Tag: writing

  • The Art of Being Grounded

    (Or: Why I Can’t Create Anything If My Nervous System Is in the Stratosphere)

    I came back from an 8-day trip a different person. Not in a “sold all my belongings and joined a commune” way. More like… my body quietly changed the locks and informed my brain it will be operating under new management.

    The trip itself was basically a soft-launch wellness retreat I did not plan but deeply benefited from: three therme visits, saunas, cold dips in two Alpine rivers and two Alpine lakes, breathwork, herbal teas, excellent Swiss food, and good people with good energy. Just vibes and oxygen. 

    And somethings just… Clicked.

    For almost a year, I hadn’t really wanted alcohol or meat. But I kept consuming both because, you know… society. I like beer. I enjoy a Negroni in Milano. Some of my past Negroni decisions were, frankly, character-building. But on this trip, watching someone I’d never expect casually choose alcohol-free beer did something. Suddenly my occasional beers and cocktails felt… unnecessary. Irrelevant. Pointless.

    Same with meat. I spent a week around vegetarians who cooked really well. When I tried meat again, my body rejected it like a bad situationship. Same products I’d eaten for years: suddenly – no thank you. So I bought the vegetables. The fruits. My mother is thrilled. Balance has been restored.

    Here’s the thing though, this isn’t really about food or drinks. It’s about grounding. It’s about self-love. Clean eating signals nourishment, love, being taken care of to the body. And sweetie… Self-love is where it all begins. The sweet spot where you are recharged, balanced, held steady by yourself.

    I feel a shift in the air. Call it planetary transits, the Wood Snake shedding its skin, the Fire Horse warming up, or just collective nervous system fatigue. Or spring finally getting a little closer after a dead winter. Whatever language you prefer, something is moving. And my body wants to prepare. To get stronger. To move. To be able to hold what’s coming instead of dissociating through it.

    Which brings me to the real point of this post (finally, hello): You cannot stay in creator mode if your body is ungrounded. But you also cannot skip the observer mode that teaches you what you’re meant to create.

    For a long time, I was observing. Learning. Watching patterns: mine, others’, especially the ones mirrored back to me by people I love. And here’s the uncomfortable truth: you cannot create for someone else. You cannot love someone into alignment. You cannot do the work on their behalf, no matter how spiritually poetic and romantic that sounds to a virgo.

    Trust me. I tried. So when my hands were tied externally, I turned inward. Not necessarily dramatically like packing my bags and leaving for Bali, but in a day-to-day, simple and practical one.

    For me it now looks like Ecstatic dance to feel my body, beats that move the hips (science will back me up on this), slow evenings with candles, deep relaxation playlists, oils, and ambient lighting, breath-work and meditation before bed, root vegetables, mushrooms (yes, the kind they sell in the grocery store), red, orange, and yellow foods, less coffee, more herbal tea, and the usual balance board-yoga flow, workouts, skateboarding, hiking, cold plunges, spas, connecting to nature in every chance I get.  

    I made a new playlist with beats that hit the sweet spot, the kind that get your fire moving, feel a little ecstatic, and lift you without asking too many questions. They hit deep and raise the mood. I don’t know about you, but if I had any blockages down there or was feeling low… this playlist would absolutely be my go-to lifesaver.

    Basically: things that tell the body “you are safe, you are here, you can land now.”

    And from that place, creation becomes possible. Not as a magic trick, but as a side effect. The more stable you are, the calmer the mind gets, the flatter the emotional spikes become, and the stronger your energetic field – and emotional boundaries – feel. The more aligned you are with yourself. And that’s the point. Okay, maybe not the whole point… but it’s definitely somewhere past the chaos and well into the good part.

    I know it’s been only two days since I got back from those eight days that felt like eight months. And honestly? Time has been doing parkour since March last year: it has moved like it’s on fast-forward whenever I actually do the work. December and January felt normal. February immediately said “no” and accelerated again. Apparently, when you’re aligned, time stops pretending.

    So if you’re stuck creatively, emotionally, spiritually: before asking what you should do next, ask something simpler: Is my body grounded enough to hold what I’m trying to create? 

  • Balance Isn’t Optional

    I’ve lived long enough to notice one undeniable rule of this galaxy: balance is not optional. It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a vibe. It’s the law.

    Look around. The planet is a perfectly choreographed group project: sun and moon, tides, seasons, ecosystems that somehow work without Google Calendar. Whether you call it God, the Universe, Divine Masculine and Feminine energy holding hands in the sky, or just very impressive physics: the theme is the same. Harmony. Balance. Checks and balances everywhere.

    So… why would humans be the exception?

    We’re literally the only species that looks at balance and goes, “No, I think I’ll fight this.” We resist, control, dominate, argue, exhaust ourselves, and behave like there’s a backup planet waiting for us once we ruin this one. (There isn’t. Even if you believe in aliens. You’re still here. On Earth. Congratulations. Earth school is in session.)

    But let’s zoom in, because we’re not here to fix the world today. We’re here to talk about balance in our tiny, dramatic, salt-speck lives.

    Here’s what I’ve noticed: life runs in cycles, and they come in pairs. For every isolated phase, there’s a social one. For every grind-and-suffer era, there’s an ease-and-flow era. For every loss of something unaligned, there’s a replacement that actually fits. For every “what the hell was that,” there’s a quiet win that sneaks in later.

    Nothing is random. Annoying? Yes. Random? No.

    We don’t actually own anything: not people, not outcomes, not moments. We’re just visiting this exact point in time, which somehow exists alongside the past and the future like a cosmic multitasking queen. Life is a sequence of lessons, tests, and occasional rewards (sprinkled in just enough to keep us from fully losing our minds), and of course reaching the sweet spot in alignment that our spoken words and thoughts start manifesting in reality without sitting on HR’s desk for approval for ages.

    And life has preferences. It loves emotional regulation. It loves when we feel things instead of suppressing them. It loves release, letting go, trust, faith. It loves when we stop trying to micromanage the universe like we’re its unpaid intern.

    Which brings me to the real question: why force anything?

    Why contort yourself into alignment with something that clearly isn’t aligned with you? Why stay quiet when speaking up would clarify everything? Why bend yourself into shapes your soul never agreed to, instead of trusting that what’s not meant for you will be replaced (cleanly, calmly) by what is?

    Boldness, I’ve learned, isn’t recklessness. It’s clarity with a backbone.

    Life is weird. We’re souls having a human experience, and let’s be honest, some of us read the instructions upside down. While most people arrived knowing how to be human, some of us had to learn the basics late: Oh. I have a body. I live here. I’m not meant to float away at the first inconvenience.

    So lately, I’ve been choosing boldness. Not the loud kind, the grounded kind. The kind that isn’t afraid to lose, because it knows it won’t lose what’s meant for it. And if another test cycle shows up? Fine. I plan to pass it this time, not by suffering harder, but by integrating what I already learned.

    Balance always collects its dues. The only real choice we have is whether we cooperate… or exhaust ourselves pretending we know better than the laws of this place we live in. 

    Or perhaps we just need more Libras who have awareness to save the world.

  • Getting Catfished by Reality: AI or not to AI 

    a very real café

    I couldn’t help but wonder… are we all being catfished by reality now?

    I was doomscrolling on the train today, nothing dramatic, just the usual content: animals doing human things, humans doing questionable things. At some point I laughed at a video that turned out to be AI-generated. It got me. Fully. And I’m Gen Z. Well, late 90s Gen Z, which is basically a micro-generation that remembers dial-up sounds but also owns an emotional support Notes app.

    And that’s when it hit me: if I can’t tell (as a graphic designer with an eye for detail) what’s real anymore… who can?

    We’re currently in this strange in-between era where people still comment “this is AI” under posts. Sometimes correctly. Sometimes wildly incorrectly. Which says less about AI and more about the collective trust issues we were already carrying into the internet like unresolved baggage.

    I thought… how long until we stop caring altogether?

    Will there come a point, maybe months from now, maybe sooner, where we just shrug, scroll, and accept that the content we consume may or may not have ever existed? That the dog might not be real, the couple might not be real, the sunset might be a rendering, and honestly… neither might we, depending on who you ask.

    We already can’t agree on what reality is. Adding AI to the mix feels less like a plot twist and more like the universe saying, “You sure you wanted clarity?”

    And here’s the thing: AI itself isn’t the villain. It’s neutral. It doesn’t wake up plotting chaos. It just reflects human intent: like a very advanced mirror with no moral compass. Use it to fix your grammar, brainstorm ideas, speed up your workflow, design better things, think more clearly? Love that. Iconic. Efficient. Very “working smarter, not harder.”

    But humans will always human.

    Which means some people will use it to fish for engagement. Some will use it to fake identities. Some will use it in ways that make you wonder if we deserved high-speed internet in the first place. And no amount of tech optimism changes the fact that we’ll need new rules, new ethics, and probably new boundaries around what we trust online.

    Or -plot twist- maybe this is how social media slowly loses its grip.

    Maybe when we can no longer tell what’s real, the novelty wears off. Maybe we get bored of perfectly generated chaos. Maybe we drift back to words. To books. To long-form thought. To handmade things. To creative labor that takes time, patience, and fingerprints. Maybe authenticity becomes the luxury item.

    Because in a world where everything can be generated instantly, effort starts to mean something again.

    And maybe that’s not the downfall of creativity, but its reset.

    After all, we’ve survived plenty of technological “ends of the world” before. We adapted. We recalibrated. We kept telling stories.

    The tools change. Humans stay human. That’s how we survive. 

  • 2025 Ramblings (aka: The Year I Shed My Skin Like a Dramatic Lizard)

    If 2025 had a résumé, it would list intense transformation under “core competencies.” This was the year many of us finally looked at our patterns straight in the face, gained enough emotional XP to level up, unlocked new stages we didn’t ask for, and shed so much metaphorical skin we could’ve built an entirely new person out of it. Honestly, a craft project.

    The fire didn’t just warm us, it burned through illusions, fog, and denial. It cracked shells. It forced rebirth. In my case, it burned down the masks so thoroughly that the version of me I’d locked away years ago finally walked out, blinking in the light, asking for snacks and freedom. I let her out. I chose her. I fell in love with who I am. Best jailbreak I’ve ever staged.

    Which brings me to the million-dollar question we all ask at the end of a year like this: How do we not repeat the same patterns like it’s a cursed Netflix rewatch? How do we know what to leave behind in 2025, and what’s just showing up wearing a fake mustache pretending to be new?

    When something familiar appears again, is it because we haven’t learned the lesson… or because this time we’re being offered the option to simply not engage? Or is it that we are attracting similar situations because we are stuck in the same frequency? How do we know what’s aligned, and what’s not?

    Because, of course, toward the end of the year, few patterns I know all too well resurfaced. Same vibes. Slightly different fonts. More complicated than last time, because they always are. Personal growth apparently comes with upgraded difficulty levels.

    Cue indecisive me, collecting data like a scientist in a lab coat, trying to make a “fully informed decision.” Which is hilarious, because if I’m being honest, I already made the choice a long time ago. Maybe this isn’t a crossroads. Maybe it’s just background noise. Maybe nothing is that deep. Maybe the core lesson has always been the same: choose yourself unapologetically, stop abandoning yourself to fit into situations not meant for you, and trust (annoyingly, patiently) that things are working for you, even when it feels like the universe is freelancing.

    Time will tell. Time. That funny little illusion we all pretend is real while it calmly laughs in non-linear.

    We spend our lives surfing waves of illusion and call it reality. Maybe in 2026, more layers of reality become accessible. Maybe more people stop being afraid of the unknown. Which would make sense, we are living in the age of information, curiosity, and the “wait, that actually makes sense.”

    So here’s to the lessons of 2025. This transformative “9” year. May we leave behind the patterns that truly need to go, and stop labeling everything as “DO NOT REPEAT.” Not all repetition is bad. History itself is repetitive. Humanity is repetitive. Of course our small lives contain echoes. In a world where everything is frequency, we’ll keep attracting similar situations if we keep broadcasting the same signal.

    The trick isn’t forcing new outcomes. It’s shifting the frequency.

    To attract what we want, we first have to know how it feels. Learn it. Tune into it. Practice holding it without panic.

    To attract what’s aligned? That’s the scenic route. Balance. Self-trust. Letting go of control. Responding instead of forcing. Being present. Listening inward instead of outsourcing direction.

    I’m choosing alignment. I’m choosing balance.

    Happy 2026. Let’s try a gentler level this time.

  • Cosmic Observations: Fire, Earth, and Things in Between

    Lately my Instagram feed is basically a full-blown compatibility seminar: fire x earth signs, moon vs. sun interactions, complementary vs. matching moon phases… you know, all the cosmic tea. Naturally, I checked. Of course I checked. Because curiosity is a sign of evolution, or maybe just a Virgo thing, let’s not overthink. 

    And let’s not forget what my mother said when I tried blaming the stars for my indecisive, quick-to-change-my-mind, sometimes-called-moody behavior. I jokingly told her, “Clearly, you gave birth to me at the wrong time. I should have been a Libra or a Gemini.” Without missing a beat, she looked me dead in the eye and said, “Let’s not blame the signs for this. You are clearly… well… you.” Which in mom terms, she is calling me special. Classic mom wisdom, straight to the point.

    From experience, here’s what I’ve noticed: when someone’s moon is in your sun, or vice versa, it’s vibe central. Think: instant “I feel really comfortable around you” energy. Soul-snack-level vibes. Strong Wi-Fi connection, chilling at a cozy lounge with a hot beverage where conversations keep flowing, and laughter is very much present where everyone can be themselves without pretending.

    Then I checked my parents’ charts. Twins, basically. And me? I once had a thing with someone whose Placidus chart twinned mine to the angles. Intensity, my friends. Top-tier, fireworks-in-your-chest, transformative intensity. Not during… but during the aftermath. Because apparently the universe likes to hand you the emotional fire extinguisher after it’s already set things ablaze.

    And then there’s moon phase compatibility. Someone with complementary moon phases? Easy. Flowy. Vibey. Like bending water together. Fluent. Words just come out and the other gets them. No subtitles needed.

    Matching moon phases, though? Now that’s a whole other level of intensity. Like, “I didn’t sign up for this, but apparently somethings need to break open again for more growth” type intense. Not through trauma or melodrama, but via these focused, cleansing fires. Uncomfortable. Transformative. You’d cry, you’d laugh, you’d merge, you’d question your life choices… and somehow, something entirely new would emerge. A whole new era. A path you can’t walk in fear. Kind of like bending fire, if we’re sticking with Avatar metaphors. Only… I’d need a master to show me how.

    Speaking of Avatar: I’d be a water bender, naturally, with some air-bending tendencies, a green thumb, and some hidden fire skills. Because yes, I spent the majority of my life hiding my fire. Typical.

    Speaking of elements… there are hand types. Yes, apparently our hand shapes represent elements. I have fire hands. Chemistry sparks with people who have earth hands, or at least, one of the only two people I’ve ever had real chemistry with happen to have earth hands. Fire and earth. 

    As for air or water hands? Nope. Can’t vibe. It’s like we’re from different planets. They drift through my life like background characters in a movie I didn’t even know I was directing, and we do not understand each other. 

    And then there are all the connections we aren’t even nudged to investigate. How many more coincidences (wink, wink) and synchronicities are floating around, waiting for us to notice? Do we find them because we actively look, or are we nudged to look because, deep down, we already know we’d find them? Cosmic little game of peek-a-boo, basically.

    Humans are endlessly fascinating. Human connections? Cosmic-level interesting. Astrological charts? Fun for data analysis and sipping tea on a family vacation in a rural area with not that much to do, but let’s not pretend a birth date predicts everything. Planetary movements influence us, sure, but there is no mystical Wi-Fi that writes your life script. (Although if there were, I’d want an upgrade to premium.)

    So yes, check the charts. Observe. Laugh. Note patterns. But if you vibe with someone supposedly “incompatible”? Congratulations, you’re officially a cosmic rebel. And maybe, just maybe, the planets are cheering for you anyway.

  • Vision Board (or: How the Universe Reads Fine Print)

    Last year, I made a vision board. You know, one of those very intentional, aesthetically curated collages where you casually tell the universe, “No pressure, but this please.” It was stacked: alpine scenery, river swims, Bern, mindful girl energy, techno nights, outdoorsy hobbies, sunshine, maybe even a puppy. Very balanced. Very “I have my life together” coded.

    I didn’t actually hang it on the wall though. Not because I didn’t believe in it, more because I didn’t feel like explaining my long-term soul vision to short-term situations. Which, in hindsight, was already a clue. And frankly, none of those situations lasted long enough to earn a tour of my inner world anyway back in the day when I still gave dating in Italy a shot. It was pointless when the type of guy I know I want belongs to a whole other geography, and linguistic background. 

    Here’s the plot twist: almost everything on that board happened. Plus some surprises that were aligned with what was on the board. Even the puppy my parents ended up adopting because she accidentally ended up on their doorstep turned out to be black and white instead of black and brown, but we have a new puppy. Not magically overnight, not in a neat linear order, but unmistakably so. Except for one thing. The career part. That one sat there looking… vague. Half-hearted. Like a placeholder slide in a presentation you swear you’ll fix later.

    Because while I apparently know exactly what I want in love, lifestyle, geography, energy, rhythm, scenery, temperature, and background soundtrack… But career-wise? Big blinking question mark. Creative fog. “We’ll circle back.”

    Which got me thinking: maybe vision boards aren’t magic wish lists. Maybe they’re mirrors. They don’t create clarity, they respond to it.

    When you’re clear, life moves. When you’re vague, life shrugs and says, “Cool, I’ll improvise, and show you what you want.”

    We don’t attract opportunities by being perfect. We attract them by being honest about what we want. And when we don’t know yet, choosing to figure it out might actually be the first real decision. That choice alone seems to flip a switch. Suddenly paths appear. Detours make sense. Timing reveals itself retroactively.

    The irony? The board was never the point. Clarity was. Alignment was. Frequency was.

    I wasn’t attracting aligned opportunities in areas where I was undecided, and that wasn’t punishment, it was feedback.

    So maybe the real takeaway isn’t “make a better vision board,” but “get clearer with yourself.” And if you’re not there yet, at least be clear about wanting clarity. This little game called life seems to respect that.

    As for the rest? It tends to work itself out. Just not always in the font you expected.

    And honestly, where would the fun be if it did? 

  • The Art of Letting Yourself Go

    Life is too short to care about what other people think of you. I know, because I used to care professionally. Olympic-level caring. I was uptight, perfectionist, deeply allergic to rejection. I curated myself like a museum exhibit: composed, appropriate, quietly impressive. No sudden movements. No visible weirdness. God forbid anyone realized I was… different.

    Then something snapped. Or softened. Or maybe I just got tired.

    Now I smile at strangers in the street. (Yes, this works in Bern. No, do not try this in Milano unless you want to be emotionally audited.) I carry walnuts in my pockets to feed crows and pigeons like some sort of forest witch on an urban commute. I headbang back at a random guy blasting metal at a red light because obviously that was a moment of mutual understanding. I pick up pine tree branches I find on the sidewalk like they’re treasure. I compliment people just because. No agenda. No flirting. No follow-up questionnaire.

    Living in Italy (especially Milano) kind of scrambled my internal GPS. Everything felt loud, performative, sharp-edged. Bern quietly rebooted me to factory settings. Friendly faces. Soft interactions. Compliments that don’t automatically translate to “so when are we sleeping together?” A city that understands the delicate art of balance: nature, people, and chill coexisting without trying too hard.

    And here’s the thing: life is way too short to micromanage how you’re perceived. Whether people “get” you or not. Be honest: do you fully understand yourself every day? Exactly. So why outsource your self-worth?

    It doesn’t matter if someone thinks you’re weird. It doesn’t matter if you make grammar mistakes, mispronounce words in languages that aren’t your own, or occasionally butcher your own language. Nobody is keeping score. Life is not that serious. We’re all enrolled in the same school, taking wildly different courses, on wildly different schedules. Sometimes we share a class. Sometimes we sit next to each other for a while. Why not enjoy recess like we’re still in high school: laughing too loud, being a little ridiculous, not taking ourselves so damn seriously?

    We don’t know how much time we have. Life can change in a split second. One wave, one wrong turn, one unexpected moment. So enjoy it. Even when the waves slam you. Even when your board snaps in half. You crawl back to shore, get a new one, and paddle out again.

    Life is breezy. Life is peachy. Life is actually pretty great. Especially when you stop overthinking it and start living like you’re allowed to exist exactly as you are. 

  • More Than a Place 

    I’m stargazing in Bern. On a clear night. The moon is nowhere to be found, and the Vegas-level light pollution from the Sternenmarkt isn’t enough to block the stars (fortunately). The sky is clear. I have an Aare Bier in one hand and then a Müntschi in the other. I’m standing on the terrace I dreamt about back in May. Yes, dreams do come true. Shooting stars and wishes. Life is good.

    On the walk back, I listen to “Weisch Du no?” on repeat, drifting through streets that feel like home, but technically aren’t. Not yet. Still, my eyes are sparkling in that unmistakable way that only happens when you’re in love. And yes, I’m fully aware I’m saying this about a city. Irrational? Sure. But love has never exactly been a fan of logic.

    Everything looks sharper here. The trees. The pavement. The lights. Suddenly Halunke’s line “Dr Neonliechthimu isch niene so schön wi hie” hits a little too close to the heart. Love really might be one of the strongest forces on earth, and somehow, I’m experiencing it… geographically. Wrapped in familiar scents. Held by bricks, stones, leaves. Everything feels alive. The city feels alive. Alive in a way that makes me want to find its invisible zipper, unzip it, and climb right inside.

    It’s not that Bern is magical: even though, fine, it kind of is. It’s that it has something for me – I suppose. Something I’m only just beginning to understand. And I’m falling for it more with each trip, deliberately, savoring every step of the discovery.

    So here’s my unsolicited conclusion: if you’re lucky enough to find a place on earth that your soul, mind, and body all agree on: go. If you feel that quiet, persistent pull toward a place, listen to it. Trust your gut. It’s worth it. I promise.

  • Allergic to Consequences

    Three Negronis in, I’m blasting techno on my balance board, fully allergic to consequences, and temporarily evolving into the most unhinged version of myself to date. Snusless. Dopamine-starved. Adrenaline-deprived. I literally climbed a random parking-lot wall just to feel something. I could see the fire in my own eyes and honestly? I understood what some say about my gaze. Looking at my own eyes in the mirror gave me chills like I was looking into twin crystal balls.

    Nobody talks enough about the withdrawal symptoms of “the life as we knew it” before everything went… south. Or sideways. Or into whatever spiritual demolition site this is. Becoming emotionally numb was not on my vision board. I miss flirting. I miss fire. I miss dopamine. I miss adrenaline. I miss calculated chaos. The highs. The chase. The spark.

    I feel retired at 27. Twenty-seven. If Earth is a school and this is my one body rental, then yeah, this is inevitably YOLO, isn’t it? It’s not that deep. It’s not that serious. We’re all just running experiments in human form. Send the text. Drink the drink.

    A car almost hit me again today while skating to work. I’ve genuinely lost count how many near-death guest appearances I’ve had since moving to Milano. My entire timeline could flip in two seconds. Again. And when life is that fragile, what exactly are we pretending is so serious?

    I don’t want to feel retired at 27. I want to live. I literally have a “live life to the fullest” tattoo from when I was 16 on my rib. Yes, it’s cringe. But teenage me was onto something.

    I want to bomb downhill on bikes. Ride waves. Be a passenger princess in a speeding car or on a sports motorcycle. I want to boulder, climb peaks, dive deep, hold my breath till I feel high, swim in freezing water, skate downhill with questionable survival odds. Listen to loud music, I want to flirt like tomorrow is a suggestion. Meet people whose names I’ll forget, or remember forever.

    I want to be alive. Feel alive. Be present. Follow my heart. My gut. The madness. Wherever life leads.

    YOLO, right?

  • 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.