There is No More Such a Land

 I  got a message from my mom while I was away and therefore read it with a small delay. It started- my brother's wife was in the hospital expecting their new-born any day soon. Small Tom was about to conquer the world.

 I haven't seen my brother since Christmas. To be frank we don't see each other often at all. Some time before I moved to London he had left the place where he used to be my best friend for several years. In my memory I see him always there, even though his life has moved ahead and I don't even know his hairstyle these days. 

 When I close my eyes I see a tiny flat on the top of a massive, old apartment. The gate was wide and always sinking in the darkness, which darkness I had to cross everytime to later keep turning and turning on the narrow, wooden stairs. I was passing the door on the first floor, which, according to the history of architecture, used to lead to the apartments of the best situated habitants. I had a habit to stop there and glare at this entrance, imagining a time of it's greatness, until there was nothing left to imagine. Right now it's just an old entrance, with a misery waiting on the high staircase for guests who are never to arrive. 

 My brother lived in Poznan. The place I used to call home. Still being the biggest mistery of my life, this city had always something sad and final. It was like an old best friend, who will always listen to you, always has time for you even you underestimate it and visit only when you have nothing else to do, whom you pass everyday not bothering to pay attention. Always there, never asking for more. I remember it standing in front of my eyes, covered with snow, with marble angels decorating old walls. Home. Now an illusion. Transformed by time. Abandoned. There is no more such a land, a land of my memories. Deep inside it, there is a deep dark hole made of pieces of feelings left by those who used to love this place, forever in pieces, forever in pain. 

All is full of love

 Whoever lives or ever lived in London knows that sun in London means more than anywhere else. Because is just less frequent. 

 Sun and love had turned back to London, after a long and severe winter. Just by this occasion, something I would like to share- a wall of love, forgotten and abandoned behind one of the corners of Shoreditch, unnoticed by pedestrians. Just there, a bit of a real love in the sun. Like the time stopped.

 On Via Argentina in the centre of Panama City there is a pub called Taberna 21, where Javier Medina Bernal used to sing regularly. Now famous, probably quite rarely visits old homes of his music. When I was a little girl I loved to listen to Julio Iglesias while swinging on my wooden swing hung in between the doors. It was just like this, a sun, a swing and world around me full of love. Just like this song, which makes me feel like a swinging girl once again, with a new Julio Iglesias in my ears- but be sincere- a bit more handsome. 

Shopper as an inevitable next stadium of the evolution

 - Do you know why Senorita Vargas eats so little? Because she makes shopping for so long that she forgets she was ever hungry at the meantime. 

- Oh come on- said Gene cutting the vegetables he was supposed to put on top of his pizza.- Our supermarket is a pretty big store.

 He placed the slices around the pizza bottom and carefully put his dinner dish in the oven.

 - Once I spent two weeks in the supermarket.

Something inside me just died.

 - Two weeks? Gene, are you serious?!

 - Yeah two weeks. You remember when I left my new shoes next to the cashiers. So, before once I left my computer there. Then I started to leave other things just because I found this place quite cozy. Finally I felt home and I spent there a bit by myself.

 If this story sounds unbelievable to you, estimate how much time do you usually spend in shops. And I bet you will get Gene's point. 

 I reached my awereness as a consumer one day while walking through the shopping centre near my home. I was passing this centre everyday with a great excuse- that is the shortest way to the tube station. Being real I am not sure if it actually IS the shortest way but I think I prefer to believe it. But this day was different than others: I stopped in front of a shop with cheap clothes (cheap but quite a good quality case somebody decides to be a tease) and slowly walked in. Many times before I had promised myself I wouldn't be stopping there, but there was always something stronger than that. I used to call it intuition- 'I came in and I saw these marvelous shoes for such a great price'; 'Look, so cheap, otherwise I would spend this money on booze or something more sinister'. On THIS day it was just the same- I hunted an amazing part of ankle booties and, incredibly happy, took a walk back home. Home, where it was meant for me to notice I had no more space for another pair of shoes. And that I didn't even remember them all.

 Overwhelmed by this discovery I posted a status on facebook saying: 'I went to work and came back with another pair of shoes. My life is out of my league.' First comments appeared in just two minutes. Slowly, my friends were coming out.

 'I just went to the dentist.. I don't know when I became an owner of a new hat.' 

 'Recently I went to buy cigarettes and came back with a leather jacket.' 

 'I left to buy more onions to cook a dinner- but I brought in two pairs of boots instead.' 

 I realized I was not alone. And that this time it was not about money. It was about something more important. About time.

Why do we love?- the way we should?

 A terrible illness has crossed Monkey Seduction's plan of development. But fortunately my ambitions, Mr Charming and my absolutely favourite employer won't let me being ill for longer. I remember once I read a guide how to keep promises we give to ourselves. One of the rules said: 'Tell somebody about it'. So, hoping it works, and to avoid procrastination, I would like to tell you about some ideas of my mind. First of all, in te nearest future my blog should transform a bit. Could be nothing huge for somebody who actually really reads me, but I feel like get to know myself a bit better. I want to share more things, tell what does it mean for me to be a polyglot and share my old diaries from places I used to know. People say that a good blog is a place where your readers are excited, your family is outraged and your friends are terrified. Let's see how far you an pursue an achievement.

 But in the meantime there is one thing which happened to me. Something which might be worth mentioning.

 'You don't love me the way you should'- was screaming a message me and several other friends got from Paolo O. Martin on Friday evening. The background of this situation could actually explain a lot: recently, indeed, we underestimated his taste for a good fun. Of course, Paolo, we do love you! But do we do that the way we should? 

 Exactly- why do we love? And what is the good way to do this?

If life could taste like Pina Colada

 This post will be a bit different then usual Monkey Seduction's approach to audience. In exchange I can ensure it has one advantage: it is real.

 This is my reality captured in a moment, an incredible moment, making me want to share it. No matter if we have a lifestyle or no, we have something what not everybody can have- benevolence. When I was a little kid my dad was singing me a song, going more or less like this: 'Seven little dwarves were going through green forest, had ain't no money but they had a lot of time'. Life in London can be pretty much the same. 

 On Saturday morning our friend was leaving UK forever- to the cold, distant country surrounded by mountains and the sea, to get married and settle down on a farm. We have been living all together for, as it seems now, eternity. On the last evening of this time, before we went to walk him to the bus stop, we visited a place he had been working. Because of this place he used to learn Chinese and bring home excellent high-class food. 

 This is how me, Chris, Gene and Mr Charming (Vincenzo was ill and stayed in bed) spend a great night out in Peony club near bank station. With wasabi prawns involved. Life was good. 

 

The 'L' word. No, this is not what you think.

 H like Hesitating is pouring down. -That's what I thought on one lazy day in the beginning of February. The kitchen seemed to immerse in the darkness, winking with a weakening light above the dirty sink, while the hidden behind the windows space outside continued swinging the universe with persistent whistling. Maybe this is the matter of lifestyle. At least that's the argument you always hear from your parents when you gamble away fifty quit, suddenly wake up in Exeter after the week-long party in Leeds or accidentally get pregnant. Or something just as serious, for your parents of course, like getting a terrible cold or feeling low after breaking up with your part-time Latinamerican boyfriend who works at the roaming circus. 

 Mind my sarcastic language but I swear, honestly, I would have never touched 'Lifestyle issue' if only popularity of this word recently hadn't killed the idea. If there is the thesis, has to be the question: what is this idea? 

The idea of the 'L word' has actually it's roots in democracy. It reminds us of a time when society allowed us to live how we want, not providing for us any ready patterns to fit in. The idea of a 'lifestyle' is supposed to give you freedom- the right to live in any world you like, even if it's an imaginary one. And here's a problem: it completely doesn't. 

THE GUY I LIVED WITH

- Can you hear me?- I heard my voice cutting the air in the unusually squeaky silence.

The Guy I Lived With slowly turned his face into my direction and I realized that I had never seen such an expression on his face. 

- Did you eat something? 

- Did you possibly see... a ghost?

Then the silence got quickly interrupted by sudden laughter above our heads. 

- Yes, I knew we know each other!- screamed THAT PERSON putting her hands together in the superficial gesture. Her voice sounded like a bird and I never trust people who sound like birds, so this time I decided to take all the way the side of The Guy I Lived With (usually I do opposite). 

 After the birdy left, sharing with us before couple of cliches and leaving half cuppa, I looked at his face with expectation. That was one of only several times for all this time I knew him when he blew. 

Why do you hate that lady?

-Did I say I hate her, I didn't say I hate her, I never said I hate her, it's not even that I don't like her.. I just can't stand her, can't stand her, I don't want her in this house ever again, she has a different lifestyle!

 That was this moment. The first time I realized what a big issue was a 'lifestyle'. Lifestyle was the only explanation The Guy I Lived With could ever get from her. Since that moment, the word stayed in my mind, as something sadly final and undeniably sarcastic. 

WHAT WOULD YOUR FAVOURITE BLOGGER SAY

 Probably something in contrary. The 'Lifestyle' is the most desired category to read about, to work with it, to deliver it. I have gone through several 'lifestyle' blogs and as you know, I have this category as well. I could say it's for SEO but the truth is that the 'lifestyle' comes out everytime when you have no words. Just say it. There is no such a thing in any reasonable description.

Jump in! -why do I draw

 There must be more in it then just a hobby or a technique, but I realized recently most of my friends might not even know that I draw. 

 When I was twenty one (long time ago it was) I wrote a sentence following some of my cartoon story stating that my right hand is actually more important for me than my brain. Because what I would do with a brain without any possibility to transfer this content onto paper. Some models insure their legs or other body parts, I would for sure find a sense in insuring my right hand. It't not like young artists are the ones with horrific dreams and fatal fantasies of losing their body parts, but I was quite unusual young artist. I bet van Gogh was coming pretty much from similar place. But he was crazy.