A while ago I wrote about The beauty of Two, the feature of my language that allows me to express the intimacy of being a part of pair. It seems only appropriate that today I honour another beauty, the beauty of Her.

Sail with me is one of the poems that were written years ago. Decades ago, actually. You could never guess that both me and the beloved are – Woman. With no pronouns, no names, if you read it in my language, you see it in the nouns. Beloved in English could be him or her, ljuba is her. The one that poured into her could be him or her, prelila could only be done by female. How beautiful, inspiring it is to be able to express it!

How powerful it is that I can express myself as female! Reading my poems in English most of the time the author could be him or her. In my language my gender shows in verbs or pronouns I use (to be completely truthful, not in all cases, and explaining when and how is something I could never do satisfactory, since I am no linguist). I miss that in English. I cherish it in my language. Not to compare the two languages in a competition, not to think English is any less. But being used to know Her in words, and knowing I can be Her… How could I not think my words lack something when translated and the gender is suddenly lost?

It is beautiful that I can say midva and it is clear that I’m talking about you and me, the Two of us. And it is beautiful that if I say midve, the Two of us is not two men or a man and a woman. It is two Women. Another jewel of my language. The beauty of Her.

Alenka H., 2022

There is something special I want to share today. A special thanks to two persons. One is Her, my mother. The other is my Whale. I thank them both for making me feel cherished and loved.

Much younger me could not understand depression. Older me understands it all too well. And only now I understand that sometimes depression becomes so familiar it’s hard to distinguish it from what is “just” a deep sadness.

As it got harder and harder, I thought maybe the cloud of depression got bigger again and that that’s the reason I can’t see the sun. So I tried helping myself in ways I’ve learned since I’ve first met it. More than a decade of experience gave me many tools. As there is not one way to help every person who faces depression, there is also not one way that helps one person every time. Sometimes it works, sometimes not. Sometimes it does miracles, sometimes it barely helps you survive. Sometimes it makes you feel even worse. Sometimes it’s the combination you never tried before that does the trick. And you find new ways, discard the old ones…

Yes, I tried.

Until I suddenly I realized that what makes it so hard this time is that it’s not depression that is holding me down. It’s just a deep deep sadness, feeling of loneliness and being tired, so tired every breath is a struggle.

Does that make a difference? Yes, it does.

Depression is a serious thing. I never like it when people use the term easily, in most cases to “self-diagnose”. I’m not saying others know better than you do how you feel. But if every sadness or even being in a bad mood for a few hours is labeled as depression, then it’s easier to dismiss the seriousness of depression when people really suffer it. So please, do not speak about depression so easily, so quickly, so mindlessly.

I’m also not trying to diminish the significance or heaviness of sadness. Or the pain it brings. It’s never about what is more and what is less – it is just about recognizing the difference.

I’m not suddenly feeling better or happier or lighter – I just know what I’m facing, and that knowing helps me. Like writing a proper address on a letter if you want it to reach the right person, knowing what you are facing helps you deal with it. Now I can look in the face of my pain and help myself (hopefully). If I know I’m tired, I can rest a bit more. If I know I’m feeling lonely and why this loneliness hurt so much, I can learn how to accept it. And if I know where the sadness comes from, I can try to find ways to change it.

I don’t really like the saying about “fighting your demons”, partially because it’s not always about fighting, partially because it implies that something inside us is evil. So, no, it’s not evil, and no, it’s not necessarily fighting, but perhaps it is that you cannot face the demons if you don’t look at their faces, know what they are and acknowledge their meaning.

And try. That’s the most anyone can ask of us. Even ourselves.

Alenka H., 2023

It took me a long time to admit and accept that I crave love. I was used to thinking I should not, because I have enough. And that it’s somehow very wrong to be so “needy”.

I took me even longer to accept it’s ok. It’s part of me. It’s who I am. Some people are loners. Some people thrive in crowds. Some are more introverts, some more extroverts. Some want lots of hugs, others not. All of that is all right – and so is me craving love.

It took me even longer to accept that I cannot change that part of me. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to stop hoping. Or dreaming. I’ve failed again and again. Because it’s who I am. Not all I am. But part of who I am.

It is ironic how it was almost easier to accept dark parts of me. The anger that sometimes lifts it’s head. The self-destructive tendencies I have. The insecurities I carry. The fears. The destruction I can cause. The strength that can become too much. The weakness too. It was hard to admit that all that is part of me too – especially anger and destruction. To admit and accept it is actually harder that to tame it, I’ve learned. But in the end I’ve accepted that parts too. I do not allow them to take over. But I know they are part of me, and we work.

Now I’m learning to accept the loneliness I feel. To accept and no longer fight it. To accept and live with it. Parts of me will probably forever hope, but I’m learning to embrace it nevertheless. For me that’s the next step of accepting myself.

I must allow myself to feel. Yes, I must allow. Because it’s just me who has the right to allow myself to feel anything and everything I feel. And even express it.

I speak and write a lot about what I feel, the emotions we label “negative”. Sadness, pain, sorrow, fear, loneliness. I do. I do not accept the society’s norms that allow expressing just “positive” emotions, and even those just as long as they are tamed, and god forbid to express anything “too much”. Well, that’s ok, if you feel like that. It’s also ok if you don’t. It should be equally ok to laugh and cry. To say you are not ok, if that’s how you feel.

That never means I think all is black, that I feel just “negative”, that I’m whining, or complaining, that I blame the world for all the misery, it doesn’t even mean I am miserable. Sometimes I’m happy, sometimes sad. Sometimes I’m both at the same time. I just want to allow myself to feel it all, and (with consideration to others!) to express it.

At the same time I love people around me, appreciate them, and also admit and accept I’m lonely, because for me it’s not mutually exclusive. I can appreciate family bonds, and some kinds of friendship, and still crave different kind of connection.

Perhaps in time I’ll stop craving it. I choose not to dwell into that. Not yet, perhaps. For now I’m learning to accept my feeling and live with it. It’s enough.

Because I honestly believe the emotions we don’t face, accept, admit, express, have way more power over us that those we do. In most cases it does us no good.

Alenka H., 2023

Good poetry tastes like music.

Good music sounds like poetry.

Poetry that sings and music that speaks.

That’s what I love about both: when I can’t draw a line, because it touches me deep, smooths my waves and nourishes my soul.

Alenka H., 2023