Health food obsessed, beach dwelling, yoga lovin' naturopathy student in the shell of a giant Euroasian.
Tempeh w Spinach, Cucumber, Tomato, Red Onion, alotttttt of Coriander, Parsley, Garlic, Pumpkin Seeds, Coconut oil & Lemon.
Best served on a picnic rug under a tree w a hint of sunshine.
Epic seafood paella. Best served next to a forest…by the ocean. Take me back.
Smoothies and Juices. So much delicious stuff packed into one cup!
Favourite smoothie recipe:
2x bananas, blueberries, spinach, kale, coconut, pumpkin seeds, chia seeds, maca powder, puffed quinoa & almond milk.
*swoon* try this one and you will be hooked, trust me.
"Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food" - Hippocrates
Horrible things that in your head don’t seem all that bad but as soon as someone finds out about it you realise just how bad it is. I guess it’s easy to live in a happy-lala-world in your head where your conscious has been snuffed out by those evil reassuring tones of denial. And along you go until one day that horrible thing comes out and shit really does hit the fan. Horrible things have a way of doing that…coming out and spraying shit everywhere.
And I’m not talking about those everyday horrible things like pretending to your boss that you are going to a funeral when actually you are just going to the beach or telling your friend they look like, so totally great in that dress when actually they don’t and they buy it and you don’t know why you said it or accidentally hitting a bird when you’re driving and not stopping to see if it is ok. These horrible things are horrible but in their own semi-horrible-you’re-just-a-dick kind of way.
It’s the horrible things that we do to the people we love the most, the unjust, wtf-were-you-thinking kind of things that are the worst. The horrible things that turn eyes to stone, eyes that once were filled with love. The horrible things that no “I’m sorry” can put right. The horrible things that break something that maybe can’t be fixed. So why is it that we always hurt the ones we love the most?
“Ain’t it funny how the ones that you drag you all the way through your hell are the same that can teach you to touch heaven as well.”
The lyrics of my favourite song sings out conveniently as I write. Perhaps it’s because once we know we have their unconditional love we subconsciously start to abuse it. We get cocky and our ego takes over. You become arrogant and you put yourself first forgetting about respect and compassion.
And so you do this horrible thing. This unfair and completely heartless thing to your person; the one person who would happily eat fiery-death-coals (whatever they are) before seeing you hurt. Maybe it was an accident, a slip up, an I-lost-my-mind-and-fucked-up kind of thing. Or maybe it was some deep internal issue you have that needed to assert itself. Or maybe you’re just the biggest idiot ever. Whatever the reason many of us eventually do these horrible things to the ones we love. But without them how can we learn to be better?
Second chances are few and far between but when you do manage to get one swung your way it’s something to be cherished. My father used to tell me; once is an accident, twice is just carelessness. Admittedly he was a bit of dick (picture him saying this to a 3-year-old-mini-me after dropping some food on the floor) but the saying has stuck with me.
And the greatest lessons in life, the ones that really stick with you, are the ones that come from these terrible mistakes. They cement in your mind that horrible feeling so to never go back there again. But despite your self-realisations about how you have changed all you can really do is wait and hope that in time the other person can forgive you. And in turn you will work you ass off to prove yourself to them, prove to them that their forgiveness was worth it.
Because at the end of the day without forgiveness we would live in a world full of hate, bitterness, revenge and resentment. Forgiving these horrible, horrible things means the chance of getting back the love. The love that everyone is searching for.
And isn’t that what life is all about?
“…let you know that you touched my life and whether I like it or not, I think a part of me will never give up this fight cause there’s nothing like you and I, no, there’s nothing like you and I. But its getting late in the game now, outcomes uncertain these are things that I needed to say before the curtain. So I wrote you this song that you deserve to let you know you will always be my first and most wonderful love…”
"The society is afraid of your wild nature, its afraid of your naturalness, so from the very beginning it starts cutting your wings. The most basic thing which is dangerous in you is the possibility of love because if you are possessed by love, you can go even against the whole world." - OSHO
young love becomes old love. passionate love fades to comfortable love. sparks burst and burn bright then slowly flicker to darkness. but what of re-acquainted love…
The funkiest damn song you will hear “KLANGKARUSSEL - SONNENTANZ” I love you.
*begins to get down*
Fritz Kalkbrenner @ Chinese Laundry on Saturday night.. Verdammt erstaunlich. Haikus, first contact, dancing emus, Germans yelling ‘GERMANY’ and that fan, that amazing fan.
you got me reelin’
you got me feelin’
love, inspired, child-like,
take it & rise
there’s no stopping us, not now
Or when it’s Paris and it seems like date night is every night, everyday and everywhere. Seriously. On the metro, waiting for the metro, in parks, next to parks, on park benches, on park grass, in side alleys, in cafes, in shops, in museums, on chairs, on tables ALWAYS on each other! City of light..nah, city of love..maybe…city of groping and PDA and tongues errrywhere. YES. But it’s not gross, it’s Paris. And every damn thing is chic.
I saw a couple riding a bike down a busy road one day with the girl being ‘dinked’ on the front. Normally being ‘dinked’ isn’t at all glamorous, it’s usually saved for prepubescent youths with cooties or drunken adolescents meandering their way home from a night out whilst singing.
But THIS couple made ‘dinking’ look so damn good. She was casually perched on the front handle bars like a delicate bird with her legs elegantly crossed, her arms draped around his neck and her hair blowing gracefully in the wind and they were deeply locked in a romantic and ever so chic make out sesh! How were they EVEN able to ride?! Who was watching the road? Why were the hundreds of cars going 80km/hr not HITTING them?! Was anyone even peddling?! How was she staying ON the bike?! Why did her hair look so good?! These questions and more will never be answered, and in fact are not even asked by anyone but me, as it’s Paris and it’s normal to have this crazy ‘dinking’ magic occur.
But that’s beside the point. The point is that when said bike of romance and elegance rides past you, you can’t help but feel a bit shitty and Bridget-Jones-esque that you are single (in this country at least) and alone and that you will never ever look that good on a bike. So instead of ‘dying, fat and alone, and be found three weeks later half-eaten by Alsatians’, you take yourself out on a date.
Dating yourself is actually pretty good. There is no need to shave your legs or worry about whether it’s slutty to wear your sexy underwear just in case you decide, after a few drinks, that it’s not slutty to sleep with them on the first date, or worry about awkward silences and weird conversation, or stress about the very high possibility of your date being a creepy, weird, racist, pedo freak.
My date with myself went very well, we wined and dined, went to see a movie, had late night crepes and took a midnight stroll by the river under the light of the moon. It was the perfect date. But I couldn’t help but feel like there was dark lining around my silver cloud. There was no cute hand-holding, or seductive glances, flirting or kiss goodnights or even cheeky (slutty) sleep-overs to look forward to. I guess I realised that it was only nice to date myself because it was a novelty, it was not forced upon me, I was alone by choice and was comforted knowing that I had the real thing waiting for me at home.
SO the moral to this story is: When you come to Paris, bring your boyfriend. Otherwise expect to be the only one in the whole city not ‘dinking’. In ANY form.