Today I noticed that I really needed some rest. As I was thinking about what to do for our upcoming wedding anniversary, I tended to search for places where I could relax and not think about anything, where I wouldn’t feel the pressure to perform in some way or the other. Just a place where my body could release the stress that had slowly been building up.

Physical stress, because I recently started to exercise again and mental stress for all the things going on my life. I just needed a moment. But, as I looked through the different options, one spoke out to me the most. I really wanted to go to a spa.

And not just a spa, but a good one. One, where I wouldn’t get stressed by the way the staff conducted themselves, one that was clean and one that felt private, not like the one that way near our home and had a view on the hotel parking lot near a street.

As I looked through the different websites, I became more discouraged. The price range was a bit higher than I expected. And since we just paid our taxes, medical bills and replaced some items that really needed replacing, we had little money left in our budget. But I was hopeful. I will discuss this with my husband and see what he would say. Maybe he felt the same way I felt, like he needed to relax too.

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I noticed that I value long-term plans more than short-term ones. Despite wanting to go to the spa, I also value the things I could do if I saved that money for something else. Other things that we need and other things we have to save up for. Does this mean that I don’t value my wedding anniversary? Of course not.

But, we don’t have to celebrate our anniversary in a grand matter each year. Seeing that we feel the need to relax, maybe it’s a good idea to not plan anything at all and just see where the day takes us. Even if that means that we’ll have a boring day.

After discussing it with my husband, he felt the same way. At least he had gotten the day off of work. He was happy enough with that. Or, so he said. I could see that he was a little bit disappointed by the way his mouth curved when he said it was better to save the money.

In the back of my mind I’m thinking that maybe I should just splurge the money and book the spa. I rush to the website and click on the last-minute deal that was cheaper than most of the other options. When I checked the website that morning, there were still spots left. The red letters on the website seal my fate – “no available spots left”.

I sigh in disappointment. But hey, maybe God is telling me something here. Maybe it is better to think long-term and save that money.

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Today I woke up feeling two things. Happy about the day I was celebrating. I married my wonderful husband and best friend 9 years ago and I’m happy that our relationship has only gotten better since that day and not worse, despite what people would always say to us.

But I also woke up with the feeling of guilt. Was it okay to feel this happy? The mental stress I’d been having was weighing on my mind. Five months ago, my little brother passed away. Not on this exact day, no, that would be tomorrow. Why did I feel like I was betraying him in some way? Betraying the pain that my parents felt?

I know it’s a ridiculous thought. Trust me, I know. I was allowed to be happy, of course I was. But why did I have those thoughts? On this day of all days? I could hear the inner psychologist reasoning with me. I smirked, as different explanations and theories for how I was feeling crossed my minds. They warned us in the first year of university that we would think every theory would apply to us. I guess that’s still valid.

It still amazes me how quickly I can switch from feeling sad to happy. I also feel guilty about that. No, I don’t need to hear another theory for why I do that. I can let it go. Yes, I can. This is just temporary, this way that I’m feeling.

And it was. We spent the rest of the day, happily going around the city. Eating and drinking some of our favorite things, recalling happy memories about our wedding day and more. It was exactly what we needed. Having no plans actually took the pressure of and reduced our stress a little bit. And that was the whole point.

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I was so grateful for today. We had planned to visit a farm through public transportation, which required us to take three different trains, a bus and a walk, so we could reach our destination. But that was okay. It would keep my mind off of my little brother.

I was worried that we wouldn’t wake up in time, because we needed to be on the train quite early and we couldn’t have breakfast. Everything went according to plan and before long, we were already sitting in our second train.

Sitting in this train was quite awkward. We sat down in the silence cabin of the train, where it truly was quiet this time, even though every seat was completely full. Well, almost every seat. The row across from us, faced the opposite side, so we could see what the people in that row were doing. Diagonally across from us, sat a man. Or better said, he laid across from us.

This man laid on the chairs in a fetal position and was groaning as passengers got on and off the train. He wore a denim jacket and jeans, a flannel shirt and some accessories. Every so often his groaning would get louder and he would try to turn around, so he could sleep facing the chairs. Then he would decide that this position was uncomfortable, so he would turn around again, which meant that we could see his face.

At a certain moment, he decided that the fetal position was uncomfortable and decided to stretch his legs. But that meant that his legs dangled in the middle of the pathway where passengers walked to enter and exit the train. Every time someone had to leave or enter this cabin, they had to step over this man’s dangling legs. Some of them had heavy luggage with them and had to lift them to their chest, so they could step over this man’s legs. I thought they were nice, because I had seen other instances where people would get angry and try to wake up a sleeping person.

As we got to our stop, we decided that we didn’t want to pass over the dangling legs of the sleeping man, but that we would head the other direction, even though that route was longer. Outside of the train, my husband let out a deep sigh. “That was so awkward and uncomfortable,” he said. “I tried my best not to look at the man.” I looked at him and laughed. I felt the same way.

We successfully got on the next train and bus. Even though we got a little bit lost, we eventually reached the farm and had a great time. They even had a barbecue event at the time, so we got to eat delicious food. A day well spent.

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Today I noticed that I feel comfortable being at home. Of course, you would say. Everyone feels comfortable being at home. Well, maybe not everyone, but you get what I’m saying. And while that is true, I mean it in a different way.

Our house is a very old house. It was built before the second World War, which means that it lacks a lot of the comforts of a more modern home. For example, we don’t have central heating in this house and the only place that has a built in provision for heating is the living room, and that is through a gas furnace. Last year we had a gas leak, so we’re too afraid of using it. Instead we use electric heating, but only in the living room and sometimes the bedroom during the winter.

When we moved into our house, it needed a lot of work, which we did, despite only renting the house. We replaced the kitchen, mainly because it looked old and I’m a germaphobe, so I needed to know that it was clean. Same is true for the toilet, which looked absolutely horrible.

Last summer, we finally decided to replace the floors in the living room and in our bedroom. The living room floor needed replacing because it stuck out at different places. If you weren’t paying attention, you would stub your toe in that piece of floor or your socks would get caught in it and break. And the bedroom floor was made of wooden tiles, that had lost their adhesive power and would shift every time we adjusted the bed or other furniture. Many socks tore on this floor as well.

Despite having lived there for 6 years already, we had reached the end of our patience and decided to replace the floor. It was in the heat of summer and it took us a lot of hard work to remove the old floors and to put the new ones in. We also decided to paint the walls, to add to our growing list of tasks.

But looking at the floors today, I feel an immense sense of satisfaction. I can walk on the floors without stubbing my toe or being worried about something breaking. I don’t get stressed anymore because of the colors of the wall. It really does feel comfortable.

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It’s so hot today. I notice the sweat running down my back. It’s so hot. I was so happy when the weather finally started to get warm, but this is too much. I feel like doing absolutely nothing. As I look outside, I see the neighbors sitting in the shady part of the streets, in a parking space. They usually do this when it gets warmer, but today they were joined by the neighbors on the other side of our house too.

This heat was even more unbearable that the scorching sun in the Caribbean. At least there was a nice breeze there. Unless it was hurricane season – then it was really hot and suffocating. That’s what it felt like, like the heat from the hurricane season form the Caribbean had arrived in Europe.

It’s too hot to turn on the stove and cook a meal. It’s too hot to do a task that demands too much energy. I just want to melt into a puddle. Staying inside seems like a good idea. I open the window to see if there is some wind, but a wave of warmth hits my face. Nope. I close the window.

We live 30 minutes away from the beach, but I already know that it would be completely full of people, trying to find some relief from the heat. Also, not a good idea. What can we do to fight this heat? I close all the curtains, to stop the sunrays from warming my living room. At least that helps a little bit.

I look at my husband as he’s sitting on the couch. He’s very sensitive to warmth. He hates it when it gets more than 18 – 20 degrees Celsius, unless there is a nice wind to cool him down. He’s completely absorb in his phone, watching a movie to take his mind off the heat.

I really want ice cream, but don’t want to walk the 10 minutes it takes to get to the supermarket. One, because it’s so warm and I don’t have the energy. And two, because I have a sun allergy and I don’t want to deal with the consequences of walking out in the sun today, which is usually red and itchy skin.

I ask my husband if he could get some ice-cream. He looks at me with a face that says ‘are you serious?’ I try to look at him with sweet eyes, but he just shakes his head. I ponder for a moment and then take out my trump card. I tell him that I would give him credit, so he could buy a game. He only thinks about it for 30 seconds, before he gets up and says: “you’re lucky I love you.” Yes, I am lucky, but I’m also smart.

Moments later I happy eat my ice cream. It’s still too hot to do anything, but the ice cream is helping a little bit.

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Today I notice that it’s okay to be sad. I miss my little brother and that is perfectly normal. It’s okay for me to express my sadness, even if I’m not comfortable doing that on a public platform.

As I’m going through my Instagram, I check the private messages I’ve gotten. As I scroll down, I see my brother’s name, last reply 22 weeks ago. As I open the chatroom, I see the last message that I sent him, the message he never got to read.

Tears are streaming down my face. I’m not crying because I feel guilty about anything, I’m just sad that I can’t share my life with him anymore. That I don’t have anyone else who understands our sibling in-jokes. That I don’t have anyone who has the shared memories of being raised by our parents anymore. I miss my brother, my good friend.

My father messaged me late last night and said that he was missing him. I asked him what about my brother he missed and he said that he misses the way that he treated him. And that he was having a hard time still. I cry because I feel for him, for my mom, for his 7-month old baby and for his girlfriend. All these people will miss him the most in their life.

I still have my Instagram app open. I hesitate, but I decide to do it. To go ahead and post about the sadness I’m feeling. Why can’t I? Life isn’t all about happy moments. I don’t want to create the imagine of being unauthentic. I just want to share my life, as it is, with it’s ups and downs.

Honestly, I have tended to share the happy moments more than the sad ones. Because I see it all around me. Because I am afraid. Afraid of showing my faults. Afraid of being criticized for them, even if I can’t change some of them.

I post the last message I sent to my brother. I write some down of my thoughts and hit post. I quickly shut down the app, afraid of what is coming my way. But then I take a deep breath and open the app again.

My cousin is the first to respond. She sends me a kissing face emoji. She was the one who, when she heard the news of my brother’s passing, messaged me to say that she was booking the next flight out and sent me the confirmation of her flight details. She was on the same flight as we were and she supported me all the while she stayed there, before she had to come back home for work.

The second message was from a high school junior of mine, who had sent me a message of support. I realized that not everyone in my network knew that my brother had passed away, only the ones I see often. Then a stream of support came in. It felt like a warm hug, which someone also said they wished to give me.

I couldn’t feel more relieved than that moment. I realized, it’s okay to share moments of sadness. There’ll always be someone who will stand by your side to cheer you on.

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Today I noticed that I might be less of a loner than I think I am. Yes, I love having alone time and I spend most of my days alone, sometimes in silence, sometimes with music, which I love to dance and sing along to.

I had grown accustomed to being at home most of the time, instead of going out. I was an introvert, but I’m also very social. That’s not the reason I stay at home. My health, namely my list of severe allergies, makes it difficult for me to go out whenever I want. And when I do, I often encounter things that trigger my allergies. Home is a safe haven.

I transferred the Instagram posts about my brother from the day before to my Whatsapp stories, since I have a lot of friends who don’t do social media, but do have Whatsapp. My mom also falls in that category. My mom called me up. I could tell that she was on the verge of crying, so I carefully listened as she told her story.

My brother had a American Pitbull, named Odin, who was living with my parents two Rottweilers till my brother would move into the house he was building. So when he passed away, they kept Odin. Odin loves playing rough with my parent’s Rottweiler, Tyson.

Both Odin and Tyson have their own doghouse (in which a human could lie down in, we’ve tried) in the backyard and are put on a leash, or they would destroy my mom’s garden. When my dad went to put Odin on his leash, something happened and he bit Tyson in his face. After a long struggle, in which my parents tried to separate them, Odin finally let go.

Tyson’s face was pouring blood and it looked like he had been bitten near his eyes. My mom was shocked and upset, but she immediately took action, seeing as she’s trained as a First Responder. She cleaned Tyson up and took a look at the wounds and was relieved that, even though the wounds were deep, he didn’t seem to have injured his eyes.

She was just very sad that this had happened and that Tyson was now in a lot of pain. She tried to give him pain medication, but he didn’t want to take it. The vet confirmed that the wounds were deep, but had missed any vital spots. I chatted with her a bit longer, before my brother’s baby, who she watches when his mom goes to work, woke up, so she had to go.

Then I was called by a good friend of mine, who had seen my Whatsapp stories that I’d transferred from Instagram. She was calling me to see how I was doing. Her mom had passed away a couple of years ago and now had to take care of her sibling, who was 20 years younger than her. She listened to me talk for a moment and sympathized with me.

It wasn’t long before her little sister grabbed the phone and started doing all sorts of things. My friend is also quite silly, so it didn’t take long before we were laughing so hard that we had tears streaming down our face. My muscles still hurt from laughing.

Usually I hate talking on the phone, but honestly I didn’t mind it. I don’t mind talking to my mom at all, even though her phone calls average an hour and my friend usually calls for an hour or more. So yes, I think I’m less of a loner than I think I am. I know I’m an extroverted introvert, but maybe more so than I believe.

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I notice how much I admire my mom. Not only did she give up her career to become a stay-at-home mom, but she also dealt with great loss and remained resilient. She’s giving her all to raise her grandson as best as she can, when he is in her care.

But that isn’t the only reason I admire her. As I stare at my sewing machine, trying to finish a simple circle skirt, frustrated because it’s not doing what I want, I think back of the times I saw my mom sew.

My mom had a room in the house that was filled with her sewing and overlock machine, rolls of patterns paper and fabric, boxes filled with buttons, zippers, etc., you name it. She learned sewing when she lived in Europe and she always sewed different articles of clothing for my brother and I. She also did it to earn a bit of extra money by sewing for people in her network. She even got to sew clothes for dance groups, often with one of my aunts.

I never took the time to learn sewing with a sewing machine from her, because honestly, it never interested me. But as an adult, who sews now, I hit myself in the head. Luckily I can always call her when I need help, but since she lives in a different country I can’t ask for lessons. But I figured some stuff out of my own and Youtube is always a great help.

I just couldn’t figure out what was wrong with my sewing machine. It kept ‘eating’ the fabric, it kept getting stuck. I wondered what my mom would do in that situation, since she had more experience than me. I looked at my phone. Because of the time difference, it was too early to call her.

As I looked at my phone, I noticed a certain smell, so I brought my nose closer to the sewing machine. The smell was something between friction and burned. That can’t be good. So I grabbed a screwdriver and loosened some of the parts, cleaned everything on the inside and oiled everything.

As I put everything back together, I noticed that I was missing the clear plastic casing that went over the lower bobbin case in the sewing machine. I started to look for it, but it was nowhere. I started to clear the table and put everything back in it’s box. I searched the table, the floor, several cabinets…

It was nowhere to be found. My mom replied to my message about the sewing machine and said that it probably needed oil. I updated her on the situation and she said that it would turn up somewhere. But I was obsessed. I needed to find it, so I could finish my project.

Several hours later, my shoulders felt stiff from the stress and I still hadn’t found it. My husband had arrived home from work and told me to rest, so he could look for it. “You need a fresh set of eyes,” he said. He couldn’t find it either.

Then we looked for it together. I was looking, again, through all the things I put away, as I heard a ‘clink’ when something fell down. It was the missing item. Because it was translucent and had been encased in something else that wasn’t translucent, I hadn’t spotted it.

Again, the image of my mom popped into my head – sitting behind her sewing machine, with her reading glasses on and an extra light, patiently working with her machine. I admire her.

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Today I noticed that writing is therapeutic. I noticed this when I was sitting in the plane, heading towards my brother’s funeral. I was really sad and it helped me to write down the way I feeling in a journal I had taking with me. It really helped me to process everything.

But after that period I had stopped writing. Yes, I had wrote something here and there, but I hadn’t written anything consistently. I thought my life was boring. And this Skillshare class prompted me to think about things that I had noticed that day.

And honestly, these days were very eventful for me. Something seemed to happen every day. Usually my days are a lot more quiet, like today. But even then, it was very satisfying to sit down and write some, anything I had noticed, even if it made sense to just me.

Writing things down for these past few days have made me laugh or cry about the things I was writing down. Whether it’s using a pen to write it down in the journal or staring at a computer screen as letters form, while my fingers are flying over the keyboard to write things down, both are enjoyable.

I know that writing down things can make emotion-filled events less emotional or painful, and allows you to process the events. But I forgot what it felt like. Instead of listening to the psychologist in my head, I could see it on my page or screen. Funny how that goes.

Fey Elias

Cooking Traditional Cuisine with a Twist

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