International Women’s Day

It’s the 8th of March today and acknowledged globally to celebrate women.

I woke up at my usual waking time - an hour snooze after my alarm beeps. Right away, I checked my work team chat and tried to quickly pull my self together. Got some tasks up my sleeves. So I clocked in some hours, working on some design which was exciting, on the international women’s day nonetheless. The day rolled out quickly, rather intense, I managed to take a break for my usual 12 minutes meditation, kitchen cleaning and brewed coffee.

At 4pm I finally had my first meal, took shower and stretched my legs.
All the while, social media and group chats buzzed with the greeting: happy International women’s day. Look at this women who done this done that… Look at ourselves, so fierce and powerful, slaying in red lipstick and heels. The many colors, layers and hats that we wear. Look how far we’ve come!

But honestly, I’m tired.
I’m a f*cking tired woman. And I hope I revisited this piece in the coming years without regret. This woman right here is apparently very salty in terms of celebration.
I know we’re celebrating women’s achievements, there’s no denying that we are so much, we are a lot. But in the tiredness of it all, I just want the world to stop pointing at what we do and instead respect as for who we are, women. I just want a day for my self to feel enough without the need to show the world that I’ve-done-it-all-smile behind my bruised heart, broken bone and dark circle under my eyes.
 
I took 3-hours nap today. I got up, fixed up my CV, sent the job application and made my self a dinner. Maybe a glass of rose later. Sorry girlfriends, for not feeling that festive, not even up with the colorful dress and turban. It’s one of those days.

Tomorrow I’ll smash the patriarchy again.

My favorite color

Gifting is a tricky, isn’t it? I love Christmas gift tradition but sometimes I need to squeeze my brain (and wallet) in order to nail that perfect gift. The last one on my list is for my work bestie, and after visiting many stores, I couldn’t seem to find the one that will make her scream in joy.
She is into journaling, so I would like something in that category, but nothing in the store served that function, nor affordable enough, nor expensive enough and most importantly cute enough.
I finally gave up, wrapped up my Christmas shopping spree and on the cashier counter spontaneously bought an orange pen as a back up for anyone. At the end of the day, I ran out of ideas, it was getting late so I decided to wrap the pen for her in addition to a cute pink necklace that I know she would like.
I laughed to myself. A pen. How ridiculous is that. Why would anyone intentionally give a pen to someone? It seems like an afterthought AF.
But anyway. Let me buy her a drink and hopefully she will still count me as a bestie.

The next day we exchanged gift. I opened a box from her, and guess what did I receive? A pen. I laughed to myself again, is this karma? Albeit, mine is a luxurious fountain pen in maroon color.
“Oh my God, we gave each other a pen!”
“Yes, I know red is your favorite color, so I choose the maroon pen for you!”

I really appreciate this pen, but can’t help but think: Yes I love red, but maroon is not red. And of all colors, I think maroon is my second list favorite color. Red is brave, shocking and required immediate attention. And with an additional splash of blue, it takes away those characters of red. I look good in red, but never really invested in any of maroon stuffs.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the pen and I love her with all my heart but this gift gets me pondering, do I not show my true color on daily basis? Am I conveying the wrong message through unintended actions? Which side of personality is clouded and does not shine? And, is it really important to be known as myself, with my favorite color and all that?

I caress the pen and promise to write some more. I didn’t take this personally, she might run into trouble of finding the perfect gift like I did, and it was not a big deal really.

But my favorite color is blue.

That was the tiger year

The remnants of 2022 were empty journal pages, notes on the long list of international shipping company and stack of legal document dented with frustration. It was the tiger year, the year when I supposed to be the bravest. But bravery comes in many forms, and the horoscope writer left that in a vague end. Vague AF.

I guess I was brave enough to move my self, my partner and our kitty to a new city. A new country. A new continent. Across the ocean! I’ve done that several times, as one person with two suitcases and a cast of evergreen support system. So, it was more of me replicating the routine, embracing the newness. But this time around, I’ve dragged these two that I can’t live without and I must say it was complicated. There were two months prep with my anxiety all time high and countless research/discussion/arguments/compromise/enlightened moments/and what not. There were tears and countless small wins celebration.

And once we arrived, the adjustment phase was another story. I lived in this country before, so it was kinda homecoming queen vibes. But taking care of the family was the complication that I didn’t put into the equation. And many times I couldn’t offer comforting space and snapped easily. Mainly because I was exhausted. Physically exhausted from full-time working, social time and using my self to the max. Not the 2018-exhausted, but still I need more time napping and filling my cup again. You’re in a new country, and all you want to do is napping? Doesn’t seem right.

I haven’t done something this big in the recent five years. Moving to Portland might be something close to it, but it was also a part of this moving scheme. I have already forgotten how a big milestone impacted my life and I didn’t process it at all until now. A dear friend asked me, how do you feel? Are you adjusting well? I couldn’t answer. I blurted, it was ok, moving as usual. But reflecting on 2022, moving was the big word that shadows everything else.

And honestly, that is not how I would like to remember about 2022. I kept a daily illustrated gratitude journal and amidst of the blank columns, life indeed is full of little cute things. I have trained myself to strive for those moments. Reading on the park by the canal. Rosé, lots of rosé. Great shows at Paradiso. Any shows at Paradiso. Creating mini posters for J’s shows. Bunch weeknight dinner. Movies at Trianon. Making friends with the bartender downstairs. Train ride with view of farmland and practicing “Koeien!” “Paarden!” “Schap!” Listening to new Soccer Mommy album back to back. Xian comforting noodles. Any noodles!

And I keep forgetting that I did travel to London and had my underground moment. That day drinking wine spritzer on the park in front of Tate Modern before Pete Doherty’s show at Kokos was one of the best days. I also had some elation post Geneva super-recharging trip. And visiting my best friends in Trieste after 10 years of separation! Ugh, how can I forget all these people walked into my life? Reunions and new friends that willingly offered: we are your support system now. How did I manage to say 2022 was blah when on the flip side I met and befriends with awesome people? This does not add up ;)

But that was the 2022 and it was a tiger year. The year when I was broke but regaining too many new experiences for growing. If I look back at the year, would I do things differently? Definitely. But would skip the moving part? I have no other choices and no regrets. Was it worth it? Hell yeah.

Am I hopeful for 2023? Ugh, after a harsh note on 2022? I will try my best. Because the only way is up now. And I will come back to my ordinary little moments and my people often. Because they keep me grounded and makes this life worth living.