It’s a little funny how we name sexual activity “intimacy”. It’s supposed to be the last step, the ultimate bond, the final touch between people.

It is not. And it’s not about love and sex, it is not about knowing eachother. It has nothing to do with either being together for a long time, before you make love, or having sex with no attachments, as some name it.

No. While bodies do matter and while having sex can be making love, it is souls that the real intimacy is about.

Comforting someone. Sharing joys and fears. Telling dreams. Holding in embrace. Trusting. That is what real intimacy is about.

You can have sex, orgasms, kisses… And still feel universes apart.

Or you can be totally dressed and souls touch eachother – intimately. Ultimately.

Alenka H., 2021

I used to get angry, sad, upset, when I was told I’m not good. I was told I am mean, egoistic, selfish, lazy, stupid, angry, destructive, that I am a bad person – and it hurt so much, because all I wanted was to be a good person to those same people who said I am not.

I tried to breathe the right way. Be the right way. I was walking on shells, I had them in mind all the time. Could they not see it?

So I tried harder. It became my way, my purpose.

They still told me I’m bad. Bad person. Bad human.

I denied it, argued, told them again and again how much I care, I learned from mistakes I made, worked to make things right. It wasn’t enough. It isn’t enough.

Now… Today… I think they are right. No, I hope they are. There must be a reason for wounds, for pain I feel, for life I live. There must be. If they are right… Then maybe world is not cruel. I almost hope it is fair. I wish it is payment, price, sentence, punishment.

That way it would make sense. It would be worth it. My heart may deny it, my head wants to believe it’s not true. But if it is, it would at least make sense.

Alenka H., 2021

I’ve spent a lot of time asking for attention. For 5 minutes a day of being the One That Matters. For being valued enough, important enough. So that the other one would find time for me, just like I find time whenever I’m needed. But I was never enough.
I asked. I begged. Every time I heard the words of love and affection, but it never changed the fact that I just didn’t matter enough to be the one who deserves dedication.
It took me long to admit that those words were just that. Words. Because the actions never spoke the same.
I was told I’m too needy. That I want too much. And I believed it. I learned never to expect, never to ask.
Maybe I am too much. But I’m done asking. I’m done wanting, expecting, wishing. Maybe one day I’ll matter to someone enough to be some kind of priority. Not to be all there is. Just to be something, anything. So that I’ll get “good morning” and “goodnight” and honest “how are you” and some interest in what I do, what I feel, how I am. Not 24 hours a day. But maybe at least 5 minutes.
Maybe that will never be. But I promised myself I’ll never beg for being important to anyone anymore. I promised myself I won’t try to explain why words are not as important as actions. I promised I won’t offer all in exchange for anything, just anything.
So… Yes, I’m here. I don’t ask the same. If I have to ask, then I’m clearly not that.

Alenka H., 2021

There were many times I wanted to give up. Be it the pain of the soul or the pain of the body – it just made me too tired to want to breathe.

And I heard I should not, can not – because of others. Mainly because of two little people I brought to this world. I was told I must stay here because of them.

I love them. But it hurts so much to have to exist for the sake of others. Even if it’s for who you love the most.

Again I was told this a few days ago. That I must take care, tend to my pain, go to a doctor, allow healing, because of – others.

I refuse to believe it’s the lack of love that makes it hard to hear this. We should exist for ourselves. With others, but for ourselves. Not to be egoistic, not to think of ourselves first, not to live just for ourselves… Nothing like that. But to exist just for the sake of others is existing, not living.

Nothing is more rewarding than to give yourself to others and be appreciated for it. Yet hearing you must forget your own pain for the sake of others takes away the value of your living, the value of yourself that is not conditioned by others. In a way it leaves you an object, not a subject.

Alenka H. 2021

I’ve told Him how my day at the hospital last week went. We don’t talk anymore, He is not interested in my days, or me. He doesn’t ask, I don’t tell. But now He seemed interested, and I spoke. I told Him one part and He said: “Ok, now wait, before you say more, let me tell you about my experience…” and I listened, I asked, I smiled and nodded, but all I could think was that I did it again, I’ve been a fool again. I hoped and believed and I should have known better. Again.

Alenka H., 2021

You cannot give yourself to everyone, my Whale said.

Maybe not. Probably… But maybe, if you get enough in return, there is always something to give.

It’s been a hard year for me. I’ve learned that some care only when I can do something for them. Some say they care, but their actions speak otherwise. Some don’t care at all…

In the end, that what we want, isn’t it? Someone who cares. Someone to tell them how you spend your day. What plans you have for tomorrow. Where you are going on Sunday. What books you read and the quote that touched your heart. What made you laugh. What made you cry. Why you look so sad and why you smile. The poem you wrote. What you were dreaming at night. Why you like this shirt so much. That you are having a haircut in the afternoon. What someone said that made you angry and how you know it’s not true. The milk you spilled and the funny shaped cloud you saw on your way in the morning. The big and the small things, the silly and the serious, the real you. All of it. Not because it matters to the world or even to them. But because it matters to you. Because you want to share and they want to listen just because it’s you.

Maybe, if you have someone to share that with, it gives you so much you always have something to give to others.

Alenka H., 2021

I’m reading a lot of books recently. Too many, probably. Yes, there is such thing. Because it’s like addiction, it’s escape, it’s what makes me alive and numb at the same time. It makes me feel what I don’t, and it helps me forget what I feel.
I don’t read unhappy books. I don’t want drama or tragedy. I want happy book, love, devotion, sugar and sweets and roses and romance and happy ever after. I don’t care if it’s not real. If it’s not life. I appreciate that it’s not life. Life hurts too much.
And now I’ve come across a book that is all that, but at the same time it’s shocking how painful it is. The heroine had so much in common with me. She was bleeding all the time. She was in relationship with someone she wasn’t sure she loved. She met someone and fell in love and decided not to be with him, because he wanted children she could not give him. She had this crisis mode, when she detached herself to operate, when the world was falling apart around her.
How it hurt to see her…
But the most painful part? “His choice was still me. He never gave up.” That’s one of things I could not relate to. And the one that hurt the most.
Damn.

Alenka H., 2021