It-s almost 3 in the morning.
I made some coffee and I-m waiting on it to cool down a bit while listening to Ronny Jordan-s Brighter Day.
I happened to stumble on what they called the World Poker Championship and watched it until around 2. I had no clue about it and even if I did, I doubted they-d play it on TV but I-m glad they did for us the poor souls who can-t afford the special TV packages. I watched it while holding my breath and was disappointed at the bloke who won but Matthew Woodward had a suicidal tendency and threw himself in one of the final calls and lost most of his money so when the other guy put down half a million or so, he had to make a call and ended up losing.

I love watching sports, god forbid I have to go somewhere and while getting ready I start watching some sport or game I am interested in, I might cancel the meeting if it-s not very important of course, and lay down to watch. I love football (soccer) and rugby (GO ALL BLACKS!!). I watch artistic ice skating and count on me to have a go for Hockey at any time of the day.
Sometimes I watch basketball but not as much as I used to as a kid, when I would set the alarm at 2 in the morning so I can wake up and see replays of the Lakers and Raptors games from the U.S.
Used to be a huge fan of Formula One, but I seem to have grown out of it for some reason. Must be because Schumacher left, I was a huge fan of his and in the last two years he was racing, things didn-t seem quite the same in the F1 world anymore. I don-t know why.
I watch snowboarding and in line skating competitions, but rarely.
I enjoy watching Pool when I happen to see it and it-s overall a game I enjoy playing even if I am not skilled and I am a bad loser, and I enjoy watching Poker, as stated above.

Poker competitions always had a certain appeal to me, must be because they stretch deep into the night, the crowd is small and the focus is on the cards and those three-four people standing at that table, everything else is in chiaroscuro, almost like the shadows of a film noir. Haha, yes, welcome, once again, to the other side of the lenses, how I happen to see the world.
But it-s true, in my eyes those competitions have a certain air of noir magic so to speak, the players with bags under their eyes, each with their own quirks and glances, most of them in shirts, some have fun, others resent every cent they lost, it-s such a great game to see the character of every man. I wish when I meet someone, instead of having a chit chat over a coffee, I-d play a round or two of Poker with them, I believe it would help me get to know them better than most chats.

I do keep away because I believe I tend to get too competitive and I also believe I have the gambler-s streak in me and to mix that with someone with a personality like mine can prove to be dangerous.
Also to mention I have no luck at all.
And oh dear, men do not like a reckless woman with the gambler-s streak in her now, do they?
Poker brings me closer to the point of an entry I wanted to write about for a while.

I am watching a korean TV series called The Man Who Can-t Get Married. It-s hilarious and even more for me. The story revolves around a man in his late 30s who has not married nor is he engaged, and everyone in his family demands he marries but he refuses vehemently because he says he is happy alone. All sorts of events and new friends and all but the series made me watch episode after episode because I found it extremely amusing that the man had 4 out of 5 of my own quirks and habits. It was where I drew the line while laughing out loud that I shall definitely spend my life alone!

I have built my own habits you see. Small things that are mine and mine only. For example, I feel that if more than a day goes by and I haven-t made the pot of coffee with my own hands or some tea, it-s like.....like something without something else.
Sometimes I sleep, sometimes I don-t.
Sometimes I spend the evening with some Jazz music in the background and a glass of something in my hands while watching the city for hours.
I don-t like to be disturbed and more so if I am working or reading, I tend to get very stingy if I-m bothered. This to mention the least.
I will not lie and say that I do not miss the company at times, but I will not make myself addicted to it, because truth be told, I am not a lovey dovey kind of person either. I-m satisfied in my loneliness and I plan to keep it for the longest time possible, unless I find a spirit so kindred to mine that I won-t be able to do otherwise.
I am an impossible creature, never satisfied and always demanding, there are few people who can stand my continuous company and I admit to those flaws willingly. I either manage to make people cry, get angry, utterly annoyed or thoroughly desperate so keeping the distance always had seemed like the best option to maintain good relations to the good people I still have in my life.

More so, getting back to the point, what man would ever trust a woman who enjoys poker? One who is so much set into her ways? One who must arrange things in alphabetical order and then her personality turns 180 and she recklessly bets everything on a card? And so on.
I am truly a fortunate thing though, some might end up in the pit of depression at how exasperated their friends can become when around them but I believe I made big steps in seeing exactly how I am so I don-t resent them when, at times, they happen to hate me. It-s not as if they do it without reason.
As far as my romantic life goes, it-s nonexistent and I plan to keep it that was as long as possible. Most of the times it-s enough for me to see the people I care for in happy relationships or marriages, it satisfies me in many ways.

I was walking down the street this evening, nicely dressed up and my ears focused on my headphones, swinging my purse around while walking down the hill and I saw rows and rows of married women with children and husbands. They looked tired and defeated, as if they didn-t want to be there and disliked me as soon as they saw me as they threw their glances my way because my mood in that moment must have been obvious: I was satisfied with myself because I was free as a stray cat and enjoying my evening walk like a bird with a french fry.

To correct the notion: not free to mess around, sleep around and what not, but free to do as I please when I please how I please.
I love my freedom and I will not hide it, as patronizing as that might sound to some, maybe shallow, watch me care. I value it and I will not threaten it with anything. Restraining myself with something for too long has never worked with me, I tried a lot of times to fall in the norm of normalcy and failed miserably.
I like being alone.
I like the idea of never getting married and never having children.
I like the idea, on which me and a friend of mine were laughing about a while ago, of being an apparently crazy old woman in my 60s with no regard for common sense, some odd pet and lots of rings and bracelets on my hands who acts as if she has unveiled the secrets of the Universe and no army can defeat her. He told me jokingly he could see me like that when I turn 60 and it never sounded like a bad idea.

I suppose I like Poker because I have that gambler streak in me and have actually fallen on that path since I stepped aside from the pattern, the seamless and identical texture of society/what was/is/expected of me as young woman and decided to do something else much unbecoming of me, then did something else, and something else and so on, gambling it on every chance and never knowing what or if I-m going to win. Because you always know what amount you will lose, but the win...? Unknown.
Oh, and that is truly the joy of it indeed!



B.

I am taking a break from drawing CJ-s one year anniversary present and thinking about things while my player goes back and forth between 2PM and Big Bang.
When I got certain songs on you can know clearly I am in a wicked mood, somewhere in between playful, mischievous and carefree. I got that now, mixed up with the creative streak. I am trying to focus properly on drawing this because usually, even a drawing that looks simple ends up taking me from 4 hours up. Maybe I-m just not talented, considering it takes me so long because I obsess over every line (I adore clean cut lines and symmetry), but to be honest I am trying very hard not to lose this. I wrote a while ago about the fact that I haven-t been drawing for a long time and only as of recently I started to do it again (and surprisingly, with a different style, a more mature one that just happened, without practicing) and I am forcing myself to draw as often as I can because I don-t want to lose this, it-s a part of me as much as my eyes and hands are, when I-ll let it go, it will mean I lost something important of myself.

But I-m taking a break from sketching the main drawing now as my mind wonders here and there.
I always liked quality things and I can tell at first glance what-s worth paying for and what-s not and one might say I have expensive taste and it-s probably true but I never liked half measures. I blame it on my father and on my zodiac sign yet in the same time, I try to look back every now and then and the memory of my father won-t allow me to give money and wealth as much importance as he did, because I saw what kind of person it can turn you in. But I have a lot of self respect for my own person and it shows in the manner I pick my clothes, makeup, jewelry, etc. from where, and how I wear them.
Though I always try to find the middle way and be careful not to fall into any of the extremes, most people who meet me think I-m either this or that, no one really gets it: that for me it-s all just a game. I like to play, I don-t take people-s word for granted until proven otherwise, so I just prance around having my fun and it is expected for me not to take money seriously either. I take good care of them and, as I mentioned, I will take further steps from January to take care of my future financially but I don-t want the counter to fall into either extreme.
I started to notice this balance thing of mine recently when I was arranging my clothes. I have exactly 5 items of clothing that are violet (one though has a lot of black but it still counts), some other shade of violet, golden and light blue (a pair of jeans), and that-s it, just 5 items, everything else is black, white and gray/silver (I adore silver). When I open my suitcase or drawer, everything-s calm because there-s no insane mix of colors.
It was then when I realized that, once found my balance, my wardrobe presented itself with white and gray, I don-t know where they came from, they just started to appear and as of lately, the white clothing items are almost as many as the black ones.



I like color, but aside from red, I never considered anything brighter to be my thing, simple as that, but colors are not the point here.
I sat there on the floor, folding my clothes and I came to the realization that, once I started to trust myself more and grew stronger, it showed in a very subtle way. It showed in the white summer dress I wore last year at the Black Sea, in the gray hat I wear with a white, striped shirt (opposed to the black shirt which I threw away) and so on.
The comfortable gray shoes with delicate little belts in the front but in whom I can still keep my fast walking. Hats with jeans, sneakers and some t-shirt that fits my body.
The balance. Being in harmony with the aggressive, masculine side of me but not being afraid to also be a woman in the midst of it all.
It-s amazing that I realized all that while comparing my hat (my gangster hat, as I like to call it) and leather black gloves with my white shawl of delicate kashmere and my white peasant blouse.
Every now and then I still fall in a dark place but I am used with fighting for territorry and I-m the type of person that likes to conquer things and doing that in my mind is most important, so I get out of the dark place and the dark places come less often than they used to and there was no one to heal me, I healed myself and I-m most proud of it, even if I stumbled and fell on the way and I was always the last on the field to finish the run, I still finished it and conquered all at my own pace.
Dark moments don-t come as they used to, and I don-t feel guilt as much as I used to for every little thing, though I am still very reproachful when I make bigger mistakes and that is something I don-t want to lose because I-m the best and honest critic I-ll ever have, thus I believe I was on the right path for quite some time already and from knowing that, I can continue to better myself.
Let-s say the next step should be....hmm...to keep in tone with the clothing theme I used here, would be to find an all white silk dress, the kind you wear only on special occasions, and wear it, and feel in it like it-s my second skin and that I earned every right to wear all white in that moment, and earned it through my own strength.


B.

The reason why I belong with my first Korean husband.
Most mortals will not understand it unless they know of my little obsessions, inside jokes, wtf-fashion loves and live in Kpop Land as much as I do.










Lovingly,
Bebe Kwon-noona

I finished running yesterday morning around 5:30 or so, I was tired and my mind was pretty tried and strained by the events in the past week.
I-ve been having problems eating lately, I-m not really hungry and I forget to eat, in the morning I just much down two pieces of toast and drink a black coffee and I don-t eat until later in the evening, if I remember I need to or if I feel weak. I have constant nightmares, so lately I preferred sleeping by day. I am normally so tired by the afternoon I fall asleep easily and don-t dream, and even if I dream, they-re not bad dreams, just flashes of images and actions I don-t even remember.
I ran slowly yesterday, feeling tired while my mind was wandering around and about.

In the past week I told my mother numerous times: calm down. It-s gonna be fine, I know it will. I don-t remember a time when I had to repeat it to her like this. I look back to the past years and realize how much I-ve grown and just through how much I went through.
I am proud in a way and I see no reason why not to be.
I have become selfish and I don-t mind it. In the past I was humble and didn-t do a lot of things, gave myself to the others to see that I care for them and they found it strange, keeping myself back for one reason or another and always found a way around excuses, people didn-t see me and I thought I was simply nothing, it as easy and uncomplicated and I only realized how complicated it actually was later on.
But I-m not afraid to be proud anymore. I-m not afraid to be loud and obnoxious and I have no fear in putting my foot down saying: you-ll never find anyone better for this or that, than me. I can do this.

I haven-t found happiness and deep down inside I hurt more than anyone will ever know but I am slowly finding myself and I found out the truth behind the expression of blood sweat and tears and I cherish the moment I found it, while walking down in Piccadilly Circus in London, through the crowds, in some cold late winter day.
To maintain a constant, that-s all I want, always to feel this inside, this balance, and with everything that happened and is happening to me I see that I am on my way there. True, at times I feel like breaking but I don-t and it-s nothing like those times years ago when there was no constant, just endless fluctuations, up down, left and right and all around. But things are more clear now and every time I fall, I dust myself off and try again. And I try again and again and again and I surface and take over, stomp on it and move along.

I used to believe one has to follow a certain path in its life. It-s black or white, heroes never stray, they never become tainted and they are just like they-re supposed to be from start to finish.
You stomp and you stumble and you realize you-re no hero, even if this is your story. I mean, you are the hero of it, but not quite like you imagined.

I don-t know the right words to explain it I suppose.
I haven-t found happiness , but there is life.

I was walking back after my run, stretching my muscles and it was cold and the streets were empty. Just me and the neon lights, the sound of some car passing by, the never ending love story between me and the concrete streets.
The air was clean and crisp, chilled you to the bone, and Shinee-s Replay was on repeat in my headphones.
One step ahead, another one behind, spin, hips, hands. I smiled and slightly sang along. Walked a bit, then repeated the same dance steps in a slightly different manner. I didn-t care if anyone was watching, it felt right in that moment, my heart was just demanding it so I just ended up dancing in the street like that.

I don-t know why, and I don-t care, it just felt alive, and free.



B.

Me and my mother always joke about how our aunt, who is in my homecountry and always says she gets bored there (she lives in the countryside), should move here because our life is always full of events.
Yesterday I had my thing to do back in Florence, found out that in January I might be moving and working somewhere else again (Cyprus of all places), some guys from Naples tried to cut my mother-s boyfriend-s throat (literally, unfortunately they didn-t manage to) and on top of all that, I forgot my passport in an internet cafe in Florence so now I-m on the train to get it back. By italian law they have to take a document of yours when you go to an internet cafe so not to download or put online harmful content. To translate that for everyone else: they have so many pedophiles here they try to control them at least online.
When I found out I forgot my passport there I was angered beyond reason, firstly because it was the first time I ever left my passport, I normally just hand over my italian ID because I don-t care much about that, so how me, the most careful person with an obsession for anything that resides in her wallet (one of my most guarded posessions not only for money but because of the passport and some other stuff), I could do such a careless thing and forget it there. I don-t remember the last time I was so angry at myself.

Incapacity. I hate it. I learned an important thing from Sun Tzu-s Art of War (which is pretty much my bible): give every man a job suited for him and what he-s capable of.
Thing is, I consider myself capable of everything. Whatever I am asked to do, especially when working, I-ll do it even if I don-t have a clue how it-s done: I-ll learn it on my way there. I trust my instincts a lot and there was rarely a time when they proved to be wrong.
People tell me to ease down, that sometimes you just can-t do everything, but that-s something I don-t like. I-ll do it again and again and again until it-s done and done properly. And I expect the same from the people around me until I realize not everyone is as obsessed as I am. I-m not really sure if I want this part of me gone or not because at the end I don-t get some sort of gratification, I don-t feel victorious, I simply feel at ease and calm, like a piece of a puzzle was arranged into place and I can move along.
To do things properly, not for anyone else but for myself, even when someone else says I haven-t done something right, I can sit back and relax knowing I did do it properly. If I consider it-s perfect, then you can go fuck yourself because it doesn-t get any better than that.

Growing up I was a good for nothing and I obsessed over my little things and probably would have never known the potential I have if things didn-t start to change and the expansion began. Leaving school was also one of the best choices I have ever made and up to this day I don-t regret it one bit. I-m not an idiot, I normally allow people to think that because it suits some purpose, but I am just as capable. I am trilingual, two languages of which I learned by myself, I can match any of your literary or historical conversations and on the flipside I can work a wrench and a screwdriver better than your average Jane.
Self-sufficency. I love it.
My father taught me that, if you want something, you have to go and get it because no way in hell anyone else is gonna do it for you. I understood his words later on, when I stopped hating him and realized he had the potential to be a great man, but stumbled on the way there and forgot to get up. I learned from that too.
Using poor upbringing or the enviroment you grew in as an excuse not to better yourself and constantly find fault in it, comfortably allowing yourself to bask into self pity is disgusting.
So what if you were beat down and battered? Abused? Knocked around? Talked down to? Called names?
So, stuff might not be working out for me, but that-s little reason not to try and be better, expand my mind.

I don-t like to fall and I don-t like to be brought into submission and being incapable and insisting on it will allow that to happen to people.
So whenever I get beat down I drill it into my head: live, loser! You stray dog, chew everyone up!



B.

Author:B.
Name: B.
Nationality: I don't stay for long enough anywhere to belong somewhere.
Interests: coffee, cigarettes, writing, reading, graphic art, living/being alive, traveling, how things work/function, history, music.
I Love: coffee, cigarettes, tea, big cities, the sea, the ocean, seashells, cherry tomatoes, rain, rain clouds, rice, sand, kashmere, a big city's noise at night, city lights by night, learning, listening, being alone, dead leaves, silence, 5 a.m's, music.
I Hate: lies and liars, prejudice.
I believe in: not much.
This journal:is the place I write just like I dance - like no one is watching. This is why everything I write is like a monologue to me. I don't care who is reading, my thoughts flow like this and this is how they will be written down.
These are my thoughts, my opinions, not my friends', not my country's, not your mother's and not your dog's.

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