Je ne suis pas Charlie. Je suis Saman.

I am deeply saddened by the attacks on Charlie Hebdo in Paris and I too, like all of you, condemn any terrorist attack and any form of violence towards another human being. 

The attacks in Paris are profoundly shocking and it took me a few days to process the news. My thoughts are with the families of the victims and the people of France ever since. Acts of violence are not a solution and they will never be. 

To my friends I'd like to say that hate speech is not a solution either. It is a form of violence on its own. We all, religious and non-religious people are upset, angry and hurt yet remember that we are better than the product of our anger. We are smarter. We have the luxury to access information and enjoy education and we have the means to make our voices heard and speak up. 

I condemn any extremism comments, be it on Facebook or spoken out loud, as extremism leads to extremism and I will not support any form of hate or generalization especially not when we're talking about nearly 2 billion people globally. 

Remember that there is no or very little real depth analysis in the media and that the issue is broken down into a recipe based on three ingredients: a satire, a religion and a gun. Remember that there is more to it. 

Therefore it is important to ask the right questions and I'd like to ask all of you to take the time, even when upset, to question everything you read in the media. Do your research until you find answers for yourself that you can represent and argue for. If you take a step back you might even see that history is simply repeating itself. 

We should remember that these terrorist acts are an aberration of people's faith.
We should remember more than ever to respect and protect our friends and people who are faithful and innocent as they have been and will be the target of hatespeech, insult, violence and discrimination. 
Remember to call for reason.

We should stand united against terrorist attacks and any form of extremism. We should stand united against polarization and hate. We should stand for mutual respect and love for those who are innocent. 

Je ne suis pas Charlie. Je suis Saman.

The Writer's Block Virgin

Every writer has made the acquaintance or has at least heard of the oh-so-legendary 'Writer's block'. And just like many others, I suddenly found myself unwillingly hurled at a place that I didn't like and therefore a place I urgently needed to leave. Welcome to the journey of a Writer's block virgin.

1) JUST RELAX
The exit door leading straight to creative wonderland seemed at first logical if not to say easy: Relaxation. Therefore I took a deep breath with my eyes gently closed like in those generic yoga ads. I tried to relax for hours, days, weeks, even for months. Yet the durability of trying to relax combined with the nonexistence of any satisfying results whatsoever, made me add an extra effort to it, which on the other hand resulted in nothing but additional stress: the stress over not being able to relax. And there I was back to exactly where I had started: stiff, tense and wordless. Clearly I was running in circles - running far away from relaxation. But I had gained one thing: a special form of a slight passive aggression towards any remotely human being trying to be 'helpful' and asking me to 'just relax'. Even though it is certainly questionable whether or not this state of mind can be described as a 'gain' at all. But that's a different story.

2) BEAUTY IS EVERYWHERE
Plan B was to write about something beautiful. Beauty can be incredibly disgusting when you're forced to it. Nonetheless, I decided to intensely seek inspiration as at that point the nausea of looking at a blank piece of paper forced me to scale down my expectations from 600 words down to one single sentence. Talk about being desperate. I sat down over and over again, thinking of the past few months, my eyes still closed, seeing the incredible collection of breathtaking impressions and emotions I had been blessed with and that I had stored in my head. A wonderful place thus far far away from my fingertips. You would think that any writer would be able to fulfill the task of writing a single sentence. But nowadays more than ever a single sentence is under a constant serious life threat by being just one click away from trash and two clicks from forever gone.

3) ANY TOPIC IS A GOOD TOPIC
I ended up gazing shyly at good old Google, like a little girl who is well aware that she's not supposed to look at the soon to follow sex scene on TV but somehow can't help it. Google is naked knowledge combining the good, the evil and the idiotic and therefore it has an answer to almost every question I can possibly think of. I was looking for the famous advice of famous authors- famous as in folks who actually get paid for a sentence. I can tell you that any hint of possible embarrassment over myself googling 'Writer's block' vanished within 0,35 seconds. That's how long it took Google to give me more than 75 million results on this topic. Clearly I was not the only one and needless to say that I never made it past page 1 of my search results.  Now some of these famous authors suggest to write about something. Anything. Whatever.  Obviously I gave it a shot. Who wouldn't? Their financial life depends on writing so whatever advice they have to offer must work, right? Wrong. 

I found myself trying to write about the daily news, orphans in Syria, hope and death in Lampedusa, water on Mars, global warming and other serious topics. I quickly switched to fashion week, people, couples,weirdos or nerdos before getting to good food, bad food, a skirt, a plant, love, a piece of art - even dirt. I was  drifting from topic to abstract and steering from a state of being desperate towards madness. What was missing was my inner glue on which words would simply stick and the fun I used to feel when writing.

4)FUN
Ray Bradbury, what would I do without you? I found a video of the Sixth Annual Writer's Symposium by the Sea in 2001, where Ray talked about writing and simultaneously rocked my world. That's when he unknowingly became my writer friend. And here's an excerpt of smarty pants Ray:

“Well, it’s obvious you’re doing the wrong thing, aren’t you? Hm? You're in the middle of writing something, you go blank and your mind says: “No, that’s it.” Huh? Ok. You’re being warned, aren’t you? Your subconscious is saying “I don’t like you anymore. You’re writing about things I don’t give a damn for.” Huh? You’re being political or you’re being socially aware. You’re writing things that will benefit the world. To hell with that! Huh? I don’t write things to benefit the world. If it happens that they do, swell! I didn’t set out to do that. I set out to have a hell of a lot of fun. Huh? I’ve never worked a day in my life. I’ve NEVER worked a day in my life. The joy of writing has propelled me from day to day and year to year. I want you to envy me, my joy. Get out of here tonight and say: ‘Am I being joyful?’ And if you’ve got a Writer’s block, you can cure it this evening by stopping whatever you’re writing and doing something else. You picked the wrong subject.”

Cheers to you Ray.  May your wonderful soul rest in peace.





 

Festival De Cannes

 

    ©Saman Giraud

Wisdom of a Cookie

©Saman Giraud

A Love Letter by Count Tolstoy

 

I already love in you your beauty, but I am only beginning to love in you that 
which is eternal and ever precious - your heart, your soul. 
Beauty one could get to know and fall in love with in one hour 
and cease to love it as speedily; 
but the soul 
one must learn to know. 
Believe me, nothing on earth is given without labour, 
even love, 
the most beautiful and natural of feelings.

Inspiration

It was a cold November night a few years ago; one of those nights whose whispers, announcing the approaching snowfall, become louder and inevitably reach my ears, where the air is crisp, almost razor-sharp, cracking like a whip, where the smell of pure, chilled air fills my warm summery lungs and where the empty streets of New York City are filled with the sudden void of in between seasons.

I gently pulled my bed sheets, wakening the mild perfume of detergent, and laid my heavy head on the pillow, evenly spreading out my thoughts. With each passing moment, my body started to descend into the mattress while the day began its surrender - leaving me to the mysterious nothing yet to come...

My eyes were closed when the serenity was interrupted: a fast pacing storm of distinct pictures and vivid colors, of unique characters and dialogues, of old french music and moods as diverse as only a human soul can be, invaded my mind. Dense Inspiration at its purest hit me like a thunderbolt and took over everything that is me: It spread from my eyes to the tip of my fingers, adhered to my bones until they merged and rushed through my blood in a state of urgency, pushed its way through my veins and pumped up my heart.

I glared at the ceiling, gasping for air, pushed away the bed sheets I had wrapped myself in only moments earlier - its cozy warmth suddenly an obstacle. I jumped out of the bed, ran to the kitchen to prepare fresh coffee only to run immediately back to my bedroom where I slid the heavy window with all my strength and as fast as I could to let all the air in that I could possibly inhale while still surrounded by darkness. The light switch seemed to be yet another obstacle, but one I could live without overcoming.  I prepared my desk that was facing the open window with the one thing that would be needed for the moments to come: a blank page on my laptop's screen. And when I finally sat down I looked up into the dark blue sky , greeted the moon and started to write. 

I remember how I tried to write as fast as possible, led by the fear of losing the pictures in my head at any moment, led by the rage that my fingers could not type as fast as I could see and led by the rush of Inspiration still running through my veins that made my heart beat so fast that I would not breathe but gasp for air. 

Four hours later: 'M4 - My Many Married Men' was born and I sat there in the darkness, my inspiration looking right at me.

Favorite Quotes

 

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you learn to appreciate them when they're right. You believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself...and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."

Marilyn Monroe

In someone else's shoes...

©Saman Giraud

Mud

How I despise the words of those who accused me of being happy
Accused as if it was simply a mark given by birth
Accused as if it was simply a seed of luck growing on my earth
Accused, accused, accused as if it was not me who turned happy
But happiness turned to me

Mud, mud, mud it was
Mud all over me

How I despise the words of those who accused me of being happy - as if by chance
Judgements of those too blind to see - kings and queens of ignorance
Bathing in the velvet throne of comfort, in a dark room separated from hope
Surrounded by a wall built by the sad remains of the hand cut last rope
Efforts unborn, already dead
Buried deep in muddy earth, left alone, they fled
Their hands seemed clean from mud, but their skin was dyed in red

Mud, mud, mud it was
Mud all over me

It was at dawn when fear came over you
When shadows grew tall and sight was taken from you to seek truth
When roads behind you suddenly disappeared
And in a starless night the endless unknown neared

It was at night when mud grabbed your feet
When each step ahead was one step too deep
When happiness you thought you know well
Was made of words you could not spell

And while you buried hope right there and then
I walked the road not knowing of its end
I walked the road in darkness, blind and by myself
With no hand to hold and fear my only friend

I sank, I sank, I sank my friend
Buried in mud, I died, it was an end
But darkness passed like a seasons change
My skin a crispy desert, newborn and strange

Murder, you who killed your spirit
An empty shell of life is what remained!
You who dress in life and judge is you who should be ashamed.

It is the mud that is my happiness
My hands are dirty for everyone to see
I am life - not more not less
The mud all over me.

The Mermaid 2

©Saman Giraud

The Mermaid

I was looking down at my necklace, holding the pendant of a little mermaid gently in the open palm of my hand.

She said: "That's cute! "

I replied: "It's a mermaid! When I was little, I used to believe that I was a mermaid. Nothing could convince me that I was not...I was never mad at people for not being capable to understand or willing to accept, so I mostly kept this precious secret to myself. Nothing could ever destroy or even touch this belief - not even the visible lack of a fishtail."

She said: "So what did finally convince you?"

"Nothing", I said and laughed.

Deep Frozen Egg

I opened my freezer this morning to find the usual suspects: tons of italian coffee that my mum, who by the way is my biggest coffee drinking supporter, keeps on sending me from Europe where great coffee doesn't demand great finances ; 4 boxes of ice cream that i, for some reason, crave more in winter than in summer; 2 packs of frozen spinach from my roommate and last but not least, the permanent residents: ice cubes.

The usual suspects of the freezer were not one happy family but rather two. Category number 1 needs to be in the freezer in order to survive. Ice cream wouldn't be ice cream if stored in the fridge, neither would ice cubes. Category number 2 on the contrary is forced to be there out of human convenience. Spinach or coffee that we can't or don't want to consume straight away, is kept deep frozen and prevented from aging. Rule of thumb says we should freeze at peak quality. The same rule of thumb says that not everything freezes well, like lettuce or eggs in shells. Yet....

"You should freeze your eggs." is what I was told to do by a woman on a Saturday night to whom I had been introduced only moments before. And she didn't mean the eggs who come in shells.

A meeting between two strangers had turned uncomfortably intimate within a few minutes and while she kept trying to persuade me that it would be the best thing to do, I couldn't help but wonder how we even got that far...

If time is a bitch, the biological clock of a woman is the pimp. And even though times have changed in quality, time in numbers didn't change a second.

One generation ago, motherhood at the age of 20 was given. Today it is incomprehensible. Woman nowadays have the choice to work and the opportunity to build a career. In many cases it is even a necessity. As a result, families are started later than sooner - if at all.

According to the American Society for Reproductive Medicine the peak quality for a woman's egg is before she turns 20. From that moment on the eggs begin to diminish in quantity and quality. At the age of 40 a woman has a 5% chance or less of becoming pregnant naturally in any one month. The chance of chromosomal abnormalities like Down Syndrome increases to 1 in 100 at the age of 40, compared to 1 in 1000 at the age of 20.

To make a long story short: getting pregnant at the age of 40 or more is risky in many ways.

Freezing eggs falls in the "Freezer Philosophy" under category number 2 - the same as spinach. Also known as the "Convenience Category". I looked at the spinach in the freezer who, stiff and lifeless, stared right back at me. Astonishing how it had stopped aging and slipped through time's claws. Who would have thought that some day frozen eggs and frozen spinach would have something in common? I imagined their common slogan: "Preserve today while young and use later."

The difference is that while spinach is not part of our bodies, our eggs are. And while they might stay young and fresh in the timeless freezer, we still keep aging. Our hair will eventually turn grey, even if we dye it. Our skin will get wrinkles, Botox or not. At the end of the day, no matter how much we master the art of looking young, we will keep aging internally and mentally. No plastic surgery can change your date of birth.

The time difference between the frozen egg and the body that will carry it is as relevant as in any other good relationship. A year or two don't even count, 5 years are sexy, 10 great, 15 perfect and 30 is like the distance from earth to moon - nice from afar but impossible to explore.

Being the best parent possible to a kid, who needs constant action, attentiveness and patience, should be the highest priority for a parent. An attribute and necessity like patience, for example, is at the age of 20 endless and seems permanent - at age 40 it is a nice visitor. Raising kids requires a fair amount of energy. The very same energy that diminishes with age.

As a young woman who is about to turn 30 and is self - aware, I would consider myself as a liar or in severe denial if I would dare to say that nothing has changed in the past 10 years. It is not easy to see simply because one's natural surroundings age as much as oneself. Our lives are the reflection of subjectivity. My friends and family are the same to me as 10 years ago but certainly not to a stranger who sees us objectively.

When it comes to having children from deep frozen eggs, we should step back from the idea of what we want and respond to what a child would want. After all, motherhood is the opposite of selfishness...

What happens when the age difference between parent and child becomes questionable? How much could we understand each others worlds? Wouldn't grandparents vanish at some point? And while we would deprive them from us being able to give a 100% as a great parent, wouldn't we above all deprive them from enjoying their parents for as long as possible? Because by gaining more time for ourselves wouldn't we have less time to give to our kids?

Our priorities change all through our lives. The importance lies within making the right choices for ourselves and taking full responsibility for those. Keeping constantly options open prevents us from settling for anything at all. As my mum always used to say: there is a time for everything. Maybe we should keep this in mind, remove the deep frozen eggs and replace them by good old spinach.

Patience 1

 

©Saman Giraud 

Puzzle

More than 10 years have passed since I lost my Loved One to one of the two consequences of life - its ending. Some of them passed like a blink of an eye, too fast to notice, others dragged on like a dreadful disease with no cure known of but time and patience to soothe only the symptoms. And even now, more than 10 years later, I catch myself every now and then looking for bits and pieces of him within others who are still alive and amongst the world I live in.

Knowing I would never find him in one piece here again, I started a never-ending puzzle called Dad.

The stranger who walked into the restaurant had his soft shiny forehead with the profound forehead rows, the cab driver had his all-knowing, humble and innocent gaze that for some reason always reminded me of Bambi, my uncle had his deep voice with the lovely scratch right where it belonged, my friend had his shaving brush, its handle made of hematite and Sephora had his perfume, a smell I could hardly describe...

I carefully chose and collected all those pieces over the past decade, handpicked each of them like flowers, held them as strong as I could and replaced in time some by other, more accurate ones, to create a wonderful bouquet.

I wanted to create a new photograph, the best I could possibly create, of my Loved One, dated with the present, of one who since long ago belonged to the past. And each bittersweet time when I met a new piece of him, each time when I thought I had just collected another piece of the puzzle called Dad, I was reminded that none of those pieces would ever belong to me or come to life. There were merely borrowed for a blink of an eye yet my eyes stole their glimpse forever.

A friend of mine once said that the yearning for the one you love and lost would never diminish and certainly not disappear. He was right.

I must miss my Dad every day because every now and then the snowballs that I would shape of an insatiable longing for him and that I would gently throw behind my back, on my way to nowhere, would turn into an invisible avalanche suddenly overwhelming me from behind and carrying me away... My only salvation in these moments is to melt the avalanche from the inside in order to break free which turns all the snow into all the tears I have, streaming down my face, as rapid and uncontrollable as only an avalanche can be. My heart shrinks to a size beyond my imagination and breathing is nearly impossible. Crushed by the heavy pain and trying to hold myself, the pressure in my head rises and causes a terrible headache. It is the wind that forces itself through my open mouth into my lungs, grabbing the space it is entitled to, that makes me breathe again.

No matter where I am, in my head I start running home as quickly as I can and on my way I think of all the things I possess. I go through every item, every purchase, every piece of paper or fabric. All I need is one thing that was his, one thing that can soothe my pain and save me - for now.

Back at home, in the house we used to live together, I used to run to the bathroom and smell his shaving brush, I would snuggle his sweater or lay my head on his favorite pillow - inhale as slowly and deeply as I could and exhale only as little as necessary...But time carries away not only the people, but also their smells.

In my new home there is no trace of his existence simply because he didn't move in with me. He was not even granted a visit because Life said so and Life didn't grant me an objection. There is nothing left to smell, nothing to touch.

When I reach the peak of my desperation it hits me out of nowhere and I suddenly remember that there will always be one thing that will be with me as long as I live - at all times and at all places:

I would always have my reflection in the mirror. I would stand there, drenched in tears, my eyes burning, red and swollen, giving my best to force my eyes to open and take a good close look at myself because somewhere there, in my reflection, must be a piece of him. A piece that I could not only see, but also touch. A piece that was alive, here and now. One that not even time, the best thief of all, could steal from me and no blow of destiny could ever separate from me.

He was truly a marvelous man and it took me all those years to understand that I would not need or find more words or better words to describe him in order to paint the picture that would do his soul justice. All I needed to do is to describe my longing for him.

I am the daughter of a father who would have given her life to save his.

More than 10 years have passed and this never changed.

50 Things To Know

1_Make wishes, work on them and make them come true.

2_Do not make promises but always give your best.

3_Be patient. The timing must be right. And if the time doesn't come, it was probably not right for you.

4_Laugh. Because there will always be a reason to cry.

5_ Tomorrow is a nice assumption. Today is a given fact.

6_Love - Always.

7_Be honest with yourself and others. No one deserves a lie.

8_Work with what you have.

9_Care for your closer surroundings. Only then will a paper bag make sense.

10_Listen. There is a reason why we have two ears and only one tongue.

11_Dance.

12_Be humble because life will go on - even without you.

13_Have courage. There is not much you can loose.

14_Eat what you crave. Don't let it eat you.

15_Politics are dirty. Everywhere.

16_Breathe.

17_Life is a rental, it is not on sale.

18_People who make you feel like shit, are full of shit.

19_There are many things we cannot change. Take them the way they are. And if you can't - ignore it.

20_Appreciate what you have before wanting more.

21_Even when you are crawling, you are moving on.

22_Hug.

23_Treat yourself well and people will do it too.

24_Just because you can walk doesn't mean you cannot fall.

25_Don't complain to others. Your life is your choice. Therefore your complains should be addressed to yourself.

26_Treat your kids with respect. They are little adults and you are a tall kid.

27_The newspaper always reports bad news.

28_The three most important words are: please, thank you and sorry.

29_Look people in their eyes. They don't lie.

30_The only beauty that is everlasting and ageless is nature.

31_Music can make your day, or break it.

32_Admit your mistakes because not admitting them is the only mistake.

33_Think before you speak.

34_Help.

35_Surprise the one you love.

36_No one can predict the weather.

37_Kids are born innocent. Raise them well, because great kids make great adults.

38_Fight for your rights.

39_Sleep.

40_Count on yourself. You will always be there for you.

41_Do not hurt others unless you are defending.

42_Be thankful for what you have.

43_If you start with Vodka, stay with Vodka.

44_Be yourself and be your best.

45_Everybody needs a little bit of poison.

46_Kiss.

47_Cry when you need to.

48_Certain things in life are wrong.

49_Bend your principles, don't break them.

50_Stop looking for a meaning. Give your life one.

Sense

The subway in the evening was packed with people of all kind to an extent that we seemed linked , like the cars of the train, one to another. The train was delayed and moved only slowly from one stop to the following one - rush hour as usual.

If I would ask myself where I would not like to be - this would be it and sure enough I am only one of almost 8,5 million others who could easily think of at least ten other, more pleasant places. However, it is the one moment where we are so near to each other that we have to look at each other and see one another - not only is there merely space to look away but also the choices are narrowed down to precisely two people.

The afro american lady had a full round face, framed like a perfect canvas by a headscarf, emphasizing her peaceful features in her smooth flawless dark skin. She was wearing a grey wool coat that was almost too tight, embracing her curvy body with large grey buttons. She was sitting in between her two kids who were constantly moving, her arms in her pockets and her legs loose. The lady seemed so unperturbed by her surroundings , so relaxed, that it was adjoining to indifference.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, it hit me: Life makes no sense. Surprised by my own thought, wondering where it came from and how, I closed my eyes for a second only to look at her again, look at her kids, as if I would be searching for a clue that would at least challenge my conclusion and transform it into an assumption - if not prove me wrong. But even on a second look, it seemed as indigenous and natural as the lady herself: Life makes no sense.

I was surprised and baffled about how absolute this conclusion was and how it had caught me off guard. Still looking at her, I felt some sadness. I knew it a long time ago, but today, the thought that was born a while ago had reached every molecule of my body. Back then, I only knew, now I understood.

And on my way out of the train, I looked at all the people I passed on my way to the exit and wondered if we live because we hope that maybe some day something or someone will prove us wrong and show us that life will only make sense once it has been lived - like an oversized picture puzzle that , only completed, reveals an absolute, unshakable picture, screaming: Life makes sense.

Homework

Known amongst teachers as the great intersection between school and home and amongst almost everybody else as the largest possible detour on your way to leisure-time: Homework.


We thought it was part of school, moved forward , closed a chapter and went to college afterwards only to find Homework again. There it was 'Chapter 2'. And once college was part of our past too, once we started working, even then, Homework sticked to us and became part of our present: 'Chapter 3'.


In our private lives, figuring out who we are is strikingly similar to a school assignment: a never ending loop of never ending questions that need to be answered. 

The message that Homework would be not only an essential part of our lives but also a never ending story, got somehow lost or was simply never sent. Maybe Michael Ende was just not as famous as I thought he was...


The best intentions in mind to make our lives better, Homework can leave us confused to a point where we need private lessons. In life, the private tutor is replaced by friends, summer school by a therapist. The reluctance to deal with it, creates an importance and urgency in everything else. And suddenly we realize the significance of having an organized bookshelf by author and theme. And before we know it, we confess our love for vacuum cleaning...But nothing beats the 24/7 job, number 1 US export, widely presented as 'dedication and success' or even ' professionalism'.


But when homework is in the air, no wind is strong enough to carry it away. We can push the deadline and bend it a little bit, but at the end of the day there is no way to bypass it. And while reflection trumps denial, the latter is what is, unfortunately, written on most people's forehead. All of my friends agree, nothing written on ones forehead can look appealing.

Because life is a constant stream of changes in which we swim, constantly changing too, the easiest way to fulfill this already difficult task is taking care of it when changes happen. At the end of the day the only thing that should be written on ones forehead should be wrinkles of thoughts. And maybe we should simply ask ourselves: Do we really want to keep on repeating the same classes over and over again?

Change

Little changes come fast and we are conscious about the change itself happening - like a car that crosses the street too fast and makes us step back and wait for it to pass - we can deal with its little consequences, adapt quickly and react. When big changes are impending, they sneak up on us, slowly. We can feel their presence coming closer but cannot see what they will be. Like going down a dark hallway with no light switch. All we know is that the hallway will reach an end, but we never know when. It is the incertitude that bears the fear. And it is this fear that we need to overcome, that we need to accept and embrace, like a stranger who leads us in the dark. Life will never be friend nor foe. Life will remain a stranger with no face, one whom we need to trust blindly every now and then.

We might enter a new room in our apartment of life - one that is clear and drenched in sunlight. We might even enter a new room in a new apartment that we have built - amazed by the fact that the construction is over. And sometimes we will find ourselves in the very same room only to realize that the biggest change in our life was the fact that we have changed - while walking down the dark hallway of incertitude.

Lists

It all started in our childhoods with a seemingly innocent wishlist for Christmas. Growing up we overcame the legend of Santa more or less successfully and switched to the simple, easy to fulfill, grocery list. Both lists proved themselves as so useful that we created the famous to-do list which was soon to be followed by the sex-list and turned into the my-perfect-man list. Somehow it seemed we ended up right back where we started, addressing our lists to the very same person: Mr.Santa himself. Not a very reliable man, considering the fact that he works one day a year...

The "my-perfect-man list" can be anywhere between 3 words or 3000 words long and its single purpose is to describe HIM in order to let ourselves know what we are looking for, what it is we think we need and, last but not least, what we want in a man.

One of my girlfriends described this list as a female computer program that we install in our heads in order to successfully download a very special file. The better the program, the less chances of getting a virus. In order to settle, we need to swap from Windows to Mac.

This very same girlfriend used to have so far the most extended version of mpm (my perfect man) list I´ve ever seen in my life: very detail orientated, with rows and columns, categories like sports, religion, views on family, relation with close family etc...going all the way to sexual behavior, job, eye colour and even body hair quota and location.

Not a single category was left out. Everything was perfectly planned.

My friend indeed found her perfect man who was everything she thought she was looking for - her list only approved her decision: check, check, check. Barbie and Ken had finally found each other and it was pink all over.

Ken never left his soon to be ex-wife, whereas Barbie had not only her luggage packed but also her flight booked. Barbie was ready to go. Ken too - but unfortunately away from her.

I am still wondering what caused their break up. Did she left out a column on her list? I wish I could ask her about her own thoughts but Barbie left and the pink vanished while I am still here with the list I started a year ago and that I never ended....

There are things we know we need and others we know we don´t want. Very easy compared to the mpm list. For example: I know I need fresh cut flowers every now and then and I don´t want a liar. Everything else is in a grey zone and subject to change. Maybe we should leave it like that because maybe this grey zone is the only reason why there are still realtionships out there. Because maybe this grey zone is what compromising means: settling for something we don´t really care about.

Wishes

When we were kids we used to have long wishlists. Some of our wishes became true, some not. But we never stopped wishing and took every chance to make one. Sometimes it was an event like christmas or our birthdays that made us sit, reflect on what we wanted and write it down. And sometimes a passing shooting star was all we needed to make a spontaneous one.

We used to wish for everything, from a chocolate cupcake with colorful sprinkles in a bakery to our parents never dying. The older we got, the shorter the wishlist became. For some of us the wishlist disappeared completely.

I still remember as a kid the words of my mother who, for each of her birthdays every year, had only this very same wish: health and me and my sisters happiness. As a kid the one thing I simply could not understand and that made me shake my little head, was why her wishlist was so short if it could be much longer...

Yesterday I was wondering where my wishlist was. I still have one. The only thing that changed are the wishes but the amount I guess is still the same. The cupcake is still a cupcake, but today I wish for a homemade one by the person I love. Taste doesn´t matter anymore, but the thought does. My parents never dying is still a wish and will always be one. Years ago the recipient of my wishlist was either God himself, although I have to admit that his address was never listed anywhere, or my parents, who were much easier to track down.

Today, I address my wishes to myself. And finding yourself can sometimes be as hard as finding God. But even if you have the feeling that there is no one you can address your wishes to, there is still you. The good thing is : I don´t have to wait for christmas anymore or for a shooting star - although I still look up and hope to see the latter every once in a while. And while a shooting star might cross your way every couple of years, you can create christmas everyday.