Tag: nature

  • Don’t Run From Yourself (You’ll Catch Up Anyway)

    At some point in life, you realize there is no such thing as “the future.” Not in the dramatic psychic hotline sense, but in the mildly inconvenient, existential way. Everything is apparently happening at once, and time is just… how we keep ourselves from panicking.

    Which means the thing you’ve been running toward (or away from) has probably been right there the whole time. Some of us feel things before reality as we perceive catches up. We get called “psychic.” No. We are just tuned into time differently than the average person.

    What we like to label intuition, telepathy, or how did I know that? isn’t a superpower. It’s not witchcraft. It’s not even particularly sexy. It’s just… being tuned in. To yourself. To others you resonate to. To your patterns. To that quiet inner signal that’s been trying to get your attention while you were busy refreshing your phone and questioning every decision you’ve ever made.

    It’s not mind-reading. It’s just frequency recognition. Once you know how something feels: a person, a city, a situation, you can sense it from miles away. Like a radio station. Some frequencies fade. Some don’t. Some stay stubbornly on air like a song you didn’t ask Spotify to play but now somehow know all the lyrics to.

    Have I mastered turning every frequency off? Absolutely not. But I have mastered turning my back. And I mastered not getting swayed away with all the coincidences and reminders that still manage to find me everyday. I mastered not giving an emotional response, other than cracking up once in a while when they get too ridiculous. And honestly, that’s an underrated life skill.  

    The more connected you are to yourself, the less random life feels. Patterns start revealing themselves. Yours. Theirs. Life’s. And yes, awareness can feel a little boring. Like being the only sober person at a party. But it’s also what keeps you from replaying the same emotional storyline with a different cast and a slightly worse ending.

    That’s one of the points life on Earth tries teaching. Not running from yourself. Not outsourcing your direction to fate, tarot cards, exes, or the universe’s customer service department, which in my humble opinion, doesn’t exist the way we wish it would.

    Because when you’re connected to you, you already know where you’re going. And suddenly the people and opportunities that appear make sense. Suddenly you’re less busy forcing outcomes and more comfortable letting timing do its thing.

    Once you start noticing how interconnected everything is: people, places, timing, moods, you notice something else too: alignment is contagious. When you’re aligned with yourself, aligned people show up. Aligned opportunities knock. Aligned chaos waits politely instead of kicking the door in.

    Funny how that works. The moment I stopped obsessing over destiny and started trusting myself (while handing the truly uncontrollable bits over to God), life aligned in ways I never could’ve planned. I wanted the “go with the flow” last year. I got it. Just not in the aesthetic, Pinterest-board way I imagined.

    Turns out clarity doesn’t always arrive loudly. It comes with fires that burn down the masks, storms that blow out the dead skin away, and then it just you on the shoulder and says, Relax. You’ve been on the right path longer than you think. 

  • (Almost) White Christmas

    Yesterday, the air smelled like snow. You know that smell, the kind that sneaks up on you, taps you on the shoulder, and whispers, “Put your expectations down, but trust me anyway.” I didn’t get my hopes up. I never do. I just knew. And sure enough, it snowed. The first snow of the season here.

    Apparently, I don’t just travel with actual baggage; I bring weather systems. Missed the November snow in Bern, caught it back home in Bulgaria. Timing has never been my strongest skill, but when it hits, it hits.

    I’m reunited with my parents and our dogs for Christmas and New Year’s, sitting in my parents’ new handmade sunroom while snow falls politely outside. Courtesy of my father, who can build actual structures with his hands. Which explains… A lot. Apparently this is why I have a soft spot for men who can build things. Especially out of wood. Especially if they don’t need an instruction manual. I, too, have woodworking plans. Turns out it’s genetic. The blueprint was there all along.

    Now, let’s be honest. I’d choose Alpine cold over this humid, windy chaos any day. This is the kind of cold that seeps into your bones uninvited. And yet, yes, I’m still considering a swim in the Black Sea, despite it feeling like minus seven degrees outside. Limits? Never met her. My idea of fun doesn’t need refinement, just a matching level of insanity and other humans who hear “freezing water” and think, “Perfect.” Especially if that’s a mutually agreed first-date plan. 

    After Christmas dinner, and an ambitious amount of mulled wine at apéro, I slept for twelve uninterrupted hours. Twelve. A coma, really. A well-earned one after a week of sleep deprivation and questionable decisions.

    And then… the dreams.

    Three different men starred in them. One by one. Like a rotating cast. I feel dirty, in the best possible way. Real me is on a wholesome family holiday. Dream me, however, had a packed social calendar, dream dates. One was the regular. The recurring character. Always there, stopped complaining about it, there is no point. This time particularly committed to reminding me what I was allegedly missing out on. The other two were new. And new is always delightful. I was eventually pulled back to reality by our puppy launching himself into bed like a furry alarm clock with zero respect for narrative closure. 

    And somewhere between the snow, the wine, the dreams, and the dog hair, it hit me how far I’ve come since September. Back then, I was still mad at him. Actively. Professionally. Now? Life is too good to bother. Plus, I closed the loop. Finally. Turns out some things don’t need force, just timing. And a little snowfall for dramatic effect.

    I’m out. I’m free. Free to live and enjoy the absolute crap out of myself, like a graduate freshly released into the world, slightly unhinged, deeply grateful, and fully convinced that the best part might still be ahead.

    And honestly? I’ll take that kind of white Christmas any year. Light and fluffy. Good vibes, BBQ meats with a side of potato salad with homemade French Dressing. 

  • Snow

    On Saturday, we went on the first snow hike of the year. Me, the snow-obsessed newborn who predicted snowfall at 15 months old before anyone even taught her what snow was, purely by smelling the air, had already been homesick for mountains for weeks. Soul pull, heart pull, ancestral craving for snow, cheese, chocolate, and glacier lakes. I am basically Plüsch’s “Heimweh” song in human form.

    But ever since more awareness entered my life; since being casually thrown into the flames of my life force and having my soul wake up to itself my emotional landscape has… shifted. Unless I’m actively purging stored emotions from my body, I mostly feel… neutral. Which is wild for someone who used to chase feelings like a sport. I still feel. Just differently now. I feel peace. Love. Heart-pulls toward places. The “green-light” for aligned actions. And occasionally, that deep shell-cracking pain that splits you open so something new can grow. Apparently, that’s just part of the deal now. And when something doesn’t feel right, I still get “bad vibes.” That’s not new. The difference is: now I actually listen.

    Back to the hike. I’m a person who doesn’t love physical touch. But cold air? Cold air gets a VIP pass. I love how it nibbles at my skin. I feel my body when it’s crisp. You know those guided meditations where they tell you to “feel your body,” and you’re like… sir, I feel nothing? Same, unless there’s cold air, cold water, tight clothes, or I’m rolled into a burrito in blankets. Cold turns my system on. Makes me feel present. Also: I hate sweating. So it’s layers-off hiking with sleeveless tops. The more you move, the warmer you get. Perfect system. No notes.

    The hike itself: which old me wouldn’t have even called a “hike” because it lacked the usual physical suffering, felt more like a poetic snow walk. Afterwards, we went into the city in search of glühwein and accidentally ran into the Christmas lights countdown. I couldn’t have cared less about the ceremony itself, but being at the right place at the right time felt quietly adequate. Like a shiny little cherry on top. 

    Later, glühwein was found. And after five cups, I felt the pull to Bern hit me like a freight train. Not the usual soft background hum. This was the full-volume version, alcohol making everything feel more dramatic. The place my heart orbits. The gravitational field I pretend I can ignore. The comparison point for everywhere else on Earth. No matter where I go, Bern remains the blueprint. It’s like I do have a love of my life. It’s just… it’s a city. 

    The next day, slightly betrayed by mild hangover physics and a late night, I chose warmth. Because yes, I may have walked sleeveless at 2000 meters in a snowy mountain landscape and rolled around in snow like an unsupervised puppy, my skin demanded reparations. Herbal teas. Hydration. Homemade masks. Balance. Warm porridge. Hot showers. At my next place, I am signing up for a bathtub. And a sunny terrace. And plenty of space for my indoor plants that are growing faster than my hair.  

  • On Bugs, Metros, and the Art of Letting Go

    In Milan, you get used to two things: heatwaves and unexpected insect roommates. It’s like the city never told them they weren’t invited, and now they just live here, casually buzzing into your apartment like they pay rent.

    One day, I killed two flies. No drama, no mercy, just out of annoyance.

    The next morning, I found a small bug at the metro. A woman wanted to crush it. I let a firm “no” out, and stopped her from doing so. I picked it up in a napkin, keeping it safe until I got out.

    Ten minutes later, on my way out, another insect. Another rescue. A strange kind of redemption arc began to unfold; one bug at a time.

    Months passed. I cried over the spider I killed by accident almost a year ago. Sobbed, actually. Like I had killed something sacred. Maybe I had.

    The next day, I found a bug underground again. Trapped between steel and foot traffic. And again, I set it free.

    I started to notice a pattern.

    Every time I released a bug from the belly of the city (this dark, mechanical underground maze) something in me felt lighter.

    Because maybe it was never just about the bugs.

    Maybe it was about all the things I’ve kept trapped in my own system: the grief, the control, the clinging to people who weren’t meant to stay. Maybe I keep freeing insects because I’m still learning how to free myself.

    And isn’t that the quiet spiritual metaphor of it all?

    We kill things we don’t understand.

    We trap what we don’t know how to handle.

    And every once in a while, we choose instead to set it free, even when we don’t have to.

    Sometimes I wonder if that tiny insect, dazed and dusty, ever turns around and thinks, thank you.

    Or maybe it just flies off, back to where it belongs; the sky, the trees, anywhere but here.

    And me?

    I stay behind on the metro platform, quietly realizing: setting things free… is a very freeing thing to do.