Me, Anna Louise

Hello, I am Anna Louise. You might know me as ‘neverwordless’ from around the internet. The sound of turning pages paired with the smell of freshly brewed coffee, ink stained hands, rain forming a soft rhythm against a window and a liking for french and the cool weather of autumn results in me, Anna.

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I believe in the power of kindness. And kind words cost nothing. But I do am one of the quieter kind in person. One and a half years ago I discovered poetry and prose as a way to express myself. To spread my word, I am working on my debut novel, ‘Of Coffee and Longing’, a collection of poetry and prose that reaches out to the people around the world.

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If I could I would spend all my days sitting at cozy, little Cafés, writing and reading, while listening to the chats of Baristas and sipping a Latte Macchiato. Or dozing off in my bed by the window, lulled in heaps of white sheets, to the audio version of A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara, which has become like a kind of bible for me for it’s worldly wisdom.  But just as often one might find me wandering the streets of Berlin, letting the flow of strangers carry me to unknown places, a camera always at the ready. Reality looks a bit different though, but life’s just like that. Busy.

One thing is left to say, wherever you are, whoever you might be, whatever you’re going through, please be kind. Carry out kindness and it will find it’s way back to you. No-one should feel uncomfortable about the way he is and to make that possible we have to accept everyone as they are. So start now and tell your loved ones that they are just the way they should be- themselves.

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You want to reach out to me?

Equal if for collaborations or just to talk, you are free to reach out to me anytime. I will always be there to connect with you. Please don’t be upset if it takes me a few days to get back to you, but we all know life can be really busy, so I hope you can understand that.

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Anna Louise

eMail- anna-louise-kunz@gmx.de

Instagram- neverwordless

Pinterest- the vintage kid

The Future is a Room with it’s Walls painted Black

maybe i don’t want this to end, because i can’t imagine my life after. no matter how much it hurts me, i don’t want to let go. my future is a room with it’s walls painted black. it’s a place i can only but imagine missing what i once did and longing for it while my heart is still healing from leaving.

after all she was afraid, afraid of the unforeseeable, afraid of the day it would happen, afraid of having to open up to the new, afraid of finishing what had seemed to last forever, afraid of the entirety of that sensation, because she was not yet ready and maybe she would never be, but somewhere deep down, she expected that to change or maybe she did not and that was why she was so afraid, she did not know and it did not matter, because with this she did not have a choice.

it hit me right then: it was really over, it belonged to the past, a past that had me sleepless at night, drowning in sorrows, and still I found myself longing to return to it, simply out of fear of the uncertainty of the future.

Letting go of things can be hard. Changes can be. Yes, those two things might be crucial to keep moving, but that does not make them any easier. To let something go can be one of the hardest challenges life has to offer. Because sometimes it’s only when you have to let things go that you seem to see their true worth. But most times letting go is inevitable. The door of the room you came from is being closed, shutting you out, leaving you on the doorstep to a room with it’s walls painted black – an uncertain future. And now this is where you are, in a bare room with it’s walls painted black, and you’re stuck. You are afraid to move, because the lack of light makes seeing impossible. You are afraid to turn back, because there is nothing to return to. You are afraid to get left behind, because you are standing still.

The futures feels that way sometimes. Sometimes it takes just a bit of time and waiting until it reveals itself. Until night ends and morning light fills the room with it’s walls painted black through a small window. And sometimes it takes a little courage. Sometimes you need to step out into that room, roaming, until you find that window. Because in this room, curtains are preventing the sun from enlightening it. Only you can fix that. So be brave. Step out there and draw back the curtain. This is your future, even if it’s a room with it’s walls painted black. Even if that means you have to open up for changes, if it means you have to let things go. If you don’t, you never know what you were set out to do. This is your future. You might as well re-paint those walls, make them look whichever way you want them to look. Paper them with the pages of all the books you’ve read or the photos you took or tear them down and forget all about them, letting the sky be your only limit. Because this is your future. It doesn’t have to be a room with it’s walls painted black. It can be whatever you want it to be. But that room is where you start. You leave, you let go, change happens, inevitably, and a door is closed and you have to step out into that corridor. And there you are. On that doorstep to that room with it’s walls painted black and it’s okay to be afraid. I am too. I am stuck here, at the edge of that room waiting for the morning sun to light it, waiting for fate to do the job for me so that I don’t have to be brave, because I’m not. I’m not brave and right now that room, my future, doesn’t feel like it can whatever I want it to be. It just feels like a room with it’s walls painted black and I’m afraid I won’t be able to change anything about that. I’m afraid I will be stuck here in darkness, unmoving, getting left behind. I’m afraid I won’t be able to choose. Afraid, that room holds a plan someone else chose for me, one that I have no say in. But I’m also afraid that I do have a say in this, because I know I do. I’m afraid I’m not brave enough to take the opportunity, to tear down those walls. I’m afraid I’m stuck here forever, because I’m too afraid to get moving, too afraid to take actions for myself. But I know I will have to. I know I will have to somewhere find the strength to do just that, just as I have to accept the few things that I might not have a say in. Because future is just that. It’s yours, you get to decide, you will have to stand up for it, but there will always be things you won’t be able to veto. That’s what life is like.

But in the end, there is nothing to be afraid of. The future is yours and yours only. So what are we even fearing? Yes, at the start, at the edge of that room with it’s walls painted black, because that is where it starts, the darkness seems intimidating and the letting go will still hurt and the change will be as strange as suddenly seeing the world upside-down, but once you enter, that room won’t be just a room with it’s walls painted black, it will be your room. It’s your future and it will be okay. That room will start to grow dear to you. It will hurt less, feel less strange. But in that corridor, between those two closed doors, it’s okay to be afraid, to feel blue. But a few steps from there, behind that door ahead, is a bright new future even if at the start, it might just look like a room with it’s walls painted black. I promise.

body image issues

To get this straight at the very start of this- this is going to be a little different from what I usually post, but then again, maybe it actually isn’t. This belongs into the category “fledging or coming off age”, but it’s an issue far beyond the process of just that. This is about what is going on out there these days. This is about something I feel passionate about, about something I think I have the right to a say in. It’s about something I personally struggle with, something that a lot of people struggle with, something too may struggle with, in my opinion. I am talking about body image issues, body shaming, and anything that is only vaguely related to it.

Body shaming isn’t “new”. Most think that it is, but it isn’t. It has always been there. It’s been there ten years ago, when I was eight years old in third grade and was picked at for being chubbier than others. It was there when I was in seventh grade and was chosen last for group activities in sports. It has always been there. It’s been there from the first posters and ads on tv, from the first fashion shows. So no, body image issues aren’t new, but body shaming is worse than ever before, primarily because of the media. It was bad back then, but today it’s getting worse and worse every single day and it pains me so much to write this and I think I actually have to stop writing for a second, because I can’t even see what I’m typing through the tears of anger and downright grief that are burning in my eyes.

I feel endlessly emotional about this topic. Every single time I re-watch “Killing us softly” by Kilbourne Jean I can’t hold back tears and by now I’ve seen it at least five times. The difference between then and now is that today there are body images wherever you look. They are everywhere, but what’s fatal is that most times, people all look the same in them and they have been actively manipulated. They simply are not real. They teach us a perfection that in reality does not exist or simply cannot be achieved. I used to tell myself, like most people still do, These images have no effect on me. and that is the absolute worst mistake one can do, the biggest lie one can tell oneself, one can believe, because no matter what you think or how sure you are about your shape and size, when you see those images you experience them and they effect you, even when you don’t think they do. So because there is no way around taking in those images the only thing we can do is to make them change. This change is going to be a hell of a fight, I know that, but I hope that some day I can look at a billboard and think Wow, this woman is a fighter. I wish I’d get to know her. instead of Wow, this woman’s body is perfect. I wish I’d look like her. We need representatives of all kinds of body types in ads, on tv, on the internet, in the model industry. We need this change. We need it in order to move something, to make a change. We need to see what is real, we need it in order to accept our bodies and the imperfections we see in them. But how did we get to this point? How is it possible we got carried so far away from the representation of reality in the media?

For starters, photoshop. That’s what got us here and that’s where we are right now and we’re stuck. Right at this point. Everywhere we look we see unreal images of inexistent perfection and all over the world real people suffer to reach that perfection, a perfection that doesn’t even exist. But how are they, how are we, to know? Who is going to tell us if what they are sharing, what they are spreading throughout the whole world, is real or actually the product of an hour-long session behind a screen? There are only a handful of people who do. Who share what is going on, who raise awareness, but that awareness should have been raised years ago. That awareness still doesn’t reach enough people out there. It doesn’t make up for all the lives lost due to body shaming. It simply doesn’t and I don’t even think we have yet reached the top of this, I think this is still becoming bigger, becoming worse every day. We should have started to act on this long ago, but we haven’t or maybe I should rather say we haven’t done enough, because I know, things are moving. They have to, but for the first time I feel like something is actually changing and maybe we can turn things around. Maybe it’s us, this generation right here. Maybe we have to finally pick up the pieces and save the ones after us. Because when I look at my thirteen year old sister my heart stops beating and some days all I can feel when I look at her is fear. Fear of what society, what the media, is already doing to her and what is still to come. When I was thirteen I played with stuffed animals, I watched Disney movies all day, if I could, I ran around the house with her, play-pretending anything. I gave a damn about what I wore, I didn’t even know what I weighted and I washed my hair once a week. I was never one of the popular kids, especially not at that time, but I was okay. Whatever, I was just a kid, I didn’t know a thing, but that, that’s what’s changing and that’s the worst part. Because that generation is suffering. With the amount of media there is so much social pressure, I would never be able to handle it, but they do. They have to. Those teenage years are hard on everyone, no matter which generation they are a part of, but it’s getting harder and most times no-one even realizes. People give a damn about it. People say it’s their fault, sharing everything and anything on the internet, putting themselves out there like that, but it’s not. It’s what they have to do, because if they don’t, they’re out-casts, they don’t even exist. It’s what they are influenced by every single day. Those generations grew up or are still growing up looking at the unreal images of inexistent perfection of strangers from all over the world thinking that’s what real life is and imitate that, striving to reach what it seems like other already have. And that’s what’s most toxic about this, because if we aren’t able to stop this, those young people are going to wreck themselves about it and it’s going to end badly, it already is ending badly in a lot of cases.

So if not for ourselves, we need to make something change for those people and I’m willing to, I’m going to try my best and if I have to, I’m willing to stand in the streets naked, if that means something is going to change for them. I’m willing, I’m trying, to share that I am imperfect, that imperfection is real and the most beautiful thing about a human body there will ever be. I have been willing to share photos of my back, raising awareness on scoliosis, because that’s what it is. That’s imperfection. I have a curved spine. I won’t be able to unsee how crooked I stand when I look in the mirror, how one of my waists is smaller than the other, how rounded my back is due to bad posture. I won’t be able to unsee that my breasts aren’t the same size, that my knees have a strange shape, that I do have a tummy, that four years ago my hair thinned out and will never be as thick as it used to be, that I have, dark, visible hair all over my arms or that my skin actually has pores and isn’t clear. I am aware of all of this. Some days more aware than others, some days some imperfections bug me more and some less. But usually, I am the only one who sees them and in the future I am going to keep quite about them. I will not complain, but praise them, because if we want to change something, this is where each and everyone could start. By spreading love about ones insecurities, because there is at least one person out there who your body is similar to and if you keep calling out it’s imperfections, or the things you see as those, you make that one other person aware of them too and that’s the worst thing we could possibly do. So if I could I would turn back time and erase every single negative comment I made about my body in my sisters presence. I really wish I could do that. Because that girl has seen me naked and has told me I am beautiful without hesitating, has told me, she wished she’d look like me. I just wish I could have shown her how to be proud of her body, but I was too focused on myself, we all were, and we will have to look out for our daughter and sons. We will have to move focus away from us, because society is going to be just as hard on them, maybe harder. It’s about us now if we can make a change about that, no matter how small in the start.

For example, this is a start. Spreading this will be a start. Just talking about body shaming and body image issues will be a start. Being real and honest on any social platforms will be a start. Dealing with the influence of the media on the body in schools or simply reading about it for oneself will be a start. Anything is better than what we are doing now, because yes, we are stuck and if we don’t make a change, if we maintain silence about this, it will stay this way, if not get worse, and we can’t just let that happen, not for the sake of us nor the sake of all the generations after and still to come.

[I apologize if this did not make any sense. All I did was ramble on about something I feel passionate about, hoping that someone somewhere someday cares about this, listens up about this. If you feel the need to share this, I very much welcome you to do so.

All the love, Anna xx]

How To Stop Time by Matt Haig

“[…] it didn’t really matter how many years or decades or centuries had passed, because you were always living within the parameters of your personality. No expanse of time or place could change that. You could never escape yourself.”

Imagine being close to immortal. How would you spend your days? A question Tom Hazard has to ask himself over and over again. He has lived hundreds of years, dozens of different lives, has seen it all, done it all. Worked for Shakespeare himself, complimented Fitzgerald on his “Great Gatsby”, but then again he saw his mother being accused and drowned for practicing witchcraft, experienced his great love die of the pest. Yes, Tom Hazard has seen it all and he is tired of it, but a promise he has once given, hundreds of years ago, keeps him going, one day after another. But when you know there’s always a tomorrow to have another try, do you even know how to live? Because after all those hundreds of years Tom is nowhere near sure he does and there is not a day he does not struggle with his past, the memories of it.

“I need to get over everything. I need ‘closure’ as people say these days. Though you can never close the past. The most you can do with it is accept it. And that is the point I want to reach.”

They have never left him after all and every single passing minute adds up to them.

“So here I am, with my head full of human fears and pains, my chest tight with anxiety, thinking about how much future I have in front of me.”

 

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my thoughts- I was recommended this book by a dear friend of mine, Ophelia. She really liked it and since she knows my taste told me to read it, because she was sure I’d enjoy it and I did. I enjoyed it immensely. If you know my tastes in books from around the internet you could most likely even skip this part of the review or check out my last one on “The Immortals”, since it’s always similar things I cherish a book for. For me those include the writing style, for example. The writing style I enjoy most is a very wise one, one that is a little poetic, very figurative, that has an eye for the little details. If I dog-ear pages or underline passages, sentences in the process of reading, then it most likely turns out to be a book I end up recommending to others. So basically I enjoy works I can quote, that hold sequences which contain a deeper message, that teach me something about life. “How To Stop Time” hides quite some like that and that’s why I ended up loving it as much as I did. Don’t get me wrong, I liked the plot, it was really well structured, though a little confusing, always going back into the past, but randomly into all different kinds of eras. It supported the concept of the book though, since Tom was caught off guard by his memories all the same and it gave the reader insight in what he was constantly going through. I liked that. But as I said, I liked it best for it’s wise words. You can’t imagine what I mean by that? Well, look at this.

Last but not least, if you have read this book and you’re looking for one that’s similar to this one, then head right over to my review of “The Immortals”. You will soon realize both the plot and the beautiful writing style are a little similar to the one in “How To Stop Time”. And just like “The Immortals” I believe this would be a very decent autumn read, but yeah, I’m just saying. Maybe I’ll re-read in autumn and see for myself.

Wishing you all out there a great summer! And to all fellow autumn-lovers, hold on just a little longer, it’s the next season to come.

Introduction of ‘Of Coffee and Longing’

[an excerpt, the first and last work from each of the chapters in ‘Of Coffee and Longing’, my collection of poetry and prose, as an introduction for the sometime-to-be outcome, as in, book]

[only one thing left to say before I send this off into the depths of the internet and before you start reading. my intention in sharing those, often quite personal, words is by no means fame nor glory. over the last two years reading those, often quite personal, words of other people from all over the wold helped me move on. they held me upright, made me feel understood, when no-one else would, because in the end, poetry or this kind of creative writing is always personal, but the sense behind a work is only very rarely the same one for two people.]

of the dusk before nightfall [sorrow and fear] – chapter one

“perfectionism

is being one’s own worst detractor,

is lying wide awake at night

reconsidering every little thing,

is being sick with worry

when others would not give it

a second thought,

is the inability to not give it all,

is to keep going until one day

you find yourself unable to.”

“her happiness was a beast,

it came, wild and whole,

consuming her very being,

but just as it came, it went,

leaving her feeling emptier

as ever before.”

of the darkness at night [frustration and sadness] – chapter two

“on a night with a sky full of stars,

feeling her heart beat,

she stared and 

found herself

drawn to 

a million

dying

fires.”

“i’ve pulled myself up from the ground 

and out of the darkness so many times

that today i realized i’ve left marks

in the earthy walls of the hole i keep

falling into,

marks leading upwards into the light,

like a stairway, and glancing back, as

i pull myself over the edge, i feel the

dark starting to move, shapes emerging

from it, and i blink away the salty

wetness of my eyes and lead the shadows

out into a new light.”

of the dawn before day [hope and relief] – chapter three

“and she felt her soul lighten,

getting rid of all the weight,

the sadness and fears,

of all her worries,

the mechanical pressure

from her surroundings,

and her sad mouth,

once again wet with tears,

formed a smile.”

“she looked at her reflection

long, without breaking eye contact,

silently staring, tears straining her vision

until it changed, right before her eyes

and she became someone else entirely,

her mind detached from her body,

a stranger staring back at her

and for the first time, she saw it,

her body, without judging it,

and it was beautiful.”

of the day after dark [contentment and strength] – chapter four

“be quiet,

listen to the silence,

close your eyes

and watch the dark,

then breath

and feel your body,

what you were made of,

your skin and bone,

and accept

whoever

you find

yourself

to be.”

“she saw the sky burn that night,

saw it lighting up in heavenly fire,

the waves like roaring destruction,

and in that moment,

as heaven seemed to kiss earth

in a last and fierce embrace,

she realized,

just how insignificant she was,

they all were, to this world

in it’s whole vivid existence,

smiling, because she wished

it would never be otherwise.”

[and that is it already. I wish I could share the whole thing with the entire world right away, at this very second, but anticipation is the most beautiful bitter sweet longing, so this is where I quit, hoping those tiny snippets were able to give you an impression, an introduction, of what that sometime-to-be outcome is aiming for. opinions are welcome.  with this said, thank you for your time. thank you for taking the time to read those small words. the act might have been small for you, but to me it means the world. thank you. this whole thing came to be and will continue to come to be, partly because of you. you are part of this and this would never exist if it wasn’t for you. you matter. you matter so much, each and every one of you.]

 

saying my goodbyes to high school

Here I am. It’s almost 10am on a Thursday. I am sitting at my desk at home with a cup of coffee writing this and it feels wrong on many levels. But what bothers me most is that I feel like I should be in class. I should be at school; taking notes, listening to a tutor, studying, busying myself with assignments until midnight, bringing my coffee to class, chatting about weekend plans cancelled due to the workload, but I’m not. I’m home with a cup of coffee writing this, trying to figure out how to make this feel less wrong and saying my goodbyes to high school.

For thirteen (or twelve) years school is one of the steadiest variables in a persons life. In those thirteen (or twelve) years there is a nearly endless number of changes. But when you looked close there was always one thing to rely on, that (almost) no matter what, the next day one would have to get up early, dress, have breakfast and go to school and then come back home. For those thirteen (or twelve) years life situates around this steady variable. Most people like maths for it’s directness. Most of the times there is right or wrong. With a variable it’s different. X might be 6, but there are different ways to get there. X could be 3 + 3 or it could be 4 + 2 or an endless number of other variations. The outcome is the same, but the ways there can differ a great deal. X in life is the steady variable. For the past thirteen (or twelve) years X was school. The experiences with school differ for each person, but X, in the end, always adds up to school. But school ends and with that X is situated in a different equation. Each persons equation differs and now X doesn’t add up to the same thing for anyone anymore. There is an endless number of possibilities for the meaning behind X now. School ends and while the endless possibilities spread in front of ones eyes, life doesn’t feel so steady anymore. Well, at least this is how I feel about it.

Most people are looking very forward to saying their goodbyes to school. I’m not one of them although I feel like I should. Within those thirteen years I have changed, and changed again and then again and changed a final time. School is a personality shaping tool, no one can deny that. It made me grow, but it made me feel a lot of pain all the same. During my school time I shed so many tears I could fill hundreds of water buckets. When growing up finishing school is one of the events that feels a million years away. It sounds like a particular joke, but against all odds, here I am and I can tell you, it happens, almost inevitably. One starts year thirteen blinking, looking away for a second and suddenly ones sitting at ones desk at home with a cup of coffee writing this and one feels empty and a little useless, but a little grateful too. Here I am; taking a first sip of the coffee long gone cold. Here I am; saying my goodbyes to high school, heavy-heartedly. But that’s what goodbyes are like. They hurt a bit and they leave behind a bitter-sweet taste just like coffee does. They are a part of moving on and since life is irresistible, we say our goodbyes to prevent from getting left behind and X adapts a new, but non the less beautiful, shape.

Anna Louise, May 24, 2018

eighteen years

On December 9th, 2017 I turned eighteen years old. A date about which I had some strange feelings. All around me a lot of people were really hyped about their eighteenth birthday. Friends who never went out to party suddenly became the kings and queens of clubs and even the ones who never had the slightest bit of alcohol planned on getting drunk, having the time of their lives, a night to remember, etc etc etc. I was freaked out to the point I didn’t want to do anything for my birthday. While my friends were planning their ‚special‘ night of joining adulthood almost half a year in advance, I kept putting everyone off by saying I didn’t know yet or it was supposed to be a secret. Actually, I didn’t plan on doing anything aside from being in my room at home shedding a few tears. But it wasn’t only that. I was afraid of turning eighteen, because from eighteen on, one is officially an adult, where I live, and I did not [and still don’t] feel as if I am prepared to be accepted as that, and yes, I am indeed trying to come to a point, so this is for all those out there who felt and feel the same way.

what follows is a mixture of random shots of the days around my eighteenth birthday and some of my favorite quotes of the book ‘eighteen years’ by Madisen Kuhn, which accompanied me on the journey of realizing and accepting that nothing is going to change and that that’s okay. Basically it’s a mix of a lifestyle blog & a book review. Hoping it’ll turn out as enjoyable content.

 

 

i feel trapped inside of my feverish skin

and i wish i could escape it,

because i don’t want to be myself today

 

i don’t know why i’m so different,

why i feel so lonely and tired of living

yesterday, i was so happy and hopeful,

inspired and alive

i lit candles and sang along to the radio

and grinned and felt completely intact

but today, i’m in pieces

i feel hollow and meaningless

i don’t get why my feelings change so quickly

it’s like once i’ve wrapped my arms

around them, the wind picks them up

and carries them away, leaving me

with a heart full of unfamiliar emotions

i don’t understand

i just wish

i could figure myself out

sometimes

Madisen Kuhn, birthday eve

 

 

one of the poems that spoke to me, really putting those emotions into words. Since my family knew how I was feeling, on the night before my birthday my mom took me out to the movies. Full program. Smuggling fast food inside the theater, big box of fresh popcorn. The rest of the night I spent decorating and cleaning. I rang in my birthday alone at midnight by taking a bath before I went to bed.

 

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After sleeping in just a little and spending some time with my family I then headed out to the city, just like I had planned. I just knew I had to go for a walk through the streets of Berlin on my birthday, because that’s what I have been immensely enjoying the past year. On the way to the city I started reading ‘eighteen years’. Some of the pieces that really spoke to me will follow [I had tears in my eyes while reading all of them]…

 

who are you,

really?

you are not a name

or a height or a weight

or a gender,

you are not an age

and you are not

where you are from

you are your favorite books

and the songs stuck in your head,

you are your thoughts

and what you eat for breakfast

on saturday mornings

you are a thousand things,

but everyone chooses

to see the million things

you are not

you are not

where you are from

you are

where you’re going

and i’d like

to go there

too

Madisen Kuhn, who are you, really?

 

she buried her face in books

so no one could see

the emptiness of her eyes

 

she filled her mind

with fictional fantasies

and hoped that one day

they would become real

 

but because her head

was always stuck in a book

she never got the chance

to have adventures of her own

Madisen Kuhn, cover to cover

 

i think the world

would be a nicer place

if we stopped pretending

we knew everything

about everyone

Madisen Kuhn, truth

 

every individual

is son intricate,

yet we rush to peg them,

to label them,

to tell them who they are

[…]

the more i meet people

and flip them inside out

to run my fingers along

the cracks of their beating heart,

the more i realize that

no one really is

“normal”

Madisen Kuhn, depth

 

In the hours following that train ride I met two of my best friends, went to a photo booth to turn memories into paperweight,

got Starbucks to pay for my venti iced coffee, because that’s how nice they are when it’s your birthday and you have a Starbucks card [everyone was really cute, i’m being honest, they wrote ‘happy birthday anna’ on my cup with flowers and hearts and all of that, i guess], laughed a lot, met my cousin, had serious, but very good conversations while wandering the city and crashed at Coffee Fellows to flee the cold. The remaining hours of my birthday I spent at home with my family again. Pizza and Grand Hotel [one of my favorite series] were included.

The following morning, a Sunday, my family and I went out for a post-birthday brunch at Coffee Fellows, which meant bagels, warm beverages and time well spent. Took a short walk around the near-by christmas market with my cousin and sister afterwards. Then I went home. Trouble was over and I had spent almost three full days trying to keep everything as it was with an almost feverish effort, spending energy I could have easily saved, because after all, everything that has changed since is the second digit of a simple number in my info box on social media. nothing has changed and that’s fine. I hate changes anyways.

Before I end this somewhat very personal, yet probably boring piece of writing, I have a few more words on ‘eighteen years’  by Madisen Kuhn and one more poem. Something to remember, a message, to those of you reading this, a sort of reminder…

Madisen, your book got through to me in so many ways. At a time that I felt troubled it had the words I needed to hear to be able to calm down. ‘eighteen years’ is the most honest, most real and most beautiful collection of poetry I have yet read. In the past year poetry has become the tongue of my soul, the safe heaven I can always come to. Before your book I would have never dared to believe that there is poetry out there that puts my deepest thoughts into proper words. You did. I found myself with tears in my eyes, heart hurting. You literally speak the same tongue my heart speaks. In a world of so many I feel I have found the one person who is able to translate my soul into words, the one person to be the interpreter to fill the gap between me and the rest of the world. I thank you from the deepest depths of my heart.

To everyone reading this, ‘eighteen years’ is “[The] book [which] is meant to be bent and worn, written in, tear-stained, and loved. This book is for you.” to put it in Madison’s own words. ‘eighteen years’ is the book of first and following loves, of life and coming of age, but to be downright honest, there is no way to do this book any justice listing a few of it’s topics like this. If you want to know what it’s like then there’s no way around just reading it, experiencing it with every cell of your body. To do so, clicking here marks step one [no worries, it’s the link to get your own copy]. Now all that is left to say, is this…

 

Don’t forget to get away every once in awhile,

To lose yourself in a book

Or in the woods behind your home

Ride your bike into the sunset,

Sit on your front steps and count the cars passing by,

Lay on your roof and gaze up at the night sky,

Drive along backroads with the windows rolled down

Listening to nothing but the sound of rushing wind

I hope you take the time to be alone,

To sort through the cluttered shelves of your heart

I hope you take the time to be silent,

To close your eyes and just listen

I hope you take the time to be still,

To quiet your mind and experience the beauty

Of simply Being

Madisen Kuhn, breathe

Zucchini crust pizza

Bringing to you another much requested recipe I shared on my social media. Enjoy [I sure did]!

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Ingredients

300g          zucchini

an              egg

150g          grated mozzarella

50g            grated Parmesan

5 tbsp        tomato sauce

pinch         of salt, pepper

basilica

Instructions

 First, grate and press out the zucchini. Then add some salt and let it rest for 10 minutes.

After that add the egg, 50g of mozzarella and 50g of Parmesan. ‘Roll’ out the ‘dough’ that results from the combination or to put it more realistic, you will rather end up spreading the mixture into a thin round shape directly on a baking tray.

Then bake it for 20 minutes at 220 degrees celsius.

After 20 minutes turn over the dough and then add the toppings of your choice.

Lastly, bake for another 15 minutes.

aaand you’re done! All easy and fast. Enjoy your pizza, no matter if all by yourself or together with family and friends!

yours, anna xx