Category Archives: Essays

The Book Club That Almost Buried My First Book

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I always loved reading and had a great natural aptitude for creating fascinating stories. I finished my book and its manuscript burned my fingers.

I became a member of the ‘Pen-Friends’ club, aspiring authors of my little countrified and old-fashioned town, in the spring of 2011.

When a friend of mine offered to spend a long winter night reading and discussing my manuscript in a company of like-minded people, I rejoiced and agreed with delight. Little did I know what it would make me fear for the sanity of my mind and the soundness of my body.

There wasn’t a nerve in me this experience hadn’t twisted. It wrongs my heart to think that one of my books was so close to being buried in the coffin of a negatively false critic. The true nature of this club made me shiver with repulsion, sell my house, and change my address.

We always met on the dark side of twilight. The owner of the house welcomed everyone with an uncompromising face, hard diction, and vibrating consonants. When I looked thoughtfully enough, I saw a person who admitted nothing and looked down on everybody but himself.

If he could not out-argue me on the point of the value of my book, he bullied me and took my silence for agreement with his views.

Dracula #5 had her hour of victory when with malicious intention she made me believe she was a trustworthy friend. And when my heart was open, she triumphantly ended any amicable intercourse, exchanging it to a pretentious smile. She invented various scenarios to make me feel sorry for the things I’d done and confided to her. Her sudden transformation was the major reason that raced my shadow away from my hometown.

Dracula #7 was not tall, but he carried his head so haughtily that he looked a commanding figure, and there was something cunning and sharp in the look of his closely set little grey eyes. He disapproved of every attempt of my authorship experimentations in his engaging, deep, and a little husky voice.

I almost lost an ability to think under a tyranny of his pressing personality. He reasoned well and was driving at making me doubt my book and forsake an idea to publish it.

In the company of these people, I became almost not real anymore. This wretched book club made me forget all my responsibilities toward my family and friends. They had been quite ‘blowing my trumpet’ to win my confidence at the beginning. And at the end, I became a person on whom they exercised their revolting abilities to drain and drench.

That was a lesson to learn and never to be forgotten. I learned to stay positive no matter what happened and what others thought about me. Now nothing can shake the step of my intellectual pace. I believe in myself and in people I love and care about.

The Bench Among the Sunflowers

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Know the difference between distractive loneliness and desired solitude

My kind of loneliness rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of my life. – Olya Aman

I stole cautiously towards my secluded bench in the middle of a little island of sunflowers in their utmost bloom and richness of color. One would be almost invisible amongst those kingly looking plants with their golden crowns and massive leaves.

My face during that tough, lonely period of my life was a good deal over-serious for my two and twenty. I was well-nigh alien to this stunning and bewildering scene. My gloominess quite confounded the senses.

I looked at the boy on my bench, my neighbor, in mute and timid wonder. How did he end up on my patch? The intelligence that shone in the deep green eyes of this autistic boy, when I finally had a chance to look into them, seemed scarcely of his age, or of the world. The changing expression of good humor and seriousness, his ability to blush very red to the ears, made me admire a thousand lights that played about his face.

When I rented a small cottage in this remote village, I took no notice of other people and very little of this boy, although we were house to house neighbors and met often coming out and getting in our homely places, both thresholds facing each other. I seemed hard upon my thoughts, constantly looking down as if examining my boots and the ground right under my feet.

That day I smiled at this boy and said a word of polite greeting, but he, dedicated to his thoughts, didn’t respond. I discovered that this ability to concentrate made him a fantastic listener. At that moment in my life, he became my salvation. I was pouring on him a torrent of personal sentiments.

Not looking at me, he said, “L.. l.. l..”, then a long pause. The boy had a severe stammer. Finally, he produced his name in an unusually deep baritone, “Liam”. We communicated in notes from his side and words from mine. The first thing he wrote was, “You are lonely.” And he was right.

I told him my love story and although he avoided any eye contact and scribbled something in his little journal all the way; I knew he was all ears.

“I am in love with a dead person. If I knew him longer, I could have loved him longer. I miss his clear and pure miniature skies under the arch of his eyebrows. Only in his company I felt no need to think of what to say. Every moment of silence was a blessing, every word uttered was a revelation. He poured out more treasures of his luxurious inner nature in one minute than anyone else could’ve done in his entire life.” Liam brushed tears from my cheeks with his checked handkerchief. It was so old and soft, as if a tender touch of a mother.

“Only two years I spent in this blissful state. He missed our second anniversary. He‘d been run over by a car.”

Liam handed me a note with the following question, “Do you feel that your happiness is owing to him, and without his presence, your existence lacks purpose?” This boy could read my heart.

We met every day on that same bench. I was talking; he was scribbling. I said to Liam that I voluntarily chose isolation. I nurtured the notion I differed from all other people that surrounded me. I saw the world in clouds and fogs rather than in colors and vibes. I perceived people as rough creatures, not fit to understand my pain and be my companions.

I busied myself diving in my newly formed plan of moving to the village and burring my over-drained mind in simple farm occupations that required no thinking but just hard physical work. I used to have the vastness of feelings to lose myself in. Now I tried to be forgotten and forget.

When at home I felt my words thrown out, conversations started and no one to address them to. I used to defend myself tragically in an empty room in front of an imaginary lover. My bitter remarks dashed in vain against empty walls. I ate and drank, but it didn’t put any heart in me.

I couldn’t sleep, the night was fast closing, not gifting me with rejuvenating rest. I carried myself with the air of a weary person, feeling the claws of depression pressing harder on my chest. I had no tools to cope with stress, life attractions seemed to be hidden from my eyes. I found it harder with each day to approach people.

Liam listened. When I was done, he handed me his journal and smiled.

Liam handed me his journal. He had written only a few lines.

“There is a difference between loneliness that drains your spirit and solitude that restores it. You are not seeking peaceful solitude. You are hiding inside painful loneliness.”

He paused before writing again.

“Open the door to people, even if only a little at a time. Let someone sit beside your silence. Speak when you are ready. Listen when others speak. We belong to one another more than we think.”

He looked at me for a long moment, then added one final sentence.

“Give love without measuring it. It almost always finds its way back.”

Friendship, which before these days seemed impossible, crept in my life accompanied by blithesome music of this boy’s kind heart. That music taught me to value the treasures of the heart over any material possessions. I stopped feeling superior over others, admitting that I had tons to learn from simple people with little to boast of in terms of monetary luxuries, and so much in terms of values of the heart.

When I let myself be open to the truest, warmest, soul-felt gratitude — I saw more smiling faces around. The reason was simple — the charming smile found its way to my face, and even though I had forgotten how to wear it, my gentle nature was always ready to master every positive skill all over again. I learned to share the devotion and affection of my nature so long locked and sealed inside my soul. This transformation brought deep and lasting relationships with other people.

My mind was firmly set on never to return to the sorrow and calamity of my past distractive life apprehensions. I intended to not let my positive spirit tarnish. My long suffered heart found the perfect formula for happiness, and the key element in it was a strong connection to other people.

How Backbiting and Gossiping Ruined My Happiness

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Why, or rather when the opinion of others matters

Spend precious moments stubbornly biting your lips, speaking sternly, and acting openly… – Olya Aman

Dima was my first boyfriend. A terrible bore as he was, I loved him dearly. I always thought him to be above the average in the firmness of his mind. He read classic literature and spoke the language of 19th century romance. We were young and very much in love.

Dima was a sensible and handsome young boy of twenty at the time. I was a smart, pretty girl of eighteen with merry grey eyes and lofty, intelligent forehead. Today when I see a photo of us together, I remember how contagiously happy we were.

One incident ruined our happiness. Dima thought himself deceived, duped, and hopeless. A slough scandal was spread through the entire village and finally found its way to Dima’s ears. The tempest of doubt and dread, of jealousy and rage, almost blinded him. Some shallow minds believed it right away. People that wished us bad luck were rejoicing.

I got to the root of it only by hints and innuendos, as no one dared to speak openly with me about it. I stopped any intercourse with the poisoned humanity, the ones that readily accepted the circulating vile slander.

Dima’s spirits rose almost to madness when he heard the dreadful story of me being unfaithful to our love. I thought nothing could crush his faith in our shared future. The story was a lame one. Unfortunately, he believed that I could swear love to someone else.

The first night after discovering that his best friend was an instigator of the slander, a paroxysm of anger disquieted Dima’s breathing, and he bitterly reproached himself for the moment of weakness. His friend, a worthless reprobate, an impracticable fool, gave food to envenomed tongues, and they started to talk about me as if I was a little frivolous kitten going around and gifting my love to insipid individuals.

Eventually, Dima cut all ties with that false friendship. Forgot the way to his friend’s house. Wiped him off his phone contacts and social media accounts. He brushed the dirt of this acquaintance from his life. After what happened, Dima knew too well to keep such people at a great distance from his life.

My heart rejoiced when my parents and my elder sister took my side in this insinuated story. I felt strong support and stoic faith from them. My close friends showed me the true value of their relationship. People that sincerely wished me to be happy took pains to consider everything thoroughly. They recollected what they knew about me and found not even one reason to surrender to the falsehood circulating in the village.

This occurrence served as a great lesson for both of us. Dima’s so-called friend, being a jealous and wicked person, ruined our happiness. He did his utmost to bring about a fatal collapse to the true love between two faithful hearts. That unfortunate affair taught me to avoid provokingly jealous, heartless, and artificial people. I clean my life from any false attachment.

Today I make my life a pleasant experience, awakened by grand people. The mention of any piece of news that concerns me is heart-felt when coming from a loving soul and easily forgotten when coming from a distant and unimportant acquaintance.

My Father Died From Cancer, and It Taught My Mother to Write

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I painstakingly pieced this story from the several treasured excerpts of her diary

You must have a divine heart to be so full of vigor when life is a misery, filled with it like a precious vase… – Olya Aman

My mother makes beauty beautiful.

She dreams in words of love and hope when her life is tragic enough to make my face distort with darkness.

Her life is a sad song for an outsider and a bright red fire for those who have the privilege to know the divine rebellion of her smile, the cheering appreciativeness of her spirit, and the great resoluteness of her mind.

My mother gifted me with her beautiful diary on my 30th birthday. I painstakingly pieced this story from the several treasured excerpts from it.

Grace Your Life with the Presence of a Diary

Life may seem vengeful. When a beloved person is forever lost the existence appears empty. A painful loss sternly represses breathing although the chest is heaving with passionate feeling. Eyes become blind to all life attractions, ears deaf to all the words of love and affection. Every living being that still keeps smiling looks so provokingly heartless and mindless.

May 1988: “I buried myself in the full of soul eyes of my dying husband. I know I need to think of my dear child and myself for her sake, but it is so hard to tear myself from his bedside. His sufferings make my heart weep. I wish I could sacrifice myself and save him. His voice rising painfully when he holds my hand and pronounces my name. I quiver with restrained grief and smile to cheer him up.”

My father was going through tormenting sufferings on his way to the end of life. His pain, the result of advanced incurable cancer, was inadequately relieved. The question of surgery was not even possible to discuss. It was too late.

May 1988: “My diary is my salvation. I often write and hold his hand in mine. I put on paper what I feel and fold it in two. I plead and pray to God and hide it in my soul.”

July 1988: “He is in constant pain but looks the very incarnation of quiet bravery and love. Even in his intolerable condition, he strives to carry away my disquietude by talking about the beauty of life after death and the pleasure I should feel on this earth even when he will leave me.”

August 1988: “Whenever he is awake from his tired slumber he asks me to write the messages to daughter so I can deliver it to her when she will grow up to understand the preciousness of every word that was voiced through pain and suffering. I like to listen to his sentiments. I love his extreme good sense, his exquisite taste, and the feeling of life. He urges our girl to be uncompromisingly bold in the defense of her opinion and life principals, to be earnest and keen in pursuing her dreams, and to win the esteem of her mother and father by vindicating her character from any unkind inclination.”

Let Place, People, and Obligations Comfort Your Spirit

The freedom of nature and tranquility of some quiet shelter gives a sense of repose and expansion to the mind. When you take your place on a bench under your favorite tree it opens the floodgates of your soul. Here in loneliness, you can pour away the tears of grief. Being with beautiful life one on one you can learn all over again to feel the rays of sunshine with your soul and to experience the freshness of breeze with your heart.

October 1988: “With an agitated, burning heart and brain, I live through every minute of my life without him. How do I dare to live when he is not among the living? The one who in intellect, in purity and elevation of soul, was immeasurably superior to anyone I know. I rush outside to cool my feelings in the balmy winter air, and to compose myself each time I feel the hot tears coming to my throat. The solitude of my garden helps me to put on a gleeful smile to cheer my child.”

December 1988: “The poison of this loss spreads through all my essence. I now recognize its harmful intentions. The serious depth of it may kill life within me. I fight it, turn my back upon it. I seek retirement for my pain in taking care of my girl. She is my salvation. I let my head to be carried away by her childish ideas. There is no better cure like a merry, simple-hearted child — ever ready to cement broken heart, to melt the ice of freezing soul, and overthrow the walls of sorrowful isolation.”

Open up Your Heart to a Friend

It is an overwhelming toil to be in constant grief. Everyone needs to recover from the effects of it and a close attachment to the living dear people is the best cure in this case. A heartfelt conversation with a friend can fill you with faith, hope, and joy. It will drive away the keen regrets and bitter dregs of lingering sorrow that still oppresses your heart.

March 1989: “My mother is my faithful friend. When I see a flash of love in her eyes, a glow of sincere care on her face — I think that one day I will cease to feel this pain. When throbbing recollection flashes upon me, and a cloud of sorrow darkens my eyes, I talk to her: in person, on the phone, or in my mind, and a moment of inward conflict gives place to quiet conduct. I start to behave with exceeding calmness so that she never had to reprove me once.”

Delightful and Fruitful Activity

Perhaps another great healing technique would be an activity, business, hobby — the mode of actions that is enjoyable to the utmost degree for you. Keeping yourself busy and enjoying every moment of it is not a job, it is a recovery process that cures your heart and heals your soul. Leading an active life prevents you from disturbing your own heart by touching upon the infectious thoughts of loss and grief too often.

November 1989: “I started my diary with more truth than wisdom. In the beginning, I was still fearing to be rooted to my loss. Often the paroxysm of pain and despair was preventing me from saying what I was intended to say. A torrent of tears stained the pages with misery, and I prayed for forgetfulness. But only memory gave life to my words. Never do I endure so long, so blissful nights as when I write. I go through every moment of happiness and pain all over again. My goal is to keep the fire of my foaming and swelling with emotions life engaging and bright, so it warms the heart of my child when I give it to her to read and remember.”

September 1990: “Smiles and tears are so alike with me. I often cry when there is nothing left but to laugh and smile when I am in bitter grief. My diary is my remedy. I feel graceful easiness and freedom about all I do these days. The expansion that this new activity gives to my mind is so refreshing.”

October 1990: “I cannot stop writing. A broad sea is rolling between my past and present. My soul is forever united to the one that is dead in body but always living in my heart. My husband is my everyday companion. I feel his soothing presence. And this feeling of our reunion is not sad anymore, but rejuvenating.”

My mother started a diary and found consolation in putting her feelings on paper. Writing those down by-the-by brought consolation. It brightened the doomed comprehension of life. The melancholy musings and painful lamentations stayed on paper.

The words of sorrow, written in her diary, purchased solace and tranquility.

Conclusion

To find an antidote to painful emotions is essential. Grief, when left alone, may carry you away against any reason and will. It breathes a tired apathy born of long sorrow and hopelessness. You need to fight for your life and happiness every day for the sake of those who are living and for those who are no longer among us.

To be a prey to distressful feelings is a sad destiny. To do our utmost to live life happily is the only installment of our universal debt. There is certain graceful ease about being busy with daily life, household chores, taking care of the kids. These activities distract from painful recollections. When you remind yourself that there are still living people that need your attention, you tend to forget to torment yourself with thoughts about death — life is calling you to be present and active.

Stay tuned…

Get Threatening Charisma on Pain of a Discovering Journey

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Explore the unknown places and learn about yourself

You’ll gaze with awe at me… – Olya Aman

Supreme importance of charisma

Deep blue eyes and a little scar. The natural grace of my person and that deep voice with a slight wheeze, as if it was broken and never fixed properly. I have that nervous organization that makes one think I am constantly struggling with myself. You will be put out by my peculiarities when you first see me.

I receive every person gruffly enough to avert any foolery towards me. But the atmosphere around me is so healthy and benign after just a moment‘s reflection that every fine-bodied specimen of humankind cannot resist my natural magnetism.

My story is fascinating. So Bent your listening ear to the faintest sound of my charismatic voice…

Become your own faithful friend.

When young and inexperienced, we have a very limited view on ourselves. Often lost in self-doubt, we timidly make unpropitious choices. To avert most misfortunes is to never derogate from every opportunity to learn about ourselves. When your perception goes to many countries and discovers many human characters, the despairing voice of private doubtful thoughts becomes less and less audible until it finds no echo in your soul.

I spent all my childhood years in my native little cozy house in rural Germany. My parents as two faithful guardians kept close watch over their only beloved child, not letting me wander too far from their watchful lead.

I dreamt about courageous travel enterprises, and a world map on my bedroom wall was my devoted comforter. No wonder my favorite subject in school was geography. I could not have enough of every bit of information about the places I wanted to visit.

My mom was not indifferent to my lamentations, but my dad was out of all positive spirits when I announced to them that I’d saved enough money from my laboring vacations to go around the world. By-the-by they used to the idea and offered me a deal that was going to save peace between us.

I had one year right after finishing high school to do what I pleased, but when the time was up, I had to submit to their order and enter the university they’d already picked for me.

Get rid of your private misgivings.

Often the lack of first-hand impressions, that only traveling experience can provide, goes hand in hand with the lack of life-defining self-knowledge. People and places, above all things, teach us to rise to our misfortunes and feel genuine pride for what we do and who we are, and without those, life may be doomed to disappointment.

It dumb-founders my mind now to think about all the self-doubts I had. I left my country being scared as a sheep going right to the claws of a wolf. I was exploding with private misgivings.

Well… To tell the truth, there was not much for me to be worried about, my parents being over productive and overthinking every little thing about my bon-voyage. I had a place to stay in each country on my list: close mother’s friend here, old father’s coworker there, a third cousin of my grandma’s younger sister, a respectable host family… and so on and on and on.

In three months and seven countries, I was driven to my wit’s end by hospitality and predictability and went astray with my plan.

And that when the self-discovery journey began.

Discover new places and get into self-digging.

Most people find themselves hindered in believing that the choice made for them by someone they trust and love is the most prudent and favorable. Disquietude becomes a daily companion for these people and they often find themselves sunk in deepest thought about all other scenarios that could have been possible and most likely happy.

India by far was the most interesting place I visited. This country taught me to love my blunders rather than being ashamed of them. At any rate, they suited me admirably. I mixed words and time-zones; I forgot names and numbers; I got lost in wonderings and markets… but I was good-tempered and compassionate — and those were the only valuable things needed in the country where heart treasures reign over any material possessions.

Now I can see clearly that if I hadn’t made mistakes at that time, I would’ve failed in becoming who I am today. I was finally disposed to favor myself to the utmost not ‘despite of’ but ‘even if’ finding myself tripping.

Traverse the countries and occupations.

Traveling helps to obtain a commanding view on all the possible scenarios in life. By trying new things and learning new skills, we get a better picture of how other people make their living. There is no other way to know if you like it unless you do it, even if for a short time.

Halfway to Sydney, Australia, and a half through the predetermined traveling year, I got tired of misnomers. In France I was a writer, a true worshiper of Hemingway; in Spain I dared play Gaudi; in Italy — Michelangelo; a philosopher in Greece, a detective in England, a politician in Ireland…

I gave myself enough concern on the subject and scrupulously went through my abilities and preferences. Outfits and movies were my bug-bear faults. This passion I decided to transform to dexterity in the next six months I still had to myself. I needed to provide valuable and doubtless proof of my talents so that my dear parents could agree that successful leaving was possible in this occupation. And here I am — a film costume designer.

Beguile the time with valuable encounters.

One worthy encounter can open up a prospect of a brilliant future. The material advantages of some fortune cannot compete with a good conversation that makes the burning ambition possess the person and make him conquer the dream of his life. In the nature of things, people are more costly than any soulless things. So let the new encounters be incessantly renewed in your life.

I worked on many film sets. Found great connections, many acquaintances, and a few friends. I longed to tear away this industry and endured many inclemencies along the way. I was kicked out of my first place in Sydney where I traversed with one of the leading actors trying to push through his objections my vision of his character’s look.

I spent two months in Moscow helping to film a comedy series. My life there was full of daring and chivalry when I was in love, and incessant doubt and torturing suspense when the euphoria ended.

Just an outside observer in China, no one willing to take an apprentice with no language skills what so ever. An errand girl in Canada and an assistant to the Costume Director in Hollywood. Many places, many characters, a load of co-existing experience, and quite a bit in the trade itself.

Become a guru in your trade.

The wealth of feeling — love to your chosen career, should be a cult — the accelerator that drives you to improve yourself constantly and elbow your way through any difficulties to the desired height. The cup of that struggle to learn should leave a sweetness of illustrious improvement on your lips.

Often I find myself in a supernatural aberration of mind that induces me to see the characters, especially if it is historical or fantasy movies. Those are my favorite. I enjoy every day of my life and consider myself endowed in an eminent degree.

This is why you should travel

Traveling by far is the best generator of positive developing stresses in life. The scenes our senses go through should be bewildering sometimes, stunning often, and gloomy now and then.

There is no need to run to and fro and burst in and out in life — you will always be the better (as the case might be for a thoughtful voyage) when gratified by new encounters, in a frenzy of love to nature, and seeing the distinct glimmer of your dream coming true. Explore the unknown places and learn about yourself on the way to every destination.

Stay tuned…

In a Field of Battle With Regret, You Must Either Slay or Be Slain

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My boss fell in love with me and laid me off

Regret made me goofy. Sorrow gave me an enigmatic flavor. – Olya Aman

I was out of heart

The existence of conscience makes the claws of regret sharp. And the stronger one, the deeper the other can penetrate a sensitive flesh. The depressing influence of this feeling creates the sensation of a jail in a living body. This emotion casts a grim look on life. The damp atmosphere that regret creates is suffocating. We need to learn how to dispel the smog from the past and at the same time to keep our hearts from being dried-up.

I was out of humor and out of heart. It has been almost two years now, but my grief grew fast and furious with every succeeding year. My best friend, the one I was secretly in love with, died from heart failure. Miraculously, we were at the stop sign when it happened, the horn of a car announced the death. His innocent and pathetic face was radiant with new happiness. I couldn’t help wondering how he could be so glad to leave me alone. Sitting on a front passenger seat, I unconsciously called to mind a portrait I saw in a gallery some years ago. The painter neglected the background, reserving all the magic of his brush for the quiet, happy face of a man. My friend at that moment looked just like him, as if he had caught the golden glory of heaven on his countenance.

Arm-wrestling with the past

The catastrophes of previous days can darken with a shade of remorse the future ones. Some deeds are done impetuously, others are out of our control. To weather those storms of life and not to be worn out is the actual purpose of their existence. There is no way to change what’s done, so no need to stamp life with the print of past adversities.

He felt discomfort in his chest for a few weeks before the terrible culmination on that day. I mentioned to him several times that he needed to see a doctor. I blamed myself for lack of persistence. And the regret I felt had a sensation of almost maternal protection. Its watchful eye never left my side. It didn’t let my mind wander elsewhere. Some days I could feel the throbbing of his heart as if he was pressed in an affectionate embrace close to my chest. Those days were worse than others.

I would do impossibilities to bring him back. I owed my happiness to him. It felt like an explosion now when he was gone. And I could not pick up the fragments with all the care of an antiquary I applied. I became stifle. My mind and soul were on fire, and that blaze seemed to gleam from hell. There was no space left for new emotions.

That dark, evening power that dominated in my life had some magnetic energy that attracted empathetic people. There are some ways of looking at you that seem to penetrate your soul. I looked at people and made them feel as though they had nothing on. That irritated a lot and captivated many. After all, that sorrow I endured gave me that Renaissance’s ‘Juliet’ flavor. And my gloomy voice could talk the language of enigmatic gallantry of that time.

I often was behind handed with my work, but my senior manager closed his eyes on every mismatch in my schedule. The tension was growing. I could not see the outpouring lava of affection that I excited. My handsome boss was on fire, like a human volcano he loved me with the fierce of unchained nature.

But I was a different person after 2 years of mourning. I gazed about me with a saddened eye, paying attention to the dim side of life. That desire to expand every misfortune in daily life and minimize the impact of many little jolly things was roasting me alive. I needed thunder and lightning to wake me up and transform that death-like, sepulchral look into my regular prior-to-the-fatal-day features.

My heart finally spoke to me, and I happened to take to it. The blow of losing a job served as a curing disaster that shook my essence. When enough time was given to self-wandering, I realized that there were still pages in my life book that I had not read.

Let me tell you what I’ve found on those pages

Arm-wrestling with the past is an exhausting and worthless process. A positive view on days-by-gone creates a profusion of loving energy that motivates a person in his life. Occurrence in the past, bad or good, is a wonderful lesson that builds personality. Everyone is unique because every experience is individual. The way one interprets it determines his success or failure in life. There is no way to change the past, but altering your attitude towards it is magical.

Give a new turn to your thoughts

To be more ardent, more eloquent, more entrancing is a process of growth that often goes hand in hand with ill luck and pain. For the sake of my future happy life, I’ve decided to respect my past. That experience was a tombstone that kept the castle of my unique personality firm and steady. In the enormous mileage of the past, everything is a blessing. Tears poured over some broken expectations should teach a lesson of breathing through the pain and moving with a renewed and re-skilled hope.

Revert the importance

Life is cooler when sometimes less weight is given to the important and more value devoted to the trifling little jolly things. So, in other words, performing a blah with sarcastic importance and taking important for a mumbo-jumbo is quite a good key to a lighter step in life. Various pieces of information assemble the personality and it just happens so that misfortunes give a more positive outcome in terms of helpful life tools than merry experiences could have done.

Let the past be your capital

Trudging timidly through life was a punishment that I inflicted on myself when consciously dwelled on the past with disappointment in my mind. I decided to consider my past experience as a capital that can help me to take the right turn in the right moment in the future.

The result proved to be magnificent

I do not have greedy teeth for blessings, but always remember to be grateful for every little merry moment. That is why life is good-natured to me now. Happiness is the poetry spoken in a woman’s voice. I had my second chance to hear the poem of my life.

Now I and my ex-boss listen to those delicious sounds together.

Stay tuned…

 

Kyrgyzstan — Where Reigns a Policy of Intoxicating Delight

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No worries destination

Photo from the author

Conquest of the country

I credit myself with the conquest of this land. It is almost impossible to bring me to forsake this welcoming place for any other destination. Kyrgyzstan greeted me warmly and secured my affectionate love forever. And when you devote your heart to some place, you obtain a fortune of a vast land because now that place belongs to you.

The most fastidious and picky of our tribe will get their satisfaction here. Kyrgyzstan knows how to grasp your imagination with a pleasurable tight grip. Dwell with me for a little sweet moment and I will tell you the story of my victory.

Secured love

When you take a course of a sincere interest in people, you bring their affection to yourself. Kyrgyz heart is capacious, it holds an abundance of generosity and love. Coming here with a free mind and an open heart, you become a recipient of those grand feelings.

Unblinded eyes will see the beauty of simple life. Rural areas of Kyrgyzstan are charming, full of daring and chivalrous people, who have much to say and plenty to give.

Photo from the author

Golden chains of hospitality

The most modest household will take every pain to make you feel like a monarch of a friendly nation. They may run into debt but will throw a feast in your honor. You will never have even a slight hunch about those troubles because these people take it as their high privilege to serve you and make you as contented as possible.

Kyrgyz people are known to be kind and honest. You will feel genuine care and friendliness that no money can buy. They will gift you to the ears and won’t take a refusal for an answer. You will go when you please (even if you came for an hour, agreed to stay for a day, and left in a week) with your hands full and your heart happy.

Gastronomic luxury

A sense of culinary exhilaration will be your daily companion. Any place you visit in Kyrgyzstan, be it a café, a restaurant, or a friend’s dining room, it will enchant you with its delicious food. Every meal here is a trip to a loving home: you sense the flavor of thoughtful attention in every dish.

Manty and oromo, plov and dymdama, samsy and lagman, shashlyk and beshbarmak; kumis, kompot, black tea with milk and honey, etc. — the list is long and will take a book to cover — but the essence is simple: they are all cooked with love as the key ingredient.

Photo from the author

Thrilling glance at the past

The history of this land is fascinating. It can be traced back to the ancient times (1st century BCE) and relates about rather proud but good-natured and just people. The wisdom of the past experiences is impossible to ignore. All sorts of information can be found but do not be lost in a multitude of old manuscripts. There is a solution in verse.

When you read Kyrgyz’s traditional epic poem Manas a strange spell as if exerted over you. What a magical and often sad work it is the reading about old times… The feelings seem so strong as if people who expressed themselves so could never pass away. You feel a vivid and intense sense of present time in every person depicted and every event described. And you wish those warm and loving hearts could never die.

The empire of symbolic and significant

I was in a fit of passion when I saw the ornamented jewelry, rugs (or shyrdaks), embroidered handmade clothes, and all kinds of felt little articles to beautify your home. You will come to my way of thinking after seeing my purchases. There was no way to not yield to the cunning temptation.

Kyrgyz art is irresistible. Every symbol is culturally important. You can tell stories from the history of this wonderful place by simply looking at a little imitation of a boz-ui or a drawing of a Kyrgyz brave man on a horse with a sword in his hand. Kyrgyz patterns remind me of beautiful music, a succession of shapes creates a magic rhythm on every item. The motif is soothing and melodious.

Photo from the author

The glimmer of the language

I take it as a habit to learn basic language expressions whenever I travel to a faraway foreign destination. Believe me, neither mountains no rivers would be able to resist your allure. It is so sweet to see the faces with their smiles stretched from ear to ear at a simple earshot of a greeting on their beloved language.

I could go on and on with those few words I knew, gesticulating furiously and creating an unforgettable first impression. Love was secured, they adored me because I tasted every word with the true eagerness of a gourmand. The Kyrgyz language is the one you cannot have enough of and want to take it ‘to go’.

Splendor of nature

The whole mystery of this place is rushing through my mind when I recollect the splendor of its landscapes. I know the reason why the blood is tingling through my veins from adoration. These mountains now have my heart in their sole possession and the sound of rushing river re-echoes in my soul.

The nature of this country serves as a passport, introduction to a newcomer. It is the main reason foreigners want to visit this place and enjoy its breathtaking gorgeousness.

Photo from the author

Driven to come back

I often find myself with a bunch of pictures in my hand, and a bunch of happy memories in my head. The freedom you feel in this country, the love you give, and receive leave an unforgettable impression and your whole essence strives to come back and see beautiful Kyrgyzstan again. True friendship excels in its meaning when you recollect hospitality of Kyrgyz people. Your friends will wait for you whenever you decide to come back.

Stay tuned…

Enrich Your Sense of Beauty. Triumph Over Any Fashion

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How to be a WOMAN in the most beautiful sense of this word

Olya Aman
A woman dressed in confidence and love is always elegant. – Olya Aman

I was in my fifth edition, and that outfit looked just as good as four others I’d tried. I and my girlfriend have been going through my wardrobe for a good half hour now, and each succeeding combination was even braver than the previous one.

“It will be rather a lark if you wear this one to work,” she said succinctly. “I’m just in my yarn when I put things like that on,” said I, covering my bare shoulders with a gorgeous handmade shawl in pastel purple, beige, and blue flowers.

Natasha is my closest friend. The one I see only once in a few years, do not talk for months, and always feel closely attached to. She knows I follow no trends in style and look stunning in my very few outfits, bought years ago or presented by dear people. I am a minimalist when it comes to wardrobe computation. But each article of clothing is most adored and cherished by me.

I’m not beautiful in a way people used to consider facial attractiveness. Just a shade below average height, I nevertheless convey myself with an expression of assurance far beyond the ordinary. The faintest curve of humor never deserts my lips, making my face — sweet in expression, but somewhat irregular in features — charming.

Conversation

Natasha pulled out a leather pocket-book: which, like herself, was very petite, and got ready to listen. She thinks every idea I share with her can be compiled to a separate book.

Let’s see…

“A WOMAN that is in love with herself makes everything that she does beautiful. Every move she makes, every, even the most trifling thing, becomes enveloped in meaning. Her life: family, kids, career — for sure is interesting, every aspect of it. Why?”

Pay attention to yourself first.

“Because she cares about her feelings — that attention towards herself in her ‘to do’ list is primary. She gifts herself first and then she has more to share.”

“I love my kids and I want them to have a healthy, energetic, beautiful mother. That is the reason I go to my yoga class, meet my girlfriends at least twice a week, and do my exercises once a day.”

“I often need that time with just me for a company. So, I take a short, usually one-week trip every winter to whatever destination I chose.”

Work on your inner and outer self.

“I want to be interesting, that is why I am interested in many things. I read on various topics. Fashion is just one of the many. I know my colors and how to play with them. It is easy when you give yourself time to research and experiment.”

“I meet new people constantly and find new activities. I used to go to a drawing class, enjoyed it for a while, got acquainted with a couple of great people, and then transferred my attention to private music lessons. Now I can play the guitar, not very well (I need to practice more) but I consider it my personal achievement.”

Find your own style.

“I do not like shopping. But I am attentive to what is pleasing to the eye. I try my outfits, various combinations at my leisure time to get to know them better. I consider my shawls, skirts, and jackets — my friends, that is why I have only a few and love them dearly.”

“At any rate, things change so much. I don’t want to always rush to be in time, in style, in anything. I take my moment as I feel it. I collected a few good quality articles and a couple imposing accessories — and a great variety of charming smiles to my closet.”

Listen to your beautiful self.

“Everyone’s got intuition. The inner voice that never deceives. Some just forgot how to distinguish it in the multitude of whirling thoughts. Women are more sensitive. That time I spend alone helps me to find good grounds with that precious girl in me. She knows what is better for me. I do not want to be one of the crowd, I am to all appearances different, unique — and I love it.”

“I keep a close watch on how I feel in my clothes, bearing philosophically the judgment of others. When freed from the demands and expectations, you live in harmony with yourself. We, by no means, need not lose ourselves in chasing trends.”

My advice to beautiful ladies

A woman dressed in confidence and love is always elegant. You triumph over any fashion when enough time is given to renew your inner tranquility. Labor tenderly in enriching your sense of beauty. Meet with intelligent people, go to interesting gatherings, fascinate your mind with thought-provoking books… and feel good in the garments you wear. Let your inner organization be your guide in choosing a dress as a friend that will be fond of your body and a companion to your soul.

Stay tuned…

Never Guessed This Easy Self-Love Formula Could Change My Friend’s Life

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“Unlike her mother, she loved herself just the way she was”

I met Natasha when I was in hospital as a child, on some trifling issue with my collarbone. We got together somehow. The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature was the best recommendation for me. Natasha was always disposed to chatter, and I loved to listen to her stories. So, when she invited me to snatch a meal at her parents’ house on one of the weekends, I agreed with delight.

A Mother’s heart

I was aware that Natasha felt somewhat uneasy to introduce me to her mom. But Natasha sensed a kind and open heart in me and wanted my smiling face to cheer her family.

I did my best to not show my astonishment at seeing her mother. But I bet it was all written on my over expressive face. I never before or since saw a woman so big. I was just a shy child and on my asking if there was anything I could do to help her with setting up the table or getting the tea ready, she became suddenly annoyed and left the room without saying a word.

I felt her unease and pain as my own. It often goes to my heart to see people unhappy in their bodies. I didn’t think a moment but acted on impulse. Rushing right after her, I hugged her and cried bitterly in her soft bosom. Often I think I am made practically from one heart and it governs my actions, leading me through the jungle of human emotions.

Natasha’s mother was a beautiful woman, shy and gentle, kind and sincere in everything she did. I realized, many years after, that this moment of uneven and impulsive emotional connection we both felt resulted from our likeness. She, just like me, was oversensitive. Her emotions were like musical strains, too tightly rendered. She had a way of noticing even a slight change in people’s attitude towards herself, and she took it too close to her heart.

That was a magic night. I do not remember laughing so much ever since.

Second Encounter

I left the hospital in a week and we lost each other, being a few years apart and busy with our lives. At that age it was a huge obstacle: I was 11 and still played with dolls and Natasha, being about 21, started to go out with boys.

In my last year at university, just before moving overseas, I rented an apartment with my friend. The kids next door were noisy little devils. On one occasion they were fighting in the little corridor we shared and ruined our shoe shelf. Their mom came out of the door just at the time when I was vainly trying to rescue my boots out of the younger boy’s hands. He was trying to kick his brother with one boot and to pull the other on his own poor head as a helmet.

I was so much taken up by the drama in front of me that I didn’t right away realize that a lady next door was dragging me out of the fighting boys’ way and into her apartment. I found myself in the kitchen, sitting at the table with the lucky boot in one hand and a cup of fragrant tea in the other.

I was well rewarded for my pains with love and hospitality bestowed on me by my old friend Natasha.

“Forget about the little rascals, Oly,” Natasha was the only person calling me so. “They will get their share of motherly affection when I’m done with you.” We hugged and kissed, we laughed and chatted till midnight, Natasha’s husband dealing with the kids.

Loving Yourself Comes First

1) Love Yourself Today

We were throwing tea parties almost every night since then. I used to look at Natasha from time to time with an air of conscious admiration. Refreshed, delighted, invigorated, she carried the world before her by the force of love she felt towards herself, her children, and her husband. She rarely came out of the apartment, mostly busying herself in the kitchen making all kinds of delicacies for her boys. She had a big heart in her rather big body.

Her husband adored her, children obeyed her ALMOST every time, and unlike her mother, she loved herself just the way she was.

2) Let Your Family and Friends Help

Natasha needed to go out more often, though. I knew that, she knew that, and her husband secretly asked me to encourage her. He tried to convince her every possible way he could invent, but being a soft and loving person, he could not say ‘but’, or ‘no’ to his sweetheart. Good enough he said ‘yes’ and ‘sure’ to everything I suggested.

First, she could see neither rhyme nor reason in it, saying, “Why would I need to go out? I have everything I need here handy. And besides, my mom was pretty sound and jolly at home too.”

Her mother died at 43. Too many health complications caused by extra weight. So, Natasha needed to change her life to be there for her family.

3) Take Little Steps

I asked her a few times to run some errands for me, excusing myself by the business of my working and studying schedule. Then I offered evening walks instead of evening tea rounds. Half hour strolls gave way to an hour one, temp getting faster, music accompanying conversations.

4) Find a Thing You Like

Natasha loved music. Her tuneless yet sweet humming was pleasing to the ear. I found out there was a dancing studio nearby. The time worked for both of us and I urged her to try. She became friendly with the elderly woman instructor. Gradually that kind and sincere lady took the place of a coach in Natasha’s life. I felt good transferring my duties to her, knowing I was leaving my lovely friend in good hands.

5) Reward Yourself

I got into a habit of sending Natasha a motivational postcard each month with little writings coming from my heart. She sent me photos of her-improving-self in gorgeous dresses she crafted for her dance performances. It was quite an expense for her family, but surely the one they could proudly enjoy, watching that charming woman’s every graceful move.

Conclusion

Natasha turned 44 last year. I feel like it was a turning point in her life. She always had a fear in her kind heart to have a similar fate as her mom had. Natasha stopped thinking this way the day she felt a deserved pride from being herself. Although her health improved significantly with some weight loss, the bigger change was in her attitude toward herself.

To the outside observer, Natasha’s body didn’t change very much. Maybe some curves got more prominent and sensual, that was all.

She WAS and IS bathing in love coming from her husband and kids. But you see, she used to be affectionate toward herself in a kind and humorous way, with a slight touch of loving mockery. Now her attitude changed.

In her eyes, there is a real, rattling satisfaction. She goes about singing and dancing, knowing how to showcase her inner and outer beauty. A growing admiration from the men and women of her dancing studio and applause from the smiling audience proved to her the thing she always knew but seldom voiced proudly. Those magic words were: “I am beautiful!”

Stay tuned…

Only Her Parents’ Death Could Teach Her This Simple Truth

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Essentials for building inner contentedness I’ve learned from my friend

Let us be acquainted with my childhood friend Marta.

She is my noble and generous friend. Noble not by birth but by her personal qualities, virtues of the heart. Our strange friendship started in the first grade and ended in the 8th… to be renewed with the boldness, freedom, and maturity of womanhood.

When in school, Marta used to make fun of everyone in a boisterous manner. When someone came to the class with a new school bag the classmates used to say, “Marta will be mad before long, you wait and see.” And sure to the word, she gave enough time to lamentations that all the kids were ready to swallow up all the new things they had before Marta could lay her envious eye on them. They called her ‘the practical’ because of her love for all material things.

I rarely had anything popular at the time: the cool gadget pet that you can feed and it grows into a funny fat cat or a scary huge beast; the pretty multicolor pants all girls adored and considered the only possession that can pave you a way to a popular kids’ group; the denim backpack with numerous pockets, belts and buckles that every boy and a girl had; the list is endless. The lack of those things made my life a nightmare sometimes. I was an outcast in old neatly looking pants, and a sweater my mom made with so much love that I felt her hugging me each time I heard a bullying accusation. I looked so lovely in it, which made every teacher adore me. And… yes, I was hated for that even more.

Marta’s parents were respected doctors with busy schedules and no time for sentiments. She was well dressed, well fed, well groomed… and not loved enough. There were no grandparents to substitute the lack of genuine affection, her whole being was craving for.

She started to take a fancy to me mostly because I seldom had anything worth her attention and I liked her, because she was the only child walking home with me. My friendship happened to be the most precious thing for the child that could have everything in her life but for sincere affection.

After 8th grade, we’ve lost each other. Marta and her family moved to live in the nearby city, and I stayed in my native village till graduation.

Change the desire to possess to an affectionate attitude towards yourself.

A few years ago, a nice-looking woman entered my train compartment. The long trip to the far-away city was shortened to a thought provoking and tears causing conversation.

I wanted Marta to make the running. The inner writer and explorer of human mines raining in me. I was resolved to persevere in my silent patronage of the conversation.

Marta gave voice to her inner child, and we cried bitterly and laughed heartily at the memories of a girl who considered gifts to be the merits of love. A girl who could ill bear when someone had things she considered pretty and nice. She thought that meant someone was loved more — and that notion was painful for a child deprived of a genuine feeling.

That day in the compartment Marta looked contented. Strong character was visible in the physiognomy of this young woman with her big unmoving eyes, her almost lipless mouth, and a high intelligent forehead. Marta carried herself with confidence. There was not even a passing feeling of irritation, only that physical beauty that comes from the loving energy inside.

I was not able to take my eyes off her. She radiated positive energy and every word she shared was saturated with thoughtful consideration. I couldn’t help thinking that the person in front of me was not the Marta I knew.

Recollect a painful loss.

When I asked her about the turning point, the element in her life that caused this alteration, Marta fell silent for a moment, so much taken up with her thoughts that her eyes seemed to stop seeing.

The loss she endured was painful enough to make her think of what she could have exchanged for a life given back. Her parents didn’t have time to love her, but she loved them with every cell of her body and every vibe of her soul. She was only 18 when an unchained element of nature left her an orphan, her parents’ car being smashed from the road by a violent gust of wind, both her mom and dad dying instantly.

It seemed like a dream, or fiction, or chimera. Vulnerable and insecure, Marta was left alone to think about the present. The past was gone, but the future was hers. Anything in that timeframe of days bygone and days to be still lived was compared to that particular incident.

I could see into the inside of her nature with the eyes that understand and the heart that can weep in unison with her soul. I lost my father in a car accident only a few months prior to our meeting with Marta. The day I received a call from my mother I would never want to forget. It turned my world upside down, and it stayed this way till that meeting with her on the train. I finally had a person who spoke to my heart with the words it could understand.

Any feeling, being at its utmost tension was measured to the one we both felt at that time of a loss. She showed me how to not be at war with myself. Life, after having handled her so roughly, seemed now was willing to teach her the survival skills. She found the diary her mother had, and that precious notebook was full of tender words her mother seldom voiced but no doubt felt — and that was the only thing that mattered.

Think about true values in life.

Marta was not going from then on, she was led by love. The exhilarating effect that love has, changed her understanding of true values. Any envious feeling towards material possessions of others disappeared like a star lost in the distant darkness of the horizon.

Her salvation was in a feeling of gratitude. Her beauty was in the desire to devote her life to the people she loved. Her life was in pursuing the course of in-spirited life: a life of inner and outer health.

Marta had no family left. She decided to have a big one comprised of abandoned children, orphans. She volunteered for many years in various orphanages around the country and abroad. Marta’s family left her a substantial legacy which she spent on education and donated to different causes.

Train your senses to feel empathy.

Marta was lost in wondering and half-admiration when we shared the account of some major facts from our mutual friends’ lives. She felt genuine enjoyment from seeing others succeed, and sincere sympathy towards the ones failing to achieve the desired.

She witnessed life undisguised, seldom gentle and often cruel. Her experience made her compassionate and generous. Marta favored a minimalist approach to material possessions. She became a passionate advocate of children’s rights. Her dream was not to have a luxurious house and an expensive car, but a tiny home full of love and child’s laughter.

Our shared journey was coming to an end. Marta waited silently for any fresh question that I could have, being a little tired from all the various emotions she forced herself to go through again. She surely satisfied all legitimate curiosity, and I let her rest and husband her strength, joining her in contemplation of a succession of low hills and rich forests outside the window.

Remind yourself of the love you have.

Marta became an active, vigorous woman, and even now I can see her in my mind’s eye being happy in her chosen career. She is a therapist working with at-risk youth.

She rarely breathes a word of her private misgivings, but always opens a listening spot in her busy schedule for a friend who needs some consolation. And she offers her love with that shy grace that is so very charming.

Marta and her husband do not give up hope to have their own kids. For over 10 years, they failed to conceive. They adopted a two-year-old girl and a 13-year-old special needs boy, two siblings whom they didn’t want to separate. Every time I visit my native country, I go to their house to get the feeling of unconditional love. This family is happiness personified. Her daughter experiments with my hair and her son makes me play all known table games with him. I go home with my hair tangled and my heart singing.

Marta shares love. And the more she gives, the more she has coming back to her. Marta’s life is unbroken by the misfortunes. Every painful event stitched the pieces of heartwarming feelings together, making a beautiful patchwork quilt of her love-centered life.

Conclusion

Let love be your faithful guardian that keeps close watch and prevents you from taking a negative feeling into your life. Let empathy be your true comforter that reminds you about the beautiful emotions that fill your heart and soul. And the bitterness of past grief should bore you company in moments of false despair. The contradiction between them will bring back your self-control.

I am just beginning to pour forth in the most respectful manner the stories of people who were able to restore equilibrium in their lives. Often, we obliged to go away together and take our laugh or tears out with the person who opens his/her heart to us. You should not regret the time spent when you become wiser with the experience that was lived through by someone else.

Stay tuned…