Tuesday, 12 February 2013


"She reminded me of a certain kind of rose she grew in the garden, called Pristine.
It was white with a trace of pink around the outside,
and when you picked it, the petals all fell off."
Janet Fitch (White Oleander)

Monday, 16 April 2012


I’m free, I think. I shut my eyes and think hard and deep about how free I am, 
but I can’t really understand how it means. 
All I know is I’m totally alone. All alone in an unfamiliar place, 
like some solitary explorer who’s lost his compass and his map.
Is this what it means to be free? 

I don’t know and I give up thinking about it.” 
Haruki Murakami  (Kafka on the Shore)

Monday, 16 January 2012

I want to be loved. Not like some obligatory ‘have you got your lunch’ texts, or ‘goodnight’ messages. I want to be adored. I want someone who knows what I want. Someone who wants to give me surprises, because he loves to see me smiling. Because he likes to spare some times to think about me. I want surprise calls. Maybe just a short call to remind me to be safe during daily trip / routines. Or just to tell that he misses me, or suddenly remembers me. I want attention. I want someone who tells me I am beautiful when I put an effort to dress up or when I change my appearance.
I want sincere ‘thanks for loving me’ texts. I want free love expressions. I want someone I love to stop comparing me to others. I want him to appreciate what’s in me. Value it. Love it. I want romance. I don’t need dinner in expensive restaurants, diamonds or pearls, or branded stuffs like rich girls buy. I want flowers, or hand written letters with many “I love you”s. I want to be remembered. Loved. Taken care of. I want stupid jokes and silly photos together. I want to read a book while he’s sleeping next to me, and he asks me what the book is about and I will tell him what’s in it. I want special nicknames. I want love words. I want to cry.