No coincidences

They regarded themselves as too sophisticated to believe in destiny, but still, it remained a paradox to them that so momentous a meeting should have been accidental, so dependent on a hundred minor events and choices. What a terrifying possibility, that it might never have happened at all.

As it usually happens to me, the book I am currently reading reflects the way I feel at the moment of reading it. I don’t know whether it is my intuition that makes me pick the right book for the right period of time, or whether there is some force from above that aligns things and events together so that they all intertwine.

One way or another, it is happening again with the book I am reading now: one of my favourite authors Ian McEwan – On Chesil Beach. I can identify with many thoughts in the book but these two sentences I am quoting at the beginning of this post were so terrifyingly accurate I thought to myself “this is no coincidence!” Funny enough, the quote itself is about destiny and nonexistence of coincidences – my favourite topic to discuss.

In my third year of uni I was considering to choose “free will vs. determinism” as the topic for my dissertation but my tutor dissuaded me from it for the chance of it being too complex and broad. Too bad. It might have been a very interesting and engaging disso. Surely quite a controversial one. Either you believe in fate or not – it really is that simple. Guess what kind of person am I? Yes, you guessed it right – I am utterly and wholeheartedly a fatalist.

I always felt I could actually read signs fate is sending me. I always trusted my intuition because whenever I listened to what it was telling me it ended up a good thing. Even if at first it might have seemed like a bad decision – in retrospect I always had to admit it was a lesson learned and a lesson much needed.

Whenever I spot something I take for a sign from fate I get this warm feeling that everything is the way it’s supposed to be and I am exactly where I should be. At times I am even picturing where would I be now or what would I be doing if I’d done even the smallest thing differently… Isn’t it a bit scary? No matter how minor and trivial a decision shapes completely the way our life moves forward. Everything we do, every second spent, implies what happens next.

To me, intuition is a voice you might either choose to follow, or ignore. It is some sort of inner voice that we were born with – a voice that many people will never be able to hear for it has no logical explanation. And people love logical explanations don’t they? – if there’s no evidence, then it doesn’t exist. Feelings, however, don’t need any evidence, any proofs because there simply are none. How do you know that you love somebody, that you can trust a friend, that someone cares about you? You don’t. You simply feel it. And you should trust your feelings.

April was rich on signs from fate. It was also rich on changes and important encounters.

All those signs only assured me I am exactly where I want to be and where I am supposed to be. Home.


At Southampton docks

The Southampton sea is in fact neither that deep, nor blue and and it sure as hell is not glistening with silver as Mr. Horace Walpole poetically described it in 1790 (maybe back then it was) … but it’s lovely.
It can be artistically industrial. It can be romantic and picturesque.
I always liked to walk there, especially at sunset. My eyes and my senses were pleased. I miss this.








Doors of Bratislava

Another one of my door collections. This time in my hometown – Bratislava. (Plus one window with a bonus – a dog !)

You might notice that most of these doors are a bit shabby and rusty. That’s a result of our disrespect to the old and our over-glorification of the new. It amazes me how many new buildings are being constructed nowadays – but so little a regard for the old and shabby ones that could tell much more interesting stories.








Treasure boxes

Have you seen the beautiful French film “Amélie” (or “Le fabuleux destin d’Amélie Poulain”)? If you have I’m sure you remember the scene where Amélie finds someone’s old box of childhood memorabilia in the bathroom of her flat and decides to do all she can to return this magical thing to its original owner. When Dominique Bretodeau receives this treasure box he cries as the enormous amount of memories starts flowing in.

Do you have such a box? Where you keep these little things that remind you of people or situations from your past?

I do, and not just one! I am a big collector. I hate throwing things away, especially such things that I call the “souvenirs”. These can be anything – a train ticket, an empty candy box, a pack of sugar from a cafe, a clipping from a newspaper, a pebble… Literally anything that I associate with that particular moment I want to remember. To some it might look like I am simply hoarding trash 🙂 In truth, these things are often of little value. Only I know their real worth. They are the remnants of something good that happened to me. My treasure.

Apart from the “trash box” I’ve got one with just postcards and letters I got from friends and family. I’ve got one with travel souvenirs, one with my ex-boyfriends relics (some people like getting rid of them, even burning them, but I don’t concur with this), one that’s called “Lord of the Rings” fan box, one with my old journals and diaries, one with old photo albums (because yes, there were times when the phrase “photo album” meant an actual album with developed photographs)…

My friend Dixie says, “a scent is like an instant time machine”. Opening any of my treasure boxes is my instant time machine. Opening it I smell the scent of the past, of something that is never coming back. This scent is impossible to revive but it can from time to time come back to us unexpectedly anywhere in the world. We may catch a passer-by’s perfume and get reminded of someone important. Or we may just walk past the bakery and smell a freshly baked bread and… suddenly a picture from the past appears before our eyes…

Time travel really is that simple.

One of my most recent (and definitely the most stinky one) treasure “box” is my little backpack which I didn’t unpack since December. Disgusting? Yeah a bit 🙂 I discovered there an old and wrinkly apple I have carried along all the way from London, a torn pack of almonds, which unfortunately means those almonds are scattered everywhere in that backpack and a few London relics such as tube map, my oyster card and a receipt from a sandwich I bought at Victoria. Since the discovery of this treasure, I have removed only the apple… That backpack is now a treasure box.

I would put up a picture too, but… umm… rather not.

Creative break

There is this expression – “creative break” – which I sometimes use but now that I think about it I don’t even know what it means. If I want to say I am taking a break from another activity to write stuff I say I’m taking a creative break – a break to be creative and to do nothing that could interrupt my creativity. But I realised I used it many times to say I am taking a break from writing and from everything creative – which is in fact the exact opposite.

Well, just like I’ll never solve the problem of “what came first – a chicken or the egg?” I will probably never know which one is the right meaning.

One way or another, I took a break from writing for good 3 or 4 weeks. Every writer, artist or simply anyone who’s but flirting with creativity needs it from time to time. Everybody needs holidays. A writer’s holiday is to regain energy and inspiration for a brand new word flow.

Now I can easily say this little creative break helped me a great deal.

However, I remember someone telling me once: A writer is never resting. He may seem quiet or even unproductive but he’s thinking all the time. He’s watching and listening carefully. Until one day he gets what he was waiting for: a kick of inspiration.

I believe that is the right meaning of “creative break”.

My favourite street

This street is in the city centre and yet it is different from all the rest. When all other streets around are busy this one remains silent. Why? Because there are no shops, no restaurants and… it leads nowhere in particular. I usually walk there when I have nowhere in particular to go.





Where are the trees?

What do you see? A forest or just a cluster of trees?

Eleven years ago this undoubtedly was a forest and the whole area was covered with tall and dense woods. In 2004 a strong hurricane hit the High Tatras mountains hard and the whole region has not yet recovered. The bunch of trees here and there now hardly resembles the majestic beauty that I remember from a decade ago.