with the thought of a certain person no longer being in my life. That person had caused emotional pain it almost hurt physically, and yet, there I was, freaking out about the prospect of no longer having him in my life. To cultivate this thought should not have caused a negative reaction; it should have been a natural consequence of his treatment. But it wasn't. For two years. I was surprised that my body reacted that way to the this essential reality, and it took me another year to make my body stop reacting that way. As of this week, my body stopped.

In my life, there have only been three men that have shaped me. I wasn’t in a relationship with two of them, at least not a conventional one in which they would be referred to as “my boyfriend”, but they opened up some feelings inside of me - and then broke my heart. Most of them, more than once. In the midst of all my feelings for these guys, I found it hard to imagine that one day I wouldn’t feel that way. I used to say I cannot get someone out of my heart who was in there once. But, of course, you get older, and you realize that many things you said when you were younger were just a load of bull. And so was that saying…

This month, I talked to the guy who caused my meditation panic attack once again - and that dreaded thought was becoming reality. While he tried numerous times to block me, in the end, I always knew he'd be back. He’s been the face of the last two years of my life although he was barely in it. He would show up when it was convenient, play with my head and leave destruction, never any kind of productivity or positivity. Since he was a troubled person, he got away with everything. All the times he was horrible, I was too worried, too attached, too weak to let go. The job needed to be done eventually, though. I deferred the inevitable until I wasn’t facing the end of my job, my best friend moving abroad, medical emergencies and another “starting over”-kind of scenario. I deferred until now.

In our discussion, he was doing nothing different than he usually was. He was selfish, but he always was. He didn’t consider my feelings, but he never did. He decided to say whatever he orchestrated in his head as the only thing that could be true, but he has done that since day one. The only difference? I stopped caring. I was reading the messages differently, with realistic evaluation. I had to scratch my head: did I really allow him to be like this for two years? We spoke about not seeing each other anymore, and the panic attack wasn't coming. I was indifferent. I was calm. I went to a meeting right after and forgot all about it. I can’t even tell you how good it feels to not feel what I used to feel. Young Sina was wrong: People we allow into our hearts can lose their place - and he now has.

Months of bad treatment left a mark of course, but until this month, that mark was usually left on my self-worth. Getting hired by the most sought after company in the world restored some of that. The next step came quietly; I didn’t even realize I no longer cared about this guy. I still want him to be happy, I still would always love to one day see him again and give him a friendly hug, but the day has finally come where I am seeing what all my friends have told me for two years: I’m too good for this shit! I think even he would agree with that. I would like to know when the moment happened I got over him, but I just know the moment I realized I was over him.

What have I learned? Loving or caring for a person is good. I don’t regret being a person that cares so deeply for someone I become a target of exploitation. But, and that’s the fortunate part, I woke up. Three times now. These guys didn’t leave my heart because life happened, because we grew apart or because I made any mistakes; no, they just blew it! With the exception of my ex-boyfriend who is a phenomenal guy, they simply did not deserve to have someone in their life like me who puts them first. I really, really did. And nobody should. So the message is clear: do not waste time on those who don't see your worth. See you worth. And insist others do, too. Caring about someone who doesn’t care about you is a weakness; do not do it. And finally, nobody is in that heart for good; they have to continuously earn it. I have now beaten heartbreak three times and feel better for it. My heart is still as big as it was before and I don't regret caring about those people; I just feel bad for them they lost me.

Tuesday, January 29, 2019

"Things Never Change": How Turning 30 Showed Me They Do


To everyone who believes people never change I would like to
show this picture of me at 21 in Edinburgh. Ergh!
It is official: I am 30, and being a writer and human being, it has not passed me that it is a rather big age. My friends are rushing to the altar like it was genuinely impossible to marry after 30. This milestone seems scary to so many and so far it’s not been clear to me why. Is it that we, for the first time ever, numerically feel like there is no longer a connection to “being young“? After all, a third of the planet is now younger than me. "I still feel like I’m 21”, you hear a lot, “how can I suddenly be 30?” People speak about change so much but how have we changed? I used the impending doom on January 25 to really look back: how have I changed? Sure, I’m wiser and better, bla bla… but I actually saw some changes that at 21 I didn’t think possible.

1. Cats are better than dogs
That’s right, I was a cat person my entire life. “Entire life”? Hold the phone, of course not. If a lifetime is 21 years, then maybe. But I have become somewhat of a dog addict in my twenties, starting the decade firmly believing that I will end it with an engagement and a couple of cats (that’s right, yours truly didn’t even think I’d be married by 30 a decade ago…) As a child, I had a cat and a huge collection of cat cut-outs from magazines, books, videos. I even wrote a “cat handbook” in the third grade. One thing that hasn’t changed since I got the typewriter in first grade was how much I wrote. But my feline obsession was replaced with a canine one.

2. Oh my Gosh!
At 21, I still found it hard to say “oh my God” because I was religious. Fine, by that time I had dropped the celibacy and abstinence from alcohol but I still believed in the afterlife, went to church every Sunday and had problems speaking the Lord’s name in vain. That is no longer a sentiment although I wouldn’t say I have dropped my spiritual consciousness. However, I believed at 21 that I would go through life as a Christian, raise Christian kids and try to join heaven when it’s all over. Today, at 30, I’m neither Christian, not raising kids any particular way if I even have any and just hope I’ll peacefully fall asleep to whatever comes after life, even if that’s nothing. Doesn’t sound too bad, actually…

3. Alcohol, no thanks!
I didn’t drink until I was 20, and most of that decision wasn’t actually connected to faith. I am very grateful I waited with consuming an addictive substance until I was at least a little bit old enough to not just fall for the constant pleasure it seemed to be providing. All the other substances stayed taboo for me even when I drank. These days, one could almost say, I already quit drinking. Yes, alcohol provided some good times, in the last year it also provided quite some anxiety, though. Anxiety is one other thing I didn’t know at 21 but am quite familiar with today. I look forward to drinking much, much less in my thirties.

4. Why do gay people need “marriage”?
I wish I could blame my faith on my opposition to same-sex marriage when I was younger. At no point in my life I shared the belief that gay people could “pray the gay away” and that there was any sort of choice involved. I didn’t get why they needed to have “marriage” though. It didn’t matter to me that the Bible said “man and woman”, even at 21, I just likened the issue to the prominent opinion of “why do vegans have to have sausages, why don’t they just call them plips, or craycorn?” I thought that civil union was the same and didn’t get the craze. Until I one day asked myself a question: “Why shouldnt’t gay people be married?” I couldn’t answer it. And such was the end of my opposition…

5. Once a blonde, always a blonde
I had every hair color in the book. When I had pink hair, I was tempted to forsake the blonde I kept going back to. I didn’t even really know my real hair color for many years. Then, about two years ago, I wanted to literally go “back to the roots” - until they grew out and revealed the horror: my natural hair color was grey. Although I thought I would stick with the platinum blonde until my dying day at 21, I am typing this as a grey-haired lady that has some blonde highlights only to conceal the nightmare near my forehead. If I could, I’d be anything but blonde.

6. Progress is inevitable, right?
I studied politics and wanted to grow old doing “something with politics”. The dream of being a political correspondent was a ridiculous one, I would not have enjoyed that very much at all. The reason for that is possibly reality; 21-year-old me thought that the world would inevitably evolve into a better version of itself. One Brexit, dozens of populist heads of state and a plastic-polluted planet later I realize that I was simply naive; nobody cares about progress. People quite literally want to regress into what they call “easier times”. The reason for this is an epidemic of ignorance. People of this planet have never learned how not to be themselves. Until they learn to make decisions for everyone, not just themselves, politics won’t bring us better things. And I won’t be a political correspondent in my thirties.

7. “I’m too old for this shit!”
For the next point, I could go back to all the way when I was nine. I went on thrill rides that were both high and fast, screaming “yippie” when I felt my stomach tingle. At 30, my stomach still tingles - because my munchies are about to come back up. I am now terrified of heights and a thrill ride longer than 30 seconds will probably result in some vomit. I tried to beat this three times in the last year, each time going on those merry go rounds way up in the sky. Once with Sarah in Cambridge, under the influence. Another time, even more screaming was involved, with a guy on a second date whose hand I destroyed in the process just before Christmas although the ride featured beautiful views of Big Ben. And lastly, at Clapham Winterville, where I went way ahead of myself and went on the thrill ride version. Katie next to me was screaming “we are going to die” and I realized: "I’m too old for this shit!”

8. Wait, I am not invincible?

At 30, in London... finally!
Part of why deteriorating into old age is so horrible is the realization that the end is near. Well, maybe not around the corner, but when I look at how fast lines started appearing all over my face, I get the shivers. I cannot run up four stories of stairs anymore and when I see children on a playground I am amazed about how they seem to not know how to walk, but run, everywhere. Hence, I had to change my diet, start working out and drink way less just to be in as good of a shape as I was at 21, with no effort. Every bite of chocolate now has repercussions, and it requires mindfulness to stay awesome. At 21, I ate candy every day; today, I don’t even like candy.

Monday, January 28, 2019

All I Want For Christmas Is... A New Job!

I remember well when an Amazon recruiter reached out to me saying the business was looking for my expertise. I thought he was trying to get me to work in a call center, all while pretending that the name of the company would make any crap job sound lucrative. Why would a tech company want a journalist, I thought. I did, however, obviously take the chance to interview. A little further down the line, I actually started wanting the job. Did they say they were going to use technology to bring information to people? Like, with that thing Alexa I had never heard of. Fast forward six interviews and I became Alexa's patron, mother, buddy or teacher, you could say. Getting the job at Amazon was one of the happiest days of my life. The years of weird jobs, gaining experience in order to one day get the shot at the big guns, were over. The glass of prosecco tasted really well that day before Christmas two years ago.

But yeah, it did not last. Every day at that job was fun, everyone I met in the whole company was an incredible person and I loved working with them. Like many other jobs, at some point, the job didn't fit the expectation that was set in the beginning anymore. It's easy to talk about it now because my job no longer exists and the silver linings are easy to see. While we all loved the work and the device, the future that we had anticipated was clearly not going to happen. I knew I'd be fine. At the time though, it felt like a funeral. The decisions some of us made to leave was a good one for every single person that made it and the business, too. Yet, for a while, I mourned the loss of what I thought I would help make a historical device. 

I was never unhappy at Amazon. Quite the contrary, I loved my job. My last day was plagued by an upside down frown, yet most people told me the same: "you never know, Sina, something bigger is waiting wink wink". The job I had accepted wasn't going to exist forever. So I thought I was doing the right thing by taking a chance in life, again. It's my absolute conviction that very few people would have left a full-time position at Amazon to find something "better". Sounds stupid even to me. I joked with my flatmates that I'll just go to Google. The idea wasn't absurd. Without telling my colleagues about this joke, they sent me a parting gift a few weeks after I left. They had wrapped a book and some German candies for me. The book was called "How To Become A YouTube Superstar". My colleagues wanted to encourage me to become a social media influencer. Considering what I did instead makes me feel fuzzy inside.

In Germany, we celebrate Christmas on the 24th of December. As the UK doesn't, my Google recruiter called me on Christmas to tell me I had gotten the job I wanted really bad at Google. Talk about a great present! It wasn't going too badly for me in the interviews. I had interviewed with three other companies, waiting for the decisions. Just like back in the day, when I was waiting to hear back from universities, the day the first "yes" arrived, it was more the shock and excitement of knowing something will happen, this time the end of unemployment. Then I realized I had just received an offer for a badass job I wanted really bad. It was also a huge upgrade from my Amazon job. I accepted before hearing back from all others.

Of course, getting a job at a tech giant feels great. The kind of feeling you think will change your life. Like last time, I was ready for the change. My first action in London was to buy a bottle of champagne. While cheering with my friends to a successful new year, I pondered what I was proud of: getting a job at Google? Getting a job? No longer being unemployed? The honest to God answer is another. Of course, I'm excited for this job, a new chapter, the work I'll be doing. But mainly, I am proud of myself for daring to dream bigger when I was already exceeding the expectations I had set for myself. I left Amazon into uncertainty, merely hoping I will find something better. Yet, trust me, walking away from a great job with a yummy share package attached was not an easy decision. Most days, I doubted I'd be that lucky twice. But deep down, I felt this day, December 24, 2018 would come. For the first time in my life, I understood the Hollywood stars talking about persistence in their Oscar speeches. I get that now... 

Thursday, January 24, 2019

When Does A New Place Become "Home"?

The first night in a new house is a funny one. I have moved 22 times in my life (thank you, crazy Egyptian landlords) and spent "the first night in a new bed" over a hundred times. But it's different when you know that the four walls that surround you will be "home" from now on. You feel anything but home and find it hard to believe that in a few short weeks, you'll know nothing else. Last night, I went to a new bed once again. And it is mine from now on. When I'm away, I will miss that bed. I will miss the new closet that holds all my things that I hated just yesterday. Soon the ridiculous road noise will not bother me anymore. And finally, the strangers in the hallway will hopefully become friends. But when does it happen: when does "a room" become "home"?

I have lived in a fair share of dumps. For the majority of my adult life living alone, I had no money whatsoever. Location, furniture, amenities and flatmate suitability were criteria I had to forego if the price was right. The most drastic experiences were places in Egypt where I shared the rooms with various insects and a pile of dust at all times because I couldn't afford a place with sealed windows (and in case you think it doesn't get cold in Egypt, I curse you for your ignorance). Coming from a warm family home growing up, where mother sets the heating timer on extra hours in the winter, moving out was an experience of realizing privilege: this warmth was normality until a snow storm hit Scotland and my room there had a crack in the window. I slept with four coats, gloves and a beanie.

Yet, the day that I left each of these places, I stopped in the doorway and looked at the times that I've had there. Once, I got evicted by a crazy Egyptian landlady after just three weeks because some rich folks had offered her a better rent price for our abode. In those three weeks I had managed to put up my fairy lights, scent the place with my candles and, most importantly, get excited about finally having a refuge from the crazy. Every time I leave a place, it hurts a little. I often compare the experience to creating a horcrux, just in positive: if you've done or experienced something fantastic next to an object, it will assume some of your soul. After living happily in a bunch of rooms, the rooms take mine.

So where does it happen? I walked into a barren room last night without any charm. The previous tenant had taken all her character bits (except for a bra and an advent calendar behind the dresser) and left an empty shell for me to fill with my stuff. I took a few minutes to deliberate where each piece of furniture should go. This morning I already hated the arrangement; I had made the wrong decision. Then I started filling the room with my fairy lights, candle holders, clothes and things to survive. As the vicious mess slowly became an organized one, I felt that it would be hard to make this space feel like my last one in Cambridge (no place will ever be this good). It will just have to become another one.

Once everything is in the place I have designated for it, new habits can start. I will no longer reach for my brush in the drawer of my desk because I no longer have a desk. This habit seems wrong at first because I'm used to having my brush in the drawer. And hence, the first few days will not feel like home because, at home, my brush used to be in the drawer. But a brush will find a new home. So will all of my other stuff. I no longer have an ensuite, so I now have to grab a robe at night to go pee. That obviously doesn't feel like home. Being naked does, not thinking about who's waiting for the shower to be free, having a brush in the shower. Once these habits have changed, I'm home. The good news is: that happens fairly quickly.