Category: Observations

  • Snacks

    I remember going to a supermarket with an ex, buying snacks, and doing what any sane human being would do, wanting to have a snack on the way back. I opened it, and he looked at me like I had just committed a crime. “Can’t you just wait until we’re back?” he said, in full snack-police mode. That killed the vibe. The mood. The entire snack timeline.

    Then later, with another guy, after I’d retired from mid-commute snacking due to previous trauma, he surprised me. He bought snacks for the way back. My inner child practically jumped up and down in joy inside my heart. “Finally, someone who gets it!”

    When I was little, around five, I convinced my parents to let me go to the supermarket alone because apparently I was already a fiercely independent grocery enthusiast. I bought myself a snack, sat at the park, and ate it before going home. Meanwhile, my parents were in full panic mode, convinced I’d been kidnapped. When they found me, just chilling, I said, “I got myself a snack for the way back.” They were speechless. I was snack-satisfied.

    I think that’s the thing about connection. The more someone brings out your inner child, the happier you are. Science even says we’re more likely to fall in love with people who remind us of our childhood. I lived that. He had my favorite childhood tea at his place, completely by coincidence. Then, as we hung out more, I kept rediscovering snacks from my childhood in a totally different country. Coincidence? Maybe. Magic? Absolutely. Drinking milk with milk chocolate? Love it. Late night candy? Yes please. My inner child was thriving. She finally felt safe. Seen. Snack-approved.

    Since I was a kid, I always wanted someone in my life I could bring shells to. He was that. I’d spend hours at the beach finding the most perfect ones to bring back. He’d put them around his apartment, and that, even if it sounds small, was a dream come true. He was the guy who made so many of my childhood and adult dreams come true. Not all, but most.

    It didn’t last, of course, but that’s beside the point. If there’s anything I miss from that connection, is how my inner child felt around him. Safe, happy and healed. 

    Now, I surround myself with people who bring that version of me out. The one who laughs with her whole heart. The one who gets overexcited about gummy bears. The one who loves animals, and shares food without being asked. When my inner child comes online instead of hiding in her room, I know I’m around the right people. It is not the same, but it doesn’t have to be.

    So yeah, snacks and candy, apparently, are my love language. If you ever want to win my heart? Don’t wait till we’re home. Just open the damn bag.

  • Maybe Spirituality Was Never Supposed to Be a Practice

    I used to think I wasn’t spiritual at all. I couldn’t sit still to meditate, what I did to ground myself suspiciously looked like walking barefoot in the park, and every time someone said “visualize light,” my brain responded with: how about we just feel it instead?

    For a while, I felt guilty about that. Like I was missing some invisible membership card to the Enlightened People’s Club.

    But then, one day, somewhere between the flow of the Aare and the rhythm of a Swiss-German song I couldn’t stop humming with dragonflies landing on my body, I realized: I am meditating. Just not in the way people say I should.

    Maybe spirituality isn’t meant to look like sitting cross-legged with your eyes closed. Maybe it’s just being fully alive. Maybe meditative states happen naturally when your feet touch earth, not when your mind repeats affirmations. When you come across an animal, an insect, a bird and your heart’s walls melt. When you’re in a city that feels like home and you don’t have to do anything else but be. 

    Maybe alignment isn’t found in routine, but in recognition, the moment you notice how your entire being lights up in certain places, around certain people, under certain skies. 

    Maybe meditation is as simple as relaxing your body when its automatic reflex is to tighten up from cold. Maybe it’s keeping yourself calm in a sauna when your heart races. Maybe it’s balancing on a board or holding onto a boulder. Maybe it’s focusing on your breath to fall asleep, or on an ascent when your heart is racing.

    Maybe your flow state is when you’re going down a mountain on your bike. Maybe it’s hearing the sound of moving water. Maybe it’s being underwater. Getting kissed by the sun. Feeling the salt on your skin. Gliding through powder, or the waves. Carving on your skateboard. Whispers of wind that feel like freedom. Birdsong at 4AM. Morning red, evening pastels. Watching the clouds drift laying on grass. Smelling the air after rain or just before snow.

    Some souls don’t come here to follow the steps. We come here to remember that there were never any to begin with. We can find the spark in anything. We can turn anything into purpose. We can be anything our heart calls us to be. 

    We find divinity in movement, in breath, in laughter, in mistakes, in the way the world mirrors us back to ourselves. And when we stop trying to do it “right,” that’s when we finally realize; we’ve been doing it right all along. We don’t need a label for the way we choose to live this human experience we call life.

    So no, you won’t see me in linen clothing with crystals, affirmations, or with the wild eyes of the people who’ve spent too much time in Bali. But you will see me living my life with awareness.

  • Linguistic Diversity

    Christians call it a spiritual attack. New age spirituality calls it being in low frequency, or a Dark Night of the Soul. Psychology says it’s clinical depression. Philosophers call it an existential crisis somewhere in the dread of being alive.

    Christians believe a person is under demonic influence. New agers say, “your chakras are imbalanced.” Psychology throws you a few labels: narcissistic traits, psychopathy, trauma response, and philosophers shrug and call it a phenomenon of interpretive relativity.

    Christians call it following God’s word. New agers call it alignment, living from the heart. Psychology says, “you’re healed.” Philosophy says you’ve mastered life.

    Same thing. Different words. Everyone describing the same human experience with the vocabulary that matches their level of consciousness.

    You don’t have to believe in the word “chakra”. You can go full science mode if you want, and still, the fact that we don’t yet have tools sensitive enough to measure every internal process doesn’t mean the connection isn’t there.

    The Bible doesn’t use the word “chakra,” obviously. But it points to the same principle: energy, life force, breath, flowing through what it calls the temple of the Holy Spirit.

    ROOT – groundedness and faith (“planted by streams of water”)

    SACRAL – creativity and life (“rivers of living water will flow from within”)

    SOLAR PLEXUS – strength and will (“the joy of the Lord is my strength”)

    HEART – love and purity (“guard your heart, for everything flows from it”)

    THROAT – truth and expression (“life and death are in the power of the tongue”)

    THIRD EYE – spiritual vision (“the eye is the lamp of the body”)

    CROWN – divine connection (“be transformed by the renewing of your mind”)

    Modern psychology would translate it as: you’ve healed your childhood trauma, stopped projecting your wounds onto others, and maybe still take some pills, just in case.

    Plato said the soul has three parts: reason, spirit, and appetite and virtue is when they’re balanced under wisdom. That’s basically the philosophical version of balanced chakras. Aristotle called the psyche the animating principle of life, same thing as the “breath of God” or “life force energy.” The Stoics talked about Logos: divine reason or order running through everything. Living “according to nature” meant aligning your inner being with that cosmic order. Basically: walking in the Spirit, but make it Greco-Roman.

    What if we stopped fighting over semantics and accepted that everyone’s been describing the same thing all along? Whether you call it energy, spirit, psyche, chi, or grace, it’s the same current. Maybe the point isn’t choosing the right label. Maybe it’s purifying the noise within, accepting there is a creator behind all this, living in alignment, surrender, and acceptance, no matter which dictionary you use.

  • The Cloud

    I like to imagine the subconscious as an infinite cloud floating somewhere above us. Not grey and stormy, but pastel pink, soft blue, brushed with new leafy greens, flashes of purple and bright pink, orange glimmers, dusted in gold all drifting across a deep purple infinity that stretches forever. The cloud feels light, ethereal, alive. Like thought itself breathing in color. Stars flickering through it like neurons firing in slow motion. And inside that infinite shimmer, we’re all connected.

    It’s somewhere between a nebula and lucid dreaming. Weightless, infinite, but alive. 

    Loved ones. Strangers. Ancestors. Everyone who’s ever lived, and everyone who hasn’t yet in linear time. All just vibing in the same frequency field.

    Maybe that’s why love feels like the strongest force we know. Because love is the WiFi password. It opens the door. It lifts us to that cloud, where we remember what we had forgotten. 

    Maybe that’s how we visit each other in dreams. How the ones who’ve left can still find us. How we meet the pure version of ourselves before the the matrix conditioned us which shaped our egos.

    Somewhere in that cloud lives what spiritual folk call our “higher self.” The one untouched by fear. The one who doesn’t flinch, perform, mask, or shrink. The one who remembers who we were before the world told us otherwise.

    Every time we quiet the noise: the scroll, the hustle, the “shoulds,” we connect to that cloud, our subconscious. The static clears and the signal strengthens. And we start aligning with who we’ve been all along.

    Maybe that’s the real purpose of all this. Not chasing meaning, but remembering it. Not escaping the world, but syncing with the part of us that never left the cloud.

    Maybe, just maybe, that’s been the entire point of existence the whole time. Remembrance. 

  • Living From the Heart: The Real Kind

    I have been given several blueprints and templates on my journey. The concept is always the same: live from the heart. 

    I used to think “living from the heart” meant being endlessly soft. Always forgiving. Always open. Always the one who loves a little harder, gives a little more, stays a little longer.

    Spoiler: that wasn’t living from the heart. That was living from fear, fear of losing love if I didn’t overextend myself.

    Real heart energy is quieter. Cleaner. It’s not about chasing connection, it’s about being it.

    Living from the heart isn’t romantic or poetic all the time. It’s gritty. It’s saying, “I love you, but I won’t lose myself again to prove it.”

    It’s realizing that boundaries are sacred. That sometimes the most loving thing you can do is walk away. That being at peace doesn’t mean being passive, it means being rooted in your own truth.

    Here’s what living from the heart actually looks like:

    You give because it feels aligned, not because you want to be chosen. You listen deeply, not to reply, but to understand. You forgive because it frees you, not because someone earned it. You stop performing your softness for people who only understand power.

    You start realizing that the real power is softness, when it’s conscious.

    Living from the heart means your inner masculine protects your peace, while your inner feminine keeps your heart open. You stop waiting for others to balance you, because that balance is already built inside you.

    And by spending time in a city I love the most, one that amplifies everything inside me, I can recognize the “flow state.” The inner peace. What being in alignment feels like. What inner union feels like. I don’t have to do anything when I’m there: I set foot at the bahnhof, and my energy body starts opening. My energy rises. I feel safe. I feel home.

    Leaving that city is a different story. I feel the crushing ache of being separated from a part of myself. I feel whole when I’m there: like all of me is finally in the same place at the same time. But I only go when I’m called. The distance teaches me detachment. That I can be “whole” without a person or a place completing me.

    And that’s the secret no one tells you: When you’re truly in your heart, you don’t fall in love, you rise in it.

    Living from the heart isn’t butterflies. It’s balance. It’s choosing love without losing discernment. It’s being gentle without being blind. It’s standing in your truth and letting it be enough.

    Maybe “living from the heart” doesn’t mean giving yourself away. Maybe it means finally coming home to yourself, fully, honestly, and without apology.

  • Home

    I realized my hair grows twice as fast when I’m at home with my family. This isn’t some woo-woo cosmic hair growth secret, it’s just biology with a sprinkle of emotional stability. My nervous system finally goes, “ah, we can chill now,” and apparently, my hair takes that as a green light to thrive.

    We seriously underestimate how much energy it takes just to feel safe. Especially for women. If you’re living alone in a country that never quite feels like “home,” chances are your nervous system is doing overtime trying to keep you grounded. It’s like having an overworked security guard inside your body who never gets to clock out.

    So, I’ve been finding ways to tell that guard, “hey, you can take a break now.” My personal favorite? Ashwagandha. My nervous system loves that stuff. I swear the first time I took it, my brain sighed in relief like, “finally, she’s doing something right.” I’ve been off it for a while, and wow, the difference is noticeable. We’re getting back on that wagon, stat.

    Then there’s my apartment. My safe zone. My cozy fortress. Blankets are my emotional support system. I wrap myself in them like a sentient burrito. I love warm, dim lighting, the kind that says “you’re safe here” and not “interrogation room.” Candles, plants, essential oils, my holy trinity of comfort. Pine, cinnamon, lemon zest, rosemary. Basically, I’m trying to recreate my childhood olfactory memories. And yes, I still have my plushies. My inner child deserves companionship too. 

    When I can, I escape to nature. Sometimes it’s just sitting in the park after rain, smelling the earth and sharing walnuts with the local crows like a low-budget Disney princess. Sometimes it’s the mountains, sometimes the sea, because I grew up by the water, and apparently my soul still thinks I’m a seal with wi-fi. I go to the pool occasionally, not only to swim, but to play in water like a manta-ray, whale and a seal, and to sit at the bottom holding my breath like an aquatic philosopher. Chlorine ruins my skin, but honestly, that underwater peace is worth every flake. 

    Everyone’s version of safety looks different. The real trick is noticing how much energy our nervous system burns just trying to keep us okay, especially when we’re busy distracting ourselves with the emotional rollercoasters of unavailable people. If we could just sit with ourselves; with compassion, patience, and a bit of humor, we’d actually feel present. Safe. Whole. And when you become your own safe place, the magic happens. You stop grasping for safety in other people’s hands. You stop crashing every time someone leaves. 

    Because you finally realize, home was never a place, or a person. It was you. 

  • Do It Your Way

    In 2020, when I first dipped my toes into Kundalini Yoga, I was determined. Like, full-on “new me” mode. I was going to wake up at 5am, dry brush like a goddess, take an ice-cold shower that would supposedly “awaken my DNA,” and meditate to Sadhana before the sun even remembered to rise. Spoiler alert: I lasted awhile. Maybe two months if we count the days I thought about doing it but hit snooze instead.

    Needless to say, I couldn’t keep up with it and gave up on Kundalini Yoga entirely. But here’s the funny part, even though I abandoned the practice, I listened to Kundalini kriyas like they were the only songs ever released. It was all mantras and the occasional meditations at night for a solid year. At the time, I didn’t know why I loved them so much. I just knew they made me feel… lighter. Like I had my own private cosmic concerts.

    Fast forward to the end of 2025. I’ve gone through my fair share of dark nights of the soul, awakenings, and breakdowns disguised as breakthroughs. Somewhere in between reaching “flow state” just by being physically present in a particular city, and laying on my couch overthinking, I figured something out; how to do it my way.

    Now? I get up when I wake up. No 5am alarms, no punishment schedules, no “sit-down and focus on your breath” meditations. I drink my coffee in peace. I play my Kundalini kriyas while journaling, doing an easy yoga flow without yoga instructors, and balancing on my wobble board like a spiritual circus act. I take warm showers afterwards. I eat breakfast when I’m hungry, not when a wellness influencer says I should. I still check Instagram (yes, I know, very un-yogi of me). I listen to Swiss German pop songs on the metro, do my work, read my book, maybe binge a show, maybe go out, and I go to bed when I’m tired, which somehow started being around 10 or 11pm. My old night owl self could never. I play my frequency playlist in the background when I’m sleeping. 

    I found a rhythm that fits me; a mix of modern human chaos and ancient soul wisdom. I’m living in the physical world but from a higher consciousness, taking care of my mind, my body, and my soul without overcomplicating it. The goal isn’t to ascend: it’s to integrate. Some days my higher self drives. Some days it’s my inner child. Most of the time it’s my inner feminine and masculine navigating through life like a healthy couple. And on bad days, my ego takes the wheel and speeds, but hey, at least now I notice when it does.

    Maybe that’s how we’re meant to do it in 2025. Living in cities, juggling jobs, paying bills, and still finding moments to breathe, connect, and tune in. It doesn’t have to be full monk mode or full matrix mode. We can live in 3D with 5D awareness.

    There’s no one right way to do this thing. The point is to find your way, the one that feels good, not forced. And some days, you’ll totally fall off the wagon, but that’s fine. You can climb back on whenever you want.

    Because at the end of the day, we’re not monks. We’re modern mystics trying to keep plants alive, make rent, and stay grounded while ascending, preferably with good coffee and a decent playlist.

    And maybe, just maybe, that’s the new age way of doing it. Our way.

  • When Your Cup Isn’t Full…

    Yesterday, a switch in my brain flipped when I found out about yet another change in a city I don’t even live in, but somehow remain emotionally attached to. I recognized the pattern from the last two months: blow after blow, change after change. I realized I wasn’t reacting to the removal of the golden elephant statue from that rooftop. I was reacting to everything else that’s been shifting underneath me.

    See, the thing is, we do this in our relationships too. We blow up at a late reply, but deep down, it’s not about the message. It’s about the dozen tiny moments we didn’t express: the disappointments, the unmet needs, the small hurts we let pile up like emotional laundry. Until one day, someone forgets to text back, and suddenly we’re folding every unresolved feeling into that one moment.

    Our cup gets empty sometimes. And most of us don’t even notice it happening. We’re too busy. Too distracted. Too busy being strong. Someone’s taking sips from it, life, work, people and we’re not pouring back in. Until one day, the cup runs dry. And with it goes our patience, our peace, and our ability to handle other humans existing.

    The trick is catching it before it hits zero. To notice when the water’s running low and pour back in while there’s still some left.

    So how do we pour back in? By doing the things that make us feel alive again. Joy. Peace. Rest. Laughter. By taking care of ourselves without guilt. By prioritizing our peace of mind, whatever that looks like. For some, it’s painting or walking barefoot in the grass. For others, it’s saying “no” more often.

    And sometimes, it takes a while to figure out what actually fills your cup. That’s okay. It’s part of the process. No one hands you a manual for this stuff, you learn it by noticing what drains you and what doesn’t.

    We can’t expect anyone else to keep our cup full. It’s our job. Our responsibility. Our act of self-respect.

    And maybe, just maybe, when our cup is full, we stop mistaking exhaustion for unhappiness, and start realizing that peace doesn’t come from life slowing down: it comes from us remembering to refill before we run dry.

  • Love, God, and the Divine Wi-Fi Connection

    At some point in your journey, you stumble upon this truth: Love is the greatest force in the universe. The kind that can heal, destroy, rebuild, and still leave room for dessert. Love is God, and God is Love. Simple, but somehow it takes a few heartbreaks, more than few dark nights of the soul, a couple of injuries, downloads, dreams and visions to really get it.

    Then one random night, just when you’re about to fall asleep, you get the download: God is the Divine Masculine. The Universe is the Divine Feminine. The birthing point. The yin and yang. The Sun and the Moon. The cosmic parents who created everything, including the mess.

    And as the energies within you start balancing out, you notice something. The inner masculine and the inner feminine stop arguing over who’s driving. They both just… meet in the heart center. No one’s dominating. No one’s performing. It’s peace talks in the chest cavity.

    The feminine, of course, rules the upper floors: intuition, dreams, visions. She’s the one whispering, “Go left, babe,” when your brain says, “That makes zero sense.” She’s the reason you trust the weird synchronicities and call them guidance instead of coincidence, much like when you ask the Universe for guidance. It delivers the signs. The tests. The orchestrated events in Divine Timing.

    The masculine, on the other hand, handles the downstairs department: structure, action, and material reality. You ask God for help, and He doesn’t send a sign. He sends an opportunity. A door. A call to move your butt.

    And when they finally merge: the Divine Wi-Fi connection between Heaven and Earth comes online. You start living from your heart, where love meets direction. That’s what they call Christ Consciousness. Unconditional love with a Google Calendar.

    The secret to balancing it all, I’ve learned, isn’t in floating away to the fifth dimension or living in monk mode. It’s living from the heart. Where the chakras play nice. Where nobody’s trying to be the boss.

    Because once you balance those inner energies, you stop fighting life. You start harmonizing with it. Like jazz, a little unpredictable, but somehow perfect.

    For most of my life, I was either team Universe or team God. I grew up believing in both, then switched to the dogmatic side, then went full “Universe, show me a sign!” mode. Turns out, both were right, they were just tired of the silent treatment.

    We live in a dual world. Matter and energy. Masculine and feminine. Light and shadow. Why would God and the Universe be any different? Maybe they’re not two separate forces after all. Maybe they’ve always been the original divine duo: the cosmic balance that existed long before us and will exist long after.

    And maybe, just maybe, balance has been the point all along.

  • On Healing and Dishwashers

    Last night, unprocessed past made an appearance in my dreams: my beloved late bunny, our wounded dog after his attack, and a friend I had a falling out with months ago.

    The thing is, you think you’ve healed. You think you’ve graduated from that phase, earned your invisible diploma in “moving on.” And then, surprise: the universe slides another assignment across your desk. Apparently there’s always extra credit in emotional processing.

    It’s like when you finally manage to load the dishwasher after a ten-person dinner, feeling victorious -a domestic goddess in her prime- and just as you’re about to press start, someone walks in with ten more plates. You stare, defeated. You sigh. Then you start unloading and rearranging, somehow making it all fit, because that’s what adults do: we make space for the unexpected mess.

    Healing’s exactly like that. Just because you’ve “done the work” once doesn’t mean you’re exempt from doing it again. Emotions pile up. Life keeps serving courses you didn’t order. The dishwasher -your heart- never really gets to retire.

    And yes, sometimes it’s exhausting. Sometimes you just want to take a vacation from yourself, go to a metaphorical restaurant, and let someone else do the dishes for once.

    But maybe that’s the beauty of it, that we can keep unloading, reloading, and rinsing what no longer serves us. Maybe healing isn’t a one-time deep clean. It’s just the ongoing maintenance of being human.