Open The Doors

I first drowned in music when I was fifteen. It was summer, I was at a camp at my uncle’s stable. I joined others in the TV room and someone dug out the movie about The Doors by Oliver Stone.* I sat hypnotized for more than two hours, pulled into a different reality. Never before has music and the ideas behind it affected me like this. It reached into my mind and soul so deeply that I felt it in my whole body.

Since then Jim Morrison became the dark angel that led me through the various storms, rages, and dreams of my teenage years. Sometimes making them worse, sometimes making them divine. Providing a much-needed lifeline.


I first fell in love with Jim’s voice. Its depth, vibration, seduction, and mystery. It made me want to understand him. It made me want to learn English. Most of the evenings of my high school years I spent bent over their lyrics and a dictionary (both online and traditional).

The Doors music takes you through labyrinths of mystic lands, through chaos and calm, through madness and lust, through love and hurt. It makes the mind so vibrant and alive that the body feels uncomfortable to be in. And that’s even without any drugs. Which they took plenty of.

Thanks to the mystic aura surrounding their already hypnotic music it’s easy to fall into a hole of over-interpretation. But that’s just an added value to your imagination. Leave your comfort zone and let them guide you. Like shamans on a desert that Morrison wanted to be. Traveling through ancient times and feasts. Through strange days and endless nights.


*Fifteen-year-old me was fascinated and impressed. I made the mistake of watching the film again recently and some of the magic disappeared. If you’re looking for a movie about the band, check out When You’re Strange.

**I know it’s been a month (!) since I last posted, but life got in the way and there was nothing I could do about it. I will try to keep a regular schedule, pinky promise 😉

Tubingen reunion

Time is a curious thing. It’s the digits on my phone. It’s a date in my calendar. It is a feeling. It’s an element out of control. It slows down when you want it to gallop. It rushes through when you want it to stop. A year can be a number of months, days, hours. It is a frame for emotions, experiences, people you’ve met, places you’ve been. How long is a year for you?

Two years ago, I met three extraordinary women that have been changing my life since. It has also been a year since I last saw them. A year is a number here. I didn’t feel it at all.

We gathered in a small town in southern Germany. Tubingen. It is a name you probably never came across before. I haven’t. It welcomed us with the sun. It opened its arms and we walked across its narrow streets and steep hills, we swam down it river.

tubingen river

Most of all we talked, discussed, laughed and argued. Each of us is on a different path now. We are spread across Europe. Yet, we come together when it matters most. No topic was left untouched. We complained about governments, politicians, policies. We debated how to change what we don’t like, how to improve what we can. We talked about love. We talked about struggle.

We talked about what it means to be a woman. Feminism, motherhood, career, tenderness. Everything together, yet each a piece of a puzzle. Nothing defining, nothing limiting, nothing forgiving.

We talked about the future. We shared dreams, fears, and hope. We shared life.

I am grateful and honoured to have them in my life. One year separated, three days together. I feel closer to them than ever. They are a support group I wish everyone had. They are a brainstorm everyone needs. They are the power that the world demands.

Here we all are, surrounded by flowers and light. Their arms wrapped around me. My heart wrapped around them. A blessing for all. The brightest of souls.

us bridge

Confidence or trust?

Confidence. A word with as many meaning as there are people.


Is it confidence what I’m doing right now?                   Pouring my thoughts here.

Or is it trust that I’ll be ok?                                               Not giving it all.


Here I am taking all the bits I can gather and I make this website public.

Another step to the unknown. Another step out of the comfort zone.

Countless daydreams and sleepless night led to this moment. It still feels unreal. It still causes questions, doubts, shivers. It is as it should be. A process, an experience.

I have enough trust right now to keep going. To face my fears and get them out of my way. It’s a fight where the words are swords, arrows, and shields. It’s a garden where the words are roses, wind, and sun.

Let’s go.

Why do I even care to write here

Do you ever feel like life is slipping through your fingers? Are you sometimes overwhelmed by the sheer panic of not knowing what is going on in your life and what are you going to do with it? That’s me.

This month I’m hitting the magical age of 25 and I am clueless about the future. It’s going to be a year since I graduated from university and honestly: shit. And it doesn’t help that I still feel like an 18-year-old who still has time to figure out what to do and can live under my parents’ roof. Far from that! I decided to move a thousand miles from my cozy family home.

So, after my graduation, I packed my bags and moved to London. The mystical city that I dreamed of since I was fifteen. I was excited beyond reason for this new episode of my life. But now, 9 months later, the reality is sinking in. Life in London is not easy if you’re a fresh graduate with a weird degree and when the budget is tight. Still, I don’t plan to give up on it just yet, hence the blog.

I’m still a dreamer, although not as big as I used to. I will hardly be the Patti Smith of my generation nor a member of the royal family. But let’s hope that this blog, this diary, this creation can be of some substance. Stay tuned!

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