I was reorganizing my apartment a few days ago and ended up going to Ikea and buying more than ten storage boxes (considering that I already had loads). So this made me think: am I just really organized or is it that I just hate to see my own mess and I chose to hide it in boxes? I hate exposed mess. But as long as it is in the box, out of my sight, it's okay. I tend to do this to my emotions too - anything messy just put it in a box and cover it up. How do I get out of this box of messiness? How do I just put everything - old letters, utility bills, emotions, unwanted flyers, thoughts - on the floor and either bin it or keep it and deal with it. I can't put my decisions in boxes anymore because what if I never actually open the box and take the decision? What if in the end I just put myself in a box and refuse to figure myself out at all? And then all that talking about freedom, acceptance and peace of mind would be all just... words. These things don't exist in boxes. You don't put freedom in a box and expect it to deal with itself. No more boxes. Maybe in my room, but not in my mind. No more storing emotions for later. Bin it or embrace it because your mind is not a storage box
Love of my life. El amor de mi vida. Gaudi, tapas, palm trees, cute balconies and sunshine. Art, architecture, nature, mojitos, sand, love, inspiration. Beauty, atmosphere, diversity... Such a special place! And I had the chance to share it with a special being too :)
What are beings really made of?
Here is a part of the art process I went through for a recent uni project - the museum of Good. For me, the museum of Acceptance.
Peace and love
There is something really weird about having your drawing on yourself. It feels exposing, scary but exciting at the same time. However, loving my tattoo number 3! Tattoo artist: Angel Mitov ( I wasn't looking for a Bulgarian to do my tattoo, I promise, it was just a random lucky coincidence)
I live almost 2000 miles away from home. I'm not going to lie that I don't like being away because I do - I love my life as it is, but I cannot deny - coming Home from time to time is Good. And I happen to always brag about my hometown. Varna, Bulgaria.
It's a beautiful day today and I can already feel the Spring excitement. Oh, and it is my last day at uni before Easter break. And most importantly... tonight Mon and I are seeing MIC LOWRY live! Ever since I first saw them warming up for Boys II Men in December I've been madly in love with their music. Amazing. Life is good. I'm so excited!
What is your perception of good? A question I recently had to face. What is Good. For someone it could be... a slice of pizza and some ice-cream after work. For someone else it could be having five children and a beautiful wife. Or have an amazing career. Or be famous. Or save the world. Or destroy the world. To be a millionaire. To find true love. To have the perfect body (again, what is your perception of "perfect" though?). To have long hair. To have no hair. To go to New York. To leave New York. To learn everything about flies. To be a doctor. To have a dog. Or a cat. Or to have butterflies in their stomach. Or change somebody's life. Or simply have a comfortable life.
How could you possibly give a name for Good? Or for anything else really? And what is good anyway, who says if something is good or not and how is it defined?
For some reason we as humans love to give definitions to everything around us not realising that... well, my definition of "white" might be completely different to yours. Perceptions are truly a fascinating thing. The reason behind most arguments and even beautiful conversations which I believe most define as "deep" are indeed differences in perceptions. Although the hardest thing to express and explain in words is the non-definition of the essence of everything and everyone. Non-defined musical style. Non-defined human being. Non-labeled love. Non-judged perceptions of the meaning of things. How do you explain the meaning of meaning? How do you define "definition"?
When I was about four years old I used to love asking my mom what everything meant. "Mom, what does colour mean?" "Mom, what does taste mean?" "Mom, what does this mean, what does that mean?" Even though I knew the so-called definition of all the things I was asking about I kept on asking. My favourite of all questions was "Mom, what does "mean" mean?"
That was usually the point when my mom just couldn't take any more and just told me to shut up. And she's not to blame at all, such an annoying kid, I know. But I only just recently realised that this question has been haunting me ever since. Even though it didn't make much sense back then, I think the questions I'm asking myself and the people around me now are related to my favourite question from my childhood. Because as kids I guess we know much better than later on. We know about tolerance, we know about equality, we know about simplicity. We know about not judging. We know about the lack of need to define ourselves, others or the world. My good may be pink. Your good might be blue. Or red. Or transparent. And you don't even have to name it. It's okay to have "strange" habits. Just because someone's perception of strange includes you or something that you do doesn't mean that this is the case. The case is whatever you make it for yourself. Accept different forms of everything. They create the world's breath-taking beauty. After all, we are all unique and different, but we are equal. No labels needed. No definitions.