Two is better than one

I feel like a child, sitting on a carnival ride that just ended for the third time and I haven’t any more tickets. I must get off the ride while everyone else is still enjoying the fun. Is my ride of travel really over, do I have another ticket hidden somewhere deep in my heart or stuffed inside of my skinny jean pocket? I have always had two different hearts, travel and settling. I want both with equal passion. I was sitting at a dinner table, exploring my past with a new friend, and it hit me like a jolt of electricity, is my ride up? I feel like one of those old celebrities that were famous in the 80’s still stuck in that time, their good ol’ ride. Each of my stories start out, once in Morocco or some other foreign land, but that is my past now, and how often can I relive it? I know that my traveling heart will never seize, but to actually live and make a life in another country for a year or longer. It gets harder as I get older, to go to another place, another language, another man, perhaps. But I love it, it runs through my veins and my heart craves adventure and the unknown. Again, I sit here and wonder if I made the right choice, but then again there is no right or wrong, bad or good; they are just labels when we do not possess the words to describe how we feel. Should I keep going? I have the world in my hands, and can go anywhere to teach. Should I stay here, where my family and childhood friends are near? I feel in my bones that I will be in another committed relationship quite soon, causing me to create roots like a tree, leaving it hard to be uprooted and moved after time. Someone recently asked me if I wanted a white picket fence, my reply was that white gets dirty easily and fences create boundaries.  I am not sure if he liked my response but I know he is intrigued. There are so many countries that I want to explore, but do I really want to spend my life there? I’m unsure, but really what twenty-something year old knows what he or she really wants, and who they are. I know exactly who I am, but no closer to knowing what I want. Two hearts. Maybe two is better than one.

Just me, my yoga mat and I

So, I had nothing left to do. All that needed to be said was said, and everything that we did was done. My last option was to dedicate my yoga practice to love, happiness and focusing my attention inward “thy self” as my teacher refers to it. I did what any girl would do, having the first falling out or disagreement in my new relationship; I turned to yoga or Buddha. Okay maybe not any girl, but there was nothing left and the “if he loves me he will call me rigggghht now” expecting some sort of magical phone ring on the “now” playing in my brain. I was driving myself crazy, if only in my mind.
Naturally, I dedicated the one hour class to “staying on my mat” let’s translate that to mean I have a nasty habit of looking around the class at what everyone else is doing or not doing, eyeing them up and down like an Italian chick in Milano’s fashion week. “What are you doing that I can’t?” or thinking “Well, I can do that too!” Well, I smacked myself in the face before I chugged a dose of reality and admitted that I sound like a two year old child. Who am I to look or sneak a peek at anyone else’s mat in the first place? And get real Krysta, because that woman is double your age, so stop gloating. In turn I stopped looking around the class at each of the lovely women but turned towards myself. I focused on what I am good at and what I love so much about the practice. By the end of the class I was smiling not only with my lips, but my heart and soul and laughing with the other ladies instead of giving them the “Italian momma and your dating my son you’ll never be good enough” competitive eye.
 Perhaps what I really realized is that I need to “stay on my mat” in all aspects of life. I am constantly comparing myself with others, other women’s bodies, celebrities and friends. I put my relationships under the microscope and examine the evidence side by side with the people that I know. Like yoga in which no two bodies are the same, so we can not just glaze over at the next purple lotus flower mat to either give ourselves confidence or jump start (or stomp) competition or make ourselves feel negatively if their “Tree” pose is awesome.  No two relationships are the same either we just can’t peer in our neighbors windows to analyze their relationship. As soon as I gave this deep thought and searched with in myself (Only) on my own paisley green yoga mat I began to understand. We are what we are, each person is different as each relationship is different. And sometimes we have misunderstandings or a disagreement with people we love, but the answer is not what lies on the out side but the secret lies within. As I walked out to my car a little drizzle kissed my face, I smiled from within. I couldn’t help but wonder if ‘he’ finally called after 24 hours without speaking, the answer was clear, what is meant to be will always be and if not then, oh well,  there is a reason behind it. I looked down at my phone and saw the blinking missed called.  The conclusion is we must find ourselves first, clear our minds, take time to breathe and in the end what is right will be.

Rocky Road to Love

I guess I am full-time with “A”, the first time that I laid eyes on his 20 year old body was about three years ago. He was the man that helped me move out of the house I shared with my ex-fiancé, showed me how to love again after a bad relationship and we have this energy together that only happens a few times in a life time.  I moved to Italy to heal and learn to love myself before I could love him. Five months turned into two and a half years drinking espresso, consuming massive amounts of carbs which is considered normal and getting lost in the Mediterranean Sea when I didn’t have to work until 5:30 p.m. I came home seven months later to spend three short weeks for Christmas and ring in the New Year with my family and friends. I spent the chilly December days with the girls and laughing with my grandmother, and the frosty December nights curled up next to him in a rented basement flat. It was cold and snow dusted the ground, but he held onto me like I was the last woman on earth, he warmed my heart and soul. I cried the day I had to say “good bye”  and get on another airplane, I knew that I wasn’t healed and the South of Italy was waiting for me, like another lover, they both made me feel alive, the beauty and mystery is intoxicating and they both give me chills. I knew I had to leave him cold in that cold basement apartment, that he would be just fine and I wasn’t ready to be fully committed.
Another seven months came and went, the snow melted and revealed green grass, I was on another plane coming from North Africa, Spain, Italy then home. I arrived in the USA and called him. He was different, and so was I. I was dating an Italian man but it was rocky, I sometimes imagined that they would meet each other, as they both are very similar. That basement was long gone, as was the love we shared; it turned cold like those December nights. Perhaps he was afraid of me leaving, going off one more time without him to live my separate life. Perhaps he never loved me. All is unknown.
I hadn’t visited “home” for one year, I packed up my life from two years in Italy and exactly one year later I was sitting in my childhood home. I got an email that read
“How are you girl?” A
“I am wonderful, guess what?” “I am in America” – K
“When can I see you?” –A
“Now” – K
So, I went where I felt like I never left. Butterflies tickled my tummy as I saw him; he wrapped me up in his huge arms and smiled that smile that never left my heart. We talked like I never left him, and he never hurt me. And all that was said and done was the past and the present is now. And energy ran through us that was and is and always has been undeniable. He is distant, like he is afraid of being hurt. Even though I looked him in his eyes and confirmed that I am staying. We decided to try, like really try. Not just basement apartments, late night cuddles after happy hours and pretend to play house when I am in town.
Every thing was going well, and the first time I expressed openly my concerns about our new relationship. Perhaps, in fact, I need a healthy dose of attention. I am not like other women, I know. But just a phone call to say hello, a text to say I am thinking of you and mutual respect. Now we have found ourselves on the edge, or unstable. Maybe our relationship was never known or stable but now something has shifted again. A problem in communication, culture, language or perhaps all three.
“I am having people over on Sunday”
“Okay, cool, just let me know”
Sunday morning, I hadn’t heard from him. I texted him first to say “good morning” and I got a short response. I went and had coffee with a friend and called “A” after. He didn’t answer, nor text. I didn’t hear from until 6:30 p.m. which was four hours later.
“Hey, what are you doing?” – A
“Well having dinner with my family” –K
“I don’t speak Italian, what?” –A
I speak slower and repeat my sentence (English is his second language)
“Are you coming?”-A
“What? I didn’t hear from you all day, I had no idea what was going on. You didn’t call me back” –K  (My thoughts were …and now after all of the liquor stores are closed (7:30 at this point) you want me to drive 60 minutes to your house after I had a glass of wine and it is dark.)
“I was busy, cleaning the house and getting stuff for the party”-A
“We are all busy, and you could not call your girlfriend and give her the respect of a phone call to tell her what time?”
“So you are not coming?” “This is bad Krysta.” – A
“You expect me to….” (my thoughts were I don’t hear from you all day and then you call me and expect me to jump up and run over to you?) I want a boyfriend that  thinks about a girlfriend who has to drive a long distance on the beltway, gives her a certain time to come over and is never soooo ‘busy’ that he can’t return a phone call. And in addition, earlier I was channeling Will Smith in “Hitch” as I had a horrible allergic reaction to a certain type of wine, my face was red and swollen and I was looped up on Benadryl.
“I got to go, bye” - A
We haven’t spoken since. I feel hurt and he doesn’t understand why I am upset. I am sure he just thinks “she isn’t coming to my party.” Which of course is not very nice, I wanted to be there, naturally. But how can I be expected to just jump up with no confirmation, communication or contact? Am I wrong here? Should I have gone? Remember the allergy too. What should I do? Is it just not right, or worth it?

Curse the what if's and maybe's



Boracay Island

Sometimes it just takes a moment, a decision, a gesture to change a life time. Destiny or whatever you want to call it. If the man pictured above misplaced his hand on those flaming fiery Pilipino numb chucks I would have had some serious issues, but he didn’t miss a beat and I still have some issues (which is besides the point) If my flight was never canceled, I would have never met him; if my ex-fiancé didn’t chose to live in D.C, I would have never found him, If I never went to Italy I would have never met the most amazing women in my life or found my self again. A choice, a turn of events, a bunch of what if’s and maybe’s. Coulda, shoulda, woulda. There is no such thing as an accident; I was always meant to be here where I am in the present and where I have been in my past. It has shaped my being and my soul.  Every person, opportunity and love was given to me as a gift as I cherish each uniquely, brought to me for a reason. Where I will be tomorrow is unknown but I know that I was always suppose to be there and I have nothing to fear. Sometimes we must loosen up, un- button our up tightness, let down our hair and shake- it- out and let life flow naturally. There is no reason to fight it because what will be was always meant to be. When we give in to life it takes us on a beautiful journey that so often we miss because we are thinking about the next step in our lives. Life reminds me of a river and you can struggle and paddle and swim with all your will upstream but you will not get very far, if you give in and let it guide you it could be the most amazing ride of your life. Really we are the authors of our own stories; we are the creators of destiny. As I sit here I am going to live life now, because tomorrow is unknown for me and really any of us. Why worry and ponder the future, all I have is what I have been lucky to have experienced in my life thus far and what I have today. I am going to get in my raft and buckle my safety belt, because rapids do exist in rivers but they are a hella lot of fun and I am going to enjoy every moment that I am blessed with even if I have no idea where my river is headed or what country it will lead me to next, all I can do is soak in every moment and let it happen.

 

I love this picture, I took it before a storm on an island in South East Asia.

 

Sometimes you can search the world, only to find it brought you back where you started

Crouching near the foot of “my A’s” bed digging openly in my newest addition to my family of Italian accessories, my handbag, throwing out lipsticks, chewing gum, old wrappers and things of the sort. I think out loud in a singsong tune “I can never find paper when you need it

I find a crumbled cocktail receipt from Germany, I was there only 12 hours ago living a different life; a quick flashback of my travels and other life as goose bumps dot my skin as quickly as the memory disappears.

I look down at the writing on the receipt it is foreign to my jet lagged brain and every moment I have lived up to this point seems like a dream.
I try and shake the sleep from my brain and squeeze out my last few drops of common sense that I was saving for a needed occasion.
“Okay, right I think now one, two, three concentrate”, I quickly scribble “I love you love, K” on the German receipt and slip the half attempt for a love note under his pillow for him to find when he pulls back his covers tonight, I slide out of the room and close the door behind me, not knowing when I will see him again.
Twenty minutes before I was in a crouching tiger hidden dragon position in A’s bedroom floor, the morning sun was painting colors on my face and danced joyfully around a new bedroom as I tossed around in a restless sleep.
Jet lag and tired I realized the bed I was occupying was not my own, but I was getting used to sleeping in a bed that was not mine. Before finding myself pressed again my Russian lover I was living in Italy for over a year, Spain for the summer and a whirlwind trip to North Africa, then traveling for about three years total living out of a suitcase. I have spent at least two years of my life time in an airport. My own bed was as far away as my next homemade lemoncello in Italy and fragrant rice appetizer in Indonesia.
It took a few moments to register where I was and who was beside me. Not a new lover but someone who has always been there somewhere push in the back of my mind; Countless travels, countless goodbyes and reunions, always going back to one another, if only for a night.
I just touched down into the good old US of A only 24 hours before, living out of a backpack for ten weeks and before my backpack tirade living in Europe for over a year. The familiar sounds and smells of America and the man next to made me smile.
My arm tingled and felt numb under his strong young body on my small frame, young body I may add, four and a half years younger to be exact. I cuddle up next to him and tried to picture what he looked like I the first time I saw him, he looks older now almost like his heart holds secrets I will never understand. I can tell he has had a difficult year in my absence, not because I have been gone but because of things I may never know.
His light hair has turned a shade darker and his muscular build has become slightly thinner, the untrained lover’s eye would never know the difference.
I fell in love with his almond shaped eyes that change color with his various moods; they shine a golden yellow.
The many moods from him and his eyes keep me wanting more, perhaps more than he can ever give, maybe I can not give it either, I keep waiting for him to open up to me, to tell me his great story, like I have done so many times with him.
For me it is easy, I spill my secrets as easily as one can fall off of a log, an open book widely accessible for him. I usually get home from an adventure and one of my first stops is his room.
 After our routine reunion is finished he sits on the edge of his bed with his head slightly tilted to the left listening intently and watching my animated show of telling my latest full blown wild adventure. I have the habit of having wild experiences and attracting people from all walks of life. I truly believe it must say “if you are slightly crazy, come and talk to me” tattooed in the center of my head. I am a walking magnet for the circus, and there is nothing wrong with that I may add.
Then he tries to kiss me mid comedy or circus routine and I still manage to ramble on until my point is fully finished and he is laughing at the fact I may look different but I never change. He says, “I could be naked in front of him and I am still chatting away.”
I was an English teacher at a language institute for adults that travel to the USA to learn English in the nation’s capital Washington D.C; he was on a student visa trying to make a life in America. He wasn’t exactly my student but close enough that we had to keep it under the radar.
I was a newly engaged woman when he walked into my classroom almost two years from the morning that my head rests on his arm; he was an interesting man/boy that caught my attention and refused to ever let it go.
Letting my day dream seize and drifting back into reality I gently kissed his cheek and his golden yellow eyes that stop my heart and change color with his every mood flutter awake, he looked up at me through slumber filled eyes, “buongiorno” I whisper.. “Good morning,” he whispered back.
I smiled as the sunlight danced around the room, the smell of freshly brewing coffee was coming from the kitchen. I have searched the world and can’t say that I have found peace like when I wake up to this man. He kissed me and we escaped the world under a tent of sheets.
 He walks me out to my car and I let him go through our routine of him starting my car and letting it warm up.
This morning I could not pull out of the driveway, my mind was somewhere else, I stared at the clock blinking red in my blue VW, wondering if 7:00 a.m. was the real time or my imagination was playing tricks on me.

(Today, it has been over two and a half years, his eyes still draw me in casing a spell on me. A romance that has never fully died and perhaps it may never. Who knows? I don’t want to understand, I just want to love and live every moment of it, where ever it goes, which ever road it may take, through the twist and turns, ups and downs, I just want him.)

To Go or Not To Go, that is the question

To Go or Not To Go, that is the real question. At least in my life and in mind. I have really only been in America for eight weeks now and have been as busy as the next American. I got a job free lancing for a girl’s magazine and other small writing gigs, trying to finish two novels, I am teaching online for a school in Russia and trying to put the missing pieces together.  Everything is coming together, I feel it that the right thing is coming to me. I get an email from a school in New York, actually East Hampton. It is a boarding school and a perfect fit for my spiritual, health and wellness side. Very artsy, and centered the cultural historic approach to learning. Enough said, it is my perfect school. I am flying out on Tuesday to see the school and teach a class! Exciting, except something “feels” funny. Like it isn’t right. I am not sure what it is, maybe I am just nervous, but I have traveled around the world, alone, and I have never been nervous. It is more than a few butterflies in my tummy. The deal is that it is a boarding school, and they are looking for a teacher who lives in a huge mansion with other students. On duty for two days a week and free the rest of the time. From my understanding most of the teachers do this as well as the head of department. I mean am I the only one who is scared shit-less about losing my freedom? I am in my prime; I am a chronic dater and love a good glass of wine and the option to entertain in my home. Will I have to sneak out or tip toe back home when I had an extra glass of Cabernet with a bad case of giggles? Everything comes with a price tag, if not literally, then a little give and take. There are positives and negatives to every choice in life. Perhaps I may love it, love living in the Hamptons. It may be a great fit for my love of fashion and being near the water. If it isn’t the Mediterranean Sea the next best choice is the one presented to me. I would have the chance to become close with staff and my students as well as safe a lot of money by living on campus. It is like university all over again, but with teens. Yikes. So, do I go? Or not to go? That my friend is the question on deck.

 

If it is lost, it can be found

A woman must know when to stay and when to go, she knows when her time is up, when she is no longer wanted and she feels in her heart when a relationship is no longer good for her. A woman must know when a man is not the right one, even if it stings and feels like her heart is breaking in two. Better now than be disappointed in the future.

 

It is strange or one may even say interesting that just two years ago I fled out of a window and into the dark night with nothing but a backpack with a few of my favorite belongings and ran out on my fiancé. Never to turn around and look back. I was left feeling sorry for myself, like someone literally ran a car over my body and backed and crushed my heart to see what they hit the first time around. I was depressed, hurt, angry and feelings of betrayal ran through my veins. I have never been angry or depressed, it seems so strange to me both now and then, like a foreign word that I have never heard of. But it struck me, even though I didn’t understand its foreign name, I felt the pain. So, I needed something or someone to run through my veins.

 

I ran to Italy, to be healed and maybe with a little luck and new self admiration I could have a fling or two. Running now into the present, I did have a few really wonderful flings, one man for a few months debating a move to another city, another man which lasted several months, I fell in love but it wasn’t right. And lastly one fantastic man lasting a year that I was in love with, we lived together and I brought him back to my world in America. He said that he could live here, he wanted to be with me. So, we looked into immigration, visas and lawyers. It would be a long, expensive process to bring a non English speaking man into the USA. The only option would be to get married, and he doesn’t want to get married.  Here I am again, sitting in the same place literally and physically in which my heart was first broken in two and I decided to go to Italy. Now I am heart broken from another man, who is in Italy as I sit in my family house, I realize that we are living on two different planets and that our worlds will most likely never met again. He is my opposite, in which he will just sit and wait for an answer, maybe it may never come. He promises things that he does not know how he will accomplish them. Well, how will you do that? With no job or language skills? He doesn’t know, and I must make the decision to let him fly. But I must fly too. And do what is right for me; I know that I need someone with a little more guts, a little more ambition and a lot more adventure in their soul. I know he was a good man, but perhaps he is not the right man for me any longer, and that is okay. I know I will heal from a broken heart, because I have already done that once or twice. And this time it just doesn’t hurt as much as it did the first time. Is it better to have lost than to love at all? I knew in the beginning that this was not forever, but for right now.  And it is much better to give my heart and soul and lose it, then to never give it at all. You can always find what has been lost.

How will you ever know?

I was put on this planet to love, to give it a go.

I wake from a dream, a dream of another time another land. You were no longer mine, but another’s. Another place in time, I lost you. All that ever was. Searching my soul, looking deep into what it is that I desire. What it is that I need, searching for my own wondering heart what it is that I am looking for? I don’t want to walk down this road alone, but is it his hand that I want to hold, his hand that I need. The only person that knows is my soul, deep down I know what I must do, but not ready to do it. When can we let go and know how to fly alone. Not the girl who ever walks alone but unable to leave him. He sits by my side wondering where I stand. Wondering if I will ever fully be his, but I will never fully be anyone’s, born to fly but unable to nest. Where will the wind take me this time, it blows and I fly. But is there a reason to keep searching? Was it what I was looking for all along? Is it him that I am searching for, reaching out to, and how will I ever know?

Dream in Honey, Dream in Gold

It was all a dream

Restless from a dream, a ceiling fan hums a tune around us

A dream in vivid colors and a language flowing like honey,

Smooth and thick, the sweetness sticking to my heart,

Even though words aren’t needed,

Not knowing if it is you that is intoxicating my soul,

Or passion that burns and stirs within me from dreaming of a foreign land.

 

I dreamt you were next to me, in fields that outstretch the glistening earth,

Where olives, lemons and grapes grow wild and free just like the way I feel about you,

Tints of green and yellow paint the terrain and the grass sparkles from fresh dew,

It kisses my face and bare feet, walking alone my feet sink into the earth,

In a nude flowing dress that brushes the tips of my toes,

My golden tresses fall freely on my bronzed shoulders,

Touching the grape vines as I pass,

Not knowing where I am going, peace, gratitude and serenity fly next to me,

Feeling connected to the earth as I pick a ripe deep purple grape,

Tasting the sweet nectar from the fruit that is warm from the sun,

You meet me halfway; you put your hand in mine,

In comfortable silence we walk along together,

Admiring the natural beauty that encircles our world,

Taking a moment to stand still, completely at ease in tranquility,

Hand in hand the sun dances playfully making patterns on our skin,

It warms the world around us, enlightens our path,

Illuminating my face and soul, I need to feel alive and free,

I start to run, making footprints in the soil leaving a trail of history on the earth,

Feeling inspired by you,

From the green earth and shimmering sky surrounding us,

Looking back wanting you to chase me,

Needing you to keep up with my every step,

Knowing my boundless energy and free spirit is hard to tame,

But wondering if it is you that can run free along side of me,

Your larger strides outweigh mine,

Tumbling to the ground, you whisper “Don’t run, I am here”,

Our bodies’ entangled, blue birds sing a sultry tune beckoning us to follow the rhythm,

Beneath the grape vines on a bed made of grass making a peaceful haven,

Breathing in the sugary scent of premature wine and wild lavender,

My heart races with your every touch, excited of the unexpected,

My golden mane is scattered around me, making a pillow in the meadow,

You are a famous painter your hands a brush,

 I am your muse your own canvas outstretched under you,

Pure and bare, taking all of me and make me your own,

Leaving no surface un-touched,

Skillfully working a natural canvas into elaborate radiance,

 A work of art sweeping golden hues along my soft curves,

Resembling the mountains that surrounds us, rolling hills dipping low,

I fall deeper as you paint me, hoping you never want to finish,

Knowing our paths may separate when the sun trades places with the moon…

 

The clock’s hands move toward early dawn,

My eyes flutter like butterflies wings slowly reaching consciousness,

The colors of the sun dance on your face,

I reach out to you and pull you near,

The cool air blows free and awakens my soul,

Stirring from the peace of my vineyard,

All that I dreamt had been untrue,

When I wake; I want to wake next to you.

Footprints

Footprints

 

May 2011

 

Standing and making a question in the wind, setting everything in my being in a book. Groundedness and roots are not present. Lasting love breaks my soul; one relationship comes to an end, while another one starts.

 

Making circles in the sand; thinking you forgot to hold my hand. You write my name next to yours but the waves wash it away, slowly washing away our history into the sea. You don’t bother to rewrite it.

 

Instead you pick me up and spin me around, looking in my eyes you lift me higher, all that surrounds us is invisible, we fall laughing in dizziness in the sand, landing on the cool earth we kiss

 

My head spins with yours wishing you can stand still with me; both knowing it will never be. Perhaps the words you speak are true, true that you love me, true that I left footprints on your soul.

 

Maybe nothing about our love is true; I pray that what I feel you feel too. I pray we come back to each other; pull and pushing like the tide of the sea that laps and dances at our feet. Falling again into each other with every beat of what is real, what is right.

 

Listening to music with my feet on your dashboard, with the windows down and our hair flying free, searching for a new beach and a new adventure together. Your hand in mine as you change gears in the car and bottle of wine sitting between us, getting lost but always finding our way.

 

Trouble and curiosity beckons both of us, playfully you become mine. My heart is yours, if you love me. You breathe me in, and I breathe you out.

 

(You know who you are)

 

 

 

Sweet Rice and a memory of Bali

Memory of Bali - September 2009

I sit here listening to the rain, Balinese boys laughing and playing and a familiar sound of country music echoes through the night. I am sitting on my balcony in the beautiful island of Bali. Trying to find something, maybe myself, yoga or a spiritual discovery. I have the urge to write; idea’s and thoughts poring out of my soul. I have been backpacking Southeast Asia for 3 weeks now, each day finding a new discovery. I sit and wonder, or ponder many questions about myself, god and my new and old life. I realize that I am different, changed a new sense of discovery lights my face. I have followed my dream listened to my heart, and as it comes to a close I cant help but wonder what else is out there for me to discover. I have two hearts and I am struggling which one is more important to me. My first heart is to travel, learn, experience and my second heart is my home where my fiancé and family are. I can not decide which one is heavier on the balancing scale. Of course people in my life are most important but I am not sure that I am finished, and that getting married is what I really want to do? Is it just the safe option? Or what I am supposed to do? Is it a fear of never finding a better or stronger love, because I know that I will not he is perfect? I am not sure if I am ready to go “home” yet. But I have been on my own for the last year, I am returning a brighter, self sufficiently, independent woman. In the last year I have used I resources and done things I never thought I could do: such as fixing my toilet in Korea with my bare hands, a hair pin, paper clip and hair tie. I mean I can use resources! Who would have thought? I have been lost and found, literally and figuratively. I face fears of returning, I am in Indonesia alone and I am afraid of returning to the place I grew up.

I decided to read Eat, Pray, Love for a second time while I am here. We happen to be on the same road in Bali. And I was just invited to Italy for a few weeks. I think what do I really want. I am scared to return, what will I do, will I find a job? I am scared to figure out if my fiancé and I will work out. Maybe, I am afraid that it may not.  Do I really want to be married?  I am struggling with in myself for the right answers. I look down at myself, I look different. My hair is darker and thinning because of the water and lack of vitamins and protein. My wrists are filled with bracelets from women around Thailand that tied them on me. My finger has a ring that symbolizes luck from a market in Bali. I have cuts and tons of mosquito bites from diving and climbing and sitting outside looking at the stars at night. I have found my inner artist, fashionesta and bare foot hippie child. I am more fit and crave extreme sports and activity. I haven’t had a period in a year. Some days I look in the mirror and do not recognize the new woman looking back at me. What am I searching for?  What do I want? Do I want to be married?

 

 

Bali

The smell of incense and spices fills the air, smoke drifts from the mountains and temples filling me with spiritual delight.

It has been raining since I got here, but that hasn’t stopped me from discovering Ubud. My first stop was determined by a game of rock, scissor, paper with my friend. “I win I go south first, you win I go North first” I won, so I am sitting in the South, in the artsy center. It is filled with paintings, sarongs, women caring heavy baskets on their heads and hand cut wood carvings. When I arrived I had no idea where I was headed, no idea where I was going to stay and sleep that night. I had not a dime in the local currency in my pocket to buy a clue. In my first 30 minutes I grabbed a cab which I we became instant friends and he asked if I wanted to stop and meet a good friend of his. Of course I did! We stopped at a huge warehouse/farm that was an  art gallery. In the gallery were elaborate paintings, I met an artist by the name of Made. We talk and share smiles. He tells me I am different and that I am happy he can see it on my face and in my light. He invites me to live with him and his family and teach me how to paint. He wants to see me everyday, and share my energy and spirit with him and his family. He asks for nothing in return, no money or favors just the kindness of living with him. Unfortunately, I politely declined, but I am thinking why not? I reason was I would want to stay longer in Asia, I know in my heart that if I stayed and lived with this Balinese family, I may never come “home”.  At this time, I had a ring on my finger and a fiancé waiting for me to stop being a nomad and come home to get married. I buy a painting. And I had another plan, I had to find another man with the same name. There are four names in Bali, yes four. So, the first child are all called the same name and then the list goes down, when a family has five children they start all over again. Which can be quiet confusing to an outsider. So, I have my own mission impossible, to find a man whose name is Made, like first born on this island and have him accept me as his student. I only know that he owns a silver making shop and his first name. I have no address, no city name and no idea where to start and why something magnetic is pulling me closer to this man. Not only was there a captivating pull towards him, but also the county, and to have this adventure alone. I felt in my heart that no one could come with me but I must find my own way.

 In the streets of Ubud are shops and tourist. Strangers offer conversation, and will talk to you without knowing you at all. The constant question of where are you going? And where are you coming from? Flows smoothly from people sitting on the road. The land smells of sweet flowers and the air is fresh compared to the thick air of Seoul. Life seems to have a slower pace, which is calming. I explored Monkey forest temple where hundred of monkeys live in the open. I got a massage and pedi at a local spa and talked to a young Balinese woman about boys. Women and children are the same everywhere. The woman love to talk all day, talk about men and share beauty secrets. Children play and run in the street barefoot; laughing their sarongs kissing the sandy earth. I smile to myself. I watch a traditional dance with live music; it was entrancing.  It is still raining. I have a yoga class in an hour, and tomorrow I am going to a small city to search for Made, accompanying my journey is a cool looking Balinese man with a long ponytail and quite large muscles. He is driving me across the island on the back of his motorcycle.  

 

I just came back from my yoga class. It was enlightening and wonderful. It was like nothing I have experienced before. It was insightful to the culture and religion. He referred to GOD a lot, it was beautiful. The yoga was a cross between releasing negative energy; I think there was a point where he was out of his body. I swear it. I feel lighter, my heavy heart and mind are now at peace. I got home and danced around. Tomorrow is a new adventure and I don’t believe in time.

 

I wake up to my friend at the front desk “good morning dear” wake up. I go down and chat with her, she tells me each day I look more “fresh faced.”  That is a great sign; maybe I am becoming myself again after a hard year. I realize in retrospect how challenging my job was, and my body and mind feel lighter each day. Also, I am becoming more comfortable in my own skin. Its about time, dessert first anyone? Ok I am not there yet, but slowly I am recovering and balancing my mind, body and soul. I think about the yoga session last night…it was as if he was talking about me. Maybe I am an egocentric American.  He had me pick up my leg and rock it like a baby, he explained that we have to treat each body part with loving kindness like we would a child. We need to concentrate our minds on taking care of each body part. I decide he is right.

 

I rode through the country side grabbing a handsome older man with a ponytail around the waist, praying that I wouldn’t die and laughing. We drove through rice fields as green and wide as the eye can see. Women balancing palm baskets which are offerings to ancestors and gods on their heads walking to temples. Children were in the streets wearing traditional clothes because tonight is the full moon. We stop at the oldest temple in Bali. There was a ceremony getting ready to take place. Women were making offerings and lighting incenses, the smell is intoxicating. Offerings to the GODS were placed on wooden carts with wheels, resembling accent wagons. They were filled with fruit and sweet sticky rice.  The men were sitting and talking and cooking meat on an open fire. The temple was organic and green. You could feel the presences of something peaceful and calm. I walk down the 400 stairs and bought a sarong from a man with a beautiful bright eyed little girl. Her eyes were the color of coffee and a shy smile filled her wondrous face. I kept walking and became speechless from the greenery of the rice fields, the cascade of waterfalls and intoxicating smells. Everyone is happy and laughing. The community welcomes me and says good morning. I am in bliss: I am grateful: I feel small in this large world. Our next stop is an organic plantation. My driver enjoyed explaining the kinds of plants; coffee, coco, vanilla, cumin and ginger. He shows me the animal a mongoose which eats coffee beans then poops them out, it is cleaned and made into an “earthy” brew. “It is expensive in other parts of the world and considered a delicacy” he explains. He wants me to try the “poo” coffee. Hell, yes! I will try shit coffee. He is right, it is “earthy.” I am a vegetarian and hope this doesn’t count. The guide is hilarious and we sit overlooking the plantation sipping fresh coconut milk, ginger tea, poo coffee and ginseng coffee. He tells me to buy some for my husband “Good stamina” he says, “It make for very good lover” he explains with a mischievous smile. So, I buy some and hope he is right.

 

The driver and I make small talk during the 4 hour drive. I like him, his energy is good and I enjoy his company. The small village that we are going to is a stretch of many small villages spread out. There are hardly any tourist and has small hotels. It feels good, quiet and welcoming. Within seconds I decide I already love it here. I kiss my new friend on the cheek as he helps me with my bags to the small bungalow where I am staying. My room is beautiful and has intricate details carved into the wood. I am overlooking the ocean on a small hill. It is freeing and breath taking all at once. I am lucky. I can not sit for long and walk down to the beach, The beach is covered with black sand! I have never seen black sand! I take off my shoes and run through the smooth darkness as I sink into the earth. I am one with my earth, my GOD and myself. It is warm and feels safe on this beach. Only a few people line the beach, snorkeling and swimming. The waters edge holds coral and rocks and the water is shallow enough to swim out very far. I am lucky. I take a deep breath and lay on the clay like sand; it has the texture of a stress ball…my own earth bean bag. I open my book, and chat with an older lady trying to give me a massage. She is nice and has a heart warming smile with missing teeth. I like her immediately. But, I have a goal, and I explain to her who I am looking for and why I am here.

I need to find my guru, my yoga man. I get up and start out on a mission…I need to find a new hotel room and guru, maybe not in that order. I roam the streets in flip flops a sarong and a bikini. I stop at each shop looking for yoga specialties and clues where I may find this man. Everyone stops me to ask “where are you from?” and “where do you live here?” and  “How long do you stay?”  “How many people are you with?” says an elderly man sitting on his porch with a piece of hay dangling from his lips.  Its interesting, I come to the conclusion that Bali is the place to be alone because everyone will talk to you. I feel a little shy about putting myself out there for real friendship here. I can’t pinpoint it. I will do better tomorrow. After walking quite far and speaking with multiple people later I walk back to my hotel…ok tomorrow I will find him! With an optimistic smile and passion.

 

Then I look up and a sign on a wall in the back of a restaurant says “yoga, spiritual healing” I go in. Next door is a silver shop, I think I have found him. I talk to his friend I am going tomorrow. I am so excited, I hope this works out and that I can study from him. For tomorrow I need to get rest and allow myself to sleep in. I can exercise and then relax in the sun for the rest of the day. I think again I hope I can study yoga from this man. I feel there is something to be learned from him I feel drawn to him and I don’t even know him. I have to meet him. I also need to be more willing to make friends, and invite them to dinner or chat longer with people. It seems I am talking to people then “you want to go to sunset on my bike” meaning I will show you for money. That is not their intention but it is true. I need to focus on positive energy and peace of mind. Also bring good people into my life. I breathe in for peace, for change for life. I feel myself become more ME. More artistic, I am not going to hold back on art anymore. I want to learn to paint and dance while I am here. Breathe for change, breath for me, breathe for peace in my heart. I only want to give love, I can only give love. And I can’t give what I don’t have, which is negative energy, so I can only give love, compassion and light.

 

Later his friend rides his scooter to come find me, yoga man can’t have class tomorrow. But he wants me to come meet him now. His friend invites me to dinner and later on to enjoy the festival, I am in a wet suit and have nothing but my room key. I politely say “I am very tired and need to shower and rest.” I hope I did not offend him, and that this will not determine my study. So, I will meet him the day after tomorrow. I think I should stay the rest of my stay on this beach. It is quiet except for the festivities but that is only tonight. I can hear the lullaby of the crashing waves softly against the black sand between songs and dance. I can see the lights and feel a faint breeze from my open window bringing the smell of incents.

Question

It has been a little over a month; the culture shock has worn down as well as my heart. It feels a little better now, the pieces are coming together. Perhaps some things are never meant to work out, or even last forever. What in life really lasts a life time anyway? At least it doesn’t exist with my wondering heart, and perhaps eyes. Feeling like I am, in fact, where I am supposed to be and my decision is the right choice. I guess a woman always knows, no matter what she may say, she always feels it in her heart from the very beginning if it is going to be lasting love or just Right now.

I can’t help but feel at constant struggle, may be it will never change with me. And what is it that I really want? A friend after over a year without seeing each other she asks a loaded question, “Why did you come back?” Was it love? Was it boredom? Well, the answer was many factors. Perhaps the biggest is the fact that I was working and living illegally in a country for over two years. Now, that is a pretty big whooper, and quite and good reason. Being an American and not having an EU passport can create some problems if you want to travel within Europe, or say even go home. I went home via Amsterdam air thinking it was a good choice, they aren’t so rigid. Really, the best choices are Italy and Spain, perhaps Greece. But, I could not find a flight that was a good price flying out of Italy. When I got off the plane and went to passport control, naturally, I opted for the line with the most handsome man. So, I batted my blues and when he asked me how long I have been traveling in Europe, I lied through my bleached teeth. When he asked me why I didn’t have a stamp on my passport, I continued my white lie and said I arrived in Sicily and it was late at night and no one was at the airport. Which is what happened the first year I lived in Italy. He asked me if I but a spell and bewitched the other passport control officers like I am doing to him, I told him I had no idea, but it could be a possibility, gave a smile and he let me go, passing along his number in my passport. However, if he was not male and I did not flirt perhaps I would be in some jail or deported. Who knows? Coulda, shoulda, woulda.  So, this is one reason I moved back.
But now I am wondering if it is the right choice for me. Leaving Italy was the right choice, for reasons stated above and I am ready to spread my wings again and fly. I went to Italy to heal and find love in my lost soul. I did and now I am found; half of my heart will always remain on that Southern coast with cold blue hues, six women that became my sisters and an adopted family.
 I left and circled the world, looking for some thing or searching for myself only to finish exactly where I had started, like a board game that brings you back to START. So, over two years later I am sitting near the same man that helped me learn to live again before heading off for another Italian adventure, a romance that never completed fizzled out and hopefully it never will.
 So, the question is “How do you know what you want, if you have a wondering heart?” I have dreams about riding on a horse in the Arabian Desert and salsa dancing in South America. I had the same dreams before I went to Italy, I dreamt in Sienna orange, villas, smooth musical sounds of Italian and the Mediterranean Sea. It came true, I lived it. I struggle with conforming into what my culture says a woman should do and what my adventurous soul craves. When I look at my friends from the past, they have children and a husband. A latest accessory attached at the hip, and I am not speaking of a Chanel bag. Yikes. Is my first reaction, it is some what like a response to poison ivy. Slightly itchy and irritating. But then again, they are really cute, and I sometimes get a longing of my own. However, the pull to be riding a horse in the Desert with an Arabian prince is a lot stronger. Will I ever be finished and ready to settle? And how do you fight with two hearts?
A wise siren said “A man can never fulfill the adventure my heart craves." Perhaps true for some of us.

"Reserve delivacy of sentiment for friendship; accept love for what it is...
The more dignity you give it,
the more dangerous you make it."

- Ninon de Lenclos

Peace

Peace on earth
I come in peace, I walk in peace, I love in peace
With a war outside my door but can not see
I can only feel within my heart
I no not the truth, I no not your feelings and pain
I know we are all the same
In our differences behind skin color
Lies the truth
My hearth beats like yours
I have two eyes that see
And can feel the sting of a bee
We are the same
We want the best for our children
And love our families
So why let religion and skin color differentiate
The sameness
If you respect me, and I respect you
If you see me for who I am and not my exterior colors
If I see you for who you are and not your outer walls
If you are you and I am me
Why can’t we all see?
That we are just the same
Beneath the easel of palate
I walk with two feet touching the ground
You walk and swing two arms, like me
I come in peace
I come with love in my heart
We must carry love, let go of the hate
We only have one chance
One planet that fits both you and me
Love is the answer, respect is the key
We are the same, you are you and I am me
By: Krysta Golden Moore

Bread crumbs

How do we ever know when something is right? A wise 17 year old said “I couldn’t make a decision because both choices were wrong for me." A clever young girl, who possibly has it right. If both choices are wrong, of course we can not make a decision, or if both decisions are right then there is no regret to be made. Does regret exist? Or is it something that we create in our minds? And can we ever go back on a decision that we have made? We are taught as children that all things are either right or wrong but when it comes to making decisions is there a right or a wrong? It is getting closer to the time in which I need to decide what I will do for the following year.
I am no closer to reaching a decision. I have searched high, low and with-in to find the right answer. Perhaps both choices are right, or perhaps neither is the right choice. I know that I want to publish my book, go back to university in a master program and find a job where I am stable and happy. I know that I want to travel but may not want to live in those places for years; I can finally say that stability sounds nice. I don’t necessarily feel the same excitement that I felt when thinking of unknown places. Of course it will never go away, the feeling of adrenalin running wild through my body, standing still to face the great unknown, but I think I am closer to the closing where stability and material objects are appealing. However, I can not help having a sad and contrary feeling, thinking to myself “is that all?” And “Do I want to see more?” Along the course of healing from a past love and almost marriage, I find myself in love again with a different man. One that when I think of leaving him my heartbreaks, and tears flow from my eyes. It is unlike any other relationship of my past, this is the most healthy, loving and respectful relationship I have ever known. Does that come often? He ticks many boxes on my long list of strengths and abilities. But is that enough? How do we know when Mr. Right Now becomes Mr. Right? A friend once told me that it is okay to question him and our relationship; it is in my nature to question everything real and intangible. I stand in the supermarket with two loafs of bread because I can not decide on one, which one is right for me this week, which one will last longer, be better for my health,versatility, can I make use of it’s staleness and change it into something new,something better, say, bread crumbs. As I question my whole grain baguette, of course I am going to question my life partner. Is he my whole grain or just another run of the mill wonder bread? How do we know what is right for us? I do think that he is right, in many ways; I know that I would be fully happy with him, for years and years to come but is that enough? Does happiness overcome other battles, such as a career. I would have to give up living near my family, and having a career because in the South of Italy while economy is crying out is not the best plan, can I leave my country forever? I would have to work, we would have to work, to fight to share a common land. Is love worth the battle?

 

Unknown

23.05.2012

Your head rest on my pillow as you dream the unknown, in colors in red. I am just grateful that you are near. You sleep while I write; my mind fills with questions for you. I have a million things to tell you, secrets to share. But I can only give you what I am right now. Who is to say what this will become, let’s not think of the future but dream now. No need for language, no need for a voice or a script. Just let me be who I am. Loving you is simple and predictable; it is everything that my life is not. I am nothing of simplicity; nothing about my being is simple. But you give it to me, you breathe in my chaos as you exhale a simple tune. I know what each day holds, and each day is more beautiful than the last, but there are times you surprise me with your passion and love. It makes me want to know you more, tell me your tale. You dream, I write. I only have words to offer you, I can give you every word I know. I can not promise you a future with me, nor can I offer stability, that would be a lie. You and I both know that one day I will go, and you will stay. We will go our separate ways and hope one day, another life they will cross again. I offer you philosophy and you lend me your ear. You feed me incite to your life, you give me pieces of you. We lead lives, but we come together to offer a fresh idea. We are unique, oceans and seas separate our mentalities, I offer you mine and I will take yours. Your distinctive, you stand out in my mind in a sea full of identical rivers that run in the south. One flow of thinking in the depths of the country you offer me a little more. You are the cool lake that I want to swim in on a hot day, merging our ideas uniting our souls. Differences pull us closer together now, linking the differences in our worlds. What happens next?

Don't look at the poo

Sometimes, in life you must know when to look up and see life for the best. Here in Bari the sun is shining the birds are singing and for the first time in what seemed to have been a long cold rainy winter the air is warm, you can taste the sea and the salt on your lips, some would even say that is hot. I am sitting on my terrace with light sunscreen covering my overly pale skin, the smell of Waterbabies sun cream reminds me of my childhood, I am smiling to myself.  Life is just beautiful; these are the reasons that I am here, simple and easy.

Today is Nico’s birthday and St. Patrick’s Day, my grandfather’s favorite holiday, he would have liked Nico and wish they could have met. I spent all morning running around to different shops and markets to pick up his gifts, get food for Sunday breakfast and lunch and order a cake that cost an arm and a leg. I think I have gotten scammed, or in other words ripped off, not just for a cake that cost 40 Euros but also the ring I had engraved for him. It is one of the difficulties of being a foreigner in the South of Italy. At first I was like “What? “You are totally robbing my wallet”, I mean what else can I say? Hey, lady I know that you are taking the piss and I know you think I am a tourist on holiday but usually tourist don’t speak in your language, no? What can I say? When I picked up the Calvin Klein ring this morning I looked at the engraving and the “e” on “te” is slightly faulty and it looks like it has been doubled or the engraver hiccupped. I know that if I were Italian it would have been perfect or they would have offered me a discount, instead the girl just looked at me and shrugged “like what do you want me to do?” you American. Sometimes it is not worth a fight and you must accept what is. At first I was considerably disappointed and thinking I just spent all this money when things are not perfect and they are pulling me around asking for double the price. But, hey the sun is shining, I am a short walk from the sea and things aren’t that bad. When is life perfect? It is one of the natural challenges of living in a different county, if it were easy possibly I would never have wanted to have lived in so many places. In the South there are no rules, people play the way they want to play. When I left the jewelry shop the man told me to but the bag in my purse because I didn’t have a receipt, I left it in another purse and forgot I may have needed it in trying to run out the door at lightening speed. No rules just stuff it in your bag and look innocent. Well, that I can do, sir. So, I left the shop with no evidence of a perchance and my crocked “e” ring out of sight, in reality it is not that crooked and  the shop keepers are only taking a bit of my money.

So, I decided that life is exactly what it is; you must accept the things you have no power to change. Instead of thinking “ohh shoot I just spent a wad of cash”, I choose to think, won’t Nico be really happy.  Instead of thinking the people that work in the shop are thieves I am going to think they are just people trying to make ends meet. Everyone has the choice to interpret life as they choose, I choose simply to look at the brilliant sun, the accent buildings, the old ladies with huge shopping bags and gelato shops that have every pastel color known to nature, instead of looking down and noticing the large quantities of dog presents left behind from an owner that didn’t want to pick it up. It is best to look at the right instead of the wrong, the beautiful instead of the ugly, the easiness instead of the difficulties, the start of summer instead of cold winters end, a new beginning instead of an end and the people that I love instead of those that we have disagreed.

Does this mean I am fluent?

 Good relationships can be defined how many marks you have on your tongue from biting it at the right times. They are similar to finger prints no two are ever the same and can be delicate even at the best of times. When the “honeymoon” period fades and real life starts to peak through all of the sunsets you two have been blinding watching for the last six months, there comes a point where you may look at your partner and think “he may not be as perfect as I though”. And that is okay, who wants a perfect someone when you can have a perfect beautiful mess? Those are the words that I like to use when speaking about my own newish relationship, a pinch of misunderstanding a dash of miscommunication and a smidgen of patients, but which recipe is right for a lasting dish?

The thing with first fights is never expected, you are just relaxing in your honeymoon phase, listening to romantic music, sipping a drink with a little plastic umbrella and only seeing your new “love” until the handsome man that looks as if he has spent all of the 2000’s in the gym, you look up and see other options. Everything comes crashing back down to earth and you both wake up from a six month dream. I woke up thinking “what the hell was that?” you either solve problems well together or you don’t, listening and understanding and comprises are key ingredients. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, that we would have our first squabble but I wasn’t sure how it was going to go down…

It went a little something like this, him running late and me being annoyed. To his defense he is not usually late, but going from single and free to spending every night with my new boyfriend and practically living together many small things where adding up like that of a Wal-Mart recipe. Again asking yourself what the hell happened? He uses his key to open the door, smiles and says “Krys, what’s up love, where are you?” “Here” I shout from the kitchen, immediately he sees my expression and says “what is the matter?” I just let him have it, I reamed him out in his language, foreign to my ears and using some naughty words my high school students taught me, it flowed out of mouth at the speed of lighting and just about as much electricity for about five minutes. He looked at me with a confused expression and then burst out laughing, “Where on earth did you learn those words?”

I shrug with a sly grin and ask “does this mean I am fluent?”

Missione Regalo Accomplished

The morning sun paints colors on the pavement, the tune of “It’s a beautiful morning” runs in my mind. Today was just what I needed. It started off with a trip to my favorite outdoor market, only a few streets from my house. It is filled with locals and older people bargaining and screaming at one another in dialect, once I asked a sweet little old lady how to cook the pasta she was selling which was hand made and portioned in small bags, she responded and I think I stared back at her cross eyed, frazzled and confused only to thank her and literally run away, until I realized she was speaking in dialect. I understand nothing; I can not help but smile every time I walk through. It is hustling and bustling with the famers screaming prices and funny phrases to get people to buy fruit, the stalls are full or fresh vegetables and fruit, only the seasons finest. Fish and meat are being cut and strung up from string, the eggs still have feathers from the morning and if you ask they are still warm. There is your foreigner selling earrings and jewelry, and a man with flowers always attempting a sale. I walk through and everyone from the homeless gypsy lady to the potato man says “good morning”, some of the locals look at me curiously perhaps wondering how I know everyone including the bright green eyed gypsy.

I stop and talk to my favorite fruit man, famous for his crazy hats and funny demeanor; one day he was wearing a straw hat with a huge brim like an American on vacation in Mexico, but he glued bananas, kiwis, apples and grapes to the top, he put Mrs. Chiquita banana to shame, or my all time favorite is the American flag beanie, when he saw me he pointed to his head “look it’s for you, Ammeerriccaaaa, number one.” Today he had a traditional round black fur cap from Russia without the ear flaps called a ushanka, how he got a ushanka in Bari is beyond me but it suits him. He screams “hello professor” and we have a little chat about the weather and I buy some apples, like promised always fresh and organic.  He tells me that the pears are not as good as the oranges, so I take his advice and get a kilo. He tells me two euro and 50 cents, I still have trouble with numbers and give him 5 cents instead, and he looks at me and says “okay it is the same, for my favorite client.”  When I leave to go to the next stand I hear “Hello professor” from hat man. I can’t help but laugh at the common mistake between hello and goodbye. If I get this point through to my young students it has been a good day, I love when they leave and say “goodbye teacher” instead of the common mistake such as hat man made, “hello teacher”.  

I had fresh eggs for my boyfriend’s cookies, bananas, oranges, apples and tomatoes for less than five euro, what beautiful morning and I wave to my favorite grandpa walking on the other side of the street. “Good morning beautiful” he shouts. I ask him if he needs any help with the heavy bag of fruit, stubbornly he says “no no I am strong, look at my muscles.” “Have you been going to the gym?” I asked and laugh. At least today he is not asking me “How old are you?” as he asks me this almost everyday. Each morning he has me guess his age, and day after day I say “You look 21” and he kisses me on the forehead in delight at my answer.  We have the same conversation; it is like a record is on repeat that I welcome. And my favorite thing is that on a daily basis he tells me he is a different age, last month 80, three days ago it was 77 and yesterday it was 76. Is he getting younger by the day or is it just me?

I go up to my apartment and put down my bags only to leave again for my latest mission for “bella figura”. As I walk down the street I get a feeling and turn the opposite direction from the center, I remember the beautiful shop near my home. I hope there is something in there, it is less crowded, I can speak to the woman and it is discrete compared to the commercial street with every person living in a 50 mile radius of Bari is trying to shop or park.

I walk into the shop near my home, it is gorgeous. The walls are made of stone and there are three large rooms with different types of candles and hundreds of displays. Candles with glass, candles that look like you can eat them, cake candles, cupcake candles, candles with glitter ,oh my, candles in animal shapes, candles arrangements for your table and candles fit for a king. “Okay”, I think to myself, “where to start, where to start?” I start browsing the tables and different Christmas tree decorations, the glass displays and porcelain figures that you, of course, can put a candle in. Yankee Candle Company you have nothing on this store, I would name it “Candle Castle” the inside is similar to a castle, the large stone walls and dome shaped high ceilings.  Candles hold a special place in my heart, as my mom and I spend hours decorating wine bottles with various colored candles and now a wine bottle used as a candle holder sits on my nightstand. As suspected not many people were in the store, leaving me a lot of time to speak to the hopefully patient shop owner. As I walk around a shop assistant came and asked me if I needed help, I declined politely telling her I may need help in a few minutes. I contained looking at the countless displays and wonder to myself about what is right.

Feeling slightly lost and the overwhelming feeling of yesterday came flooding back most likely filling my face with a look of confusion. As in that second another woman with a soft warm face and petite figure came over to me and asked me if I needed anything. I explained my story  of desperation for about the six time to a shop assistant, as she nodded and agreed that it was difficult but she was going to help me. “Do not worry, dear” she says. All of a sudden she starts speaking English to me, it was like she forgot that she could speak it and then a light bulb of an idea came over her, “you speak English, yes?”  She asked me “Where I was from”; as I replied that her English was very good I answered I was American, from around the Washington D.C area. I found that it is easier to say Washington D.C instead of Baltimore or Maryland because most people have no idea where that is. One time I said Baltimore and the man replied “Oh Boston, I just loovve Boston.” Umm okay, I don’t know what Boston has to do with me but I will take it. At least it is the same country. Instead, everyone knows “Obamaaa.” Stick with what is easy.

She starts crying, tears fill her eyes and she pulls up the sleeve to her black blazer to reveal goose bumps. I wasn’t sure what was happening, perhaps I offended this kind woman, and there goes my “bella figura” once again, wouldn’t be the first time this week. But, no. She takes me by the hands and we start dancing in the middle of the store, like a circle of joy, and candles. I was perplexed but when every the mood strikes to dance I am not going to be the one to stop her; I am going to join in on the fun. Wiping her tears and slowing down, in a dizzy spell she explains that she lived in a city near Washington D.C for three years, with her children and her husband. She tells me it was the best three years of her life, and she was sad to leave. I ask her a million questions at once, “Why did you leave?”, “Where in D.C?”, Why were you there?” She explained everything, her husband was working and the contract was for three years, they lived in Maryland, about 30 minutes from the house I grew up in. We started laughing as she called the others over to continue in the fun. Since she was opening up to me, it was only fair that I tell her everything about me, I told her that it was my first Christmas away from home, and that I am spending it with my boyfriends family which I have never met. She asked me about him, and asked if he was a nice man, because apparently this woman thought that I deserved a wonderful man in my life. Secrets from both of our past poured out as smooth as wax, easy and freely we stood in the middle of the store sharing stories, we told each other personal details and became fast friends.

She took me by the hand and led me to a table, luckily this table had no cigars, shot glasses or spinning wine glass but, a beautiful house that you put a candle in and it glows magnificently spilling golden light out of the windows and doors. It was off white and made of tin, and the typical American house she adds. “I have two in my house, I use them for Christmas and then in summer on the balcony” she says. Well that settles that, I am not sure why, but I trusted this petite woman that has the sweet face of a good mom, I will take it, I exclaim.

She takes me into a back room as she puts white stones on the floor of the house as well as a few tea lights. We chat effortlessly as she wraps clear paper around the house and then ties it with many bows. The entire staff is in the room with us as we chat and they ask me questions about my life and “this boy” I am spending Christmas with. I assure them that he is a very good man, and not to worry. “How could they not love you, she sang, you are beautiful and blonde, look at that hair, and American, just smile dear” says one of the ladies.  "Well", says Roberta which is the woman’s name “I want you to come to my house for Christmas, yes you and your boyfriend must come”. "And guess what, she says excitedly as her eyes light up, my family from Texas are coming tomorrow, oh please do come, I would love nothing more than for you to spend the holiday with us.” Flattered and honored that a stranger would open their home to me, I told her maybe we would come later but we already had plans, I can’t burn the candle at both ends, I think. “Well come for dinner some time then, New Years?” "Okay", I said laughing. We live right here, she points up and then at stone stairs that lead upstairs. “Come any time, it would be a pleasure for me” We talked for about two hours and exchanged numbers when I finally left the entire staff lined up at the door and hugged me, telling me good luck and wishing me a happy holiday. Filled with joy and happiness at the love and compassion from strangers that became friends, and how two hours can change your life forever. Life is good I think, it is sweet and full of surprises if you open your heart. A few hours later I had a text message from my new friend “I am so happy that I met you, and you made my day good”, I look at the bagage she wrapped for me, and was just thinking the same exact thing.