The train of thought or what I thought on the train back from Zurich

I am certainly a city girl. The clicking noise of glasses ona tray, the sound of pulling chairs away form the tables and the whispers of zipping up handbags and purses - this is my world. The warm tone of artificial lighting is making the crystal trapped in my 'work pen' sparkle more than ever as I draft this post. Since living in the middle of nowhere (in fact in between Switzerland, Lichtenstein and Austria but very far from glamour despite working for the most glamourous company ever) I have missed spending money on things that feed me more than food. A cup of passionately crafted coffee served on a little tray with a sweet treat, the lightly perfumed paper that my new dress is wrapped in before landing in a bag, a piece of paper acting as a train ticket between Sevelen and Zurich - these object made my blood pump vigorously in my veins again. I made to to another world today. I do come from a small town. I would even dare to say that my blood comes from a tiny village in the forgotten part of eastern Poland. However, I am truly a creation of a city life even though I never lived directly in a big city. Is it possible? Am I just imagining that part of my personality that often that I actually became a big city girl (watching too much of SATC, clearly...)? As nevernotdreaming maybe I have become what I imagined I will. The world I imagine myself in is different every day. Possibly, this is the result of the fact that I am different every day. I want to change, I want to explore myself every day. I want to enjoy meeting the new me every time. Just like i am enjoying this cup of coffee with a slice of a Swiss chocolate masterpiece. They did not only feed my body but more so my soul. Together with the noise of the most popular cafe in Zurich they made a great meal. The coffee machine makes a familiar noise, the clinking cutlery is resembling a welcoming melody and a Swiss gentleman opposite me is sighing when struggling with his crosswords. I feel contempt now.

Stay Curious

Expectations. One dangerous word. Maybe one of the most dangerous words ever. Everyone has them. Everyone hates them. Everyone ignored them for the sake of avoiding an argument. Maybe the biggest argument we constantly have is the one with ourselves? The relationship between me, myself and I is a rather complicated one. Every disagreement we have in our small world is weighed by expectations. Too high? Too low? None? How can anyone have none?

Expectations are attached to our goals: from walking up to a local shop in search for a salsa dip to getting excited about a job interview. Little crazy happy pumping hearts inside our chests get a bit excited, the brain cannot stop shifting thoughts left, right and centre. Do you know the feeling? I have heard repeatedly recently that I have too high expectations. But hold on a second... Aren't they meant to be higher than the reality should allow us under regular circumstances? Is that not what makes us different from animals and lets us dream constantly? By default 'expectations' are positive. The nature of them makes us anticipate that they will not only be met but also exceeded.

I have met a person in my life that has very little expectations. That strips them of joy, of appreciating little things. I would not settle for mediocracy. It does not make sense. I refuse to live a life with no expectations. I am happy to pay the price in moments of disappointments. It does not make me any poorer. 

I'd rather stay left unsaid

My world orbits around words. Profession: a linguist. Should I not know all the words (Chuck Norris-like ambition)? You would imagine that I have an answer for anything and if you are not sure how to say things I will come up with this brilliant phrase to communicate a rubbish message with a cherry on top. I have spent over 4 years interpreting both glorious and bad news and for the last 2,5 years I have been saying what people do not want to hear with such a manner so that they leave our meeting smiling whilst closing the door behind them. It is all about what we say, right? Is that not how communication works? What we require for a basic act of communication is at least two individuals who have a message to convey, right? My applied linguistics professor would be proud. I have, however, found myself in a world where importance is shifted from what is being said to the exact opposite. Silence has never been so important.

Be it at your workplace or at home, it has become far more important what we decide not to say. In a reality where information is overwhelming us with updates vibrating into our bloodstream via Apple Watches, we have forgotten how peaceful we might be with not knowing. All I have been hearing from my friends lately is 'I must know whether...', 'he cannot live without knowing'. What a load of crap. Yes, it is information and not the lack of it that kills us. It can penetrate our bodies and become the most disturbing part of everyday living. I work in an environment where you can constantly hear people talk. Words pour out faster and faster and their meaning is diluted between each unnecessary syllable produced by our tongues, teeth and lips.

This evening a friend of mine asked me for some photos from an event she was exhibiting at. I went back through my photos 4 years too far by mistake. By performing this longer stroke of a finger of my mouse I have taken myself back to the time where I spoke less. I was constantly and shamelessly being reprimanded by my loved one that I spoke too much. He would say it with a twinkle in his eye every time I thought I was invited to Ted Talks on his sofa. And one night I told him I knew he was getting married. It has changed everything. One little sentence. Of course I'd rather not have overheard a conversation about this in the first place. Then I wished I kept my lips sealed for that very moment. Just for a bit longer. That moment that changed or lives irreversibly.

Someone has recently asked me why did I not tell the other woman? Maybe because that would officially make me the other woman and I enjoyed thinking that I was 'the one'. Being covered in marshmallows of my imagination smelling of baby powder was far more comfortable. I knew if I said too much I would strip myself of good memories. 'I'd rather stay left unsaid.' Like the 'I love you' he told me without words every day.

Fresh out of 2049

I am a bit late to the party, I know. When Blade Runner 2049 was out I was away travelling so my excitement was peaking when I got the last ticket to an extra screening that happened this afternoon in Northampton. Thank you Errol Flynn Filmhouse!

If you asked me what was the last sci-fi film I watched I would probably say 'Sailor Moon' (back in 1992). Yes, that is as much as I know and want to know abut sci-fi. As reluctant as one could have been, I pretended that Blade Runner 2049 did not exist when everyone was counting down the days to the premiere. Yes, I did judge the poster (as bad as it could be mr graphic designer). Why did the poster not consist of exactly the same minimalistic and sharp images that the film did? We would be having a different conversation now...

As dark as this picture is, it is also full of extremely well-thought images that simply became a feast to my eyes. Even though I was sat in the second row. The harmony that poured out of imagery, the colours that penetrated my mind and Ryan (rather pleasant on the eye) became a dessert to my Sunday roast. Possibly even the the whole of 2017! Every single one out of 166 minutes became an adventure that grasped me by the throat and did not let me direct my eyesight anywhere else.

Agreeing with IMDB's 'X out of ten' seems like a foreign land to me. I tend to stay away from the scoring that 'the public' gives. As we know the quality 'democracy' and 'free speech' nowadays has been slightly compromised. Nothing in this film has been compromised though. 8.4 is a score not high enough, still. Oh mr Roger Deakins... As one of your biggest fans I think you have set the bar extremely high now. Thank you Denis for putting you picture in Roger's hands. He handled it with so much love and care.

High on heels

Can I start another blog post with 'if you know me'? Oh the rebel inside me...

If you know me, you know that I wear heels. Every day. Preferably all day. I simply love the idea of being elevated off the ground by an inch or two. Yet today I wore flats and tracksuit bottoms to a late night showing of 'Manolo. The boy who made shoes for lizards'. I felt like i was disrespecting Manolo a bit. Sorry Manolo, I hope you will not mind.

As a girl who grew up with SATC (Sex and the City for the less enlightened) I remember vividly the scene where Carrie is robbed of her bag as well as her Manolos. Now, if you are less enlightened again, Manolos are shoes. Not just any shoes though. They are truly iconic and have been so for the consequent 45 years so far. From a shop in London to runways, to film, to SATC (yes, that is a separate category) Manolos have travelled together with times but, surprisingly, have stayed consistent and somehow immune to the changes that came with passing decades. A bit like Manolo himself.

Manolo lives in a century that has happened already or not just yet. Everything about him screams sophistication mixed with humility and eccentrism with a pinch of selfishness. Now this selfishness is not a negative thing. It has become a bit of a trade mark. Manolo cannot possibly imagine sharing his house, designs, life with anyone. Quite possibly because his life is filled with colour, extraordinary friends and memories of growing up in Gran Canaria. Manolo settled in the UK in the 70s and became a British icon but is also listed next to Picasso and Almodovar with regards to being a Spanish XX century wonder. Quite rightly so!

They way he looks at women... From Bianca Jagger and Rihanna to a secretary-looking stranger spotted at a London station wearing his pumps. He looks at women as if they were magic. As if he was permanently in love. The way he speaks about the icons that inspired him: Anna Piaggi, Isabella Blow, Tina Chow - with such passion yet respect at the same time. I was lucky enough to see Manolo at Vogue Festival a few years ago. The warmth mixed with wit and high-pitched comments to express the ridiculousness of a situation are simply theatrical.

Manolo's most iconic shoe is undoubtedly a pump (preferably in blue satin with a sparkly buckle). However, the most influential shoe would be the mule. I cannot even begin to describe how much he changed my attitude towards mules. Manolo said that for him it was all about how they sounded when a woman walked in them. Don't you think that its quite extraordinary for a shoe designer to think of how his shoes not only look but also sound?

Manolo (also Carrie Bradshaw) and I have a few things in common. One of them is sacrificing any pocket money to buy fashion magazines (although he did so in Paris, Carrie did so in NYC and I did so in Northampton...). Imagine that Manolo was the first man on the cover of British Vogue! David Bailey supposedly reported the shoot to be a complete disaster due to Manolo's lack of intent to cooperate. However, his style has remained impeccable. The colourful socks peaking out of his shoes, the imperfectly tailored suits made from most surprising of fabrics, the small round glasses. Oh, there is one more thing we have in common - don't you dare crucifying our chips with vinegar! I guess apart from being an icon, Manolo is just a boy inside. A boy who wanted to make shoes for lizards.