Sewed, glued and tattooed.

Many of my fellow tattoo addicts probably know what I'm talking about. First of all, I have to admit the last tattoo in THE LAST AND THE FIRST Vol. 2 post was not the last! There was a last last one that happened on the 15th of December as a part of an artist's exhibiton whom I admired previously, but this made her my personal hero. (Additional information here .) I am absolutely in love with what she did. But.. this is not the main reason for writing this post. Apparently I have an adhesive tattoo bandage allergy of some sort and according to the World Wide Web,  the thing is not at all rare. I have had some issues previously while using it, but it never got this allarming. The bandage literally corroded my skin at the edges. The whole area where the bandage was placed was red and painful. I tore it off with a scream and tended my tattoo the old school way. This is what happened after approximately 24 hours. After a day I got left with an infected wound. It is

All about love.

This year was really something. It felt like the Universe decided to throw every challenge it got in store for me for the next 1000 years right in my face and slap me with it several times. It was a year of extreme confrontations. A year of unimaginable transmutatins. A year of constant inner and outer revolutions. Not saying things were predominantly bad. But they were most certainly never dull. This was also a year of my favorite needle addiction relapse. Talking 'bout tattoos y'all. Showing off my last and first of 2018: Finished half-sleeve old-school pin up tattoo. Started seven years ago, Jesus Christ (very obvious by the faded middle and lower half). My protector: Hanuman. Cover up at the bottom. I'm not sad to see you go, 2018. But can you do something about me winning the Lottery before you leave? That'd be grand, thanks. Ta-ta!

Let's mood swing this full Moon Friday away! Tally-ho!

I promise you, this will not turn into some influencer-influenced post about how pursuing my dream helped me escape my mediocre wage-slaved life and am now freely and happily running into sunsets on some sandy beach in Bali. (At least not yet.) But I did have a dream (and still have many) and I've made a tiny step towards pursuing it. Since I can remember, I dreamed about becoming a fashion designer (or a witch, but I went for the more realiable option). I'm not saying my style is anywhere beyond average. I look like any random girl you meet along the way. But... I like patterns, needles and colours. So I'm now taking sewing lessons and I invested a small fortune into a sewing machine. And all I'm saying is: It. Makes. Me. Happy. That's all there is to it. If you find what makes you happy, go for it. Even if it doesn't take you to Bali. Even if it makes you happy just for three hours per week. It's worth it. That's more real happiness some people

There aren't many things in life that would come close to perfection. I mentioned some of my bests in "The last and the first" post, but what happened roughly a week ago was pure magic. It intertwined many of my firsts and bests. There were a lot of "cherry popping moments" involved. First time Belgium, first time Brussels, first time Ghent. First  crazy science museum . First  Flying Tiger store (growing dinosaurs in transparent eggs are bare necessity). For some... first  Ethiophian food  (everyone please add this to your "30 things I should try before dying" bucket list). First gay bar . After that.. first shivering DJ experience. And the highlight: First time  Tale of Us  @  Kompass . (Mindblown. Heartblown. Chakrasblown.) It left me speechless. Crazy science guy: "As Freddie Mercury would say... It's a kind of magic." Toukoul: 10/10. Ghent. #inlove Perfection. @Kompass #TaleOfUs ThankYou 💥

I created this messed up, sad, confused blue Dino a long time ago in my head. It took some time to bring him to paper too. He formed as a result of my long term depressions and anxieties. He has no colours and his form is plain. As is depression. If you want him coloured, print it out and colour him. Just one thing... his ball is yellow.

Serial-position effect is what I'm talking about, guys.  Wikipedia, the superreliable source, defines it as: "... the tendency of a person to recall the first and last items in a series best, and the middle items worst." (Thank you, Wiki.) I am not really sure I remember many of my "firsts". I can remember my last noodle soup, last good joke, last girlfriend, last pizza, last cute gift. Having a hard time remembering any first ones of the things mentioned.  I remember my "bests" above anything else. The best sweater (my dad's heritage and it literally fell apart on me). The best drink (authentic home made Indian chai- flavour overload). The best trip (my first visit to the States). The best restaurant (OMG that crazy Ethiopian restaurant in Toronto). The best people in my life (and some of the worst ones). I'll start with the last... altough it's hard to talk about the last one (I'm not even entirely sure such a thing exsists #addic

A lot of time has passed and many things have changed. Hair is longer (and curlier). Days are (again) getting shorter. I went to Canada and came back. Worked many jobs. Visited many places (like... Canada). Took a picture of Ray Charles star on the Walk of Fame (not the Hollywod one, tho). Met many new people. Too many (turns out I'm an INFP, go figure). Got several new tattoos (my favorite type of needles). Moved around a lot. Fell in and out of love a couple of times. Changed a lot of underwear (not all mine). Did too many dishes (not all mine, either). But the core remains the same. I'm still going crazy for needles, colours and patterns. I'm back and this time we're aiming for the stars, Jack! (In a sense of keeping this blog running for more than a month. It's an INFP thing, you wouldn't understand. I hardly understand it myself.) Because life... that shit is all about perpective. Proof below. To the stars!