Hmm

Instead of a prompt, does anyone want a cringy romance essay I wrote when I was younger for tomorrow :) Anyone who wants it tell me if you want the shorter one or significantly longer one first (:

not because i can’t think of any prompts definitely not haha

do the things you have in mind. especially if you have been thinking about it for a long time. we spend too much time waiting, but what are we really waiting for? waiting till you have a backup plan? waiting for someone to do it with? just simply waiting to see how it goes? or have you been waiting for so long that you forgot what you were waiting for? you don’t have to do it all at once. take baby steps. but don’t forget to do the things you have in mind. don’t end up waiting in vain.

1. it’s okay to lose people you don’t fit with. people come and go.

2. it’s okay if your path is different from your friend’s. you don’t want the same things they do

3. it’s okay if you tried something and it didn’t work out. you have unlimited amount of tries, try again.

What’s the biggest freedom in this world? When you don’t have to share every single moment of your life on social media. When you have visited beautiful place and nobody knows about it. When you fall in love with someone and nobody knows about it. When you just won your life and nobody has to know about it. This is freedom for me. 

In this world, full of illusions, moments are rare.

Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.

sometimes suffering is just suffering. it doesn’t make you stronger. it doesn’t build character. it only hurts.

being brave doesn’t mean you aren’t scared. being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway.

you must learn her. you must know the reason why she is silent. you must trace her weakest spots. you must write to her. you must remind her that you are there. you must know how long it takes for her to give up. you must be there to hold her when she is about to.
you must love her because many have tried and failed. and she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept. and, this is how you keep her.

anyone else feel like they’re at the point where they don’t even know what to say or do anymore? like there’s so much going on in my head and i’ve just lost control to pretty much everything. tired of love, tired of hate, tired of life. i just don’t see a point anymore. someone once told me “the meaning of life is what you make it” but idk what to make of it anymore. it feels like an endless cycle of pain and heartache and constant restlessness. can’t sleep anymore. i feel like i’m at this constant war with myself and i’m stuck in a changing mental maze. if anyone reads this, just know if you feel the same, i care about you. idgaf who you are, i love you because i know what it feels like to feel constantly isolated from reality, like the elephant in the room.

look, love is not something we wind up, something we set or control. love is just like art: a force that comes into our lives without any rules, expectations or limitations. love like art, must always be free.

thegreenkindofgoddess:

The mornings are my favorite, especially on these dreary spring days, and the cold winter mornings. The notes of classical music swelling and shrinking like a pulse, a tide, filling every room with a beauty that does not fade. Music in the room over like a memory, ringing into existence over and over, hauntingly beautiful. Each note of For Alise adds grace elegance meaning to every movement, every drop of rain sliding down the windowsill, every sigh that escapes from my mouth. These moments are my sanctuary, my solitude. The sound of the coffee machine hissing and chugging, the wind and the rain, the patter of Luna’s paws on the stairs, the creaking of this old house, these are my own melody, the instruments in my life, beginning the first movement, the gentle sweet swell of the Sonata. I am not the conductor, I am the single member in the audience enraptured with the music, the empty cathedral to music with only me to add warmth to it all. No, God is the composer, every note another step in my life towards Him, for Him, from Him. My face turned up, worship on my lips, I live for these moments of simplicity and grace.

These are the moments that we live for

thegreenkindofgoddess:

“the way the sunshine plays in the folds of the curtains on lazy afternoons the burst of blackberry on your tongue in the summer heat the fire in your chest with that first sip of cider in the cold winter months the laugh of a stranger caught by the wind on the dappled path the graceful droop of an orchid regal melancholy in the curves of the petals these are the moments when the dreams of the world can be glimped these are the memory of pandora’s hope that serve as my suicide note”

— i am tired

thegreenkindofgoddess:

“can you feel the earth the rumble in your chest behind your heart but deeper so much deeper. can you hear the breathe of the sky the cold whisper of wind in the clouds in your lungs feel the heartbeat of the mountains of the olde in the back of your mind the pulse of the forests in your blood, the call of green of sky and sea and land you are the child of the earth of the sun through the trees and the sweet summer breezes the flow of the creek the chatter of the world beyond”

— originalgoddess

Our last few days in Macedonia were spent enveloped in a freezing fog which shrouded our view and promised snow which never came. We woke up daily to frost inside the windscreen and icicles hanging off our van. The fog wrapped itself around every plant, every rock and every being, leaving each wrapped in thick kisses of ice, turning the entire landscape silver and white without a snowflake ever falling from the sky.⁣

We were camped up on the peaceful shores of Lake Prespa, undisturbed by anyone, wrapped up in thick layers of blankets against the minus temperatures outdoors.⁣

Truthfully, the Macedonians were used to colder climates this time of year, and -7°C at night was the result an unseasonably mild winter; we had returned to the country expecting snow, and we were leaving disappointed on that front.⁣

But we were leaving confident that we had made the right decision to return; after cutting our time here short to leave for Greece in December we’d been aching to explore more of the country, and we’d been fortunate enough to enjoy an extra two weeks here getting to know the southern regions and the Macedonian way of life.⁣

We’d met some lovely people, experienced welcoming in the Orthodox New Year with rakija and fireworks, witnessed the crazy tradition of jumping into ice cold water on Epiphany Day, sampled delicious food and learned so much about a country that had never even been on our radar.⁣

That morning we left for Albania with conflict in our hearts; we were leaving for a country we’d long since fallen in love with, but we were leaving behind a blossoming romance with a land that had stolen our hearts and captured our souls.⁣

⁣Truthfully we loved the entirety of the Balkans, but we had found a special place in the very heart of the Balkan Peninsula, and when our trip was finally over Macedonia was where we’d be yearning to return.

Another day of life in the wild.⁣⠀

⁣

One of our last few days in Bosnia, spent amongst snow and pine, sprucing up before our big journey home-bound. We’d be returning worn out and penniless, with a broken van and a clutch of precious new memories, yet we did not regret a single moment of the last six months.⁣

It’s a taboo subject to talk about money, but we left for this trip with just a few grand between us. For six months of living and travelling over 15,000 miles- that’s not a lot.⁣

And so to anyone who says that we are privileged: you’re wrong. Our lifestyle is not a privilege, it is the product of hard work, ruthless saving and months of rigorous planning. All in the name of following our dreams, all in hope that someday we might be able to make the money to sustain doing what we love. All for that little taste of freedom.⁣

And it was worth every freezing night, every stale loaf of bread, every skipped meal, every dinner scraped together out of leftovers, every push to get to the next fuel station and every questionable road. We have not lived well but boy have we lived.⁣

We’ve driven spectacular roads, spent evenings in the company of welcoming locals, sampled cuisines and cultures from all walks of life, been to unbelievably remote locations and captured it all through the glass of a lens.⁣

See we’re not just doing this for a jolly, to escape the 9-5; we’re doing this because we have a passion and the tenacity to chase our dreams. We sacrificed comfort and security for the promise of something so much bigger.⁣⠀

You don’t have to be rich to travel; we’re proof of that. All you need is a dream, and the desire to chase that dream.⠀

Our van wheels crunched over unpaved road after unpaved road, kicking up mud and gravel as we bumbled along a series of winding dirt tracks which wove their way through endless pine forest.⁣⁠

This was the face of Bosnia & Herzegovina’s interior, a world away from the bustle and bullet-strewn concrete structures of its capital Sarajevo. Here, pretty little stone houses were strewn across scenic plateaus which seemed to appear mysteriously out of the dense thicket of trees that surrounded them and crept up to their doorsteps. Wild animals were known to roam these forests, and we wondered how humans could live so close to them without conflict.⁣⁠

We were still carving our route home out, ever Northbound, savouring these last few days in the Balkans before we would hotfoot across Europe back to England. We slept soundly that night, cradled by the forest, and coaxed our van into life with jackets bundled against the icy morning air. This was our pattern of travel these days; squeezing the most of every moment, battling with our van to get it home, the road our only constant as we went.⁣⁠⠀

As the forest dwindled and eventually gave way to civilisation we followed a winding little road partially covered by snow up to a ledge, where we spent the night sleeping underneath the remnants of Tito’s fist. Now a crumbling concrete structure, this bizarre object known as a spomenik had once been a monument to the Partisan soldiers who fought in the Battle of the Wounded in the valley below, but was nicknamed for its uncanny resemblance to Yugoslavia’s former leader ad the iron fist with which he ruled. However, shortly after the Bosnian War, a group of vandals planted dynamite inside and blew it to pieces, although its skeleton still dominates the skyline for miles around.⁣⁠

We were beginning to understand more of Bosnia’s chequered past, evident in every bullet-strewn building and every crumbling ruin we passed. Twenty years was not enough time to heal, but even after the visible reminders had long since been repaired, the memories would not fade for generations yet to come.⁠⠀

⁠⠀

I wash everything by hand in our van- underwear, tops, cardigans, you name it, using whatever river or lake water is available nearby. We take a trip to the laundrette once every two months for our bedding and that’s it. It saves money, but I also enjoy doing it in some weird, old-fashioned way.⁣

Maybe because it reminds me of when I was younger. We were always moving between houses, hauling all of our stuff in this big old yellow Mercedes truck to and fro across two countries. I got used to washing my clothes by hand in the sink of whatever house we were in that month, always a different bedroom or kitchen to get used to.⁣

Maybe that lack of permanence in my formative years is what drove me to eventually get a van. Those memories of brushing my teeth in a lay-by or sleeping in the footwell of our truck seemed like hard done-by times back then, but I look back on them now with a sort of fondness and nostalgia at my unusual childhood.⁣

There are many hundreds of little reasons that made me want to travel; moments that seemed innocuous at the time now resonate with a deeper meaning and inspire me to push on further. Movement is in my soul; it makes my spirit restless to sit still.⁣

Often challenges can be the most defining points of our lives, whether we realise it at the time or only once they have been overcome. Maybe one day we’ll look back at these times we’re living now, cast a fresh gaze upon old memories, and I wonder which of those will stand out, and which will fade away.⁣

, , , …⁣

⁣

Our boots crunched over loose, rocky scree and a vertical incline that threatened to topple us over at any minute. The track we were following was unlike anything we’d hiked before; less a path and more a trail carved out by the resilient villagers who lived at the top of this mountain.⁣

We had journeyed to the Northernmost corner of Albania until the road could take us no further; here we left the van and met our guide who would take us to meet the villagers living in some of Albania’s most remote regions, places only accessible on foot or by mule.⁣

At this altitude in the Albanian Alps there was no vegetation, nothing to suggest this area would support life; the closest thing to trees were the makeshift poles supporting a thin electricity wire than ran from the bottom of the valley to the peak above us. We followed the path arduously, gasping for breath and legs screaming in protest while our guide, who’d been traversing these mountains since he learned to walk, sailed ahead of us.⁣

Men twice our age passed us with ease, taking their mules to the top to fetch hay, and we doubted whether we’d ever make it to the end of this 2km near-vertical climb.⁣

But then, mercifully, the ground began to level out, and a luscious green pasture spread out before us, covering the plateau. This was the last place on earth we’d expected to see people living, yet unbelievably a dozen or so houses were spread out across the vast fields where horses and sheep grazed.⁣

It took another hour or so to reach a homestead which looked like it might be inhabited; many of the rest were crumbling ruins, long abandoned as their owners headed for the city. A middle-aged woman greeted us at the door, wearing a white head scarf and modest clothing; she was clearly surprised and excited to have visitors. She immediately invited us inside for coffee, and set about pouring glasses of rakia from a bottle shaped like a crucifix.

We were in awe of her home, which was furnished with beautiful polished wood items and an ornate wood burner in the center. We inquired how she had managed to get it up here, and she recalled hauling it up the same track we had taken, carrying it on sticks along with her husband on their shoulders. The same would’ve been true for every item of furniture in their house, making this otherwise ordinary house suddenly look quite impossible.⁣

After drinks, Age (Aga) happily showed us around her property; she had vegetables and dried mountain herbs in her larder, dried cuts of meat in her barn. She kept sheep for their milk, churned this by hand to make butter, and knitted clothes and rugs from their wool. Her water came from a spring and her income came from raising cattle. Every part of her life was fascinating to us; our minds boggled at the length and difficulty of the journey we had taken, hours from the nearest city with amenities, right up to this woman’s house that would be ordinary if not for its exceptional location atop a mountain.

It was still incomprehensible, even though we’d completed the journey ourselves, and we imagined her and her husband making their monthly trip to Shkodër then hiking back up the vertical path with their supplies; it was a world away from simply visiting the supermarket. From this vantage point we could see dozens more houses scattered across the mountains in even more unlikely places, and we were curious whether anyone still lived in them and what their stories were.⁣

We said goodbye to Age, who still had much work to do before the sunset, and began our painstaking journey down the other side of the mountain left in complete and total awe.⁣

This is an excerpt from an ongoing documentary project about the residents of the Albanian Alps, one of the most inaccessible regions of Europe. The video of this adventure will be out on YouTube on Sunday, and the full photo essay will be available to view on @lbjournalssoon.

The distant sounds of the Call To Prayer rang out across the steely waters of Lake Skadar, crackling out through distorted speakers atop the minarets of several mosques, clashing and vying for dominance like the howling of street dogs. The sky was reflected in the glassy lake surface as it turned slowly from blue to purple to an electrifying red which set the clouds ablaze. And we were making our preparations to head deep into the mountains.⁣

We’d been parked up amongst the waterlogged trees and lake reeds for several days, a furtive little spot accessible by driving through a shallow river that had swollen to twice its size following the rainfall on the day we arrived. But now the blissful sunset colours cast down onto the distant mountains of Montenegro and all was calm in the far North of Albania again.⁣

Of all the lakes we’d camped by in recent months, Lake Skadar was easily the largest and most impressive.⁣⠀

While we’d stuck religiously to our inland route around the Balkan Peninsula these lakes gave us some comfort and a gentle reminder of the ocean’s edge we’d left behind in search of provincial adventures. Although we’d grown up a stone’s throw from the sea and these country’s coastlines provided an easily navigable and scenic route, we’d been drawn to see more of Europe’s hinterlands, a world away from glitzy seaside resorts and tourist attractions. In the heartlands of Albania we’d discovered spectacular mountainscapes, empty lands, impassable roads and an authenticity, warmth and unrivalled hospitality from its people. The same was true of the Balkans’ whole interior, and in fact we’d only briefly touched the sea in Thessaloniki since our departure from Calais many months prior.

These lesser-visited areas are what we live for; places you won’t find in any guidebook, unblemished of tourist attractions. Just raw and honest countryside, nothing more.⁣⠀

We finished packing up our backpacks just as the last of the light was fading, ready for our journey tomorrow into the most remote corner of this country. ⠀

⠀

When it rains in the mountains, it really rains. Not a fine mizzle or the odd shower like we get in England, but a biblical, all-engrossing rain that pelts down from the sky and sends rivers running down the mountainsides in great waterfalls that flood the roads and make planning any sort of activity quite impossible.⁣⁣

Such is the unpredictability of the Accursed Mountains, a corner of Albania whose curious histories and unique way of life woven amongst its limestone peaks will forever keep us coming back for more.⁣⁣

This fascinating mountain range was so named for its wildly inhospitable conditions, and is one of the rare mountain ranges in Europe that is yet to be fully explored. But mountaineers with their compasses and maps will never truly conquer these mountains, for the only way to truly navigate them is with a lifetime of muscle memory, ingrained into mountain men from the age they learn to walk. There are few roads, no signposted trails, and no forgiveness; if you get lost and the weather doesn’t get you then the wolves surely will.⁣⁣

But while the mountains may ward you off with their inhospitality the people will surely not, as they are perhaps some of the warmest and most welcoming in all the Balkans. With no fear of strangers and no reason to lock their doors some three hours away from the nearest town, they will happily invite you into their home for a coffee and a rakia before you continue on your journey.⁣⁣

The Albanian Alps possess a deep sense of mystery that fascinates us and seems almost tangible as we pull off the craggy SH25 alongside the Drin river, unwilling to drive any further in the torrential downpour. The thunderstorm would not pass until tomorrow evening when we would be rewarded with another spectacular Albanian sunset, but before that we would endure a night of lightning strikes powerful enough to knock out the area’s only phone mast, and thunder that shook us violently inside our van; if you’ve never heard thunder in the mountains before, imagine someone dropping about thirty dustbins off the side of a cliff at once. It booms.⁣⁣

It felt all at once overwhelmingly exciting and familiar to be back in the North of Albania once again, parked up so close to an area we’d become so affiliated with that had played home to one of our favourite travel stories. But now we were about to make more, as we were set to be heading off the road and into the furthest reaches of these mountains on foot, a place where vehicles could only dream to go and mules were the primary mode of transport.⁣⁣

Soon we were going back into the heart of the Accursed Mountains.

It’s all too easy to simply pass through somewhere, admiring the scenery from a distance through dusty window panes like the hollow eyes of a TV screen.⁣⠀

It’s much more complex and infinitely more rewarding to engage with life in other countries, to meet people and experience small snippets of culture through them, to learn what it means to be a local in even the most mundane sense, to really a country in a richer, more wholesome way.⁣⠀

When you’ve assimilated into the local way of life, when you’ve learned things that could never be written in any guidebook, that is when one graduates from a tourist into a traveller.⁣⠀

⁣⠀

The people are their country; a country is its people. And to pass through a place blissfully unaware of the locals and their customs is in our eyes to waste an opportunity.⁣⠀

Without those chance encounters, without delving into new cuisines, without saying yes and throwing ourselves into whatever comes out way, how could we ever truly say we’ve seen the world?⁣⠀

⁣⠀

When you travel you open yourself up to a wealth of experiences the world has to offer, both good and bad. But through these experiences you realise that the world isn’t such a dark, scary place as we’re led to believe. Most people we’ve met on our way have been good and kind, hospitable and welcoming. And the bad experiences are just lessons learned for the future.⁣⠀

After all, we wholeheartedly believe that what you put out into the world, is what you receive back.⁣⠀

Be good, be honest, be curious and be kind. And just see where the winds will take you.⁣⠀

⁣⠀

P.S. This might just be my favourite photo from this trip, taken in one of my favourite corners of the world ⠀

On a particularly frosty Monday morning we rose earlier than the sun did, cameras in hand and blankets around our shoulders to capture the sunrise and encapsulate it in our memories⁣.

The watercolour sky was awash with pale pinks and dusky orange, the jagged mountain peaks shrouding the horizon beyond. Below our camp spot sat the most pristine lake of emerald water, clear as glass, and a thick stream of cloud scooting across its surface before being sucked down into the valley below.⁣

We stood patiently, cameras poised, as the fiery sunlight licked the tops of the mountains and slowly made its way down to their base. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the golden rays filtered through the peaks and burst through the chill in the air. The snaking dirt track beneath us was all of a sudden bathed in gold, the fog clouds set ablaze in the sky, and the warmth of a late winter’s day kissed our cheeks and unfroze our hands.⁣

It felt like an achievement for us, a rare gift of total aloneness after several chaotic days amongst the city folk of Tirana, long before the first commuter minibuses would rumble their way down this track. We retreated to the van to reward ourselves with coffee, watching the sun scatter the orderly clouds into a haze of fog that enveloped the landscape and licked at our van.⁣

An early start and a little less sleep had been a fair trade to enjoy this moment all to ourselves. We cradled our coffee cups and pored over maps, planning the day’s adventure ahead before the rest of the world had even pulled back the covers and risen out of bed.

Behold, a writer’s hall of fame.

I want a wife that understands me like this.

Me. So me. I keep a voice recorder next to my bed JUST for this sort of thing. I’ve yet to use it. Bollocks!!

cast your eyes upon me

and fall into devotion,

revel in the masterpiece that is my being

and wait helplessly

as addiction crawls up your limbs,

long for me,

touch me

and find that my skin

was carved from marble,

wonder

in your love-drunk adoration

which sculptor could have hewn

something so masterful

stand before me

and discover why

my gaze entrances the sun

and my voice bewitches the moon,

perceive me

and empathize

with the planets

as they compete to capture my interest

and the northern lights

as they pray for my attention

brush your hands along my thighs

and know

that my flesh is coiled lightning

and my bones contain the east wind,

grasp my hands

and bear witness

to the vast expanse of past and future

written in the swirls of my fingerprints

and the lines of my palms,

press your ear to my chest

and behold thunder.

caress the folds of my stomach

and know that i am made of mountains

that my muscles were knitted

from the same roots

that strangle boulders

and win,

learn the map of my veins

and be warned;

inside them surges saltwater

stolen from the deepest trenches of the sea

i cry seafoam

and spit the blood of men

who wronged me.

the universe is an artist

that makes itself in my image

every new nebula another attempt

at painting the wildfire that rages within me

and when my body does decay

all creation will rot

beside me.