Amalfi Coast--near Naples

What I love more than touristy fashion trends, are the places I’ve been fortunate enough to visit in Italy. Staying in a house centuries old in the Tuscan hills, enjoying fresh bread, cheese, and olives, and laughing as my mother drowsily lay her head on my fathers shoulder after the sole glass of red wine that accompanied her dinner.

Pompeji

Tonight at 4 in the morning, Muki and I will head off once again to the airport and board a Lufthansa flight with Naples, Italy as its destination. We will spend 10 days living with his German/Italian friend and his girlfriend, as well as another couple in true Italian style. I will consume (dairy-less) pizza and bread in absurd quantities, and I’ll enjoy every minute of it–I just hope my stomach does too.

Authentic Naples pizza--according to google images--hmmm...maybe my stomach can handle the cheese?

In case your sarcasm radar is thrown off a bit by the computer screen, I doubt very strongly that these tips are happiness producers. Happiness is a state of being–one we choose when we choose personal freedom to pave the roads of our lives, instead of growing accustomed to the curves and straights we believe we’ve been dealt. Happiness grows out of self-love and selflessness. It is bred; parented by forgiveness and willingness to take risks at times when risks feel the riskiest. Carved in the space once occupied by contentedness and “if, then” statements. If I lose x pounds, then I will finally be happy. And obviously, not only body issues apply. “If, then” statements are used in any aspect of our lives that we deem needs more control. Afraid of the uncertainty and the possibility of a new, unfamiliar self, we box ourselves into these philosophical arguments. Constantly putting off the light at the end of the tunnel, the freedom, until we fulfill a never-ending set of requirements.

Why never-ending, you may ask? Once I fulfill that “if” statement (the coveted, smaller sized jeans, or other demon of choice) I will have reached the point in which freedom can take over–let happiness ensue. But here I must persuade you to look at the girl who developed an eating disorder, or the employee who is now a work-a-holic consumed by their career. At some point the initial goal ceases to be the point of surrender, and becomes a midway target for a new, more dogmatic end. We miss out on life, allowing ourselves to be consumed by these trivial pursuits; and we pin our unhappiness right back on these issues which have bred the dissatisfaction within us. We first become dissatisfied with our lives, perhaps because we don’t enjoy a certain path we have allowed ourselves to fall upon. Or rather, we haven’t given ourselves the freedom to really know what path we want to be on. It could be that we’ve just stopped enjoying conversation, with ourselves and with others. Walking the world in a permanent state of acceptance rather than questioning, no longer seeking to discover and learn, but instead seeking refuge in lives that are dictated to us in amusing forms of television and books. Once we realize this dissatisfaction deep within us, we pick a superficial factor (perhaps one that does in some way contribute to our feelings, but is certainly not the cause of them), and we brood over that factor, allowing it to grow into an elephant in our minds. “It is my weight that is the source of all my unhappiness. If only I were 10 pounds lighter my world would be ok”. We slip deeper into these feelings of unworthiness,  all the while failing to see that we have reduced ourselves to absurdity. We have bred contentedness within ourselves, and then punished ourselves for not embracing what we fear the most: happiness.

And so here I sit, at 9:15 pm, in my current abode in Germany when I could be doing one of two things I love: yoga, or dancing. And I sit here not because I have a feeling that I need to lose 10 pounds (although I myself have been a slave–and continue to struggle in my escape–from body image and eating problems), and not because I have copious amounts of work that my work-a-holic self can’t put down (although I do wish that sometimes I could embrace that nonexistent version of myself a bit more), but because I have a stomach ache.

A three week long, never ending pain in my stomach that gurgles all night and roars after I eat. One that leaves me looking 6 months pregnant, and feeling like I’ve swallowed a roomful of air. At times there is a jabbing so ferocious that I’ve decided it can only be caused by a personal carpenter who has taken up residence in my middle lower-middle cavity. I can only hope that he is carving something worth all this pain.

With a doctor appointment in site, and a personal eating/elimination experiment in the undertaking, my spirits are temporarily lifted. So then why have I fallen into a new “if, then” requirement. I will only be happy when my stomach stops hurting. One thing is certain, I’ll be a lot more comfortable, but will I be happier? No. I will be happier when I start an internship. I’ll be happier when I begin my NMSU courses, and a weekly yoga class. When I get a guest pass to Mainz University’s Fitness classes for fall semester, and when I have written my monster of a thesis. After all these “whens” I’ll be happy. And that isn’t enough. I need to let go of all of these requirements for my state of being and look into myself right now. Why do I have a need to feel happier when I know that I am experiencing happiness right now? I am in a country that I never imagined myself in. I am embracing a language and a culture that has cultivated multiple feelings within me. I am growing culturally, and even spiritually. And, most importantly, I am living and sharing my daily with a person I love. This is the path I have chosen for myself. It isn’t one that was dictated to me, or even suggested to me based on history, convenience, or age. I strive to let go of the predictable and the certain to embrace the unknown and sometimes unstable feelings of freedom and happiness. Not to find them when, but to embrace them now.

And so now I am left with the task of wrapping up this post and somehow tying in the first paragraph. Although it fits quite nicely into what I was trying to convey, the truth is it set itself up on this page with the intention of supporting a very different message. One lamenting the fact that it seems that all sugars (fruit included) as well as dairy are the source of my stomach pains. A very sorry fact indeed when I’m craving something sweet.

A message I could have followed, for that is the path I had originally set for myself when I sat down to write. Instead, I let these words take me where they would, although I was unsure of how I would help them find their way. A small step in an effort to surrender.

Life has been a never-ending wirlwind of beautiful colors since the last time my words seeped from this keyboard into your mind. I’ve been swimming against the current in the sea of German.  Finished a four week intensive lanuage course which hoisted me over the wall of “Wie heißt du?” and “Wie geht es dir?”. My shell was cracked and filled with the new aromas and tastes of Barcelona for three days. I re-evaluated the inspiration for the word gaudy; attempted to eat over-salted, marketed for tourists paella, and used a spanish version of toy story 3 as a hotel before our 3am bus back to Giorona airport. I also ate delicious falafel in true Israeli fashion, walked Park Guell, which was the gorgeous backdrop of “Vicky, Christina, Barcelona”,  found the first self-serve froyo place in Europe, and enjoyed spending time in a new setting with Muki. We enjoyed the wafts of beauty found hidden amidst city smells. And we decided it was the last trip to a big city we were going to make for a very long while.

A few days after returning from Spain it was Muki’s birthday. In his family birthdays are celebrated with dinner of choice, a cake baked by his mother–the deliciousness of which should definitely not be downsized–and a present.  In my family, however, all boundaries are broken on birthdays. Feasts are made, poems written, songs sang, and paintings created all in your name. Even though I know these sorts of celebrations are not common in many families except my own, I was not about to break Lapid tradition just because I happened to be in Germany, so I began drumming my fingers together, strategizing.

Out of Scotland reminiscening a birthday breakfast was born. Muki and I often wandered Edinburgh together, sometimes with no destination in mind. Almost always, however, we would trek our snow covered shoes into the one of the warm Starbucks. Muki knew that I would never voluntarily support a chain when there were wonderful little Scottish coffee shops around town; but for Starbuck’s cinnamon rolls even the morals and values of his girlfriend could be overlooked.

The night before his birthday I made some dough.

The buttery filling wouldn’t have tasted as good without Muki’s artistic contribution.

The next morning I woke up at 8 am and turned the dough into these birthday treats:

After doing as much as my hands could master, I passed the pressure over to the finicky oven.

There was also French Toast, and a mango–although it ended up being more of a his and hers breakfast. Cinnamon rolls for the birthday boy, and French toast with sugar free fruit spread and some mango for me.

Muki made me promise not to spend money on a material gift for him. He wanted something hand-made, something artistic. The problem is, my art comes in the form of writing, cooking, baking, or photography. Very rarely will I sit down and paint a picture so beautiful, you’d want to hang it in your house.

But while I’m no Picasso, I think this Edinburgh collage isn’t too too terrible. Anyway, it was a successful birthday! Lately, I’ve been procrastinating more, writing less. Watching more films in German, and realizing I still don’t understand them. Oh, and of course….I’ve been baking.

Macs don’t live up to their reputation–or perhaps they do, if you belong to the anti mac cult.

My Macbook is having a vacation in the Mainz Apple Store, cuddling up next to a German technician.

When a summer is as hot as this airconditioning should be manditory. Mostly in the bus when I am pressed up to the nice old women with armpit stains. Especially when I pay nearly 60 Euros a month to ride said bus. End of story.

When fruit flies inhabit your kitchen in the millions you can guess one of five things: 1. You clearly have too much uneaten fruit in your basket. 2. It is so hot and humid that vegetables and fruit which were bought the day before become fruit fly food overnight. 3. The dishes in the kitchen havent been cleaned in a week. 4. You live with all boys. or 5. All of the above.

Legs become manly when you ride your bide up and down hills twice a day to German course.

Falafels are consumed in unbelievable rates in this household. A pack of 12 is gone in 2 hours. My German boyfriend is to blame. Israel, here we come.

Zumba and Yoga will be happening…along with Tennis lessons.

New pictures are up on my “people” and “places” pages!

Hello gorgeous readers! If there are any readers…There very well could be hoards of blog stalkers reading my sporadic musings—I myself am a blog stalker who rarely steps out of the shadows to comment—yet I think its more likely that my blog is one that appeals to a few, loyal readers. And that is something I am at peace about. I write to clear my head, to gather my thoughts and organize them into something I can reflect on later. I write to sift through the rubble that my mind and my senses are overly infiltrated with. I write to discover and uncover. And, I write to remember.

On June 26^th, 2010 my cousin Jacob came to Mainz. Jacob is only two years younger than me, and grew up in a brick house with a willow tree in front that was only 4 minutes and twenty-six seconds from my own brick house. From the time I was five years old I walked there on my own; by the time I was six , Jacob and I had started our own house cleaning business marketed with a sign reading: “Will clean house. Have own supplies. 25 cents”.

Of course, at some point our closeness transitioned into the cousinly formalities often found between silly high school girls and their ‘younger’ boy cousins.  Our love was still there, but the times we hung out and talked reduced themselves to Shabbat dinner once a week, and the occasional car ride to school. I went through my phases, and stages, and he watched patiently—observing my mistakes and thankfully embarking on a different high school path.

And then, last year, he graduated from high school. He got into one of his top choices for an undergraduate program, and then, without hesitating, deferred to go on a year course in Israel. So as I journeyed to find adventure, green hills, history, and kilts and bagpipes a German boy in Scotland, Jacob landed in the land of milk and honey.

I didn’t see him, and hardly spoke to him all year.

On June 26^th, 2010 Jacob arrived in Mainz.

He had just finished a three-week backpacking trip with friends from year course, and we planned to stay in Mainz for a few days, go to Berlin for a few days, and then, sadly, part ways.

His trip rekindled that our childlike closeness. There were feelings of content silence, and unspoken conversations that were completely understood. I learned so much about the Israel he experienced, and how it has changed from the one I have known. I saw my little, four-year-old cousin, transitioned into a grown, mature, amazing man.

I don’t worry about the different stages we will go through anymore. We talked about it and decided that by the time we are 30 and 32 we will be the same age anyway…so we just have to bridge the age gap for 11 more years.

I can’t wait to travel with him again. Hopefully through South America, or South East Asia, and hopefully accompanied by my brother and sister, and even our other cousins too. I’ve told you before, my family members are my best friends.

**Stay tuned for Jacob’s visit in pictures. I figured I’ve talked enough, you might enjoy seeing the experiences I’ve been living.

True, my eating habits have changed here. But its not all for the worse; with the exception of Shabbat, Muki and I are in the habit of eating gourmet salads for dinner almost every night. We like to mix it up–Israeli salad frequents our table (with a his and hers dressing based in yogurt and olive oil respectively), sometimes we have salad with grilled chicken, other times salad with feta. Even olives, sun dried tomatoes, and pepperocinis have made guest appearances on beds of lettuce, cucumbers, and tomatoes.

Since each of us has our own dietary guidelines we like to follow, fresh salad is compromise that is always healthy, and always tasty.

Tonight, however, salad just wasn’t going to cut it.

At about 4 o’ clock this afternoon, my mid afternoon energy slump was disrupted by an energized Muki. He was in a mood to cook, and I was informed that my plea to snooze wasn’t going to be entertained by the jury at this time. Deciding my veto power needed to make an appearance as well, I mercilessly shot down ideas for salad mit fisch and salad mit huehnchen. I desperately wanted a curry.

Being stubborn and unyielding, we decided to settle our quarrels wait for the other person to back down over a mango. Suddenly, inspired by the tastiness of our favorite fruit, Muki thought up the idea for mango chicken. I added some ideas of my own (like ginger, and coconut milk) to satisfy my curry craving, and suddenly the jury had an reached a unanimous conclusion.

Together, we wrote down our first original recipe in our little black book, jumped on our bicycles (I’m proud to say I am much improved!), and rode to the store to buy our items. I’ll let some pictures do the talking, but in case your eyes deceive you , it was **delicious. I’ll leave you with the recipe at the bottom.

Hope all is well!

Muki and Talia’s “Pollo de la Koko y Mango”

3/4th can coconut milk

1 Mango

1″ piece of ginger

Scallions

Red chili/curry paste

Cumin

Soy sauce

Pepper

Chicken

Red pepper

Brown basmati rice

Put desired amount of rice to cook in a pot or rice cooker. In the meantime, peel the mango and the ginger, cube and put in blender with coconut milk. Give it a good whirl, and add some water to desired consistency. Add a handful of chopped scallions, a small dash of soy sauce, a spoonful (or more or less, depending on your spice tolerance) of red curry sauce, and a dash of cumin, and whirl again until completely blended. Cook chicken and diced red pepper in a pan with a little olive oil. Heat curry sauce in a seperate pot. Serve chicken and peppers on a bed of rice and drizzle with mango curry. Then send us a comment thanking us for our brilliance  enjoy!! :)

Until tomorrow!

I smiled and nodded, promising to write in the recipes for our homemade pizzas once I put them in the unreliable oven. Megan formed her hands into a heart that exploded into the aroma filled air. The story of our life, I thought; somehow minimized to fit in a pocket sized black notebook. Containing recipes from our abend essen (dinners), grocery lists, and phone numbers for language schools. I can imagine it filled–this black book–with no empty pages left. I can imagine it filled just as I can imagine the pages of my time here filled. All the stories written into the day’s hours with no days left to be written.

What will we have then? Only memories? I can’t comprehend that the time continues to pass, and I will never remember exactly what has happened or how I feel. All that is left is a glimpse of some moments. Perhaps one image filling my head as I think about a day, a week, or an entire visit. Its the blue shirt and black jeans I see when I envision coming off the British Airways flight on May 12th 2010. The picture you have of a white horizon as we drove down the single highway through New Mexico’s national monument on our way back from Ruidoso.

New memories will replace the old ones, and perhaps one day the blue shirt and white horizon will fade to images of weathered, leather, winter shoes and snow topped trees.

But at least this time we will have our black book.

I suppose there are many reasons for the hiatus from blog writing. My life took unexpected turns that led to a desire for isolation and removal from the public eye. I felt that a lot of personal feelings and information was being shared too openly with the unidentified reader. I saw my interests morphing; myself changing. I knew I needed time. I felt like my writing was too sporadic and random for a blog. I thought that–since it wasn’t a personal journal– I needed to have a single topic to muse over. I put pressure on myself to write creatively and poetically in every post; even when I just wanted to recount the day’s events.
I couldn’t deal with the stress that I put on myself, and quite suddenly a project that was meant to bring me joy became an overwhelming burden.

I’m going to do things differently this time. I want to fuse my two passions: writing and photography. I can’t promise how often I’ll post–and when I do post I have no idea if it will be a story, a poem, memories from the day, or just some pictures. There will be no more pressure associated with this blog. The topics will almost certainly be random, because that is how my mind works. I will definitely be sharing aspects of my life in Germany, as well as thoughts and impressions during my travels. But I may also write poems or narratives which will have no concrete origination point.

While I want to pull up the blinds again, they won’t be opened so widely. I need privacy in my life. Those who are close enough to me to know all the details will. As for the rest of my reading strangers: I am happy to share my some of my thoughts and pictures with you, and I hope you are happy to witness them.

Today, I watch the sun go down over Edinburgh. Tomorrow, I will watch it rise over Budapest. Today, I sit in my chair dreaming of possible adventures that await me. Tomorrw, I will venture into the unknown without a map, or a plan; without a computer, or responsibilties; without the burden of makeup, or clothing–with only two friends, adventurers, and companions.

To even utter the word ‘expectations’ would be wrong, for I go without them. How can I expect something from what I do not know? I go with an open mind, heart, and schedule. I do not seek adventure or thrill, for how can I seek something I am unsure exists? Instead I welcome the world which will greet me–so unlike my own–for what will and will not be.

I have more to write..but I have a more important  task at the moment. I am going to live.