Let’s talk about: What’s new?

HI SEPTEMBER! WHADISUP?

I took a month off from the blog because I needed to just chill and stay away from the computer and I also needed to work on myself, to get some clarity and to worry less. AND I had a fab August thank you very much!

I was basically sleeping, eating, drinking, beaching, swimming, reading, hanging out with the fam and friends and to sum it up: I WAS ON HOLIDAYS. You could have followed some of my shenanigans via Insta but I’m not planning on writing detailed post about my summer.

And don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my everyday life in London, but getting out of big smoke felt so G O O D. It always does, to get out of here. I just breathe differently whilst out of Ldn. I don’t know if it’s me subconsciously knowing that it I don’t always have to be so alert or the clean air or whatever, but it’s always refreshing.

I have to say I had a fair amount of messages from your lovely faces who were wondering when is the next post coming out, AND it made my heart swell!!!

Did ya miss me? I missed y’all.

I wrote a lot, mostly in my notebook and I got a fresh perspective on life and this blog and on the “content” (omg that word makes me cringe) and on what to write!

September for me always means a fresh start. Like fresher than the new year. I think I still link it to the beginning of school year which I always L O V E D. I was (and still am) A BIG SUCKER for buying new stationery, notebooks, new trainers and new everything! So I decided to incorporate few new changes into my everyday routine. Some are just being tried out for the month of September, some I’ve strongly decided to stick to, but we’ll see how that goes.

so what is new?

  1. I switched to a plant based diet. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I KNOW. This was basically everyone’s reaction when I announced I’m doing Vegember (Vegan September). My (usually very supportive an loving) boss told me: BUT BARBARA, you’re the biggest bacon cheeseburger eater I know. AND fuck yeah, she’s right. But ALSO, fuck yeah PEOPLE CHANGE. This didn’t come overnight. But it came. I’m doing it for whole 30 days of September and will do a post about it, but until then, please pray for me!
  2. I wake up an hour earlier than I usually would. THE ANXIETY OF MORNING ROUTINE IS REAL YO! My mornings usually start with me putting my essential oil diffuser on, meditation and I always do 20 minutes of reading and going into my email inbox to flag important emails I need to deal with later before I start getting ready. But that shit always stretches or I end up replying to emails AND all of a sudden I have 10 minutes left to get ready and I am a women, I NEED MORE THAN 10 MINUTES. I would usually rush brushing teeth in the shower between shaving legs and washing hair and I decided that if I want to decrease the amount of stress I start my day with I just have to be an adult and wake up earlier because IT IS SO WORTH IT.
  3. I fell in love with having a routine again. This sounds freaking ridiculous but hear me out. I was away for nearly five weeks. F I V E. 5! I was all over the place. And had no real routine. And yes, life is pretty great when you don’t plan it and it’s ridiculously wonderful when you don’t need to set your alarm or check off your to-do lists and meet deadlines and be somewhere by a certain hour BUT I’m such a routine kinda girl. And I dare to say that I still live life to the fullest. I still have days off. I still don’t plan some evenings, and I just go with the flow. But you see, for my mental health and my anxiety, A ROUTINE is a must. So I eased back into it. Back into work. Back into working out. Back into going out. Back into London. AND it was a bit painful for a bit. However, I motivated myself with some new beauty products, and to be honest I just binge watched a massive amount of morning routines on YOUTUBE. (LIKE, WHAT EVEN BARBARA?) So now, I do love waking up every morning, putting my creams and serums on, fresh t-shirt and a big smile. It just feels right.
  4. Making time for ME TIME. Repeat after me, ME TIME IS NOT SELFISH. It is not. And I don’t know why, but I have to remind myself of that EVERY SINGLE DAY. I am a people person. I love to socialise. I love to chill with my fam and my other fam, and drink with friends, and watch Netflix and do brunches and all that BUT. I don’t function like a person if I don’t spend at least one evening a week with just myself. Reading, chilling, watching something, bathing, listening podcasts or just wasting time. Depends what feels right that day. But I NEED IT. I need that time like I need air. I KID YOU NOT. Y’all can be kidding yourselves but you ALL need it. And my summer was filled with meeting my friends, spending time with my family (who I fucking love so so so much) and I was constantly with someone and PLEASE don’t think I’m a witch but by the time I came back to London, I just felt so emotionally exhausted. And my therapist says it’s normal. LIKE IS IT? I hope so, otherwise I’m just a bitch. ANYWAYS, me time is now booked weekly, AND sorry (not sorry) DARLING, but I’m busy tonight!!!
  5. I’m saying YES to second hand September. I’m doing 30 days of no new clothes, unless it’s from a charity or second hand shop. WHY? I’m trying to be more sustainable. Also because I am overwhelmed by the amount of stuff I have and that I always have nothing to wear. I’m trying to break up with fast fashion which naturally leads to investing in better quality and more long term products that will serve me longer and better. Which also means that I’m not going to be defined by what’s “in” and what’s “out”, but I get to wear what I want, when I want it. (Take the pledge, if you can and MORE INFO on why to do it you can find here)

It’s not much, but five days in and I can feel such a positive change already.

Let me know if you made any lifestyle changes recently and what they are.

B x

73 questions with Barbara

*Opens the door of my luxurious mansion in Malibu and welcomes you into the marble foyer, as I gaze into the camera lens *

  

I am obsessed with Vogue’s 73 questions videos (Emily Blunt and Margot Robbie deffo favs) I’ve decided to do a little parody post so you can get to know me better. Although there is so much more to both you and me than seventy-three questions, it’s always fun to pretend you’re someone important and you’re being followed by Vogue around your zen garden whilst unicorns sing Amazing Grace but until that happens you’ll need to settle for less glam, very chilled holiday version of Barbara.

  1. What your usual Starbucks coffee order? I don’t drink Starbucks coffee. I get coffee from local independent coffee shops. And 90% of the time I go for flat white, but if summer deffo an iced latte. But when in Starbucks: peach green tea lemonade!!!
  2. Favourite colour? Any shade of blue but specifically Space blue
  3. Least favourite food? Absolutely hate lamb and coriander, AND fresh ginger (although it’s growing on me)
  4. Favourite food? just one? um then I guess dim sum
  5. When are you the most creative? When caffeinated and motivated
  6. Who’s your girl crush? Lady Gaga
  7. Last piece of content you consumed that made you cry? Monica’s Church youtube video– My boyfriend cheated on me
  8. Sweet or savoury? Savoury. ALWAYS SAVOURY.
  9. Who should people be following right now? Anyone that promotes body positivity, feminism, gender and race equality, and self love
  10. Person you’d like to have coffee with? Meryl Streep
  11. Song you can listen to on repeat? Vossi Bop by Stormzy
  12. What makes you laugh the most? Poppy. But also memes
  13. Dogs or cats? DOGS.
  14. If you could go to any concert past or present, what would it be? Coldplay or Luciano Pavarotti
  15. Top three countries on your travel list? Thailand, Italy and Morocco
  16. Can you describe yourself in a hashtag? #enough
  17. On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now? 10. always a 10, even though Mercury is retrograde atm
  18. You are stuck on a deserted island and you only have one book, what are you reading? I wish I could say something very adult like Anna Karenina or War and Peace, but Harry Potter and Half-Blood Prince it is.
  19. What’s one thing people don’t know about you? If I watch horror movies I have to sleep with a light on
  20. Who is your favourite Disney character? The Little Mermaid, Ariel, without a doubt.
  21. If you could star in any movie what would it be and why? Mamma Mia, first movie. Because what’s better than dancing and singing ABBA on a Greek island?
  22. What’s your favourite time of day? Sunrise
  23. If you could travel the world with anyone who would it be? My Mother
  24. What’s your pet peeves? People walking slowly, or people stopping on the pavement in front of you, or people standing on the wrong side of escalator.
  25. What’s the most sentimental gift received? Diamond ring my mum had custom made for me when graduated uni (the gold part is her and dad’s melted wedding rings)
  26. Heels or flats/sneakers? Sneakers!!!
  27. Vintage or new? New
  28. What industry do you see yourself working in? Entertainment, marketing or medicine
  29. Style icon? Anna Wintour
  30. What are the three things you can’t live without? Family, laptop and eggs
  31. Favourite pastime? Working out, writing and chilling
  32. What 3 people living or dead would you like to make dinner for? The Obamas and Ellen Degeneres
  33. What’s your biggest fear in life? Forgetting or being forgotten
  34. Window or aisle seat? Aisle
  35. What’s your current T.V. character obsession? Eleven from Stranger Things
  36. Twitter or Instagram? I N S T A G R A M
  37. Most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life? Diving with sharks
  38. How would you define yourself in three words? Bubbly, ambitious, dependable.
  39. Favourite piece of clothing that you own? denim dress
  40. Must have clothing item everyone should have? Perfect fit jeans
  41. Superpower you would want? Flying
  42. What’s inspiring you in life right now? Poppy. And my friends.
  43. Best piece of advice you’ve received? Just do it.
  44. Favourite dessert? salted caramel ice cream
  45. What is more important to you in a relationship? Loyalty
  46. Who is your favourite spirit human ? Christine Baranski
  47. What is something you notice about someone when you first meet them? If they’re smiling or not
  48. What is your biggest regret? The time spent sweating the small stuff
  49. Best way to rest/decompress? Hot shower and breathing
  50. Favourite solo artist? ADELE
  51. What is heavily played on your music playlist right now? Florence and the Machine
  52. If you could master one instrument, what would it be? Piano
  53. What are some of your must have beauty products? Origins moisturiser, Blink eye drops, Benefit brow gel and Mario Badescu face mist
  54. How do you react to criticism? I’ll take it into consideration but if I can’t learn from it I mostly ignore it.
  55. What’s your favourite cocktail? Long Island Iced tea
  56. How would you describe your style? Evolving haha. Mostly very hipster casual with a hint Beyonce
  57. What fictional character do you relate to the most? Bridget Jones.
  58. What’s your favourite board game? Cards Against Humanity
  59. What is your guilty pleasure? Friends on Netflix and fries
  60. What did you read most recently? This is going to hurt a little by Adam Kay
  61. Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds
  62. How do you start your day? Meditation. Brush my teeth. Drink carrot/apple/ginger juice and do emails.
  63. What’s on top of your wishlist right now? New camera
  64. Pilates or yoga? Yoga
  65. Coffee or tea? COFFEE.
  66. What is your favourite holiday? Any holiday I get so spend with my mum
  67. Dark chocolate or milk chocolate? Don’t eat chocolate, but dark with salt flakes if in the mood
  68. If you could raid one woman’s closet who would it be? Ashley Graham’s
  69. Summer or winter? SUMMER
  70. What is your biggest weakness? Not admitting I need help/was wrong and Five Guys
  71. What is your favourite place that makes you feel happy? Croatian seaside
  72. A skill you’re working on mastering? Writing
  73. What do you want people to remember you by? I want to be remembered for a girl who never took the life too seriously and always lived to the fullest.

Let’s talk about: Hungover Chronicles.

If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve been quite frequent at drinking over last few weeks. AND, no it’s not because I’m a full-blown addict, it is because I am a regular twenty-five year old with a some kind of social life and love for tequila.

Also, it is June. Which means it is summer. Which means that day time drinking is acceptable without being judged by old ladies on tube. So here we are. ALL IS great.

How do you go out and get absolutely shit-faced and then you have a completely normal next day?

UM, it is doable. ALSO, I’ve kinda became an expert over the years.

So yes, I’m writing this for me, but mostly you, my dear.

Do you know that feeling when you wake up in the morning (or few hours after you passed out in your bed, whilst half-way through taking off your make up) and your head feels like someone smacked you with a bat and you can’t fully open your eyes because they’re either stuck together or you forgot to pull down your blinds and the day light is all of a sudden making you feel like a freaking vampire under the direct sun?

Huh, that’s the level of rough I feel most of the time, YES.

At this point, I turn on my back and put a pillow over my face, trying to recall why the heck to I feel like the herd of rhinos ran all over me, but ALSO how the hell am I supposed to make it though the day???

FYI, my nights out usually go like this.

After I decide that once again eyeliner is a NO NO, and down my third glass of wine whilst Florence and Machine are playing in the background. I’m taking approximately 45-89 selfies, of which one or maybe even none will be posted. Then I decide to tidy after myself, because hello OCD but also, A GIFT to my-tomorrow’s-very-hungover-self.

Then I’m ready to go out.

Starting with vodka-sodas, because we love vodka and we are trying to stay hydrated (and yes, pls I do need a vodka brand to sponsor me). Then somewhere between vodkas, and occasional tequila shoots (which according to my bank statement the very next day cost more than a new liver on illegal market) I do rum and coke or two, just to change the taste to somewhat pleasant. When I genuinely think I’ve had enough of strong drinks (and I usually figure this out when texting the wrong person or telling the lovely girl in the toilet queue that I’ll pay for her uni expenses), I go and buy a beer, to fight that disgusting dry mouth feeling, but I buy Desperados aka tequila beer.

At this point, my tummy (but mostly heart) tells me that it’s Mc Donald’s time. SO we find the nearest one. But on the way there we usually meet one, two or sometimes ten homeless people who are for God knows what reason always very chatty at 2am. So after we discus latest Brexit talks, and everyone’s agenda for the summer we say our goodbyes with a promise to take care as many strange people are lurking at this time of a night. (We always ask if they want some food, but they are usually always after a quid or two, so we give them whatever coins we can find at the bottom of our bags)

My go to order in Mcds is: extra gherkin-double cheeseburger, two large fries (very salted) with sweet curry sauce and coke zero. AND, if you never had to wait for your Mc Donald’s order for 30 minutes together with half of the London, you don’t know what commitment is.

Sometime after figuring out how the heck I got on the right tube I needed to and fidgeting with my phone to get an Uber to take me to mi casa, I find myself turning my bag upside down in front my door to find the key because at this point I really, really, really have to pee, only to remember that I hid it in the “safe” zip pocket.

It takes me around 45 seconds to take my shoes off and climb three flights of stairs that get me to my bedroom, but for some weird reason at this point this seems like a forever.

I usually end up sitting on my bed for next five minutes, because my Spotify is still on, and I’m probably mentally preforming at the Grammy’s.

Which leads us back to me sitting on my bed just few hours later and trying to regain full control of my brain and body.

At this point I’ve already decided that fried eggs and salted butter on toast are what I need to get my shit together but first THE SHOWER.

THE SHOWER has to be boiling hot when I get in, because that chilly feeling you’ve got is you lacking sleep and metabolising alcohol.

Then after washing your face and hair you do conditioner, but slightly switch water to lukewarm, because the last stage is turning water ice cold to snap you out of whatever bad decision you were over-thinking.

So when you sterilise your outside, and use scrub to make sure disease from touching everything in that dodgy club last night is gone, you wish you could wash your insides, but coffee will do.

NOW. If you’re a thrower upper (thanks to sweet baby JESUS I AM NOT), I suggest going for tea, or any liquid you can keep down. And toast. I is just going to quickly make full English breakfast because, thank you genetics I can eat.

Now you’ve eaten, sure you can pop few Aspirins for that awful headache ( I mean it’s not going to make up for a fact you chugged seven vodka-sodas last night Barbara, but it will help. ) but I suggest spending the next few hours lying horizontal.

I mean, unless you’re working, there is really no better thing to do than to either take a nap or watch Netflix.

(If you are working, or worse, have a family occasion you need to attend, I highly suggest drinking one re-hydration sachet, tons of concealer and grabbing Mc Muffin and black coffee on a way.)

But if you’re lucky (and smart enough), your hungovers will most probably be present on your days off.

So please, please, please do yourself a favour and enjoy them.

Turn your phone off. Switch your brain off. Enjoy slouching on a sofa. Lounge clothes were invented for moments like this. Take advantage of food deliveries. Hydrate. Chill. Recover. Take a bath. OR. Take a walk. Go to pub for a roast. Go to a corner shop for gummy bears. Do what you’e feeling doing, even if it’s nothing but breathing.

BECAUSE, it is completely fine to count this as normal.

Hungovers are not half bad when you accept them as necessity and aftermaths of a good night out. When you actually have a reason to take it slow, because we all know how guilty we feel taking some time off.

When everything you can think about, and SHOULD think about is what are you watching and where’s the next source of carbs coming from?

Twenty-five.

So, today marks 25 years of Barbara.

And I would be lying if I said that I’m not freaking out.

Because I am freaking out. Like A LOT.

Like most of America did when Trump got elected. Or when Alabama banned abortion.  So, like a whole lot.

Like no offense to myself or anything, but what the fuck am I actually doing?

Because when someone asks if I have a plan? I repeatedly answer with: I don’t even have a pla.

Can you relate already?

Apparently it’s called quarter life crisis, as we millennials have to put a label on fucking everything.

So yeah. FUN TIMES EH?

To be honest, I had this very great idea about how this post is going to written. I was gonna get ballons with numbers 2 & 5 and buy a random cupcake with a little candle that’d be thrown away later and I’d wear a dress and write this cute text about twenty-five things you should deffo do before turning 25 and then I’d tell you how amazing it is to be a very functional adult and have your shit together.

THE TRUTH IS THOUGH, I don’t want to lie to you. And I don’t want to put more pressure on you. Because I don’t have my shit together. My definition of adulting is being able to power through a very bad hungover on a working day and eating green veggies at least once a week. And not needing to sell my eggs for money if I want a good night out and making sure that my mum get’s daily updates on my life, otherwise that woman thinks I’m dead and my body is on the very bottom of Thames river. Also, not dying and having my body thrown to the very bottom of Thames river.

I’d never lie to you, because life is hard. But if you’re in your twenties life is even harder.

Because, honestly, twenties are shit.

Apparently you should be having the time of your life but you’re constantly stressed. First you get stressed about graduating and all the uni shebang. Then when you finally think you’re on track you get all stressed because you can’t find a job.

Or at least a job that doesn’t require seventy-eight years of experience although they’re looking for young people to hire. And then you’re stressed over the fact you get paid peanuts and you can barely afford living with other six people in shitty house and you quit your job.

And of course you are all stressed again about finding a new job. But you lucked out and you find one.

And you move flats. But not without stressing over the fact that your rent costs a small fortune if you want a room with a window and decent sized bathroom with hot water.

And you’re always stressed about your sex life. Because it is hard to date when you barely have time to breathe. Or shower. Also it is freaking hard to find someone who gets you and you don’t have to be fake with, and who isn’t selfish in bed and wants to do Netflix and chill rather than just sex. And when you do come across a decent lad, or you know a lady, they fuck it up by putting their parts into other people’s bodies and then you’re stressed again, well rather sad and mad, and you swear you’re never dating again, but you ain’t vowed for celibacy. And then you go on dating apps and unwillingly turn into a little bit of slut, but at least you are safe, and pleased.

And you finally have time to go out with your friends without a feeling that you should be searching for a future father of your imaginary child every time you exit the house.

But then you get stressed because some of your friends decided they are not your friends anymore because they are pretentious little shits, but you get over it faster than Khloe Kardashian got over all of Tristans cheating, because you are better off without fake people in your life.

But then again, you are persistently tired as fuck. And you’re always feeling like a fraud because you can’t be rude to Karen from office, who is middle-aged, hates millennials and isn’t getting any.

And everybody always thinks you’re a upset because you’re young, that you are loud because you’re young, that you are politically naive because you’re young and that you get easily annoyed because you’re young.

AND you can’t tell everyone to fuck off because half of the time, even you are not sure what the fuck is wrong with you and you are too busy to figure it out.

To busy because you need to get a proper amount of sleep, and hydrate, go to gym, reply to all gazillion Whatsapp chats (mostly audios, that you firstly have to listen to), make time for self-care so you don’t burn out, eat your suggested 5 a day and catch up on podcasts (mostly about adulting).

And what pisses the fuck out of me is the fact that even when I do all this, when I eat my avocado on toast, and do yoga and call my mother and cross off all the things off my to-do list I still feel like I should be running a marathon, or buying a house, or popping out a child or two, or should be a CEO of my own company and I get anxiety attacks.

Our society puts so much pressure on miìllennials these days that if you’re not on Forbes 30 under 30 list, what are you even doing with your life Barbara???

Like, why aren’t you climbing Mt. Everest or have seven million followers on Instagram?

I’ve been stressing over all this shit for too long. And do you know what? I’m done wasting my time. I’m done convincing myself that I’m missing out and that I should be something I’m not.

It all cool to dream that you’re the next Kylie Jenner, but if your sister does have a sex tape, chances are it’s more likely going to end up on a dodgy website rather than with a multi-million contract.

It’s time for real talk now.

Keep working hard. Keep being passionate about the things you love and don’t let anyone tell you, you can’t do it. Whatever it is. Because you are capable. Because you can be more than Kylie, and Kendall and whoever.

And it is ok to live on a budget, in a crappy apartment and have crappy sex life at the moment. As long as you’re doing everything you can to change that. As long as you don’t settle for less than you deserve. As long as your self-pity days don’t last longer than an actual neccesity. And you can switch from *can’t fucking adult today* days to *I got this shit * days.

It’s not easy but you got it babe. Sometimes you just have to give yourself the pep talks.

Like:“ Hello, you are a bad ass bitch! Don’t be sad! You are doing great! Love you!“

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, stop fucking comparing yourself to other people.

JUST. DON’T. That ain’t healthy. I know you will still do it from time to time because I do, but don’t. Stop being jelaous of other people. They also worked hard to get to the top (or you know, their sister cashed their sex tape really well).

Stop thinking of failure. Stop crying because someone has Cartier love bracelet and you have Pandora. Stop beating yourself up because someone goes to Hawaii twice a year and you never left Europe. Stop. It.

Truth is. Nobody is as succesful as Instagram makes them look and nobody is as pretty as filters make them seem.

The only healthy and worthwile comparison is you yesterday vs you today.

You are healthy. You are smart. You are loved. You are not related to Trump. You are twenty-something and your tits are still perky. Life is great even though sometimes you shower with ice cold water and have hummus for breakfast, lunch and dinner because you’re broke. You are actually living your best life, because you are living. And this rollercoaster you are on my dear, it is only going up.

6 things that made me laugh this May

Bonjour peeps!

Don’t you agree that January lasted like three years, February was about two weeks long and March & April  passed as fast as Melania removing her hand away from Trump? 

YES, me too.

But May was indeed just as long as it needed to be?

I had extremely busy,  very emotionally charged, activity-filled month AND fucking hell some very funny things happened to me. So I figured why not share my faves as you might either relate or have a mini LOL moment at my expense. 

Here it goes.

  1. Wine Country on Netflix. I LIVE FOR TRASH MOVIES LIKE THIS. It’s like ultimate comedy you need in your life. It is nearly as funny as the Bridesmaides but main characters are middle aged which only makes you laugh even more (BUT, hello me in cca 30 years)
  2. When my postman delivered my 5th delivery of the week with an eye roll and a comment: “Another ASOS delivery, eh?” I then panicked a bit and lied that I am an influencer. (that’s me DONE)
  3. Getting locked in Regnet’s park whilst drinking prosecco with my besties and needing to jump over the fence to get out. (it is as simple as that)
  4. When my toddler nephew was video calling me but decided that talking to himself in a mirror is obviously more important.
  5. Bryony Gordon’s book Wrong Knickers, but most importantly chapter “How to survive the wedding season”
  6. Date from hell. *I need you to know that what I’m about to write isn’t made up it is in fact a true event I have evidence to support this story. AND YES, you’re allowed to laugh.*

I WENT ON A DATE WITH A TRUMP SUPPORTER. Yes, a right-wing, gun carrying, abortion approving, red colour wearing, Mexican hating, wall building, Trump supporting man. He was as Republican as they get.

I OF FUCKING COURSE HAD NO FUCKING IDEA. To me was a cute looking guy from Florida (ALARM! ALARM! ALARM!) who asked me out for drinks because he’s never dated a foreign gal (ALARM! ALARM! ALARM!) and wanted to take me out for dinner (WHO GOES OUT FOR A DINNER ON A FIRST DATE!?).

I stupidly downloaded Hinge few weeks ago  and HE DIDN’T ADVERTISED IT ON THERE. Which let me tell you, IT SHOULD BE WRITTEN THERE. Especially if on a first date, you’re planning to tell a girl that once you get married, she’s your property.

Now, I negotiated drinks in my local pub because hello safe drinking and dating and first 15 minutes were indeed very pleasant. Then he mentioned he’s a 25-year-old virgin (HEY, ain’t nothing wrong with that but ALSO HEY, you’re an American). THEN I JOKED (thinking he was joking) how now he’s gonna tell me that he also voted for Trump which by his very serious question: “WHAT’D BE WRONG WITH THAT?” told me that I should stop joking because he isn’t joking.

It took be approximately 22 seconds to put on my fully democrat, open-minded and feminist brain to work and start what now seems to me like slightly dramatic monologue about how everything he believes and stands for is WRONG.

Then we started having a debate and oh boy!!! (Hilary and Trump should be ashamed) Very long and very amusing story short, after what seemed like forever but obvs was only 45 minutes two people (hi Tori & Richard) jumped in on our convo because I was fucking losing it, and of coure Tori was the most fab feminist lawyer, killed him with her arguments to the point where he decided to leave the beer garden and wait for me inside (NEVER HAPPENED, as the waiter let me leave the pub in the back exit). Tori and Richard then bought me drinks (total of seven), and tried to cheer me up with their funny date stories and we stayed there for next two hours discussing how very narrow minded ‘Mericans (does not apply to Democrats) are and how no Londoner should ever take shit from them. We were also joined by two other girls in our chat, (don’t remember your names lovelies but thanks for more drinks) until the pub was closing and the waiter who eventually saved me told me that that dude is still waiting for me inside. MAJOR LOL MOMENT I still don’t believe it happened but HEY, you win some, you lose some. (ALSO I HAD FEW ANGRY MASSAGES FROM HIM LATER ON BUT THANKS GOD FOR BLOCK OPTIONS)

Let’s talk about: love for your body

As last week was a Mental health awareness week focused on body image I’ve done lots of self reflection on that topic. Although I’m only 24, I’ve been to emotional hell and back when it comes to body image.

But haven’t we all?

 As I’ve always been bigger than any girl my age and people would always point that out as something that was incredibly wrong with me. I was called  names and made fun of my looks simply because I was taller (mostly by undeveloped little boy twats), and had like extra ten-ish kilos.

Little did they know that I don’t actually give a single fuck what they think  or say.

I first came in touch with body dissatisfaction in high school when my best friend developed anorexia and bulimia.

 I didn’t know what the fuck to do.

How to help.

Or even what to say.

To me, she was the most beautiful, smartest, funniest and kindest girl I ever knew, that I know.

I didn’t understand.

I would stuff my careless face with pastries whilst she’d tell me stories about how she lives on half of the apple a day because her tights don’t have a gap size of the Grand Canyon between them. It was abolutely devestating to see her think and act like that.

But that’s the thing about eating disorder, isnt’t it? It makes you tell yourself that you’re not skinny enough, that you’re not pretty enough and all of a sudden you’re not good enough.

It is so fucked up.

What she’s gone through marked me a little as well. It put that little bug in my ear that said: well if you ever do feel like you need to lose weight this is the faster/easier way. Because nothing feels as good as skinny!

WRONG, I’d tell myself, sausage rolls do!!!

And as a every sixteen-year-old I too was obviously very delusional.

Pressured into it just to fit in, my time of no eating anything or barely something came as well.

Luckily enough my mom shut it down after two months of me pretending to live in Skins tv show with a threat she’ll smack my bottom and send me to live with the nuns.

It wasn’t really until I was 18 and have been to through some serious medical shit that changed by body literally over night that I was left with a seriously poor self image.

Next five years of my life was me living in a body that I didn’t recognize.

A body I was ashamed of.

I tried hiding it and didn’t love it, like at all.

On really bad days I’d actually hate it. I’d scream at doctors asking why the hell would they try to fix me by ruining my body?

How dare they saving my life if that meant losing all of my hair and gaining weight and having mulitiple scars, muscle atrophy and let’s not even mentions cheeks as a squirrel caused by sterioids because I CAN’T.

It took me five years to even consider myself beautiful.

To even try to look like a girl.

 To feel confident.

To tuck my shirt into my jeans.

To wear heels.

To wear a skirt above my knees.

To wear a tank top.

To wear something that shows my scars.

To put on a bikini.

To not worry if I’m going to fit between tables in a coffee shop.

To feel like a woman.

Five years of practising self love and self care.

 Lot’s of therapy.

Pep talks from my friends but mostly mother.

Accepting I am good enough the way I am.

Finding a workout and a routine I love.

 And lots of deep self analyzing to be able to even like my body.

I did lots of journaling.

Listened lots of podcasts and read few books.

I unfollwed all unreal Victorias and her secret models on social media and started following body positive advocates.

But the hardest thing was letting go.

Letting go of things I can’t change.

Letting go of man that make me feel like shit.

Letting go of people don’t accept me for who I am and are constantly trying to change me.

Letting go of diets.

Letting go of that control freak I was.

 And accepting who I am is enough. I am perfect the way I am. And if I am too much for some people, well then they weren’t my people to start with.

A letter I wrote to my body

Dear body,

I am so sorry.

I am sorry for the way I treated you most of my life. For not caring enough about you and not liking you enough, sometimes even at all.

I am sorry for eveytime I hurt myself by bumping into things and for all the broken bones, total of 9 throughout my childhood.

I am sorry for all the cigarettes I smoked.

All the alcohol I drank and continue to drink.

And all the drugs I’ve put you through.

I am sorry for every 2am McDonald’s.

I am sorry for late nights and lack of sleep.

 I am sorry for googling plastic surgeries I can get in order to fix you. God knows I’m too much of a wuss to even get a lip filler not to mention liposuction or mastopexy.

I am sorry for every bad sex that left both you and me very unsatisfied.

 I am sorry for every single time I over fed you.

I am sorry for every single time I starved you.

I am sorry I’ve got sun burnt every summer so far.

 I am sorry for all the tight clothes I used to squeeze you in. (we both know that Spanx didn’t change anything)

I am sorry for all the comparisons I made with skinny girls in magazines. And all the Kardashians who drink shitty teas and have armies of people who make them look like brand new Barbie dolls.

I am sorry for all the damage I’ve put you trough whilst doing squats and dead lifts completely wrong.

Dearest body,

I also want thank you.

Thank you for fixing yourself after all the damage I’ve done to you. It still amazes me how incredible you are.

Thank you for getting me places even when I didn’t want to go.

Thank you for getting me through cancer. For putting up with all the chemo and other shit that we needed in order to get cancer free.

Thank you for not giving up on me when it was life or death.

Thank you for loving me back even tho I didn’t love you.

It is just you and me on this journey life is and I need you to serve me as long as you can so we can have more fun, see places we’ve never been to and walk down the aisle to marry a man we are going to have many dogs with.

Or even a little baby. Would it be okay if I let another person live in you as well? It’s just for 9 months that according to my sister go by very fast.

I am sorry it took me nearly 24 years to do so but I love you.

Love every scar.

Every strech mark.

Every bump and lump.

Every grey hair.

Every line on my face.

All the cellulite.

Hair that doesn’t listen even on a sunny let alone rainy day.

My bad knee that doesn’t bend properly because I fucked it up skiing.

My shrek fingers that look very wonky.

And even my hobbit feet that I got from my dad (and his nose!)

I love you dear body.

I will take care of you for the rest of the life. (and yes, I will try to cut my alcohol intake)

I promise.

Let’s talk about: grieving for a loved one

As May rolled in, a funny crippling feeling in my stomach came with it.

I used to love May, it is a month that says: come drink cinder on a common and enjoy the sunshine because proper summer is still not here but that careless feeling is starting to kick in.

Until last year, when my sister called one Friday afternoon crying. Now, there was two things shouting that something is wrong. First, my sister never calls during my work hours. Second, she never cries. After what seems like ages of her trying to catch her breath and stop sounding like a wolf howling at the moon she finally managed to tell me what she intended.

That was a phone call I knew it was coming yet hoped it never will.

I was ready for it ever since I moved to London yet it brought me to my knees.

A phone call that I remember every word and awkward silence of.

A phone call that made me run to the toilet and vomit.

A phone call that told me my granddad Pepi has passed away.

My granddad Pepi.

The strongest man, who’d easily lift all of his seven granddkids at once. He and Grandma would take all of us on holidays and were trying to spoil us rotten. We were their whole world, and they were ours.

Pepi was extraordinary human. He gave me my first alcohol to drink, he taught me how to shoot out of an actual gun and took us hunting (yes us girls as well).

He told me I was capable of great things.

He taught me German and would let me climb the trees.

He would always hug me even if I’d do something to make him upset.

He’d say that it’s ok to make mistakes because we learn from it.

But he’d also say: “You fucked up, make sure to own up to it.”

My granddad would always offer you a glass of his homemade wine when you came for a visit (yes, even if you were 12) and would genuinely take interest in everything what’s happening in your life.

So I made sure he was always up to date with all the happenings in my life. In return he’d tell me everything he saw on the news or heard from the neighbours.

He’d tell me how is his vineyard, how he has no idea why is Grandma upset with him today, how’s all of his brothers and sisters doing and how many eggs did he find in his chicken house that morning.

He’d also always ask to go a buy something nice for Grandma because he doesn’t really know what, but he wants to surprise her. And he’d throw some extra money and tell me to buy myself something too.

He would keep telling me to work hard and party harder, just like he did. He’d always make us laugh behind Grandma’s back because he knew it’d make our day.

He always corrected us talking, writing, reading in the most educational, non-judgemental and loving kind of way. He taught us how to behave in restaurants, how to set a table, how to light a fire, how to pick grapes and what mushrooms are edible.

He’d make us wooden sticks for many walks he’d take us on (each with it’s owners initials) and would make us flower crowns from daisies we’d find in his backyard.

He always shared comic almost not believable stories from his childhood and sang old songs and danced funny dances.

When in church, he’d just make up words of chorals and prayers as he’d go as let’s be honest the only reason he’d go in a first place was Grandma making him go.

He’d always wear a suit with a tie, and a hat for a fancy occasion.

He owned a pocket watch we’ve all eventually learnt how to tell time from.

His words to us, although very strict were filled with love and understanding.

He was a very simple man. And he would always treat us as equals rather than children.

A man with a tough life but who never complained about it.

A man who I know wasn’t perfect, but who was everything to me.

But last few years of his life he wasn’t really this version of my granddad.

Because he had dementia he was nothing like the person I knew. He was this calm, lost, sweet man who’d ask me who am I and how do we know each other?

He’d wonder how come I look so much like my mother (his daughter) and when I explained why, why hasn’t anyone told him he had a granddaughter. He was a person battling dementia, after he survived cancer and two heart attacks, he was strong without even realising it. He died not knowing how much I love him and how much I appreciate everything he’s done for me because he simply couldn’t remember.

Due to dementia I already mourned for this beyond remarkable man I knew, who changed my life and made me a strong independent person I am today. I cried over the fact he doesn’t know me. Doesn’t know his daughters. Over the fact that I wasn’t patient enough with him. That I thought he will never stop being that strong man on whose shoulders I felt like I could conquer the world. I thought we had forever and that he will never die. That although I had to settle for a granddad who isn’t my granddad anymore, we’d still go for walks, hold hands and laugh at Grandma together. He didn’t know me but I knew him. His big, warm, brown eyes would still bring me so much comfort and love.

But he left. And I had to do it once again.

I had to pick my broken pieces, say my goodbyes and give him a kiss on his freezing cold forehead. Just like he used to do it to me.

A photo of my Pepi a week before he passed away.