Feeding Fear

A short prose on self-doubt and inner conflict with the ‘self’. An on-going battle until one manages to find a way to stop feeding in to it all.

“You’re a failure,” she announces, insensible of the truth she lashes out some more whilst pending self-surrender.

“You’ll never make it,” she declares with no outright certainty, alas, tormenting me with more dishearten bigotries. Behind my courage and endurance I feel as if I’ve tricked myself  in delusional thinking. That, perhaps she is right.

In her aims, she always has more…

You’ll never be good enough!”

She will not stop until she is tamed. Her words sends fear thrusting through my limbs. I feel numbness taking over thus my vain attempts become arduous for my soul.

She sings the melody of shame and self-doubt, and I dance to her every beat. It will take hope and self-love to break free from her untruthful words but only to discover that I am my worst enemy, feeding into my fears whilst, in the name of mothering, providing them nourishment and verity.


The Life of Mia – Walk Away

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Pt. 14 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one, who struggles to leave the past behind and face her fears. It’s been clear, long before, that the choices she makes tend to her in trouble. But what happens when the present forces her to let out a long kept secret?


It takes me seconds to act on impulses and a lifetime spent in regret. And now, here I am as it’s a little too late to cancel. For future references all it takes is a cup of tea and a hidden note for me to back down. For me to forget my promise. One taste and I’m hooked.

The next day, it’s Tuesday – on my day off we find ourselves rejoiced in craziness once again. I couldn’t say no at his  reluctant request to meet for coffee. With regret I ask what could possibly go wrong. It’s just coffee and not to mention at a public place. Therefore, we’re bound to be on our best behavior.

In the midst of justifying everything to myself, I search long and hard for any reason for being here. I don’t owe him anything, of this I’m sure. Neither does he. But I can’t seem to let it all go. I want a clean end to our duplicity. I’m hoping we will laugh, agree to move on and avoid drama. Alas, I can’t be certain if that’s what I want – for it to be over.  

He comes back to the table with two drinks; the scent of my long chai latte is fuming. And there is no doubt that he’s got hooked. The stupidity of being Mia, I guess.

I confuse love and lust. Always have and always will. But once in while I give permission to admire his gentle and kind ways. Adonic with eyes easy to entrap any damsel in distress. And perhaps one of few left with a gentleman genes in the city. He is calm which can be mistaken for shyness at times. Sometimes I find him to be quiet the pensive type challenging my worrisome outlook on life.

Outside the evening rush hour begins to reign the streets of Stavanger. It’s pouring rain, the kind of rain one runs from to find shelter, even dogs. The heavy drops sends the city in a stressful atmosphere as people pace and race through traffic and multitude of soaking souls.

Inside, we manage to drown the sound of high-pitched laughter from the girls on the other side of the cafè. I find myself staring at my coffee hoping he’ll break the silence between us.

“Are you well rested?” he asks, to my relief.

“Yes. I slept like a baby.” But like those baby who wake up every hour or when they lose their pacifier. However, I don’t quite know what sooths me back to sleep but I wake up anyway (it’s become a habit, even worse at night).

“How are you?” I ask in hopes that he’ll share some light to all this. Him missing me just makes things complicated in my head. No one’s ever missed me apart from Irene but only if it’s been weeks. We’ve only been apart since last Thursday. I wonder what exactly he misses? It could be what most men crave? I dare not to say the word. But it wouldn’t be the first.

“I’m doing fine. My days are pretty much the same and boring,” he says and takes a sip of his black coffee. With his eyes bore into me, he adds “I miss your carefree spirit.”

And in my mind ‘carefree’ translates to sex. My mind immediately travels back to our night together. But the thought is quickly demolished by the images of us caught off guard by Camilla’s sudden visit the morning after. I haven’t ask about her but perhaps I shouldn’t.

“Maybe…” he stares down at his coffee cup, preoccupied by his thought. I wait for him to continue. On the other side the girls are now in selfie mode. Each with their own unique pout, ready for the winning shot. I admit, I find it amusing as I watch their photo session on display.

“Want to come over Friday night?” he asks. I bet it’s obvious on my face that I didn’t prepare myself.

It’s fair to say, answering ‘yes’ will no doubt provide more questions than answers. I realize he waits for an answer but my mixed feelings are proving to be demanding to handle. Common sense screams ‘no’. My impulse seems to be tamed by fear.

I contemplate of a way out to escape before I’m forced to react on emotions. Sex is easy, it’s what comes afterwards that’s torture. I remember Mrs.Hansen back in high school who once told me to stick to what I know. She quickly added that she didn’t quiet know what that was but math was not it.

Over the years I discovered my ability to run from my issues and pretend as if nothing had happened. It’s usually a safe bet. Today, is no different. 

“I’m sorry…” it’s all I manage to say before I walk away.


I don’t look back as he says my name. I can hear the confusion, once again in his voice. Maybe this time he’ll stop chasing.


Happy Friday!


The Life of Mia – Light in Darkness

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Pt. 13 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one, who struggles to leave the past behind and face her fears. It’s been clear, long before, that the choices she makes tend to her in trouble. But what happens when the present forces her to let out a long kept secret?


I tend to want the things I can’t have while I reject greatly the things that I can. Nicholas fits in both categories. I felt alive chasing craziness but vulnerable when it got too close and maybe too complicated. Attempting to move forward will be difficult, I imagine. The ‘break-up’ will follow me for days to come. He’ll remind me of the things I can and can’t have. Onwards, every time I see him at work I’ll be once again reminded that I’m incapable of staying out of trouble. Like the time I got too drunk celebrating my 18th birthday. Mother with the look of despair on her face and body language that did not show any signs of excitement to see me, nonetheless at the police station. I didn’t win ‘daughter-of-the-year’ award that year. No other year for the matter.

The irony though, if someone is to ask me what I want my answer wouldn’t be so clear. My face would automatically shape itself into a questionmark. In addition I would feel even more incapable of answering such b.s. of a question and work my way to change the conversation. The typical ‘what do you want’ remarks, or ‘what are you looking for’ as if I hold the answers. Well, I don’t. ‘If I knew such facts of life, you wouldn’t need to ask.’ I can’t help my sarcastic ways. For I usually don’t have an elicit information to feed their curiosity and perhaps ego. But I’m glad to give them the satisfaction that my life is a mess.

Silence starts to kick in. The boys have finally gone to their rooms where I hope they’ll stay the rest of my night shift. On Sunday nights they seem to respect the rules and stride off without any buts or whys. I’ve guessed that it’s when they don’t possess the energy to be rebellious adolescent, bending the rules until it is broken.

I’m left to myself in the living-room as I contemplate what to do the remaining hours – nine hours to be exact. I scroll through the paper pretending I care, I check the TV guide and build the urge to binge watch sappy movies, where life always has a happy ending. All for a reason to cry. They say it’s healthy but no one teaches you how to stop once it’s turned on.

It’s looking pretty gloomy outside. The darkened windows in the house image fallen daylight; Sunday now turning to Monday. There is a sense of serenity working nights. Still I don’t do much but read and if that becomes too hard there is the internet world to browse through. But mostly I only exist and watch time pass by whilst the rest of the city sleeps. I contemplate more on my next move which I know nothing about. I ask myself the burning question that seem to be on everyone’s mind – what am I doing with my life? Essentially it comes to the nothingness of my actions whilst I test my patience carefully as I wait for life to offer me clarity. I’ve pretty much given up on therapy, so my sanity isn’t making a comeback anytime soon.

I gave up a well-payed job where I had my own office and responsibilities. According to Maddie and mother, I gave it all up to sit alone lurking in the dark. Out of respect they don’t say it with words but I hear them; silent judgements hidden behind their worrisome glare and interrogations. To the outside world my life was perfect and living my best years. But that wasn’t until the wall became to high for me to climb. No one realizes that it all made me weak as I forced myself to show strength or laugh when I felt like burst out cry. Working long hours at the office meant juggling everyone’s emotional needs and desires. And with every ‘yes’ I mouthed to clients and coworkers I managed to bury myself deeper. Yet in my defense I felt fear of feeling what I had compressed within. It’s true of what they say, ‘the past eventually comes back to haunt you and if not dealt with, it will destroy you.’

After two movies, reading about the rest of the world at war with each other and watching people doing stupid things, I’ve completed my last house chores before the day shift begins. And before Nicholas comes to the office. I manage to wake up three out of four boys for school after five attempts – a new personal record. I sit down and join Luchia, the only (teenage) girl in the house, for breakfast. She’s usually up before the boys, before birds start their morning tweets. She doesn’t say much. I don’t bother her either. I tell myself it’s better to sit in silence than force a conversation. I’ve never been one to force anything.

“Whatdoesitsay?” she asks, pointing with her spoon towards my right arm. My tiny tattoo of words [Lux in Tenebris] caught her attention. I don’t mind the curiosity, a well deserving break from silence.

“Light in darkness. Latin.”

“Ooh. Nice.”

The time strikes half past seven. I move around finding things to do to fight off my drowsiness. My eyes are finding it difficult to stay open. I pour cold water on my face in the bathroom in hopes it will keep me awake (my body shivers to wake), even if briefly. I decide not to get into things when he comes. Neither show signs that might be misleading. I remind myself that we’ll have to remain professionals. I decide to go back to Kristin, perhaps she has more questions to that will keep my mind of things.

“He’s brought you coffee,” she says as I return.

“Who brought me coffee?” I  say as if she’s telling a joke.

“The boss.”

In my head I thought she had started a different version of a ‘knock, knock’ joke. But to my surprise she points at an actual coffee cup sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Oh.” I want to add the fact that I don’t drink coffee but I don’t want to say too much. I’m surprised but I try not to show any hint of excitement. Nor gratitude in the risk of revealing anything. Somehow, I can’t help but feel cheerful. I notice my heart suddenly beating a bit faster. And for some weird reason (that I dare not to explore) I feel awake. My eyes don’t struggle to stay open. All is good for a split second and I find myself dreading to face him again. I pick up the paper cup and the immediate fuming smell suggests is not coffee. He seem to have remembered; my usual order, my comfort when the world is cold or when I want a treat – chai latte. And the taste of it confirms it. I hold the cup in my hand letting the heat transport itself and submerge my body. I notice there is a note attached at the bottom. But I wait until Kristin disappears behind the walls before reading it…

“I hope you have a nice day. I miss you. – N.”


Happy Friday!


The Life of Mia -Before Disaster Hits

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Pt. 12 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one, who struggles to leave the past behind and face her fears. It’s been clear, long before, that the choices she makes tend to her in trouble. But what happens when the present forces her to let out a long kept secret?


“I thi…” I say attempting to repeat my words but failing as I go along. I’m pacing up and down with no sense of direction. Tapping my fingers on my thighs. My hands are sweaty and I can feel my temperature rising. Across the room he awaits. His eyes all over me, staring me down whilst patiently expecting me to give an explanation as if my words weren’t clear enough. Did I stutter? I’m not sure.

I stand still as I inhale and exhale in one go and muster the courage to repeat my words once more.

“I think you should go.”

“I heard you the first time,” he says as he approaches the sofa and reaches for his phone that won’t stop buzzing. I notice he sets his phone on silence and puts it in his pocket. He lowers his head and folds his hands, then asks “Why, is there something wrong?”

I’ve always been good at rejecting certain people in my life. Like the time I broke up with David in high school because he kept declaring his love for me in endless messages. Then, there was Roger who played chess. We couldn’t agree if chess was a sport or not. In my opinion it’s not. We dated for two weeks. Chris who I ignored until time determined it was over. Unfortunately, the list goes on. But in retrospective, all these were logical reasons. Still, this is now and I have a greater logic to deal with based on sensible facts.

Nicholas who stands before me is married/separated and currently my boss. To stir things up even more, he turns out to be a neighbor of my beloved sister, the Saint amongst our family. The world couldn’t be more smaller.

It’s been over a month since our first meet. But as time progresses we manage to cross a few danger zones as we risk it all for nothing. In life there comes a time when a mistake feels right but the risk are too greater. I risk vulnerability and my sanity.

“Yes, all this,” I say with hand gestures pointing out the two of us. “is wrong. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

My emotions is high intensity. My voice is shaky as I fight the urge to shed a tear. I assure myself that it won’t come to this. Seconds too late, I turn around to hide my eyes, I clear my throat and mutter, “Please leave, Nicholas.”

“Mia, come on talk to me. Tell me what’s on your mind,” he insists as he takes a few steps closer.

“Me.” I say pulling back.
I need to protect myself before disaster hits. It always does.”

He rubs his forehead. He holds out his hand. But I don’t take it. I can’t take it. I stand motionless with nothing but space between us, realizing there is no turning back and this is it. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that we’re just a mistake and it ticking bomb of foolishness.

I don’t give him much choice. There is nothing more to discuss. I tell myself this is no goodbye, only a mistake being rectify now rather than later when it will all be too late.


Happy Friday.


The Life of Mia – Roller Coaster

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Pt. 11 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one, who struggles to leave the past behind and face her fears. It’s been clear, long before, that the choices she makes tend to her in trouble. But what happens when the present forces her to let out a long kept secret?


I hate roller coaster rides. The highs and lows. Fear rushing through my body. The sudden screams as if my insides may suddenly to erupt. The constant tension running through my shivering limbs as my life flashes before my eyes. Revealing every mistakes, regrets and trauma. I’m all in for fun and adrenalin but this sort of rush is not my definition of enjoyment. Still there is always an end to such pointless amusement (endangerment!) that some seek. And when my feet touches the ground I’m supposed to feel somewhat alive and invigorated. I beg the differ.  

There is no such relief when it comes to an emotional ride. I should know by now. The ride of my kind is where I’m caught up in my own twists and turns. Alas, is not my emotions that scares me the most, but my actions. Ignoring mother’s attempt to reach out. Reckless choices in men that will most certainly end up breaking my heart. The choices I keep on making that seem to always invite trouble on my doorstep. Literally. Nicholas is no exception.

The apartment is looking a bit more tidy than earlier (it took twenty-five minutes). The pile of clothes have been moved to another spot. I imagine they’ll be there for awhile. I could have cleaned more if I cared. I mean, my vacuum cleaner has not seen a light of day for almost to two weeks. Nicholas does not seem to notice though as he’s been busy talking while I listen. Talking about nothingness seem to be the norm of our conversation. However, time flies in his present.

“You done? One slice left, you can have it,” he offers pushing the pizza box towards me. I’m tempted but three is usually my magic number. Besides, I don’t want go through the part when I detect and discard every sliced pieces of mushroom.

“One more slice will send me into a food coma.”

“So, you probably don’t want my surprise dessert?” he says as he gets up and clears the table. I my move my way to the sofa as it’s calling my name.

“What kind of dessert did you bring?” I ask thinking there is always room for dessert. Like father used to say, dessert normally slides its way through empty space.

Turning to face him I notice he puts a smirk on and replies, “You’ll have to wait.”

From the coffee table the buzzing sound from his phone alarms me, catching my attentions. Curiosity pulling me closer to check. Camilla calling.

I easily give in to my constant curiosity and spontaneity. I know I should not have agreed to this; the words of Irene and Maddie still lingers on in my mind. Reality checks in once in awhile to remind me he’s still my boss. Additionally, not letting me forget that he’s still married. By now, I doubt mother would be surprised if I had told it all during our lunch when time seem to move at a slow pace. Yet here we are, Nicholas and I. Pretending like the outside world does not await. A moment of truth that I cannot ignore.

Nicholas returns from the bathroom, oblivious of the roller coaster of emotions that runs through me. I once again remind myself of the ludicrous of the whole situation. And the ridiculousness of this evening, of everything.

The chattering from the radio covers the silence. I’m noticing a shift in my mood. I can feel tension rising. My silent scream wanting to burst out. And without any signs of warning, I jump from the sofa bursting out the words,

“I think you should go!”

The words not resembling something I would want to say. But now it’s out there. I’ve said it. Now, it’s his turn.



Happy Friday


The Universer Holds a Secret


We know of no certain path in life. That is no secret to mankind. Alas with my determination I play my role, wondrous of the meaning behind every step I take.

I have searched high and low for a truth. For a secret unrevealed to non-believers. What lies ahead? Of this we do not know. Still, I take the strenuous steps to seek and unravel. I have turned to the past for clues. I have questioned the present of its purpose and meaning. I have taken the steps in complete faith, only to question my own beliefs.

I have gone through darkness and light with fear holding my hand. Though, I am not to despair nor give up, the path to certainty seems to be unattainable. I know of this as I have walked the lonely roads to whatever.

The universe holds a secret that is grand and obvious in its moment. And with time comes moments of truth that gently removes oblivion. With each step and lesson a secret comes to life.

In the moments that we have been given, the universe forms new possibilities of uncertain paths as you and I perform on the stage of life. And we are to perform poorly to reveal what is meant to be known before we are able to carry out the authentic act of living.


Photo Credit: Pexels.com

The Life of Mia – Time

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Pt. 10 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one.  A single twenty-something woman in search of many things – love not being one of them. Complicated is her middle name.

I’m running late as usual. To people’s astonishment, time is an element I’m lousy at keeping track. Mother has long learned this and realises that there is no point of showing up on time when it involves meeting me. Now, whenever it just the two of us (not so often), we’re both late with me being the last to arrive. Her solution, not mine.

I don’t do it all on purpose and I’m always poligetic about it. I’ve tried to break the habit. After several bets, new year resolutions and self-awareness books on breaking bad habit and creating good ones, it’s still an ongoing issue. It’s one of the Mia traits that those who know me hate but have learned to deal with.

I’m ten minutes late. Which is good considering that I’ve once been two hours late, notably to a Maddie event. Bad planning on my part, I’ve apologized but Maddie never misses an opportunity to bring it up. Now, I tell people I’m going to be late in advance to ease their expectations.

It’s a grey afternoon. Please at the fact there’s still no rain. But the sky looks dull with ominous and black clouds. I’m approaching the café, going on fifteen minutes behind the agreed time.

The smell of fresh baked focaccia bread triggers my appetite as I enter the Kitchen. Mother’s late for a change. I sit myself by the window, not far from the door. The café is almost empty but I can’t help notice a group of moms, each holding a baby. With baby strollers blocking path as they occupy the rear end of the café. I move my eyes up to the blackboard behind the counter that reveals what they are serving. I check my phone for the time and notice mother’s twenty minutes late. The tables are turned. There’s a first time for everything.

“What are you having?” mother asks
“Chicken salad with focaccia bread.”

Mother doesn’t eat bread. She avoids everything white products and swears by the mediterranean way of eating; lots of green stuff, fish and other products that are unlikely to end up on my plate on a daily basis. I notice her scolding stare at my choice of menu, obviously disapproving of the bread. I order Coke just to make a statement; I eat and drink what I want.

“How’s work?”
I suspected a question about work. A reminder of what I’ve been up to. I mention nothing and mouth, “Alright.” Hoping it’ll be enough only to realise mother always needs more.
“Just alright?”
“Come on, Mia. You’ve started working there and all you have is alright?” frowning as she continues, “How are your co-workers? How is your boss? How is the working environment?”

Only mother would want an essay on certain topics and questions; work, when are you getting a car (as she disapproves of me taking public transportation), what are your plans for the summer. The list goes on. When it comes to personal informations, she requires a book, preferably with details. Her questions often feels like an interrogation while she holds the role of cop, I play the suspect having to watch what I say.

“Well, mother, working nights is not exactly rocket science.” I say folding my hands on the table. “I’m alone at night. So, the environment’s great.”

Silence erupts around the table, an awkward moment where none of us know of what to say. From the look on her face she’s thinking of what to ask as she fidgets with her fingers. Mother rarely gets nervous, so I’m guessing she’s impatience.

“Dating anyone?”

And there it is. The infamous question with the same answer as always – no. I send her a knowing glare; the type of look when someone asks a ridiculous question.

She glances down, only to look up. Head tilted, she leans forward, reaching for my hand and says, “A mother’s allow to ask. I care. And yeah, I also worry.”

“I don’t deny you to ask, mother. It’s just my answers will never meet your expectations.”

I want to be able to tell her. Lean forward and tell her everything. Not just about the whole boss-married-man drama but all of it. But the sad truth is, I can’t disappoint. Not again. I can’t be responsible for unfolding a lie behind a truth. Her truth.


Happy Friday!


The Life of Mia – No Regrets

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Pt. 9 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one.  A single twenty-something woman in search of many things – love not being one of them. Complicated is her middle name.


I find peace and quiet in my bedroom. It’s here I’ve cried the most, loved the least but hoped for a better tomorrow. My light blue colored walls offer a sense of serenity as they imitate a cloudless sky. In the private of my four walls, my sacred place, I’m at ease. Here is where I enjoy silence and solitude. On my nightstand lies a pile of notebooks, I’ve been meaning to fill with words but haven’t got the chance.

I notice the time on my phone, 10:43 am, it’s the only thing that lets me separate time and days. And in exactly 24 hours I start my night shift – three nights in a row to be exact. Working weekends now, prevented me from adding new mistakes on my endless list of regrets.

I’ve received two festive invites from Lisa (who is always ready to celebrate something). I had to decline and remind her (and myself) that I had to work. Her silent, as in no reply back told of her disappointment. But knowing her, she’ll find no problem finding a substitute party-partner-in-crime for the weekend. I lay my phone to rest. And deny myself to wake until it becomes impossible to sleep. 

(Twelve minutes later)

I slept away Tuesday and Wednesday. I had nothing planned for today – Thursday, except lunch with mother. She asked if she could come over but made up an excuse of not being home and suggested being easy if we met at a restaurant for lunch instead. A white lie never hurt anyone. Honestly though, I didn’t want any visitor. Couldn’t be bother to have to clean. Put on a show. The judgement and constant questions; Are you OK? After one friggin breakdown the world seem to think you’ve completely lost it. Answering ‘yes’ will only stir her curiosity and open for more follow up questions, a ‘no’ will only alarm her to worry, dig and be too caring to a point it became weird. Fake, at times. So, a simple sentence; ‘Everything’s just fine, mother’ with a hint of a smile (not to big though). I’ve learned, ever since my meltdown, 9 months ago, that this was usually the trick to keep mother at ease and reassured.

I put on a purple top (to satisfy mother), a pair of black drawstring sweatpants and finish it off with my jacket. Mother hates sweatpants, so I’ll have to make an excuse to why I’ve chosen a less feminine outfit. And she’ll hound about why I’m never going to get a man dressing up like a boy forgetting the eighty percent of the time I don’t dress like the opposite sex. I mean, for all she knows, I could be a lesbian (I’m not).

I decide to a more natural look, aka no make up. This finishing touch will drive mother over the edge. A woman should present herself with her best side, she’s always said. You never know who’s looking. Today I’m pretty sure is just mother looking, so I’ll manage. I think.

My apartment’s anything but scrupulously tidy. I notice the untidiness around the living-room as I stride the few steps to the kitchen. I avoid a pile of clothes from last weekend after doing laundry. I hate folding clothes, so it usually takes a while before I get around to doing the work. At times, I found it easier to just scatter them all around as a reminder and picking out my clothes straight from the pile. Living alone had its upsides –  one, worrying about the mess I make is not one of them.

Irene was the only person I ever felt comfortable sharing an apartment with. She got me. And since our crazy days of being 18 and naive,  she’s the only one who’s ever managed to put some sense into me with no judgement and lecture. Past forward eight years, she’s on the verge onto adulthood with Martin, planing to tie the knot. As for me, I can’t say much has changed; except that I have more bills to pay and lost more than ever. Along with a label (PTSD) that no one knows about.


It’s 12:25. I notice a one missed call. It’s him – Nicholas. I remind myself that this cannot go any further and I’m to stay away from him. The divorce is just minor detail. There’s still hope they’ll get back together. Maddie’s words haunts me and surprisingly making sense. Then, who am I to stay in the way of hope.

On Wednesday night, from a foreign and distant land, on a romantic couple’s holiday, Irene manages to knock some sense into me through Skype. And perhaps, save me from digging myself deeper. But we’ll have to see, I’m not too sure.

I revealed my weekend. Told her everything. Every emotion. Every roller coaster ride. Even the awkward moment of meeting his wife. Her words to leave him alone felt like a bucket of icy cold water being poured over my head. Reality check.

“Let him sort out his marriage.” she said. “You don’t need this kind of messy business. No matter how gorgeous he is.”  I agreed with her but it’s all easier said than done. I argued with the fact that him being my boss made it all difficult to just let him be. Beside, I fail at ending it and doing the right thing the last time we saw each other.

“Get your shit together, Mia.” Irene ordered. “Love you. We’ll talk more later. In the meantime, try harder to stay away from prince charming.”

‘No regrets’. It used to be my mantra until it became impossible to say it without sounding like a crazy person in complete denial. Still, when life challenged my beliefs on what’s right or wrong – ‘no regrets’ seem like an easier answer. Whilst fighting the mind or the heart. Not always sure.  But I couldn’t help repeating the words – no regrets – in my head as I read the message from prince charming himself.  

“Pizza, tonight?”


Happy Friday,



Yesterday’s Love

Yesterday's Love

We kept each other tamed and controlled

Denying one another the benefits of life
Blinded by love, we saw no boundaries

Our hopefulness reigned as we aimed for better tomorrows
We loved in the moment and spoke of a distant future
We were wild and free in the wilderness of love and life
Knowing of no heartbreak nor sorrow
We were young and madly in love

The memories we shared are forever imprinted
Locked in sweet love, a kiss under an oak tree
We spend nights underneath the glossy stars
As our hands rejoiced in the name love
Safe in each others arm, for eternity
Invested, thinking it was all or nothing

But what was solide became breakable
The madness of it all broke us apart
We had no one else to blame but ourselves
Ignorance woke us up from total oblivion
Our foolishness won in the end
Leaving behind yesterday’s love



Photo Credit: Pexels.com

The Life of Mia – Early Morning

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Pt. 8 – Previous parts in the serie can be found here.

A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one.  A single twenty-something woman in search of many things – love not being one of them. Complicated is her middle name.


I’ve never been able to understand those who wake up voluntarily at the earliest light of the day. I check my phone – 06:37 am and I can’t seem to fall back asleep with all the morning sounds behind the walls. I had forgotten how early this house start their mornings. Too early. Alas, my body refuses the wake. While staring at the ceiling, in a desperate attempt to sleep I fall into a light doze. But only to come back to life from the sound of a child’s whine. Which quickly changes to a high pitched cry. Even I can’t fall back asleep.

It’s 07:15. Sleep is not in the cards this sunny Tuesday morning. I put on my clothes from the previous night. Waking up and getting dressed in a random bedroom sadly feels familiar. But this time, minus a tall dark stranger and the walk of shame trying to regain lost memories.

At 07:30 Maddie is in full cleaning mode, keeping up with appearance. God forbid there should be a stain left on the kitchen counter. As I enter, I question if she notices me.

“I wouldn’t want trading place with the counter,” I say as I make my way to the fridge.

“You’re up!” she shouts, surprised to see me alive at the crack of dawn (which is what if feels like). “I wasn’t expecting you up at such reasonable hours.”

I Ignore to ask what the book of Maddie says about reasonable hours but knowing her, I already know the answers. However, there is nothing reasonable with starting my day so damn early.


I hear Bella running down the hallway as she yells “Mamma Mia! You’re awake.”
One afternoon of house sitting with the kids and one particular song earned me my nickname. “They are singing your name” was the reaction, astonished it was even possible. Not knowing is the song that earned me my name in the first place. 

“Good morning, princess Bella” I say as I take a bow, like one of those unlikely Disney prince.

“Are you staying?” she asks, eyes wide open with hope.

I make my sad face and mouth the words “I can’t princess.”  Thinking to myself how much I miss sleep and that’s what I intend to do.

“Bella,” Maddie interrupts “Sweetie, go get dressed. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Bella opens her mouth to say something but is quickly interrupted. “Now, please.”
And off she goes.

“Hey, thank you again for stepping in last night.”

“No worries. Anytime. How is the little prince?” I reply, happy to have helped the superwoman that is my sister. Who rarely asks for help.

“Resting. His fever has gone down,” she says, continuing her cleaning rampage. This time, wiping all fingerprints on the fridge. I dare not to touch an inch of it.  “The doctor wrote a prescription.”

She makes a note on her shopping list and continues over to the kitchen island, ready to scrub some more.

“Look who decided to wake up,” the infamous Maddie remark, that has a tendency to make you feel small or even wrong for doing something right.

The sight of Henrik startles me. The poor man looks deranged from last night with his zombie steps – the case of a hangover. To my knowledge, no prescription for severe hangovers unfortunately. In my mind I’m hoping Henrik’s memory is still blurry. So far, he hasn’t mentioned anything to Maddie. I wonder why.


My mind escapes Maddie’s questioning of where I was last night when she called. I only told her that I was a friend but I could help babysit Bella. And she was too occupied to even ask, which suited me fine.

“Who’s the lucky man who’s going to get his heart broken,” she says, knowing well of her insult but hides behind a big grin.

“Maddie, shut up,” I mutter

“You’re almost thirty, Mia. Time is ticking.”

“I’m twenty-six, Maddie. You’re thirty. Learn to count.”

Maddie starts raiding the kitchen cupboards and scribbling items on her shopping list. I can feel my patience slowly being drained by her constant judgement. I’m single by choice. Beside, it’s not time that frightens me, it’s opening your heart thing and let love in. The kind of crap convincing women that’s all life is about. I’m not even sure I know what love is. If she bothered to care, she would know. I would tell her the truth.

“Want to stay for an early lunch?” she asks, to my surprise changing the subject. She is usually persistent. “I’m having one of the neighbors over,”

“Mrs Erikson, I presume.”

“Mrs Olsen actually. She’s been feeling down lately,” she explains. “You know, her husband is having an affair. So, I invited her for lunch.”

I automatically scan the room of any trace that may identify me. Remembering that Camilla has seen face one awkward morning. Picture perfect of the Larsons  hang on the wall – Maddie’s proud of every one of them. There is even one of mother but none of me. I don’t bother being offended.

“What about the divorce?” I ask to keep the conversation going as I walk towards the glass-fronted cabinet to check for more pictures. Curiosity of knowing what she knows is also prominent.

“The divorce is just a minor detail,” she argues, “besides, there’s still hope they’ll get back together.”

Henrik walks in again, looking worst than before. Hunchbacked, paled and droopy eyes – the case of the man flu. According to men, quite deadly.

“For God sake, Henrik, go lie down!” she urges. The poor man does what he is told.

She turns her attentive stare towards me, “Well, are you staying for lunch?”

My mind screams the words – hell no. That would be suicide. I pat her ego, praising her for the invitation but I gently decline it. I check my phone and notice the time – 08:23, I need to get home in the comfort of my own bed and misery.


Happy Friday