Sometimes I feel like it’s all in vain. Like no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I cannot change things for the better.

And sometimes I feel like it’s all some kind of punishment. For what? Maybe my sins from many lifetimes ago. Maybe my choices, my deeds, thoughts, or words. Maybe… Who knows?

And most times I feel like it could never be better. Never for me.

The thing is… That thought makes it better and worse at the same time. Worse when I think of the future filled with what I already feel. Better, because when I know I could have nothing different or better or happier, then I cannot hope or dream of that.

The moments I wish things were different are way worse than then moment I accept this is it. The moments I dream are even worse. The moments I hope are the worst.

Alenka H., 2022

Some times I considered someone a friend. Close one. I never had many, some times I had none. The ones I had, I game myself to them. When I give, I give it all. When I offer, I do it sincerely. When I say I’m here, I’m here. I was there. Some… were not.

It doesn’t really matter, not to me, if the one did it on purpose, if they were aware, or not. My feelings of being used, of being deceived, were my own. Not other-one’s fault. It was my decision to jump when they asked, to always be prepared to come, to answer when they called, listen when they talked, comfort when they hurt.

Only recently I accepted that I needed something else. A friendship where I would be equal. Where I would be listened to too. A friend that would take their time for me as I take my time for them.

But it was always my decision to give. Maybe not even decision, since I’m not sure it was always deliberate, conscious – but definitely my act.

Not long ago someone told me he tries not to expect too much, because he knows he will always care for others more than they will for him. Yes, it hurts when you see that you give more than you receive. His words, again, put things in a different perspective. Seeing a part of you in someone else makes you rethink how you see yourself. Saying the words you really mean to someone else makes you rethink the words you tell yourself.

A part of me that hurts wants to learn not to jump, not to give so much, not to believe so much, not to become so involved. I know that when I give I give too much. I know that when I let someone close, I’m here whenever, all the time, whatever they need. And yes, it hurts that I’m not the same priority.

The other part of me remembers what I said to that friend that cares “too much”, who thinks “over caring has always been a flaw of mine”: maybe you see it as weakness, as fault, as mistake. I see it as gift. As something that makes you special and wonderful. A beautiful soul. A person whose caring is to be cherished and valued and appreciated, I told him.

And I hope neither of us looses the ability to care. Even when, at the same time, I try to shield myself.

The world needs caring, love. Don’t stop.

Alenka H., 2022

Sometimes late at night, when He comes to bed, I don’t move, if He puts his hand on me. I take it’s warmth. And sometimes, if He falls asleep before I do, I reach out and touch Him. Just to feel a body. Sometimes I miss human touch too much.

I’m told that even as a baby I always wanted more – more attention, more love, more affection. I never had enough. I felt ashamed when listening to that. I felt as if it is a fault, as if I did something wrong.

I am still the same. And I still feel the same. Ashamed of how much I crave to be loved. Feeling guilty of wanting to be someone important and valued. I try to hide my need to be the one someone devotes their time to.

Every time I want to say “I need you” I feel like I’m too needy. Every time I feel sad and lonely and desperate, I feel almost disgusted by myself – for being weak, for wanting someone, for missing affection, for… For wanting love.

And yet, a part deep in me, a part I want to silence, wonders if it really is such a fault, if it really is wrong, if I am damaged. A part of me feels like it’s right to want and need. A part of me cries.

The part of me that wants to be adult and grown up and reasonable says I should accept what is. A part of me that wants to feel safe and sheltered wants to learn not to want and feel. A part of me wants to die.

That part I buried and hide wonders: if I need to kill a part of myself to be as I should be, is it really right?

I’m not that naïve. I do not expect anything anymore. That’s ok. It’s not a nice thing to know, it’s not easy to accept, but it is what it is. Wanting is not the same as expecting. The hard part is to convince myself, convince to change my heart. That tiny part of me wonders, if by changing it I won’t kill all that I am.

If I stop wanting to be loved, will I kill the love in me?

Alenka H., 2022

There are people that will never honestly tell you what they think. There are people that will say nice words to your face and hurtful ones behind your back. And there are people that say they are “just honest”, even if brutally. People who will say what they think, even if their words cut and crush you, and do it in the name of “truth”.

I don’t believe in that kind of honesty.

I don’t believe in lies. I don’t believe it’s good to deceive others. I especially do not believe it’s ok to say one thing to a person when you think the opposite (and then even say that when that person is not around). But I believe in being nice more than in being brutally honest.

It’s a thin line between lying and just not being hurtfully honest. When does omitting something become deceiving? I do not know. But if the opposite is hurting someone, then at least I have to consider if saying it all, the truth, whole truth and nothing but truth, does anyone any good. I have to consider others more than my need to say what I think is true. (Yes, what I think is true. Not what is true. Because my truth may not the the other’s truth.)

And when being honest, I have to consider one other thing. Am I so honest about myself?

Sometimes it’s hard to be honest even TO yourself. There are parts of us we don’t really want to see. Acknowledge. Accept. Admit. Own. Some things are embarrassing. Some make us look bad. Some we are ashamed of. Some make us vulnerable or make us look weak. Can you honestly say to yourself that there are no things that you don’t want to admit even to you? I cannot. Yes, eventually I have to face it all. But some thoughts I avoid and look away and pretend they are not there. In the end, I have no other option but to be honest to myself. But it is not easy, no. Sometimes it hurts like hell.

It’s even harder to be honest ABOUT yourself to others. How much of myself do I reveal? How much do I tell? Share? Do I show my ugly side? My insecurities? Oh no, modesty has nothing to do with that. Modesty is not honesty. Downplaying has nothing to do with it either. Talking ill of myself neither (oh, yes, we know the game: we say something bad about ourselves and hope, even expect, that others will tell us how wonderful we really are). None of that is being honest. The true honesty is not that simple, not that plain, not shallow, not easy.

Only when I can honestly say I’m honest to and about myself have I any right to consider being “brutally honest” to others, about others. And then I have to say the truth with my heart, not my mind – kindly, gently and lovingly. Only when brutal honesty looses brutality.

Love is the only truth. Anything else is an opinion.

Alenka H., 2022

It’s almost springtime. Almost. Some days it’s here, some days not yet. Some mornings are too cold, but some afternoons are warm and sunny and smell like growth.

I like this time, pre-spring. Early flowers bloom, others are still sleeping. You can see the buds on trees waking up, slowly, not yet ready to show, but you know they are there.

You can sense the restless life that is just below surface.

And the world is so full of options, chances, all that could be. You know what is to come, you can almost see the richness that will be in a few week’s time.

Or maybe not. Cold can still come. Buds can freeze. You can never tell. But right there is an abundance of possibilities, the joy of life and birth and growth and fruit to come. Everything is still there to almost see, almost touch, almost feel.

All the possibilities. Just as the last moment of dreams before you wake up. The first smell of food before you taste it. The last inch before the first kiss. The brush of air before the touch. Everything can still be ok.

Yes, I love this time, with the joy, the optimism, the open doors, the invitation and the anticipation.

Alenka H., 2022

Some people sing under the shower. It is my place to cry. Warm water relaxes my body and allows my heart to feel. And my heart feels the only thing it can, allowing the water to wash my tears. Some people sing, I cry. Water drops and tears make love on me.

Alenka H., 2022