How Quarantine Forced Me To Face My Childhood

Quarantine has imposed a situation on me, unsurprisingly, that I didn't think I'd have to face again: I moved back into my teenage room. Vaalserquartier, a village near Aachen in Germany, is surrounded by hills in three countries: the Dutch border is 20 yards from my childhood home, Belgium three miles maybe, if that. Surrounded by beautiful scenery, it is the perfect place for some hillwalking as your "daily exercise" and a long bike ride through three countries which sounds as amazing as it is. Given the circumstances a house near the countryside is a blessing nobody could have foreseen - but there is also the reality that I spent my teens in this room, this house, this place, promising myself to go away and never come back... whoops!

When you grow up in a world like mine, it's hard to innately acknowledge how fortunate you are. In my world growing up, I was not wealthy which is insane. My mom used to to point at the window right next to me now which was divided into four smaller windows. "If everyone in the world was on this window", she would say, "only one of the four smaller window parts would have rich people on it." She made me guess which part of the window I thought I was on. I guessed wrong of course. I had no idea I was on the "rich" part of the window, or the world, or that my mom was grossly exaggerating that one fourth of the people on the planet would be as lucky as me when it comes to growing up. But I didn't get that then. I was young. I thought what's out there must be better.

Of course I wasn't wrong. I saw the movies, at the time I thought it was the USA that had the better life because that's what the movies taught us in the 90s. I didn't know the places I would go to from here would not have hills, and green parks or even freedom of speech or democracy; blessings I didn't even grasp then. The things that are the most amazing about growing up in this town were things I had no idea were not the same way for everyone. Especially space was not a commodity I ever thought would become expensive, or even unattainable. I would ride my bike to a lake near my house most nights, watch the sunset and read on a pier overlooking the rolling hills surrounding the village. I had no idea that was special, not normal. 

Today, I sat on that pier again. I rode the same bike down there I bought age 14 to make it to my piano lessons not far from there. I had an mp3-player in the early 2000s which was the newest craze. It allowed me to upload 15 songs I could then play anywhere. Kelly Clarkson had written a song that I thought she had written for me: "Breakaway". It was about a small town girl that wanted to "fly away" and do bigger things. She also didn't want to forget where she came from, but she definitely wanted to experience, see more, do better. I obviously thought that was me. Wanting "more". As I sat there today, listening to the song to take me back and reflect, I tried to understand what "more" entailed.

This stupid pop song you have to be 14 to love literally makes me cry. That is 100% how I felt every day of my teenage life. I just did not believe that Vaalserquartier, the view of the village on the other hill, was what was there for me. Kelly names all the things she wants to do, and I have literally done all of them, including flying in a freaking private jet, and who can say that they have? And here I am, still sitting under the same damn tree 15 years later, hating myself for not seeing that perfection was there all along. Maybe it wasn't Vaalserquartier that was enough for me but the thirst for "more" was never quenched for me by breaking away. In fact, what I probably miss most in life is what I had in the very beginning of it. And when I did, I didn't want it.

What still rings true is the that breaking away and making a change takes more courage than I was aware I had. That is another thing I thought was normal. But it fucking isn't. Getting on a plane  to leave your parents at age 16 to go live abroad for a year might be something a lot of people do but I thought it was my destiny, everything I was born to do: leaving. And now that it has actually become a problem, because I leave all the time and can't stay with anyone or anywhere, I see the mistakes I set myself up for. Not appreciating that looking at a countryside sunset every night is not in any way normal, but a blessing and something  that speaks to my heart, is probably the only regret of my life: I missed the chance to love that experience for years. But then again I might only love it that much for exactly that reason: because it's an experience from the very beginning, not the break away.

I don't regret leaving at all. What I regret is believing, in my teenage, spoiled white kid mind, that I could do better. I wasn't wrong in many ways - but I was in others. I upgraded in experiences, also part of a privilege hard to fathom, I traveled to all of the places small town Kelly envisioned and I definitely make more money now. But I don't have a home. At least nothing that comes at all close to the one I was raised in. I made the change, and changed everything, even the good things. And those things are now missing. But today it's harder to change, and getting those things back is now out of my hands. Life is a vicious cycle of desire for things we don't have. But if quarantine taught me one thing it's that the pursuit of things we do not have leads to misery. The only thing that matters even a little bit is what is already there. Happiness comes from loving the things we have at the same time we have them. 

The West In Crisis: Are "Human Rights" Our Right?

What's the worst thing about a global pandemic? No doubt at all for me: the restrictions of freedom. I know what I am talking about, having actually lived in a country that doesn't have freedom. Now we all know. Sure, we still have democracy but democratically elected restrictions on freedom are still enately not democratic and sure as hell do not prevent Jane and John Doe from the countryside thinking would have handled everything way better. I miss the pub as much as the next person does but the pivotal question I've been asking myself has been: are we entitled to freedom? It isn't friggin' happening right now, huh? But since it's us, the Free World, what is our right to DEMAND freedom to come back?

If you don't know what I mean with human rights, this blog will be questionable to you. Of course, there is a formalised document that states what every human being on this planet "has a right to" having: a place to sleep, freedom of speech and food to eat, to name a few. My country's Grundgesetz pretty much outlaws, in theory, the restrictions on our freedom right now, of course, with the right for everyone's safety taking precedence. But we know that's hardly the case for everyone in the world. So, in these times where us spoiled Westeners are losing all the the things we are used to having, and according to the UN are entitled to, how does the meaning of the word "right" change? The reality is that the moment I enforce myself having the rights I am told to have a right to, I am taking others ability to have the same (which, of course, basically is the same as always).

If I now want my freedom, for example to leave my house as I please, with whoever I please, as granted by all the dead people who made the laws of my country, I get fined (and, well, endanger my peers). Without the threat of a deadly disease and a governmental structure that has kept the country wealthy and peaceful for over 70 years now, I'd scratch my head, too. But someone who knows the situation better than me has asked me to, so I do it, the sheep that I am. My people chose Angela and her peers, I know the lady believes in the rule of law and science and that's all I need to know about her advise being better than my neighbors'. That is our system: you elect other people to make the big decision for us. It happens every day and we don't feel our freedom is at stake because yes, we are THAT spoiled. It makes zero sense to doubt this functioning system in the face of this crisis. Now things are unpleasant so it must be the government's fault. So what do we do: COMPLAIN! Yay!  Why now, especially?

Because we are affected, finally. Our rainbows are gone. And we want them back now. Of course, nobody really understands even the basics of molecular biology but we do know we want the pub back.  Fortunately, we have the big World Wide Web to express how much better we understand the Coronavirus than others. Unfortunately, the sheer amount of perceived intelligence in people is stupefying. Everyone has an opinion on the Coronavirus right now when opinions are completely redundant in science. If science is subjective, what's the point of fact then? If people believe they have a right to their human rights, that is a matter of opinion; but whether their subsequent action of carrying on with life, having parties, defying the state orders, is going to lead to the end of people's lives is no longer an opinion that needs believers, it is a basic fact. We cannot maintain our freedom as usual if we want our hands clean of causing other people's suffering (and really, we were already not really able to).

The bottom line is that we perceive human rights as something we have now lost, when most people on Earth never had it. Here we are mourning jobs lost, freedoms taken and even the food sometimes not being on the table when we were incredibly lucky to have had these things in the first place. The West is in a state of mourning while others have accepted. The terminology of the UN, calling these things Human Rights, so something we are entitled to, contributes to people's perception there is a choice of action available to them. As a result, we end up with people interpreting the right to decide as a right to reject a vaccine when, well, that's dangerous. It won't and shouldn't be a choice. There is fact and there is lie. Choose one. Believing vaccines are bad for the planet makes you scientifically proven wrong. What you feel about it is irrelevant. Yet, that's the right people claim. You can see where it will not get us out of this mess if everyone just claims their freedom as their blank check to be stupid (could bring up the people drinking Lysol last week, but let's just... move on).

We have to believe in the system, democracy, which should have a proven track record of attempting to acquire human rights for all, but no entity in the world can promise us human rights, not even Antonio Guterres (actually, especially not Antonio Guterres). I want every person in the world to have the rights outlined by the UN as human rights, yet, it isn't working is it? What's clear already is that the terminology is faulty. "Rights" can be acquired, I currently have no such option. Sure, I am entitled to my freedom, the UN says so, but I don't currently have it, do I? Nice of them to grant it to me but it's not a thing that can be granted. At least not in the world order we live in. Certainly not one that is designed by a virus. We should focus on the endeavour to attain human rights, but we certainly are far from achieving it. Right now, us mourning freedom-lovers, gotta suck it up although it sucks: we aren't as free as last year. Maybe the Coronavirus will make us see, learn, and possibly improve. I choose to believe we can do it. With the lack of existing research on what happens next, at least I still get to have an opinion about it... 

"Together At Home": What Artists On The Internet Taught Me During Lockdown

The Global Citizen concert last night was one of the biggest music collaborations ever, I'd say. Anyone in music who's anyone in music was in it (and Jimmy Fallon, ergh). I am biased because, well, you could say I have a career in both pop culture and internet video so I'm going all "ERMERGOD" at anything both Sir Elton John and Billie Eilish are part of. And while I do love my internet video, I did not watch the whole thing. People, I don't have 400odd minutes on a weekend to watch celebs thank health care workers from their villas, even I am bitter about that kind of behaviour. The music, however, made me ponder something very crucial about the Coronavirus: where does artistry come through at such a scientifically, and potentially politically, challenging time?

I am a hypocrite because my own artistry has failed this year. Maybe I was creatively challenged by the shitshow that is this planet in the last few years, and I don't want to be criticizing all the time anymore. This pandemic has made me busier than ever, with no such thing as a work life balance in the absence of a "life". I do realize I have nothing to complain about without being the most privilege person as all I have lost is the freedom to travel to Hawaii and to go to the pub which most people in the world don't even have in the first place. However, the loss of freedom is a crazy experience for me; one that makes me have feeling I didn't know before. And I, unlike artists, have failed to confront them.

To see Elton John blast "I'm Still Standing" painfully reminds me of my emotional inferiority to this man. Maybe comparing oneself to the greatest musician in the world is not a fair comparison but this man, with his ability that is nothing short of a gift, sings a 40-year-old song which suddenly sounds like it was always meant for this moment. His fingers fly over a piano like he's a machine. But he is not a machine that was created to do this for people, HE created it. Now, a thousand years into his career, there he is, STREAMING on YouTube to have people worried, sad and, frankly, fucking screwed, watch for three minutes and focus on nothing but the beautiful feeling associated to hearing his song. It's art, and only shitshows show us just how essential art really is.

Starts 1 min in, ignore the Beckhams who thank, you guessed it, the health care workers... 

This whole concert showed me a new face of music, arguably one I already knew, but never on this scale: We often speak about how music is personal, even if you haven't written the song, how it's what it means to YOU what matters, but every single song in this eternal celebrity carnival was written WITHOUT a global pandemic in mind. "You can't always have what you want", eh? Decades of truth suddenly in a whole new light. Man, I remember being a teenager thinking "how dumb is the song "Wake me up when September ends"", and now I wake up to that exact thought every morning. How did this happen: I suddenly respect Billy Joe Armstrong for his contribution to my day!

But the artistic exploration of my feelings around lockdown do not end there: I went on to watch The Phantom of the Opera from the Royal Albert Hall which Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber decided to broadcast on YouTube for free for two days. I know what you're thinking: it has to be lived in person, it's just not the same on a screen. I've seen it in person twice and I know this fully well, but that's not really possible right now, is it? But because there is a light in every darkness, this show was available to every kid from Armenia to Zanzibar for free, while even I, privileged white kid with a tech job, never had access to that STUNNING performance. I know nothing about musical theater but I know that The Phantom of the Opera is one of the best things ever written. I know that - and now 11 Million more viewers. This weekend alone.

Despite knowing the Phantom inside out, making Lloyd Webber appear almost superhuman to me, this masterpiece gets me where I didn't know I had hairs to stand up on my body. This superhuman ability I celebrate him for is a skill I, as a wannabe artist that would be lucky to have just an ounce of the emotional spectrum of someone who makes something so beautiful, deeply admire. "Softly" he says "music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it secretly possess you." Is this what's happening to me right now? And as if it wasn't relevant enough yet, the Phantom goes on to literally express what I feel, deep inside, behind my gut in whatever part of my body that beats out these absolutely horrendous quarantine feelings: "Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness which you know you cannot fight!" Whatever I do in life, I will most likely never write a sentence so universally true for people ranging from a phantom in a dungeon and every thirty-something spoiled kid caught in a global pandemic.

I have discovered feelings brought to me the moment an amazing human being succeeds in making their feelings something beautiful. I can't even decide yet what I feel about this whole spiel. Am I sad? I don't know. Am I frustrated? Wouldn't really say that. What is this anxiety they all talk about, do I have it, too? I am finding nothing but disgraceful prose for my own feelings because I lack the ability these amazing artists already nailed: the ABILITY to feel all that. I might find the words once I have decided how I feel. I dread tomorrow when my therapist asks me "how I'm doing", a question I never had an answer for and hence always disliked. But for once I actually feel like I can find the teachers I need: musicians, filmmakers, actors, painters. And then, ultimately, I will have to become them.

Quite literally one of the best moments of my life!

I dare you to listen to it with quarantine in mind. Incredible!

Writer's Block: When Writing Doesn't "Happen"

This blog has existed for eight years, and it even comes up in therapy that it's my number one hobby. This week, after two months of being unable to write a blog, my therapist asked me to write one "for her". I told her it's not writing I struggle with, it's sharing with the public. Yeah, I know, if you've met me, you'll be surprised: like I ever struggled with that. One of the reasons I became a writer is BECAUSE I love sharing, I love conversation and, cornily, telling any sort of story, even my own. And here I was, not really being able to speak about myself for two months. Of course I then asked myself "why?". And after I did the exercise "for her", I did realize what it was: I no longer want my story out there. There is more than one reason for that.

The reason I am in therapy in the first place is that, personally and professionally, I went through two situations last year I can't actually talk about. I could, but it's not a smart idea that would hurt people other than me. The problem is that, if you're me, and it is important to you to share with people what your true experience in life is, the fact  you can't tell "the whole story" is disruptive. It makes me feel like I am not genuine which is important to me. I would really like to tell people sincerely what I was feeling this time last year, but societies are not going to react to that information favorably. People like genuine people, but only for as long as they tell a story they can deal with. My stories would make them feel worse, and why would I want to do that? So I never told it. And you can even see now, I'm still not.

That in itself is another reason: I honestly do not trust most people with my genuine feeling. That is hard to say, but ultimately true. My upbringing and past experiences have had an interesting effect on my ability to trust people, which is why I sought out to see a therapist in the first place a couple of years ago. Casually, not because I felt like I needed help. But I couldn't see a conventional way that would rebuild trust in strangers, or even friends. Last year's events did not really help this cause, either. So while it is easy to share that I am seeking a therapist to fix some issues I identified in interpersonal relationships, it is impossible to talk about what caused them. I do not feel bad about not sharing, but I would really like to. But part of having "trust issues" is believing that the information would be abused. And I am almost sure it would be if I was openly talking about my experiences.

In the end, everyone wants a good story, nobody wants these stories a person they may or may not already dislike is telling them about their self-centered perspective. One of the things that have already given millennials a bad name is their attention-seeking ways, and these days, most times I write a sentence for my blog, share an article on Facebook or post a picture on Instagram I am questioning if I am doing it because I want to share or because I want attention. I never really struggled very much with getting attention, and therefore never identified whether I need it or not. But these days, I feel comfortable with my story, and sharing it only makes me feel like I am showing off. And maybe I am (who ever really does it on purpose... I guess, other than assholes?).

Ironically, it took these last few weeks of bliss to make me realize that I am protective of my happiness by not sharing it, too. I never even wrote a single public paragraph about my more than positive feelings for a new human out of fear it could be perceived as bragging, or worse, make other people feel lonely because they don't have this sort of company in their life. I started being critical of couples sharing their V-Day selfies because it forgot all those who would like to do the same. I questioned, and questioned, and questioned if he should appear in my Insta story, and whether I should even post I was on holiday, or at a cool work event, out of fear it would cloud my credibility by only sharing "the good life" which is unfortunately what most social media is still synonymous for. In the end, when I was the subject of an Instagram V-Day post, the author even apologized to me. But of course, I wasn't even mad; I'm just worried that my happiness will attract negative sentiments.

As a result, the writing has ceased. My perceived pressure that the dark parts of my story were not going to delight people, make them feel uncomfortable, my inability to actually trust people with the information and my fear that my genuine account is filtered by a desire to just portray myself a  certain way made me stop. I couldn't guarantee anymore that I was being genuine because I didn't have a good grasp of what that means. After now three years of omitting some of the biggest pillars of my personal story in the narrative, I feel like I am faking sometimes. I decided I would give it a shot again, though. I am going to try speaking about the good and the bad in a way I feel represents me. It will never include those pillars, and it probably won't ever include a true ode to my Nice guy, but truth always comes in different lights; I only have one flashlight that can shine on mine. 

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!

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!

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...