Is there something?

How much time do you invest in yourself? Not for profit but for being.

How often do you read, how often do you just sit down and think? How often do you write? How much time do you spend actually improving a skill? And by that I don't mean in video games. I mean in real life. How much time do you spend in the real world?

I don't know what your answer might be but for me, until now, it hasn't been much. Actually the answer in numbers would frighten myself.

I love to go out, to enjoy the nature, the moment, real people. But at the time I am anxious of all that. I am consumed by thoughts of what I could do or achieve by doing this or that – but I seldomly do any of it. I spend more time planning and thinking about my skills instead of actually doing something with or about them. And it is so frustrating, that I keep lying to myself in order to avoid them.

Isn't it funny how easy it feels to just keep lying to protect ourself from just slowing, quieting and calming down? To just be there for a moment. And see deeply in what's really missing. What we really want or need to do? It's not, because the amount of missteps has grown as large as the depts of our countries and the only solution - which I'd rather call protection - seems to be running away. Running away towards entertainment, study, stimulation and excess, which makes the pile of shame grow more and build uncountable walls around us.

So don't act surprised if the wall gets too big and collides. Be aware that it's made of thin glass and is easy to smash. Don't wait for it to be smashed in the first place. Do it yourself and expose your weaknesses. Start accepting them and working on them. Work on yourself. Work for yourself. Be what you want to be in the real world, not in your mind. Just fucking do it. At least before it's too late – because I bet there are many things too late already. And the pile will overgrow you, if you don't start to work it down now!

Project 365

I actually wanted to do this in Japanese on my .. Japanese blog, but as I am not able to get to my profiledata atm I have to move this there another time. So I am just going to start with my first 5 days in English. Fair enough.

First of all, I heard of this 'Project' from Lea, who did this in, uh 2012 or something. I have finally decided to do this, since I have enough time and not enough talent in completing such things as you could probably see with all my unfinished 30-day-challenges, but don't even go there.
It's quite simple, I will just post a photo every day in 2015 and see where this year will lead me, there  are some exciting things planned uuuh~ I will also comment shortly, that's why this would make much more sense for me in Japanese but oh well.

Fooling around in winter

Leningrad.

It was just before winter and people had an uneasy feeling about what would be coming at them. Winter was never easy and even more so in war. Little children were playing on the empty streets as I looked out of my window. Oh, how I longed to play with them, but I had to stay inside and save calories. Eventhough had some bread-cards left, nobody knew whether we would get our portion of food and it was already about 0 degree, counting in the European Celsius, of course. I was not entirely sure about that though, since we sold our last thermometer at the black market. But I was guessing so, because my sister, Lena, was lying on the bed, her skin steadily turning blue as she tried to get herself at least a little clean with the snow she had collected outside just a few minutes ago.

"Everyone is dead, everyone is dead, only Marie they left." She mumbled almost singingly.

She came closer to me, her body blue, naked, barely any flesh left on those bones. Lena wrapped me into her cloak. She did that every evening. I tried to tell her, that I was already warm enough and that she should keep those to herself, but she didn't want to listen. Instead she layered me up with all the pieces of clothes she had left. Luckily we had some extra pieces, since Mama died last week and also left us an extra bread-card. But I felt guilty seeing my sister using all that extra clothing for my sake.

When Lena noticed herself in the mirror, she slowly teared up and started screaming. She did that every time. "Oh, what a misbuilded being I have become. What an ugly monster!" She hit herself a few times against her own stomach. I tried to tell her that it would only increase her calorie consumption, but she never listened to me. I was shocked how it didn't even move me. My sister used to be a very beautiful, kind child after all. She was celebrated and well known. But war changed everything. It made her steal, it made her take the life of others, it made her sleep with wrong men. And hunger did the other part. Making her ugly and weak.

While Lena was crying she picked up her scissors and cut off her hair. She looked at me: "Is this alright? Yes? I am so sorry I couldn't get any food today, but those bastards didn't have anything left for us! At the black market they wouldn't even take my soap. THE GOOD SOAP MAMA LEFT US TO SELL WHAT ELSE WAS SHE GOOD FOR? Why wouldn't they take it, Maria, why would they reject me?"

I was a little worried about the scissors Lena was holding. On the other hand I knew she would never leave her little sister alone on purpose. Not in winter. Not in war. We survived this once, I tried to whisper, we can do this again. Encouragement, though, never worked, because we all knew, the whole time, that every hope we gave ourselves, every optimistic thought we told – they were all lies. Lies that kept us alive. But sometimes they just didn't work out and hope couldn't compensate the hunger. Now was such a moment, I noticed, when my sister took out a kettle and started to melt the soap. Again she turned at me: "Everything is going to be fine, ok? I will make a great meal today." She shouldn't do this, I tried to communicate, she would just poison herself. But she never listened. Lena sprinkeled her hair into the soap. Her warming glance, the one she had while singing lullabies to me, when I was a kid, was about to fade. My sister took a spoon and ate a little from her odd soup. She swallowed it with force. Immediately she puked on the floor. I hated seeing her like that, but all I could do was trying to roll my eyes to express how predictable that action was.

Lena started crying. My older sister was shaking and screaming and shivering and hewing the ground aimlessly. Slowly her cry turned into a desperate laughter. She looked at me. She laughed. She seemed determined.

I had only seen that look once, when the letter came, telling us how sorry the goverment was to lose a great soldier and friend to the German army. Mum and sister looked empty, but Lena had something in her eyes, that made her look confident at the same time. That's when she promised to protect me with her life. With all her might. And that look there. Facing me right in that moment. Was the same and I knew she was doing the right thing, Yes, I tried to tell her, I tried to scream at her, I tried nodding but why, god, why couldn't I move? Why did she never listen? My sister came up to me, whispering: "I'd rather kill myself than giving in and eating my own little, dead, sister. I am so sorry. I knew your death had a purpose. I know you wouldn't want it to be in vain. I am sorry. I am weak. I can not do this." That's when she began stabbing her guts just like I did with mine.