Random thoughts as I go along

Watch me be cheesy. Firstly, happy birthday, I hope you had an awesome day! Never have I felt so proud to be able to call you my mother than these last few years. I consider myself to be so privileged to have someone like you in my life. All the adventures and life lessons… I wouldn’t change a thing! You’re constantly packed with motivation and inspiration that it’s hard to not be positive all the time around you. I feel my worries always become insignificant as you taught me to always see the positives in a negative situation. I miss you every day that goes by, but it’s bearable simply knowing that you’re doing what you love and what you’re passionate about! You have taught me so much and then some… I can’t begin to express how grateful I am for everything that you have been through and done for us as a family. You’ve shown us what it is to live life in the most purest form, love above all. Now, what really is a mother? Aside from the biological definitions… Is...

I'm starting to wonder. Is it a long road to recovery or is it a short but steep staircase? I think it's a short but steep staircase. The ones that leave you gasping for air each step you take. I've been walking down the long and flat road for a year thinking I was healing. Fooled by false temporary plasters yet no stitches to permanently heal the broken. It's time I acknowledged the staircase with a clear view of the top. Deep down I always knew I'd eventually have to tackle it. I thought I wasn't strong enough and I was too lazy to let go. I settled for comfort and convinced myself that this road with no visible end would eventually lead me out. I forgot that when you feel you've hit rock bottom, or the equally painful stages just before, people always say that the only way to go is up... So why wasn't I going up? Following that long road won't lead you up because it's flat. It's a distraction. Maybe it's necessary to...

Not a single soul was out tonight… Just me, the birds, and a dead town. As I walked along the abandoned high street, I was reminded of the movie “The Truman Show” as a town without the people resembles a movie set. Every building merely a building on its own, yet immediately blessed with life and purpose once surrounded by people and movement. As I remove my headphones which provide the soundtrack to this movie set on hold, the sound of the birds is accompanied by the sound of the water flowing through the sewers below us. Together along with the blowing wind, I believe if I simply close my eyes, I can imagine that I’m walking along a sandy calm beach on a fresh and sunny day. Written by Sofia Tartaglia at 5:26 am on 12 th of March 2017

June 2016 I’m not quite sure why I think the way I think, or act the way I act, but that’s just the way I am; that’s just me. We assume that everyone’s mind works the same and that we all think in the same patterns and with the same rhythm and speed, but the only mind we truly know is ours and ours alone. No one can truly teach me how to control my mind and thoughts: they can simply show me the way and guide me, but it’s up to me to discover my mind, understand it and control it. Only in a way that I know how, because, after all, my mind is my mind and no one else’s. We may think that we can all observe, understand, discover and control our minds in the same way and with the same methods, but we must remember that no two minds are the same. No two minds have gone through the exact same experiences. I, myself, think quite a lot, maybe even too much, maybe even too fast. My thoughts come flowing through hundreds at a time. Always connecting, always finding references from one thing ...

Sitting at my desk attempting to do some work. My mind won’t stop wandering and I can’t seem to focus. Distractions are all around me. I couldn’t seem to resist the temptation to eat all the chocolates, and once I did, I felt bad. So, I turned to the fruits and they aren’t quite ready yet. I picked up the mango and checked to see if it’s ripe… I snap off the stem and expose the bursting fruity smell. This is the smell of a green mango… This is the smell of Cambodian memories… This is the smell of home. I hold the mango close to my nose and smell that one fresh area whilst closing my eyes. Memories are not purely flashing images. Memories are feelings, they’re experiences that let us remember how we felt at that time. The smell of this green mango not only brought back the image of me eating loads of them whilst in Cambodia. The smell of this green mango brought back the taste, the feeling of biting into it, the way it made my tongue feel after eating too many; and mainly, it broug...

It's super cold outside yet the bus is freezing inside with more cold air from the air conditioning. The bus feels like it's going so fast, I for once feel the need for a seat-belt. (aside from the fact that they drive on the wrong side of the road) Isolation comes to mind when I think about how I can't hear the birds sing or the cars beep with these glass windows between me and the outside world. The people are easier to talk to as they all speak English, yet they don't have   that same friendly smile. Everything is busy with people everywhere, yet I feel so detached. But once we get out of the busy city and we cross the long and promising bridge, it begins. I see the water under the bridge flowing back and forth to the shore. I see the sheep eating happily in the fields, not bothered by anything. I see the vibrant green trees leaning over the streets to come and greet me. I see the wind dancing with everything that it can. And finally, for the first time to...

That heart warming feeling when you realize that you’re as much a part of someone’s life that you’ve met travelling as the people who have known that person since they were young teenagers. We may think that they have so many memories with their friends from their home country, as their social media photos show, but we can mean more to them and have a better connection with them even if we’ve only known them for a few months travelling or living somewhere other than our home country. It’s because, we forget that maybe they don’t speak to those people “back home” anymore, maybe those photos and memories from before we met this said person are solely great memories and will always remain that way. We assume, or at least I usually assume, that we can never be as close to someone as all of their friends from the past. We can never go back in time and experience those memories with them, we can merely browse through their photos and take a brief peak at what their life used to be like. We ...