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Wednesday, November 6, 2019

When the universe is listening

Writers have a lonely job, or at least I’m the one who believes that. Your friends are your characters, you talk to them; you get angry with them and so on. Writers also spend a great deal of time in their studio, if they are lucky to have one, if not in their bedroom, pretending they have a wonderful window view. Last year I decided to leave that comfort zone of mine, go out and make some real friends. When I first join the IWNG group I said: Okay, one more online group doesn’t hurt. I’m a passive member of many of them. I don’t even remember how many? But the pictures they (IWNG members) kept posting gave me such a positive feeling that I decided to join them. To make a long story short, I really wanted to be part of the Story Telling & Social Media event, on 18 of October. I had to make some preparation first. After school, kids would have a play date, and I got free time from my work.
I knew they were going to have a raffle, but that particular part just faded away, as I never win a thing. But, on the day of the event when Yustine got that lucky message “a free body massage.” I said to myself: that’s mine. That’s got to be mine. So ladies, please, pick up my name. And then I hear Kristina trying hard to read my name: I helped her of course: It’s Teuta, I said. 
Today it was the day to collect my price.  Even though I had checked up the address thousands of times, I left my house early, just in case. This also because I’m not good at finding the addresses. It looks like my google map is ‘off’ and I end up having a quarrel with the automated female voice of Google, but this is another story. To my surprise, today, I found my way without going the wrong direction first. I told you the universe is listening. I saw myself standing in front of Lefki’s door, twenty minutes early. What should I do? It is cold, so I decided to ring the doorbell. 

We shook hands, in a traditional way, when you meet someone for the very first time. She asked me if I needed something to drink and left me alone for some minutes, just to prepare myself. And here I am now in this little warm room, sitting on this comfortable bed. The scent of jasmine filled my nostrils. A piece of soft relaxing music played in the background.
Lefki made me feel comfortable, and asked if I had any pain. ‘My body and the shoulder – as if my shoulder was not part of my body- hurts,’ I said. I think I was having this pain on my shoulder since I was a student, or maybe before that, I don’t remember. It just stays there and doesn’t want to go away. She smiled softly. “We will work on it,” she said.
I was a bit stressed out at the beginning. I’m the kind of person who loves to talk to strangers, but the ice was quickly broken. She asked where I came from and my first instinct was to cut the conversation short and let her focus on her job. Not because I didn’t want to introduce myself, but because each time I tell people where I come from, they reply with a wry smile and then silence.
But not this time. As soon as she heard I came from Albania, Lefki smiled and replied:
‘Oh, we are neighbours.’ I lifted my body and raised my eyebrows. 
‘I am coming from Greece. Don’t move,’ she said, smiling at me again. That was enough for us both to begin a warm and pleasant exchange of personal stories, experiences and future expectations. 
Let’s turn to the point though, because here comes the best part. I lay down on the bed and she started massaging my body- especially my shoulder- at the beginning soft, and then a bit harder. You know it hurts. We want a massage and then we complain: auw, it hurts. I was tense, my muscles too. So I guess she had a hard time with me. In the end she did some toes massage and all the pieces fall into place. It was almost I was falling to sleep. But then she massaged the big toe of my left foot, and God that makes me wake up. I gave such a piercing cry. She explained that all my emotions and thoughts are reflected there. I didn’t know that. Lefki finished her job and advised me to be more calm and not to think too much. “Yes,” I said to her, even though I thought, It’s easier said than done. 
After a while, I left her massage parlour with a relaxed body and a positive feeling. We even gave each other a hug. I will definitely go there again.
Ps. We can’t experience other people’s experience, so if you want to contact her, or now more about her, follow on Instagram, or Facebook.
Insta: healingartmassage_bylefki
FB: Healing Art Massage

Thursday, October 10, 2019

Write a short story in 15 minutes...

We (writers group in Rotterdam) had to create a story in 15 minutes using 5 words we chose them eyes closed. Here are my words and the story. :)

“This is so annoying,” Gordon Ramsay said to his wife.
“What’s wrong honey?” she asked wrapping her hands around his neck and giving him a kiss.
Oxford University wants me to give a lecture about drugs. This is so fucking weird. It has my name on it though.” he said flipping the paper on the kitchen table.
“Don’t! It’s wet,” his wife cried. She took the letter, her eyes widened. “Oh, James Bond will be there too. We should go honey. So I will have something to post on my Facebook account and show off to my friends. Those bitches,” she said. A smile appeared in the corner of her plumb lips.
“Have you gone mad?” Gordon Ramsay yelled. “The only thing I know is to cook and have a fight with other cooks at Kitchen’s hell. I….”
“Oh, stop wimping all the time,” she interrupted him. Why don’t you set up a fight with James Bond, instead? All the newspapers will write about it. Besides, I think this is more sexy, than fighting in your stupid kitchen.”
He looked at her in disbelief and said. “Ok, fine, you make the rules, I follow. I curse the day I gave you the right to use my bank account and now we are now in deep shit. I don’t want to be like Jamie Oliver. So I guess I have to accept every single possibility to make money. Otherwise we will be like Jamie Oliver,” he sighed and looked at the letter once more. “Shit. Look what I have to do now: studying drugs.”
“Oh, you don’t have to study darling.”
“But how on earth am I going to give a lecture about drugs?” He threw his kitchen towel and put his hands in the air.
“Start using them,” she smiled. “It’s that simple. This way you will have the experience. Trust me hon, experience is all that matters and not those stupid and annoying lecturers. They don’t know what they are talking about.”
“Start using them,” she smiled. “Is that simple. This way you will have the experience. Trust me hon, experience if all that matters and not that stupid and annoying lectures. They know nothing what they are talking about.”

Ps. I don’t even know if he really has a wife. haha

Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Don't judge

Before you judge me, try to think like I do. Try to love with the same passion as I do, and then you can judge me. But, before you do that, try and love the sea as I do.
Give every stone a name, and listen to every single wave for a melody. Before you judge me, try and take care of people around you the same as I do. Try to give as much love as you can, and then yes, you are free to judge me.
And before I go, try and drink coffee like I do: black. ;) Now you’re free: you can judge me. 

#writer #judgment #love #life

Tuesday, June 11, 2019

Nowhere Girls

The last day to grab your copy of Nowhere Girls: 99p/c- kindle deal. And, I’m sorry to say that if you’re looking for a story based only in US, UK or inside the EU borders, than Nowhere Girls is not for you; don’t buy it!

And I’m also sorry to say that I’m neither Michelle Obama, nor J.K.Rowling.For sure, I’m not D.Brown, or V. Woolf. Call me any name you like, I’m not that one. It’s only me and my girls from the ‘neverland’. Even though people stare at me when I tell the origin.I have to 🛑 this.

Friday, April 26, 2019

Turist në Shqipëri? Kujdes: Merrni bukë me vete!

Shpesh i bëj pyetjes vetes se përse Shqipëria ime e vogël nuk mund të renditet përkrah Zvicrës. Dhe po ta mendosh thellë - thellë, ne kemi mundësi ta kalojmë Zvicrën. Ne kemi det, Zvicra jo. Pra, një me zero për ne. Por këtu calon puna. Ne kemi vetëm detin, të tjerat i ka Zvicra.  Nuk dua të pranoj shprehjen, që cdo popull ka qeverinë që meriton, ndaj po e lë Zvicrën dhe po kërkoj një shtet tjetër. Nëse dëshira ime duket pak e ekzagjeruar, atëherë kam të drejtë të kërkoj që Shqipëria të renditet në standardet e Spanjës apo Italisë, epo dreqi ta marrë nuk ka pse të mos renditet përkrah Greqisë! Na ngroh po i njëjti diell e, na ndan po i njëjtin det. Po prapë, as me Greqinë, s’me dalin hesapet. Gjithë këto pyetje të trazuara hynë e dalin në kokën time, që prej natës kur pashë lajmin me titull: Merri domatet, por mos ja jep fëmijës. U trondita. Jo se këtë lajm nuk e dija, por që gjithmonë jam me shpresën, se ndoshta nga viti në vit do të ndryshojë dicka. Si mund t’i thuash një prindi një gjë të tillë? Nëse unë jam keq, edhe fëmija im është keq. Meqë politikanët janë të zënë të merret me një problem të tillë, që për mua është ndër më shqetësuesit, atëherë mendoj se ndoshta fermerët (të cilët nuk e meritojnë një emër të tillë) do të bëhen më të përgjegjshëm. Ta hajë djalli, cfarë do të thonë në ditën e gjykimit?!

Bashkë me dy fëmijët e mi, vizitova në shkurt, Shqipërinë. E duke qenë se doja të kaloja një javë pushime, pa vajtur në spital, shumicën e gjërave i kisha marrë me vete, ndërsa u isha lutur atyre se nëse nuk do të kërkonin të hanin akullore në Shqipëri, do t’u blija kur të ktheheshim cfarë të donin. Nëse në Holandë merakosem kur ata nuk hanë bukë, në Tiranë gëzohesha kur thonin: nuk e duam! Për fatin tim të mirë, marrëveshja ime me ta funksionoi sic duhej. Dhe ishte  pikërisht kjo marrëveshje që më nxiti të shkruaj këto fjalë sot. Shto këtu edhe faktin se kohët e fundit dëgjoj shpesh qeveritarë, politikanë e ambasadorë, të mburren me shifrat e turizmit. Dhe pastaj pyes sërish veten: për cfarë turizmi e keni fjalën? Ju të gjithë e dini masakrën ushqimore që po bëhet në Shqipëri, ju të gjithë e dini që po i vrisni ata njerëz me bukën që hanë dhe prapë nuk e vini ujin në zjarr. Të dashur ekspertë përgjegjës për këtë masakër ushqimore dhe ju të dashur ekspertë të turizimit, mos keni menduar se Shqipërinë turistike do ta bëni duke i kërkuar turistit (gjerman, zvicerian, anglez, francez përmend sa të duash) të marrë bukë më vete? Më falni, por unë nuk i them dot një të huaji: shko në Shqipëri se do kënaqesh?  Madje meri dhe fëmijët me vete, vetëm bëj kujdes për fëmijët, më mirë merri gjërat me vete, e mos i jep asgjë nga ato që që blihet në treg, jo për gjë, por kanë një përqindje të lartë kancerogjene… Pra troc muhabeti, në Shqipëri nuk dihet se cfarë ha. Të jemi realiste: Unë e dua Shqipërinë, e më dhemb kur shoh lajme të tilla, por le t’i pranojmë gjërat ashtu sic janë e le t’i themi të vërtetat në sy. 

Ndonjëri mund të thotë se po i qakam shumë hallin turistëve të huaj, e nuk me dhimben ata që jetojnë aty. Sigurisht që më dhimben, shumë madje, por ndryshimi qëndron se turisti nuk e di cfarë e pret, ndërsa ju të dashur njerëz e mi e dini fare mire, dhe ende nuk keni ndërmarrë asnjë hap për ta ndryshuar këtë gjë. Ne reagojmë, e “shqyhemi” me njeri-tjetrin për politikanët tanë, ndërsa nuk vëmë ujin në zjarr për bukën tonë të përditshme. Në librin “Zorba”, të Niko Kazanxaqis, më ranë në sy këto dy fjali: “Lëri njerëzit, më qafsh, lëri të qetë e mo u hap sytë?....C’ti thosha? E dija c’duhej shembur, por jo c’duhej ndërtuar.”

Unë nuk dua të besoj se ne i kemi sytë të mbullur, ndaj ndaj mendja më tha: po sikur të bojkotonim për një javë apo dy, të gjitha frutat dhe perimet që shesin fermerët tanë të cilët nuk kanë pikën e skrupullit. Cfarë do të ndodhte vallë nëse prodhimet e tyre do të kalbeshin, në sera, apo buzë rrugës, të pashituara? Nuk do të na gjente asgjë nëse për një javë do të hanim, fjala bie, bukë me djathë. E di që dhe djathti ka problemet e veta, por nëse në këtë mënyrë zënë mend fermerët, ateherë ndoshta zënë mend dhe blegtorët. Nëse do të isha në Tiranë, do ta provoja, por edhe nëse do ta provoja unë, asgjë nuk do të ndryshonte. Një njeri i vetëm nuk mund të bëjë asgjë, ndërsa ju të gjithë bashkë, bëheni shumë. Lajmet dhe shkrimet nëpër blogje i merr era, ajo që shuhet cdo ditë pa e merituar është jeta juaj. Luftoje kancerin pa celur rrënjët, ndoshta nesër do të jetë shumë vonë! Nëse ne nuk duam veten, atëherë nuk mund të presim që të na dojë bota.

Monday, February 11, 2019

The money machine

“As Goethe says: on top of the world, or in the depths of despair. Well I can’t get on top of the world without money. It’s all about money, my dear. Power and fame will follow.”
She smiled softly. Her plump lips looking more beautiful than ever.
“So you’re reading Goethe now? Since when? Anyway, tell me, how can you love someone for their money?”
“Look.” Alba leaned forward, her face serious all of a sudden. “First, I was just hanging out with Mondi, it was nothing serious and it’s in the past now. I love Nino and soon we are getting married. He hasn’t proposed yet, but I know he’s making big preparations for a huge wedding, he wants to surprise me. Secondly, my parents married ‘out of love’. My mother died washing clothes by hand, while my father spent his time drinking cheap booze at the neighbourhood bar. Relationships have nothing to do with love”
“You’re talking nonsense, of course they do!” Sara exclaimed, thinking of her own precious family. “It was different back then, you’re totally wrong. And more to the point, what is going on with The University of Intelligence? Why did that secretary lock me out?”
Alba leaned further forward and looked around her. Her voice changed to a soft whisper.
“Promise me you’re not going to write anything about this. Otherwise, I can’t protect you. If they catch you, they’ll ruin you. Take away everything you care about – even your son.”
“You’re threatening me again.”
“No, I’m warning you. Take me seriously. You’re dealing with dangerous people here.”
Sara wiped her clammy hands on her trousers and leaned in too.
“Tell me everything. I want to know everything. I won’t write about it, I promise. Sara placed the camera on the table. “Here are the pictures I took today. Delete them all, if you want.”
“The University of Intelligence is a money machine,” Alba said. “People with money pay for a piece of paper. Not all people are born smart, not everyone can get a university education and get a degree the way you did. The less fortunate have to buy their ‘brains’. Today, they can become lawyers, doctors, engineers without ever touching a book. They all have a degree from The University of Intelligence. This country is feeling the effects of a brain drain. A society with uneducated or poorly educated people with fake degrees worth nothing, which is why we’re doomed and heading for darkness.”
Alba sat back and laughed. “At least they are my only options until I get very rich or become a politician.”
“Alba, those doctors, engineers… people’s lives are in their hands.” Sara’s eyes were wide open
“That’s not my problem,” Alba smiled.
“How are you involved in this?”
“You know me. I’m always where the money is. Nino helped Mondi get the licence. It was a win-win situation for everyone involved.”
“So Nino knows that Mondi is your ex-boyfriend and he still agreed to work with him?”
Alba waved her hand in the air.
“When it comes to money, it’s easy to forget these trivial issues.”
She stood up. They said goodbye to each other but the affection they once shared was no longer there. Alba took the camera on her way out.
“Don’t forget to give me my camera back, I can’t afford a new one,” Sara shouted after her.
Alba didn’t look back, just waved goodbye and kept walking toward the exit.