I’ve made many mistakes. Bad choices. Wrong moves. I’m paying for them. I’m not deflecting the guild. I’m not looking for excuses. I’m not blaming anyone else. I know it was me.

Life is always complicated, our paths partly guided by things we cannot control in partly by our own choices and decisions.

Sometimes we can see the next step, sometimes not. Sometimes the path suddenly takes a turn. Sometimes it’s so foggy we can only guess where it leads us. Sometimes it’s crystal clear and it’s all laid out and obvious.

Could I change it all? No. Some things were not my choice. I accept them. Live them.

But even the things I’ve caused… All mistakes always resulted in some bad and some good. Some pain and some joy. Nothing is ever just black or white. So even when I could, I’m not sure I’d change it.

Yet… There are moments I allow myself to be sorry. To feel remorse. To wonder if the price is fair.

And every time I promise myself to be more careful next time.

Is it good or bad I don’t stick to that decision? Because even when I say it to myself, even in that moment, I know I won’t be. I’ll give it all again. I’ll ask for all. I’ll go and take the step. I’ll make stupid moves. And I’ll get miracles and hurts of it.

If I’m strong enough, I’ll at least get poems out of it all.

Alenka H., 2021

We are, who we decide to be.

We act the way we decide to act.

We decide how we treat others.

We decide if we are loving, supportive, caring.

We decide if we give or take.

It is our decision.

Many things are out of our hands. Many, many things. Who, what and how we are is not – at least, not completely.

It is our decision to change. Be better version of ourselves. Be what we want to be.

It is easy? No. Is it simple? No. Does making a decision mean it is done? Oh, no. But is it a start.

The trick? Our decision means it’s our responsibility. Our accountability. And we just don’t like that, do we? It’s so much easier to say we are done and sculptured and molded the way we are, and so so much easier to blame others, the world, universe, fate, for the way we are.

But it’s just an excuse. Just an attempt to think it is not us who hurt, leave, forget… – us who decide.

Alenka H., 2021

Being kind. Of all the lessons I had maybe the most important one. It changes everything. Events, circumstances, people. Every person has their own truth. What is happening, is outside. How we are experiencing it, is in us. The kindness is what can help us, change it, make it easier, more beautiful.

Being kind to one another. “THINK before you speak: is it True? Helpful? Inspiring? Nice? Kind?”

But even more, being kind to yourself. Which is sometimes even harder. We blame ourselves. We call ourselves names. We punish ourselves. Judge ourselves.

Some people have hard time being nice. We all have hard time being nice sometimes. We work harder to be kind to others. We forget about ourselves… We comfort others and blame ourselves for the same thing. But I am You and You are me. My relationship with myself and with you are connected, intervened. Your relationship with me is a reflection of your relationship with yourself.

Be kind. World needs it. I need it. You need it.

Alenka H., 2021

We talked.

And She said “I understand you are angry because he lied to you. You are disappointed.”

And I said “No, I’m not angry at him. I’m angry at myself, because I trusted again.”

And I cried and She said “He hurt you.”

And I said “I cry, because I hurt myself.”

Alenka H., 2021

Ironic. I, the one who talks about power of words, must admit: I am a bitch, when I’m angry. I swear. And without a blink I say “Fuck you!” Not always a loving wish for pleasant activities, no. Sometimes it’s genuine angry, frustrated, leave-me-alone, you-asshole, fuck off.

Oh, how hurt He was, when I said it the first time. “I would never say something like that to you!” He swore.

He still says that He loves me. I don’t. I avoid lying. So should He. Because words of love don’t mean a thing if actions declare indifference.

I do not need midnight I love you’s. I need midday I’m here’s. I don’t need a kiss goodbye, if all I get when you are here are moody glares and annoyed hisses. Just… Fuck off.

And the most ironic part of it all? It’s when I stop saying “fuck off” – that’s when I gave up. I don’t care anymore.

I’ve stopped saying it, yes.

Alenka H., 2021

Sometimes I ask Wholeness to show me what I can not see. Sometimes I ask for advice, guidance, clues. Help. Support.

So I asked. And I got my answer. The Old has to die for New to be born.

But it’s not that easy, is it? Even when old is poisonous, hurtful, empty. Oh, we ask for something else, something different, something more. We want change. Yet, confronted with the fact that the old must die, that we must let go, do the cut, that we must change, act, when any of this is to be done, we freeze with fear.

And not the fear of death of the old. No. We fear what the new will be. We hope, we wish, we want, and being unsure if it will really be like that, we are afraid. What if it will be even worse? What it will hurt even more? Sure, the old hurts. But the pain is known. It became part of us. What if the new one will cut us where we haven’t been cut before, and deeper?

We learn we should know the depths of the water we jump into. But do we ever really see the depths of life we dive into? Can we ever know if it’s safe? The water might heal or kill us.

How can we overcome the fear of New, when the Old must die?

I feared each and every time. Jumped. Dived. Survived. Each time with new bruises, new scars. Each time more afraid…

I wish I had some hope. I wish someone would jump with me. But we always jump alone…

Alenka H., 2021