A scent

A few weeks ago, my boyfriend asked me if he could buy me a new perfume for Christmas.
"Why?" I replied "I have so many of them already".
Note: I was already freaking out "OMG he doesn't like my smell does it mean he hated smelling my skin for 3 years and a half - TRAGEDY"
He said "Well, you change them constantly and I have the feeling none of them is really you. I was thinking about it when you were away for work last time: if you're away and I smell one of your dresses I would like to feel like you are there, but none of your perfumes now give me that feeling"
Note: that is so horribly cute I melted.

Half an hour later I was dragging him through the cosmetics floor of Tangs frantically looking for a new fragrance (I am sure he was already deeply regretting his proposal).
I went nuts testing all the Byredo, the Diptyque, the Annick Goutal (if he wants to buy it, it might as well be an expensive good one...) but none of them gave me the feeling I wanted to take a full bath in it and smell like that forever (that is my idea of THE perfume).

We passed to the more mainstream brands and we both liked this version of Chanel Chance: Eau Tendre.
But it still didn't really give me that "this is it!" feeling at that moment so we ended up buying nothing and leaving for our Christmas holidays in Europe empty handed.

On the plane I was wondering (plane trips, especially the long ones, are always an occasion for this very meaningful and profound type of contemplations): what is a signature scent? And, more importantly, how do you choose it?
You know, that type of smell that transcends the mere olfactory dimension and can actually tell something about the person who wears it.
I sometimes remember people and places thanks to their perfume and countless times I've met women whose perfume communicated to me an intimate part of their personality, contributing greatly to my first impression of them.
I've never really had a signature scent, but the idea of it has always intrigued me.

In the end, after a lot of pondering (ahhh all the free time you have on holidays to think about this kind of stuff...) and a fortuitous encounter with a Chanel cosmetics boutique in Florence, I decided to give Chance Eau Tendre a try and purchased the 35 mL version (I'm amazed at how cautious I am with some kind of purchases, considering how easily I spend on other things like make-up, skincare and clothes).

So will this finally be my signature scent? I don't know, but for now I can say that I'm hooked.
So much so that I wanted to draw it (and my tiny 35 mL bottle is already almost half-empty after only 2 weeks).
It has something in common with the perfumes I usually wear, quite fresh and delicate but at the same time it has components that are more unusual for me, more on the sweet and floral side and that makes it interesting for me to wear.

The final test will be next time I leave home on my own: if my boyfriend can smell one of my shirts and finally connect this scent with the memory of me then it means I've found the one... (perfume, not boyfriend :p).

And what about you? Do you have a signature scent and how did you find it?
I'm curious!

With this I leave my computer to end my lunch break with a walk in the green and hopefully some relief to my horrible jet-lag.
(Traveling between Europe and Asia is HELL: when I go to Italy or Belgium I'd like to go out with my friends but jet-lag strikes by 5 PM and when I come back here in Singapore I need to go to work but I'm basically asleep until 3 PM... I hate it...)

I wish you a great week ahead!

xxx Al

In my skin

I have been on a diet most of my life.

When I was a kid, because I was a bit chubby and my mom was trying to keep me healthy by keeping all sorts of snacks (the more unhealthy the more I loved them. Of course) out of the house to avoid I would reach for the Nutella jar while doing my homeworks.

When I was a teenager, because I was desperately trying to look like all my skinny, pimple-free friends.

When I moved to Belgium from Italy at 25, because being alone for the first time out of Mamma's home in a completely new environment led me to emotional eating and I gained a whopping 20 kg in just a few months.

If I look at it closely, what I have been doing most of my life wasn't only dieting: I was hating my body. 

I would never accept my boobs. My friends were jealous because they were as flat as a surfing board and they would kill for my bra size? Al doesn't care, Al wants to be flat too because that T-shirts looks soooo much better on them...

I couldn't stand the size of my butt. Did I ever notice that I actually had a very beautiful waist and soft, round hips that I could accentuate with a body-conscious dress? Of course not, Al was wearing sack-of-potato sweaters to hide everything as much as possible. 

So that nobody could see. So that I couldn't see.

I have been "working" so much on hating my body that now I need the help of a psychologist (literally) to help me recover my confidence and the wonder that every woman should feel every single time she looks in the mirror.

I am thinking about this now because I am at the end of two wonderful weeks in Italy and Belgium, spent with family and friends, and I am noticing the price of all the Christmas parties, drinks and aperitivo on my waist. 

I should be thinking about all the wonderful memories I collected in these days but no, the only thing I can think about is how many kilos I gained because of too many slices of pandoro and the abnormal (and joyful) amount of Duvel beers.

I looked at the scale with terror last night for a good 10 minutes while getting ready after my shower (nope, didn't find the courage to actually jump on it. Yet). 

I know that when I'm back to Singapore in two days I'll get back on my 5:2 diet (which totally changed my life, I'll have to write a post on this one) and my usual eating habits that will make me lose the extra kilo(s) quite quickly.

So why am I so scared? Why I am avoiding the mirror so much ?
(Believe me, getting your make-up ready can be quite a challenge when you don't want to look at the reflection in front of you).

Because everything is about my weight. Everything is about our weight. 

If I lose weight, everyone is telling me "Wow you look great! What have you been eating? You should give me your diet!".

If I gain weight, there is always an annoying aunt remarking I'm getting "a little chubby".

Magazines are featuring curvy women because let's be proud of our bodies.

Feminist websites are telling you every other post to stop dieting because you're beautiful as you are (and, on a side note, they make me feel freaking guilty because my brain then goes in stupid loops like "wait I'm a feminist. So I shouldn't care about my weight. But I do care about my weight... So am I not feminist enough??? WHAT AM I").

Brands tell you that you should indeed lose those extra 5 kg because their sizes are getting smaller and smaller.

And so on and so on... Our days are full of crap that reminds us that our weight and shape is a very important matter. Even if the message aims to be a positive one ("let's love our bodies the way they are") in the end, the emphasis on body weight is always the same. And it's always there to hunt me.

I wish one day I will be able to diet to look good for myself and for my boyfriend and some feminist article I stumbled upon on Facebook won't make me feel guilty for it.

I wish one day featuring curvy models or superskinny models won't be a topic of debate anymore (or pride "hey look I'm VOGUE but I'm still publishing an editorial with curvy models now give me an applause") because nobody would care if they are size 0 or size 14.

I wish nobody is going to point out if I lost weight or if I gained it.

Like, for a change, why not asking me who's my hairdresser 'cause my haircut looks great?
(that is why I love the Korean lady at my usual food centre in Singapore, she always gives me the cutest remarks on my style. And her kimchi jigae is great BTW).

Just feel good in my skin for once, and looking in the mirror will be the most normal thing in the world.

And do my 5:2 diet because it makes me feel good and not because I want to look like someone else thinks I should look like.

And go on the scale and losing 500 g won't be a reason for tears of joy. 

And gaining a few pounds would be "pffff what the hell, who cares, I had a good party time. I'll just lose them when I get back to my regular life".

And browse a fashion magazine and finally focus on the clothes and the photos, not if curvy models are featured or not.

I know this is utopia, but I still hope one day I'll be the girl who looks in the mirror and won't think she has to lose a couple of kilos to be perfect. And I wish I won't be the girl who has to repeat to herself "I am beautiful as I am" to be really convinced she is.

I hope I'll be the girl who looks in the mirror and just doesn't care, because in the end it's not that important.

xxx Al

(By the way, happy New Year ;) )

(The illustration is my second digital experiment! Tell me tell me, do you like it?)

The first New Year's resolution

Can you believe I've never ever made New Year's resolutions?

I don't know why.
Probably because I usually spend the first days of the year in a food/hangover coma and in general in a partial lobotomy condition on my couch, surely not thinking about productivity goals.

No but seriously, I would really like to know how many of you use the first days of the year to think about sparkling wishful plans that will bring you to a better bikini body/job/mind peace/etc by Summer holidays time.
Ah! I can see you all in your pajamas on January 2nd, day-3 hair, snacking on calorie-bomb leftovers trying to remember amidst the fog of a 2 day-long hangover (3 days if you're 30+ years old) who the hell was that guy you kissed at the New Year's Eve party.
Those girls who spend the 1st of January making lists of goals and the 2nd of January exercising in the gym and juicing to start the year with a healthy green detox exist only on the pages of glossy magazines. Or at least, if they're real, I've never met them.
If you're one of these mythological creatures please explain me how you manage to do this, because to me you're a big mystery.

(Actually I just realized I don't usually make New Year's resolutions simply because I'm lazy).

So this year I am apparently skipping my No New Year Resolution (NNYR) habit. And as a good Taurus, breaking my routines makes me feel nervous but I kinda feel good about it this time.
(and OK, technically it's not New Year yet, but 2017 is just a couple of weeks away and we're all already thinking what to wear for New Year's Eve anyway).

(in full Al style I just wrote like 300 words without saying anything yet, or better without saying what this resolution is all about. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own logorrhoea, really).

So my resolution is: in 2017 I'm going to BLOG A LOT. And DRAW A LOT.
That's it.

So what is the reason of this SHOCKING revelation, and what makes it so different from the other 2567 times I made such a statement? (I guess you can find at least 3 of these times in the limited amount of posts of this blog if you scroll behind)

Well to begin with, I really really miss writing and drawing.
I've tried meditation, I've tried being more social with strangers, I've tried to stop smoking and cut down carbs and telling myself I'm beautiful in front of the mirror every morning (I think my new therapist - who is amazing BTW - is making me become a bit of a hippie) but I still miss what would really make me happy and healthy.
I miss writing and drawing. A lot.
There is just nothing that makes me as happy as drawing does and there is nothing that gives me more feeling of completeness than rounding a drawing with a post full of random ramblings.

Secondly, I'm sooooo boooored.
I spend way too much time at work and the rest of my time doing primary biological functions such as sleeping and eating.
So what is Al's idea to counteract infinite boredom? Do something completely different.
Something that would project me into an imaginary world of colors and beauty.
Something like drawing.
(Fashion drawing, that is)

Three, I am so freaking lonely that it's even difficult to explain how lonely I am.
I'm not talking about general loneliness. I mean. I'm pretty happy with my boyfriend and my cats.
But you know, sometimes I would need to talk about those girly, frivolous little things that I used to share with my girlfriends back in Belgium in front of a bottle or three of Cava.
Since I just moved to a new city/country/continent I have just one friend here (Mari I love you <3) and my boyfriend and my cats couldn't care less (and rightfully so) about stuff like my new favourite mascara or how my diet is doing wonders...
I just need to express that light, maybe a bit shallow side of me, like I would have done in front of those that bottles of Cava.
Even if nobody will read me, I just need to tell.

And to put a very expensive solemn seal on this whole resolution thing, I bought a new Macbook Pro so at least I don't have the excuse of not having a dedicated computer to work with my art and blog and stuff (it might sound weird but I really used this a lot as an excuse lately to justify my artistic laziness to myself).

AND I also bought a scanner (can you believe I didn't have a scanner??) which allows me to scan my drawings in the comfort of my home or even my bed (yay couch potato mode, my favourite). I finally don't have to run through half city to find a decent print shop or use the scanner at my work (which honestly is quite shitty).

AND a private source told me in all secrecy that Santa is bringing me a graphic tablet for Christmas, and I really can't wait to explore digital painting (I have the big expectation of being able to paint kind of anywhere anytime thanks to this, even while I'm couch potato-ing at the end of a long day or on a plane flying somewhere for work, which is kind of hard to do with traditional watercolors, paints, papers and the whole messy shebang).

Alright wrote too much, gotta go find a nice drawing idea for this post, I'm off.

And while I am going to get that bottle of Cava tell me, what are your resolutions?
(Don't tell me go to the gym and eat healthy, because I don't believe you :p).

xxx Al

Singapore bound!

Drawing inspiration: Singapore beauty and fashion influencer Yoyo Cao, a dress by the Singapore designer Ong Shunmugam and, of course, the Singapore lion

Yep, that is what the title of this post is saying: I'm moving to Singapore.
(it's so cool when I write it like this black on white because seriously, I still have problems believing it...)

It all happened pretty fast.
I went from "Oh, yeah, my boyfriend and I sometimes talk about moving outside of Europe for a while, you know, just for a different experience" to "WTF my flight to Singapore is in less than three weeks and I still have to pack my house" in a matter of a few months.
(I voluntarily omit the daily stress bunny/freak out episodes of the few months I mentioned above...)

I still don't know why we decided to go for Singapore as experience-out-of-Europe destination, honestly.
For sure, the fact that both of us found a job there almost at the same time helped... Of course the prospect of a very juicy salary and the promise of a boosted CV were very attractive too.

But personally, the main reason is that I'm terribly curious.
Just the idea of living in a Country so different from what I've been used to for all my life is enough to make my chest explode with excitement and anticipation. The habits, the colors, the smells, the lost in translation moments, the new friends, discovering every single corner of a completely new and unexplored city... And of course also the bad things, like not being able to get used to the steamy humid heat, getting lost in the city exactly when you need to arrive in time for an appointment, feeling lonely and missing home (like desperately needing a Duvel, my favourite mainstream Belgian beer, to quench a moment of nostalgia and bursting into tears because a Duvel costs 22 Singapore dollars - yes, TWENTY-TWO = Fifteen fucking euros-)... Things that are not that bad in the end, because they're all part of the discovery and the process of getting used to a new home.
I just can't wait for all this to happen.

Also, I'm  slightly obsessed with Japan, but I never contemplated moving there for many reasons. But hey, at least I'll be in Asia! And in Singapore there is an onsen. They have some of the best ramen restaurants in the world. There is a whole Japanese food supermegamarket, sort of a made in Tokyo Eataly (if you'll be looking for me two hours after my flight from Frankfurt has landed, you can find me there *insert thumb-up emoji*).
No more hours spent hunting for Japanese and Korean cosmetics and skin care on untranslatable Japanese websites just to find out they don't ship anywhere in Europe: I'm gonna have it all there, a ride of MRT away, offered to me on inviting shiny shelves by impeccable tiny graceful smiling (sorry for the series of adjectives, couldn't pick up a favorite) Singaporean shop assistants.
There is a huge Kinokuniya, full of manga and Japanese books, where I can get lost while I wait for my wagyu dinner.

And the shopping (mostly, the window shopping)... Getting lost on Orchard Road, through the doors of Prada and the mirrors of Valentino, admiring weird Japanese designs and countless Bao Bao bags through the windows of Issey Miyake... My pain for loving fashion and not being able to afford it will reach a totally new level of self-inflicted torture. Can't wait.

What say you, I sound a bit shallow because I talk only about food, make-up and clothes? Naaaaa...

No but wait, there is more.

Let's talk about the islands of Malaysia.
Like, Pulau Rawa, just to name one. Apparently you can go there from Singapore on Friday night by a short minibus trip, spend the weekend on a white beach and in transparent blue waters and get home by Sunday night. Which means you don't even need to take a day off to be in a tropical paradise.
I can't even imagine it honestly.
I mean I live in Belgium guys. You need a raincoat to sit on the beach.
Come on...
And what about Bali, Thailand, Borneo all a short flight away...

OK I admit I'm saying all of this just to try to forget I just signed a contract that binds me to work for a minimum of 42 hours a week, with 18 days of holidays a year (might sound very normal to Americans, but for someone who works in Belgium this will be pretty hard to get used to...)
But it's OK.
I have an onsen I can go to every day.
Everything will be alright.

Now, going back packing.
Which leads me to the next post's topic (just hope the next post won't be again in two months...): how can a fashionista move to the other side of the world with only two suitcases and nothing else? If you have an answer let me know because I'm tempted to book a last minute cargo container honestly I don't...

xx Al

Yin-yang

Black & White: Dior Couture Fall 2016

When I opened this blog months ago, I promised myself to keep it up and running consistently: I know I need my creativity in order to feel complete and keeping a blog is the only way to manage to express my artistic self with a little bit of regularity.

This is all because my brain is split exactly in two halves: the scientist, rational and methodological and the artist, chaotic and imaginative. These two halves are constantly fighting with each other in the attempt of becoming once and for all the predominant one. They are completely in contrast, like black and white. But not in an harmonic yin-yang kind of way. I'd say more like a black bold capital "WTF" splattered all over on an immaculate white page.

I am a scientist for most of my day: at work; with many of my friends (well, we don't really talk about science while we get drunk sip wine at a bar on Friday night usually, but sometimes the conversation can shift towards these topics); with my boyfriend, who is a scientist too.
My artistic half is very often silenced, hidden. I hear it screaming sometimes from one side of my head "let me out!" but there is no time, no energy, too many worries... So very often, too often, I decide to ignore it.
And time passes.
And there I am, 4 months gone, no drawing made, not even a sketch. Nothing.
I find myself feeling gloomy and grey, dry, longing for my world of colors without even noticing.

That is when the alarm bell starts to ring, that is when the shouting in my head gets louder and louder, both my two halves are pushing me: "Al, wake up, start drawing again or you're going to freak out and it will be a problem for the both of us!".

I had a lot of these epiphanies in the past. The last time it happened it was a month ago, when I accepted a commission (the results will be soon on the blog, but you can already check some of the drawings in my Instagram feed :) ) so I was "forced" to draw again after a few months of inactivity.

Despite the crazy deadline (20 drawings in 10 days, or better, nights. Gotta love challenges...) and the performance stress, while making these drawings I felt like liberated: my head was freely roaming in a world of colors and shapes, finally abstracting from all the issues and worries that every day are keeping my head too occupied and messy (those of you who suffer from generalized anxiety will understand what I mean...)
My drawing moments became almost meditation sessions.

At the end of it all I was exhausted, but also proud to have made the deadline and completely re-energized: I had defeated, if only for a while, that horrible clash in my head and I was feeling like my two halves were reunited in a much more balanced type of black and white. Maybe not as balanced as yin-yang yet, but at least not as in contrast as before.

I don't know if I will ever reach a permanent equilibrium, honestly. My psychologist used to tell me my two personalities will probably always be in a fight and the struggle to reach the almost-impossible goal of making them get along perfectly was damaging me. She always suggested I should rather accept it, and try to live with it.
On one hand, she's right. But on the other I feel like when I am drawing everything is at peace again.

And here I am, promising myself once again to keep it up with painting as regularly as I can. I don't know if it will work as well as I hope, there are major life changes on the horizon (I'll talk about this soon, but I can already say it involves moving far far away from my beloved Belgium...) and at work the situation is never quiet, but I'll do my best... I feel like I owe it to myself, like a healthy diet for my brain.

Wish me luck.

xx Al

Lesson learned (or "of Google and break-ups")

There is a lesson I learned the hard way, after my (in)famous break-up.
And, after a conversation with my sister about this topic, I promised myself as a New Year resolution: never forget this lesson.

But to tell you what this lesson is I'll have to start from the beginning.

So what is the main thing you do in the months days after a break-up? I'll tell you: Google.
It initially happens because you realize that your friends and family will shun you and never talk to you ever again if you dare to ask the same question for the 346676564th time.
So you turn to Google.
"Because Google will know what I have to do, Google will KNOW what is gonna happen."
And then it becomes an addiction.

So this is more or less the history of google searches in the first month after a break-up (or a divorce).

Chronologically:

"how to overcome break-up"

"will he change his mind after break-up"

"should I text my ex"

"what to eat when you don't want to eat"

"methods of suicide"

"suicide helpline"

" how to make him regret break-up"

"how to find new boyfriend"

"too much alcohol after break-up normal?"

"how long break-up pain lasts"

"single after 30 will I ever get married"

"break-up desperate help"

"WILL I DIE ALONE???"

The outcome of all this is to basically prove you that every self-help website is telling you the same obvious stuff (find a hobby, see your friends, go out to find someone else. Wow, genius!) and the only effect of visiting Oprah's website compulsively is just to make you feel like everyone else is so good at handling their traumas and getting their shit together except you.

Long story short the leaves are falling, the snow is coming, the birds are singing: a year has passed and you find yourself still googling stuff like:

"do I need therapist after break-up"

There must be something wrong here. There must be something very wrong when after a year you're still treating damn google like an oracle and source of all wisdom.
After three years a while I realized what was going wrong. I realized why I couldn't find peace and I needed to ask compulsively my friends, my sister, my mother, my aunts, my grandma, my dad, the bottom of my empty glass of wine AND google the same questions over and over again.

And the reason was: I needed a solution. But there simply was no solution.

I needed a solution to feel good fast, because I was surrounded by people and situations that were constantly telling me how I should feel better already, how I shouldn't be selfish and think only about my pain, how I should always put a smile on when I'm at a social event even if I the only thing I want is to burst into tears and scream that it's not fair, how I should behave at work like nothing happened because otherwise it's not professional.

So I needed a quick and easy fix to make myself acceptable from society again and to find a way to make the pain slightly more bearable.
And google is so good at quick and easy fixes.

But no. It doesn't work like that.
There is one thing that no google link will tell you, and it took me three years of therapy and painful conversations with my inner self to realize it.

That is the lesson, probably the biggest I've learned, and somehow I hope that you, unknown girl who is googling "how to overcome break-up" will stumble upon this page and will read this.
Dear unknown girl, I hope that this will help you to save the 40 euros a week I spent in shrinks and spend them in shoes the real important things instead.

The lesson is: you have to allow yourself to feel like shit. Simple as that.
You don't have to google how to feel better because there is simply no way to feel better so soon. And you don't have to. You have the right to feel as bad as you want in the ways that you feel more suitable for you and as long as you need. 

We live in a society that makes you feel like you have to be perfect all the time. A society that makes you feel like you have to please everyone around you with your amazing abilities and extremely well developed savoire faire: your parents, your boss, your friends, the friends of your friends, the attendees of a work meeting, your colleagues... A society that at the first sign of stress or sadness pushes you to look for a psychologist, a yoga course, a cat cafe' for pet therapy and three new hobbies to keep yourself busy. This is a society that doesn't even contemplate the concept of "recovery time". It's a society that, basically, doesn't allow you to feel like shit.
And the worst part is, we are so used to this mentality that if we do actually feel like shit (which is actually very human and natural and healthy) we feel guilty .

The key is to remember one very simple thing: something bad happened to you, you are ENTITLED to feel bad about it.

That's it, this is the lesson I learned, and I feel like it will help me a lot in many other parts of my life and in my next break-ups (yep, I'm totally Queen Optimism).

Less Google, more acceptance of my weaknesses. And a little patience.

And happy New Year everyone :)

xx Al

The random fashion illustration #1

I have been desperately looking for some time to write a blog post in the last days after my holidays, but time is incredibly short lately.
The adorable Belgian highway network is so crammed these days that my usual commute takes 4 hours a day (FOUR.HOURS.SERIOUSLY) instead of 2. Moreover, the managers of the project I'm working on had the brilliant idea of making me a team leader, so now the job is even busier than usual (goodbye lunch break blogging).
Needles to say, I try to save every single free minute to cuddle my cat draw a bit so the time left to put words on screen is more and more limited.

I would like to talk about so many things... How I don't deal with my holiday weight gain, my favourite hair products of the moment, my latest make-up crush... You know, all very important and deep stuff.
It really saddens me that the world will have to live without these gems of journalism for a while.

But I thought hey, I'm still drawing a lot! Why shouldn't I at least post my drawings? That really takes two seconds.
I still publish everything on Instagram but this blog is still my visual diary so why not posting everything here as well?

So in the coming days then I'll be posting my drawings, without too much text, random fashion illustration really, waiting to have the time to write and deliver the beauty/fashion post that will make the history of the WWW.

The first drawing of this series was inspired by a headband I saw on Zara. I really liked the atmosphere of the picture and off I went with brush and ink.
Hope you like it!

xxx Al

The right to be shocked

I thought I wouldn't say a word about what happened in Paris on Friday.
Honestly, I didn't think there was much to say. Just silence and respect.
And I couldn't talk about it. I didn't have an opinion about it. I was just feeling sad, and sick.
I spent my Sunday trying to process it all on my couch, with my cat on my lap and a heavy feeling of inertia.
Shell shocked, I thought that there was nothing meaningful enough that could be said in a moment like this.

But then I made the big mistake of opening Facebook.
And there they were, the Social Media Columnists.
Everyone and their mother has their opinion, their lesson, their sentence.

The right wing-minded people who shout slogans of death against all Muslims and refugees, in their ungrammatical and almost primitive language, and want all EU borders to be closed.
The wannabe-priests who mistook Facebook for a church where to give their sermon of good Christians.
The left wing, pseudo-intellectuals with their very predictable lessons on who you should be sorry for: "Thousands of people are dying in wars every day in the world, but you feel sorry for just 129 who died in Paris because it's part of the Western culture". Or that are publishing very well-argumented dissertations on how this is a lesson we deserved, how it's normal that it happened because of the wrong political choices of France.

Of all these, the latter kind of Social Media Columnists are the ones that are making me angry the most.
Maybe because it's the "group" that often shares my thoughts and ideology, the one that I usually relate the most to.
It makes me feel sick now.

And angry, especially because I wanted silence and now I am among the ones who are talking. It pisses me off how much I'm letting them get to me.

But I just need to let it out now, and I want to do it on my blog because I just need to let my anger out in my own personal place.
I know that if someone will read this they might not like it. I don't care.

To this kind of Social Media Columnists I just want to say one thing: just SHUT UP.

Why does everything always has to become a political debate? Why does such an atrocity has to become a tool to show to the world your Facebook wall how much of a critical thinker you are, how cool you are by getting your news only from independent sources, how not selfish and friend-of-the-World of you is to think of all victims of the wars that are happening globally instead of the "few" people who lost their lives on Friday in Paris?
Why does, in your point of view, feeling bad for Paris exclude feeling bad for everyone else?

We have the right to feel sad and we have the right to mourn who we want.
We have the right to be shocked.

Miss insecurity

Lately I feel so ugly that every time someone is coming in my office to ask me a question I feel the urge to hide under my desk.

My head lives in a constant bad-hair-day, I have horrible circles under my eyes and it looks like every pore on my face has decided to explode in a horrible pimple. And of course I've got nothing to wear.

But my boyfriend still tells me that I'm beautiful, my friends still make compliments on my style and a colleague of mine told me I had a nice make-up a few days ago.

I might not be at my best, but apparently I am not so horrible. So why do I keep seeing a monster in the mirror?

I know why.
It's because I'm affected by the same illness that (almost) every girl I know has: it's called chronic insecurity.