Last night, after dwelling in my subconscious for so many months, I forced a poem out of myself. Yep, it’s a not so amazing poem and as egocentric as this might sound, I know I can make it better… I have this vision of what I want to express, and this time round it’s not happening. And I see the cause related to the lack of training due to time. To write, one must have an abundance of time and belief that the spiritual self will reveal itself. No matter what you might be told or what I’ve told myself in the past, you need time. Time in abundance to just be, to do nothing in particular, to have an empty space in your head where you are devoted to this emptiness that drifts and bumps into bits that inspire a poem. Bits of emptiness that bump into the soul and listens with indescribable senses- the unconscious self. I know it’s a not so amazing poem because it lacks the essence of I, it lacks vision and it is too literal.
Defied She died Clothes thrown away Turned to grey Fear Appear Fronts of spaces Body races Beneath me She couldn’t bring herself to try No! I Cry I can’t any more. I block my ears and cry Hide in whisper My pain identifies Direction No! I Cry Unclear Death defies It lurks from her mind Where clothes are thrown Out of sight
And then POW! I woke up and wrote my poem again with soul. Enjoy! And keep on dancing!
POW!
I forced myself to do it I threw my clothes away. I turned my head in abundant grace And pictured a child at play Fear of what could become of me I forced my soul to simply be But naked breaths on my defiant face turned my clothes to disgraceful greys I escaped Fronts of spaces appeared A body raced beneath my soul I couldn’t bring myself to cry Said Little Me to Mighty Me “I can’t any more!” I blocked my ears and tore my hair to bits that hid in tiny whispers Identifying details of my pain I turned to see my clothes again Direction denied my chance to roam Death lurked deep below A mind saw a vision of a heart that sang But the only cure was a bell that rang Alerting my soul to finally weep I was finally released
I wrote this post before the Christmas holidays and didn’t have the courage to post it. I needed to wait until after the event. It led me to trying to answer the question, Is it possible to write like no one’s reading? Is there an audience for everyone’s work? The several times I tore up a piece of writing after reading it and disliking what I read.. you might relate to. Often we forget ourselves as an audience, and if anyone’s the same, I’m my own worst critique. But why? Lately I’ve been kinder to myself. Lately, meaning these last 2 years or so, and beyond. Imperfectionists if I may invent a word, do make better friends. Though I don’t want to write crap, I have come to an experimental stage of my writing where I’m willing to share my work with the world.
I wrote a post about accepting a job I didn’t want. And to be honest, I was thrilled to have it, but uncertainty lurked. Are these normal feelings of discomfort when the unexpected happens? It makes me sick to my stomach to say that I’ve repeated this decision-making process several times.
A few years ago, namely 8, I left my permanent job for an adventure abroad. I felt sick to my stomach then too, but it was different. Change tends to do that to a person. I may think I’m perfectly fine, and I feel sweaty, tired, and my body reacts to my feelings. Goes to show that we aren’t robots, right? The worst thing about these feeling is that they sink into you every single minute of the day and one has ups and downs, and not knowing if it was the result of accepting something you weren’t sure about was the cause or life being uncomfortable because of change. I then wish with all my heart I could be somewhere else. I start to feel weird and put my emotions to the side! My mind says thank you, I have a job.
I make the most of every job I have and do the right things. People seem to like that, or perhaps not.. I feel invisible, alone with the small space I’ve made within my job in place of my art. I try and incorporate my art into my job.. Funnily, I’m creative and an excellent teacher but I feel small. I begin a love hate relationship with my job and perhaps with this person outside my box that makes these decisions. I squeeze in every moment left from every given day to relax and write. But this only occurs in my mental state because of limited time, and I feel a pain. Don’t worry, I say to myself, not to worry … this bad dream will be over soon. I just have to sleep, wake up and I’ll have more time on the weekend for everything I want to do.
Is it possible to write like no one’s reading? The cool thing about writing is that you can be anyone. You don’t have to care what anyone thinks because they don’t have to read your writing. You show your real self and life from your art. But the best thing is that people aren’t caring about figuring you out; they have interest in the work that you do and try to relate it to themselves. I know this is a good piece of writing because I’m afraid to publish it. I kept it private and returned to it after the event and then published it with confidence, knowing that I’ve written like nobody’s reading but me.
And why today of all days did I decide to publish? Funny how one event leads to another, revealing bits of one’s self. I don’t tend to reveal all the bits in one go, and wouldn’t do justice in today’s society to do so. How could one really know oneself without exploring the unknown variables? What you are now, is not static and through positive change we find happiness. We never stop learning. But there is one aspect of this learning that I didn’t predict. I spent most of my education tied to a chair. I escaped to find myself in Europe, where I started dance/music/singing and somewhat bordering a career along with my teaching, and after almost 10 years of teaching in Darwin I escaped to Europe and reluctantly came back. I started teaching at a school I was drawn to and didn’t understand why until now. POW! Just like that. I’ll leave that bit of me for another time. For now, enjoy this video, one that I can watch again and again.
The weather permits me to dance
Sensations build through passing years
Rain grows and returns to the sky
Wind blows in sudden reply
I hide to avoid the ache in the sea
It bleeds as I dance
To rhythms of chance
Crash!
I turned and saw
Broken glass was left in the sea
Nature’s miracle changed them to
clear, smooth stones
The bits healed like meditative clones
An anonymous dancer
And a subconscious heart
Led a silent breath to ask
Does he look handsome
When I dance?
By Maria Grujicic
Dedicated to my big love.
This was a poem that I started to write and edit before I went on holiday, and continued editing in Sydney. I romanced and tried to take my breath away from myself as I envisioned what the surroundings were telling me and expressed my feelings for them. My big love? My new-found love for Sydney, the air that I felt while I was there, and my amazing handsome husband who was there with me! I wonder if you can sense these emotions and impressions in the poem, and if you can relate to it in some way too.
Time was free
As her light was seen
by the dark side of the moon
An end was a must
For a beginning to ponder
Play was all that she had
Following her heart
To where a place was set
She sang to the loss of his song
Her voice ran
A story was told
With every turning page
He kissed her hand
Raw
Her portrait froze
With just enough colour
She rose
To a flourishing dream
She wanted him
To remember her
with her perfume on
Wonder, a commodity
No name and a blank slate
Love filled the curves of his face
Time was short
He was far
Abundant obstacles for wandering eyes
Lovers entered the centre
Of life’s disguise
And desire was what remained
By Maria Grujicic
Dedicated to my husband’s beautiful eyes
This is a poem I started to write before I left on my holiday, and continue editing in Melbourne. I saw a busker who was singing by the side of the river in Melbourne. I was sitting at a café across from him with my husband, when I saw at a café across from where we were sitting a bird swoop down and try to eat a girl’s salad! She was eating on her own and I guess she might have felt down about that, but in the public eye put on a brave face. The sun was shining and everyone in high spirits, she could only move on. She faced the busker as he sang and clapped and cheered him on, almost like she was pushing and cheering her own spirits. I’ve never seen a busker sing so well, so heart-felt, so strongly as that day. He gave it his best, and after she had her meal, she left and there was an empty space. His song seemed to fade. He stopped singing after a short while. I wonder if you can find this part in my poem? I dedicated this to my husband because without him, I wouldn’t be writing poetry.
In the following story I wrote parts of the conversations the characters had in other languages for an authentic experience. I wanted the reader to experience what it is like not knowing another language.
The idea was to put the reader in place of a foreigner. I remember how much fun it was to invent words by adding the ‘o’ at the end of my English when I didn’t know the Spanish word. It was also fun to guess the meaning. For example, preparado means prepare. It was a great way to get in there and have a go at learning!
Looking back, going to live in Spain and Germany was a brave step because I didn’t know Spanish and German. But then it was so exciting, I didn’t give it too much thought. Greek is my mother tongue and I was educated in English, in Australia where I was born and bred. I had no experience of travel. London seemed like an easy transition to the life of a traveler but I found it the hardest. That’s another story.
The reward of travel proved to be much more because it helped me understand the value of non-verbal language. Without it I would not have been able to write. This is because I was able to take in other aspects of the environment that gave me clues to not just what was going on, but the details that made my experiences so beautiful and unique.
Living abroad was the only way I could learn another language. I learnt Spanish but not as much German as I would have hoped. That’s another story again. If you’re curious, the following story is based on my experiences, because it is a subject I know well, but I spiced up the storyline to make it more interesting. What’s real and what’s not, I hear you ask? It’s all real because it is in my head. After living abroad I have many stories. The hard part is choosing which ones to tell.
This is the prelude to a story I’m writing.
Keep on dancing!
I planned this for some time now and today was the day when I did it! I made my first successful face mask with all natural and fresh ingredients, and it’s not hard. All you need is one avocado and some natural yogurt- preferably goat’s yogurt though normal yoghurt will do. I tried this mask and it left my skin smooth for days.
You will need a mixer but you can grate or mash the avocado if you don’t have one. Of course, one avocado and enough yogurt to make a smooth, thick consistency. There is no exact measurement. The last 3 times I made the mask, I went by instinct.
This is a mask my friend Gala showed me, who is studying to become a naturopath, and as a dancer and a woman of the world one must have their beauty routine! And don’t forget your chest, back, hands and feet. Place a thin slice of cucumber under your eyes and relax. The thinner the better because this will help keep it in place.
If you are keen, make your own yoghurt too! This is my next goal. For tired eyes, I read somewhere that green tea bags is great for soothing and getting rid of redness. I tried it myself and it was wonderful! Of course you should wait for the tea bags to cool and then apply them.
I’ll post photos or maybe a video soon!
Let me know if you try it and how it went.
My two friends and I had an idea to dance in the parks of Paris. But there was a twist. Because of work commitments I could only travel in winter. “We will put on layers of warm clothes, drink wine and tea, and dance to keep warm.” We chatted about as we sorted our costumes and routines. After not having seen each other for a year, we had a lot to catch up on. I lived in Europe for 8 years and left to return home to Darwin, Australia for personal reasons. We’d kept in contact via Skype and I continued to practise the dance moves. Another twist? I could hardly speak German. “French is more important,” Gala insisted. “You are in Europe and you are a dancer!”
At that moment, my heart almost stopped and I took a deep breath to wake up. My living, breathing dream was to be that. And what better place to dance than in Paris! Besides, I had a crash course on French weeks before. Our Bohemian Weekend adventure in Paris was born.
Gala’s apartment in Frankfurt is a beautiful high ceiling old German building. The most memorable pieces were a bookshelf that covered a wall in one of the living rooms that doubled up as a bedroom, dividing the space with a white silk curtain. The large windows and classic white walls gave the sense of more space, and mirrors were placed everywhere in arty ways. A perfect setting that set the mood for Paris that weekend.
The getting there said it all. I was so excited to enter the train and find our seats. Cherishing every moment, of course I had my camera, pencil and pad paper with me. I’d started learning to draw and had some coloured pencils packed in my suitcase that I never used. Oh, well.. next time! Before we knew it, we’d arrived in Paris. I packed much more than usual, because like every woman and dancer, I needed to have a variety of clothes and jewelery to choose from. I stepped out quite awkwardly but found the strength to walk with my luggage in confidence. It is, after all, why suitcases come on wheels!
Upon arriving at our apartment we were greeted by a large beautiful fluffy cat at the counter. “So French,” I thought smiling at the humour. That night, we decided to explore the place where we planned to dance. I had my high black boots on that weren’t the ideal walking shoes for the distances we had to do. I was so relieved to finally arrive, I didn’t mind the dodgy look of the place. It had a charm I couldn’t put into words, possibly because of the colourful lights that reflected on the water.
I saw many young people, especially men loitering about outside a club, surrounded by walls of graffiti art. It was midnight and dark, but the lively atmosphere reassured me as I began to play my finger cymbals Tak-takka-tak, tak-takka-tak, as Gala joined me with the hypnotic dance. Almost forgetting where we were I was startled by a guy who approached us, asking for a light and wanting to know what we were doing. Another guy followed, and thinking the worst we quickly fled.
3 artists, 3 silent voices walked the living streets of Paris late that night back to our apartment, wondering what to do the next day.
What impresses me most about Paris is the way it embraces the good and the ugly, opening avenues for self-expression and beauty. Graffiti art and collages of posters were everywhere, encouraging my senses to explore further. My attempts at speaking French were welcomed by beautiful pouts of moving mouths. How do they do it? Everyone is beautiful in Paris because French beautifies their souls and integrates them into the Parisian unique style.
Paris has a place for everyone with quarters that appeal for every taste. Our quarter was accessible to other famous arty quarters such as the famous hill of Montmartre and in the other direction was Moulin Rouge. We placed our food shopping in plastic bags on the ledge outside our apartment window, which we used as our outdoor fridge and went to bed.
The adjacent building from our apartment block with 3 floors was the focus of my wonderings. There’s a dancer in the middle floor. She is not seen at nights because of the reflections by the lights and so she dances alone.” Gala and I exchanged ideas for writing as we got dressed the next day with colourful layers of skirts, pullovers, scarves, and dangly large earrings. “Oh my gosh!” I cried, “I have no more foundation. “Danke liebe Gott,” Gala replied, “that it will do your skin good to have a break.”
After a long day of preparation we finally arrived at a spot across from the brightly lit Louvre. We chose a tree with a bench surround its trunk, where we made our home for the evening. We were in good spirits as we drank sweet wine and set up the picnic, laughing and joking at the novelty. We had fine cheeses, salad, bread and meats that we ate as we got ready for our performance.
I noticed many men in the distance hanging around looking like shadows but this time I felt safer with just the right amount of traffic nearby not disturb the scene.
I took my cymbals and danced with the Arc de Triomphe du Carroussel as the beautiful background of the outdoor stage. Later, Gala and Lena also started to dance with hypnotic moves that synchronised and mirrored those of a partner. It felt like I was dancing on air.
Later, we walked a little and came to a structure that felt like the Arc de Triomphe du Carroussel. I wouldn’t be able to tell you what the name of it was because I was too involved in the moment to care. “How does the Manchegas song go?” Gala asked as she suddenly halted, a cue for me to sing instantly. “Tarralum, tarralum, tarralum, tum, tum,.. My voice rang so loudly that it felt I was waiting for this moment all my life. The voices of my friends followed with echoing sounds that brought back memories of my time in Albacete, Spain. Listen to the song here: 01-Manchegas de Albacete We walked on after we noticed a security camera and took a train over to the river Seine.
We looked for different backgrounds for our dance by the side of the river. First we stopped at some steps and did fun dance poses, taking lots of photos. I climbed up high on the podium at the bottom of the steps and posed like a dancing statue. Gala wrapped a beautiful red satin scarf around my head that exposed my large earrings and kept me warm. We continued closer to the water, feeling more confident and energetic as the night progressed. We stood on a large wooden plank where the boats dock, making sure we stayed in the middle and not fall into the water. This time, we used our veils to dance to the music from the ipod compact speakers.
The life of people still out and about seemingly pulling us as we walked on, arriving at a bench across Moulin Rouge, a street away from our apartment. We took out the dessert part of what was left of our picnic hamper and some hot lemon tea, sat quietly and people watched.
It wasn’t until later I realised I lost one of my finger cymbals that must have dropped by the side of the river. Losing a piece of dance accessory means a lot to me because of the history attached to it. Nevertheless, I got over it and the greatest souvenir of this trip will stay in my head. Words can’t describe the sensations of a weekend French Bohemian life but I managed to keep these by publishing a book, Poems That Touch The Soul. Paris by night is my favourite and the thought of this theme, along with the river and lights, the surrounding shadows of loitering men, I started to compose ideas of the mirror of the night, my poem later to be titled, Glorified Queen Bee which probably encompasses my impression of the weekend of Bohemian Paris.
The next day was our last, and we explored Paris by day. We bought food from the grocery store which incidentally, was carefully chosen by Gala who was studying to become a naturopath. We walked to the famous hill, Montmartre on our last day to have an outdoor picnic lunch. As we headed towards the river we detoured into different streets, specialty shops, places to eat and a market. Gala helped me choose earrings, practise makeup with the right shades of colours, a tribal dance costume, and other accessories to go with our tribal fusion and American tribal dance style look, bought at chains of budget shops.
I promised myself upon returning to Darwin, Australia that I will do more dance practice because I tend to write more than I dance. I don’t take learning dance routines as seriously as I possible should, or to be kinder to myself, I’m forced to prioritise because of lack of time, and so I fluke the steps and improvise, relying on my reflexes and natural instincts. Gala believes that it is more important to have graceful dance technique and natural style than know the steps. This trip taught me the value of stepping-stones and the giant leaps that are possible by travel because through travel I have gained perspective. Perspective is what helps me see my progress and ways I can improve. My Paris trip didn’t go totally to plan. Certain things happened that could have turned out better but it was a way forward to better things.
Now, I keep positive and hope to one day return to Europe and continue my life there. Until then, I’m enjoying the moments I have. Perhaps my luck will turn and I win this competition, and relive my dream for 6 months of my dancing in Europe. Look at the link here if you’d like to vote for me. A career in education was how I kept focused and justified my travel addiction over the 8 years abroad. “Just one more country,” I told myself. From London to Madrid, to Albacete, then Frankfurt. Finding another job in a different city was as easy as a click of a button on the computer at the local internet café and a phone interview.
“Yes, I speak very good German,” I lied. I was learning at the local school of languages but it would never be enough. And so I found myself in the most unlikely place, Frankfurt, Germany! Throughout my experiences abroad, I have always incorporated dance in everything I did but was always disappointed in myself for not starting at a younger age. It was just a few years ago upon making friends with Gala when my writing matured and realized that in belly dance age is not a barrier and in fact an advantage.
To be honest, I don’t really need this competition to find myself back in Europe. I can do this in time, but I wanted to enter because I think it’s a cool way to express myself and my passion for travel. Little excuses for travel transformed into unique, memorable experiences. A glass of wine in Paris or a tea in London and a why not try a different city, learn the guitar in Spain, another language, and getting totally lost in a big city, pursued me to places I may not have experienced with a travel guide.
Once a traveler always a traveler. In fact, my mind is always traveling because I’m the ideal dreamer. I can create anything from nothing everywhere I go because inspiration is inside me. A traveler can be anyone, and once abroad, of course you then become one! The crunch is that my experiences changed me forever and I can’t remember the person I was. It’s like I disappeared!
Before heading overseas for the first time, I spent weeks packing and unpacking. You might know the scenario.. taking stuff you probably won’t need but taking it anyway. Comfort stuff like maybe a teddy bear memento, a favourite inspirational book to keep you going, a comfort blanket, and enough toiletries to last for months. How things have changed…
Gala Yakovleva is my dance teacher and good friend who lives in Frankfurt, Germany. We met through our belly dance classes with a teacher named Soriah and even though we were dancers belonging to the same group, we didn’t talk much. I didn’t speak a lot of German and I was quite shy.
One night, after a few years dancing, Gala announced that she will be starting a new dance class of Tribal Fusion and American Tribal Style. I was keen to try a different dance class that would compliment what I was already learning. What begun as a dance class on Saturdays turned out to be something of an artistic performance creation, of which I found inspiration for my writing that I had only just begun that year. Everything started to fall into place as I wrote as I danced, and I discovered new things about myself that I wasn’t aware of.
Have you ever felt in your heart that you really wanted to do or be someone who was so simple to the eyes of others, but was too shy to do it?
I love to dance, and have so all my life. I feel I was born to dance, but I never pursued it professionally. I’ve done other things and continued my search for the unknown. I even traveled abroad and stayed in Europe for 8 years searching for a career in education and other things… But why not dance?
Upon reflection I think I felt that because I didn’t start as a girl, it was too late for me to do it. Why do I call my passion a hobby, when I wait until the end of my work day, just to rush home, to nothing else but write and dance? I’ve settled for a teaching career, which isn’t bad, I’m a great teacher, but the truth is, that teaching spoils my spirit, my passion for life, because to me, the greatest teacher is life itself. And as a girl I wasn’t able to pursue my passion at school. My parents didn’t understand, and I was pretty much a dreamer the rest of my life.
And so I felt grateful that I found my friend Gala, who understood me and guided me and a handsome, supportive, loving husband, I found my dream in Europe. But there was one problem. Because of personal reasons, I had to return home to Australia. I left my dream behind. But I have kept in contact with my good friend Gala, and she keeps up my strength by swapping ideas and inspiration.
Gala taught me the connection between life and dance, and the inseparable nature of the two. I learned Tribal Fusion and American Tribal and ballet in dance. Last winter, early January 2013, I went to Germany to see Gala for 10 days. We went to Paris with another dance friend, and led a weekend of Bohemian Lifestyle. Gala especially chose the food and wine at the grocery store. We prepared our banquet outdoors and because of the cold winter, we dressed in layers of warm clothes. We danced by the lights of Paris by night. I took photos and wrote ideas for poetry, philosophy, costume making, and went shopping for jewellery and make up.
The photos in my book were taken of Paris and dance classes in Frankfurt, Germany, reunited once again with my dance friends. I miss Gala and the other dancers, but I will always visit and have this wonderful book to remember the moments with them.
I learned many things about myself on my European adventure, including the conclusion that a true dancer, dances anywhere and any time. It was crazy, it was fun and we did it in Paris! I learnt to surrender to my dream, and this is a lesson that perhaps we all need to learn. Sometimes perhaps we deny ourselves our true dream because we are afraid, lack belief, or conditioned to believe that it can’t be true. Perhaps we may even sabotage possibilities with negative self talk in fear of failure.
Now that I’m back home, I am more determined to pursue my dream. & I’m sure of only one thing..that it can only bring truth, which I believe is the key to happiness. Some days are better than others. Sometimes I feel like I’m enclosed in a small space and cannot do what I truly want, and am surrounded by fast paced activities of nothingness. But when I start to dance, and write, nothingness disappears and I begin to see purpose for my life. If this can happen for just even a glimpse of a time in my day, I can truly be happy.
SUMMARY:
Sometimes we need to step away from our immediate surroundings for all to become clear and find truth. This is true for myself. It is how I came to write my poems as I realised my subconscious love and passion for dance. My varied life experiences at home and abroad led to self-discovery and a realisation of a life of dance that I have always led that relinquished my disappointment of lack of pursuit.
Life is dance, and without dance there is no life, and love for these are inseparable.
I’m a dancer and poet at heart. Two inseparable art forms, one soul. “Poems that touch the soul & don’t adhere to the pattern of life”, refers to a nomadic lifestyle that lends itself to reach the unexplored self. This is an art form, one of its kind because it can dance and has always danced. It unites strongly through poetic philosophy that delves into ethical boundaries, aesthetics, education and love. A concept that encompasses and revolutionises a soul. It becomes true in its purest sense as every word put to paper is felt by my heart and a last breath celebrates creation.
You may want to delve into this book from the end to the beginning or read a few poems in no particular order. They will still retain their sequence because they don’t adhere to the pattern of life. Each poem makes a connection to the soul in different ways and this is what brings the poems together as one.
The Guardian (blog) How strong emotion summons poetry The Guardian (blog) I have seen the sun break through / to illuminate a small field / for a while, and gone my way / and forgotten it.
Upon waking up today I started thinking of a quote
my subconscious made and I wrote.
Last night I used this quote
as the subtitle of my next poetry book.
Upon waking up, it occurred to me that people may not understand it or perhaps misinterpret it, and I discussed it with my husband. Upon doing a quick internet search we bumped into a video showing a pattern on a screen that moves in a predictable way.
I searched again, and I bumped into this article a blogger posted, that seemed to answer the subconscious questions I had about my poetry. These are the ones I don't use words to ask. They stay in my mind because they belong to my feelings.
It's interesting how easily people repress their emotions. Such an allowance is not good for the soul, and thus answered my question again. I must trust my feelings. I wanted to use my quote because it is a personal belief that comes from my subconscious, the way my poems do. My soul needs this avenue to allow my soul to breathe. It is the one place I don't have to adhere to the pattern of life. Hence, the subtitle of my poetry book.
"subconscious editor for such vigilance" is a quote from the guardian that made me think about the way my emotions and subconscious self edits my poems. And I recall commenting just yesterday in response to Frederick, a friend from my Poems That Dance Facebook page, that I wouldn't want an editor to edit my words. It would be like editing my emotions and pulling myself apart.
As a teacher, I regard myself a poet and dancer first. I feel that people, like myself, are misled into thinking one must be perfect in an art to announce what and who they believe they are. The place your passion is, is you.
I love this quote from the guardian. If you're a teacher or/and a parent, and/or poet, you will too!
"I don't think kids need to learn whole poems to acquire the lines that will matter and mean most to them – the idea behind the recently launched Poetry by Heart campaign – they just need people who love poetry around, teaching it and reading it and being unafraid to be messily moved by it in front of them. These are some of the bits of poetry I'm made up of. Which are yours?"
Smiling eyes
with sparkle that touched my heart
and cried
please don’t say a word
for my happiness may die inside
I’m free
I’m running away
to the place
I want to be
Finally
his heart smiled
as the anguish of my words
rested in peace
This one’s about my father and it has a beautiful story to it.
My goal with this blog is to offend everyone in the world at least once with my words… so no one has a reason to have a heightened sense of themselves. We are all ignorant, we are all found wanting, we are all bad people sometimes.
one must have their beauty routine! And don’t forget your chest, back, hands and feet. Place a thin slice of cucumber under your eyes and relax. The thinner the better because this will help keep it in place.
