The City I Broke Up With

In a continuos state of underestimating the power of boredom, I lived in a city that captivated me like a goldfish trapped in a glass bowl. Yet, an unquestionable love had developed between me and this city I was born into, which I would imagine, was more out of necessity, than any other reason. But who wouldn’t be in perpetual adoration when born on 07/11 in a city with the area code 0711.

No denial, there were good times, especially the one summer, me and my friends became somewhat like the new inventory of the city outdoor pool, sunbathed until p.m. and partied until a.m.. Not to mention, all the wonderful people I’ve met and call my friends now, the love that I’ve found (and fortunately lost again), the dreams I’ve build up and the family that stood by my side.

But most importantly, the city made me realize, that I grew out of it. My hunger for new experiences took over and kept the dream alive of being a better me at a place where cheeseburgers are for breakfast and the Super Bowl is a rather religious convention. Who wouldn’t want this to be their life mantra? So I hold my breath, clapped my red sparkling ballet flats three times (Dorothy-like in The Wizard of Oz) and found myself in San Francisco.

There I was, living life in a dreamy fuzz of utopia, absorbed by the place, its people and its distinctive magic, which came in form of daily mist covering all what might remind you of the earnest of life. Unfortunately, the magic couldn’t stop my Visa from expiring and I had to go back to the city I broke up with six months ago. You know, what they’re saying about going back to old loves, right? It’s meant to fail.

All I knew was, that it was a matter of time, until I would be leaving again. The city never felt that wrong to me, as it did back then. I couldn’t help but focus on all its bad sides. If there was anything good it had to offer, I would still be like a sulking child who didn’t get the right sort of ice-cream. It felt like I got sugar-free and fat-free frozen yoghurt instead of chocolate ice cream with whipped cream on top.

Finally, I got my chocolate ice cream. Another six months later I was calling London my new home. This time it wasn’t magic, no shoe clapping, but a one-way flight, two suitcases, an umbrella and no mist to cover up reality.

If you leave once, you are caught in a life-long journey to find peace of mind, wherever you go. I had no choice but to take this risk, which I wasn’t aware would be like a ride on a roller coaster. I’m glad I did. However, I’m still searching for the whipped cream!

East London Mornings – 33 Places to have Breakfast at before you Die

East London Mornings take us on a journey to find these hidden gems in and around Hackney. Inspirational and authentic coffee shops with old wood tables, chalkboard menus, light and airy rooms, country-style cups, wood fire, candle-light, soft furnishings and paintings, the bitter smell of coffee, retro music and chocolate brownies. 

Can Fashion Tell Who We Are?

Back in the 1940’s when women’s clothes mainly consisted of skirts and dresses, pants were conceptualized to be a functional piece of men’s garment. How must the first New York Fashion Week in 1943 have looked like without harem pants, leather pants and hot pants?

A whole revolution has taken place since then, making women’s fashion into what it is today. Alice in Wonderland – like! Broad, colorful, unreal, big, scary, terrific or just a matter of perception. Having such a big choice, we decide what we want to wear and what not. We discover our options on a daily basis and determine our looks based on a mixture of emotions, hours of sleep and occasion. However we are following a general pattern on what we want to express. I’m a pants person and like them in all varieties for almost all occasions. Sometimes I’m wondering if women looked more like women back in the days when the choice was more limited.

In times when individualism has taken over our way of living, people are pursuing uniqueness by the selection of their wardrobe. We are labeling ourselves, like designers label their clothes. And by labeling ourselves we determine with what kind of people we connect, what sort of restaurants we like and even what type of men we attract or not attract.

Leandra Medine, New York-based fashion blogger defined the term manrepeller, in her same-titled blog, as an occurring reaction to “outfitting oneself in a sartorially offensive mode that may result in repelling members of the opposite sex. Such garments include but are not limited to harem pants, boyfriend jeans, overalls (see: human repelling), shoulder pads, full length jumpsuits, jewelry that resembles violent weaponry and clogs“.

Fashion evokes emotions and reactions. It is not just one-sided and passive. It is an interactive tool of our personality that helps us to better represent what is inside the shell. It is knotted with judgments and feelings and stuck on the big question of who we are! The answer lies in our wardrobes! We decide!

Trapped By Love

With his illustrations for the New York Times Column Modern Love, Brian Rea is capturing love and heartbreak in quirky, minimalist, yet lovely drawings. His illustrations are warm-hearted and remind of innocent children paintings, what makes us forget how stubborn love can be.

Visit website here: http://www.brianrea.com/Modern-Love

Relationship – a drowning ship

Indeed, the emotional leftovers of a broken relationship leave big marks in our lives. All the memories about shared emotions and special moments are sticking to our heads for a long time, if not forever. But what about all the things we have collected over the time? The little note, saying I love you, the very special birthday present or just all the pictures that  remind us of a relationship that wasn’t meant to last. Throwing all of it away? Or keeping it? Neither of it sounds right. We need space for our future but at the same time we can’t delete our past. The Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb is a storage box for all those things. The things that no longer have meaning to their owners, now have a new home in Zagreb, telling the story of broken loves.

Sinless in Sin City

Yet, London is probably the most appealing place for muslims to live outside their country of origin. I would call East London the home of the majority of muslims living in London. Burqa and miniskirt are dominating the contrasting scenery here. Casino versus Mosque, that’s what it is in Las Vegas. Counting the comments that have been removed from the Guardian’s website, the community must face a lot of challenges.

Read the article here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2013/mar/10/being-muslim-in-las-vegas

Liquid Love

In fast-paced modern times words such as commitment lost their meaning and the bond between men and women became more fragile than ever. Relationships seem to last only for a couple of hours, however with mutual benefits. Men get a one-day girlfriend without headache and women get paid. Is that how our society works today? Reading the article published in the Observer evoked a different set of feelings in me. One big question, that popped up was, are these the new rules, single ladies have to play to? Brian saved my life, commenting that the author has probably never been truly in love. I believe so.

Read the article here: http://observer.com/2013/01/the-luxury-rental-girlfriend