You know I’d rather trust my instincts. You know I look for goodness in people. You know that I do that with life.
You all know that and still I sometimes forget.
Continue reading La Vi got inked
I knew I was different as a child, I just could not place how. One day, I saw a documentary or read something about gifted children and thought “That’s it. I am a genius.” I fantasized somebody would recognize me as one and I would be put in a special school where I’d learn a lot and have friends (little 9-year-old me was pretty lonely and depressed, remember?). It did not happen. Continue reading La Vi is gifted
My speech is faster in French than in other languages. My words are hit on a tapan* in Macedonian, half-munched in Spanish, careful in Dutch and round in English. I only speak in metaphors in French, English or Spanish. I am direct in Dutch and Macedonian. My many languages give me so many identities… or am I giving my many languages an identity? Continue reading La Vi has many voices
I was too sensitive, too chatty, too touchy, too serious, too complicated… I was too much to others because I was too little to myself. Continue reading La Vi is not too much
I was tired from the night bus trip from Sydney, heartbroken, lonely and scared. I sat next to a group of strangers on the hostel’s terrace and before I knew it, I was sobbing, telling my tale to a compassionate girl from the UK. Continue reading La Vi is grateful
I stepped into the coffee shop in a kind of daze. As I somehow managed to take my jacket off, my friend looked at me inquiringly.
– I just said ‘I love you’ for the first time. Continue reading La Vi says I love you
Our lives get imprinted with people. Some leave an everlasting mark, a wound that never completely heals, a scar that throbs at their mention and reopens in their presence. Others are remembered as a warm ray of sunlight on one’s face. Continue reading La Vi gives back
This is how I want to be remembered: In spite of everything, she really tried to be nice and believed other people did too. You can go ahead and put that on my gravestone. ― Mik Everett Continue reading “
– Maria is a writer.
All eyes were on me. Awe silenced the table and I quickly brushed it off:
– He’s exaggerating. I’m not a writer. I write. I’ve never been published. Continue reading I am a writer