tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28702444228328835552024-03-13T11:07:11.602-07:00Emerging Aphrodite . . .This is my life, my story, my ups and downs.Tania Kon.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13794729107680857115noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2870244422832883555.post-2376998857491234762011-12-10T15:25:00.001-08:002011-12-13T07:26:04.613-08:003. España<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAiOAiu5S4426HSeMeYHVyQKRb0kX1BpXl7RLCGhuhU4f6nHWrT4jTsNuwN4EA3xIFOwIshN1kyJxfC61G77NBHQ0bcXB4z2nrkohVc6pp_H-rX_WSXJyiIgEhM8UVTN9VqAsv60I2y8/s1600/P8210103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAiOAiu5S4426HSeMeYHVyQKRb0kX1BpXl7RLCGhuhU4f6nHWrT4jTsNuwN4EA3xIFOwIshN1kyJxfC61G77NBHQ0bcXB4z2nrkohVc6pp_H-rX_WSXJyiIgEhM8UVTN9VqAsv60I2y8/s320/P8210103.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>I wanted…<i> to stay in Spain forever!<o:p></o:p></i></u></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When I was
5 years old, my parents took me to Spain with them. My dad had to stay in Cadiz
for 4 months, due to his work and my mum being relatively newlywed and very much
in love with her husband couldn’t think of keeping away from him even for a
day. So they left little Nicoletta with
my grandmother and they decided to take me, their oldest daughter, with them.
Although I’m not known for my memory (this can be confirmed by my sister, who
calls me ‘goldfish’…for Christ’s sake!), it so happens that I have some
scattered memories from our stay there. I remember characteristically:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US">Me being on a table, surrounded by
girls and boys that were applauding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US">Me crying heartbreakingly and a
cloud of smoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I
recently asked my mum if the pictures I had in the back of mind had any
meaning, if any of these had actually happened or if they were just figments of
my imagination. She was pretty surprised when I asked her, exclaiming: ‘You can’t
even remember what you had last night for dinner, how is it possible to
remember what you did when you were 5 years old!’ (I have to admit that she’s
got a point, even I find it weird, what can I say? Add another X-File case to
my CV) So she told me the following stories: <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The hotel
where we were staying had a bar and organized flamenco nights with flamenco dance
and live music. Some evenings that my parents had nowhere to leave me, they
used to take me with them. So according to my mum, all the staff of the place knew
me and they would come to our table to play and dance with me. They even gave
me the microphone and I would start singing – was I an attention-seeker or
what? And although I probably didn’t
understand any of the things they were saying, I was obviously having the time
of my life! I would sit there with my eyes wide open, staring at the dancers
and the singers. Then I would go up on the table to do my own stuff and
everyone would applaud me and shout: Olé!
Hola guapa! Of course I was madly in love with one of the guitarists. Every
time we went to the bar, I was an angel. No moaning and no crying until they had
to drag me home by force. If the bar was open 24/7, I’m almost positive that they
would leave me there with the guitarist as my nanny. How exciting!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As for the
smoke I mentioned earlier, there’s also an explanation. My parents were both
smokers, and since I was watching them puffing on cigarettes all the time, well
I wanted to smoke too. So, one day, I got
so annoying that my mum said yes and ‘Checkmate’! Instead of placing the lit
cigarette in my mouth, she just brought it close to my eyes which started
tingling because of the smoke and of course… I burst into tears. Traumatic
experience!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Conclusions:</span></span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">1.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span></i><i><span lang="EN-US">Since I was a little girl I used to
be an attention-seeker and I loved being applauded and cheered for.<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">2.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span></i><i><span lang="EN-US">I loved the flamenco dance, the loud
music, the dancing and singing and all bar related activities. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">3.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span></i><i><span lang="EN-US">I’ve always been stubborn and guess
what, of course I started smoking, maybe not when I was 5 but in my twenties,
which leads me to my next conclusion…<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">4.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span></i><i><span lang="EN-US">I was far more intelligent when I
was little. <o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">5.<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span></i><i><span lang="EN-US">I was so happy in Spain that I
wanted to stay there forever, grow up and marry the guitarist. He’d play music and I would dance. And they
lived happily ever after…<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><em><b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;">Olé</span></b></em><span lang="EN-US"><span style="float: none;">! <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>I want… <i>to go back to Spain!</i></u></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For many
years I wanted to visit this country. There has always been something pulling
me towards it but I didn’t know what that was. Two years ago, in the summer of
2009 and while I was trying to recover from yet another breakup, I got the idea
of a trip abroad. I wanted a change of scenes, to forget everything and have an
adventure. I had never been abroad on my own so I addressed the travel agency
that my parents used to pick when they wanted to travel. Our destination;
Barcelona! I told my sister and she loved the idea. At that time we were better
off financially so it was easier for us to make the decision and go through
with it. So I went to the agency and booked the trip. We were flying with
Vueling at 4 in the morning and we were so excited that we couldn’t sleep a
wink all night. We packed our things and arrived at the airport about 3 hours earlier.
That gave us enough time for our usual ritual: cheese pie (and what a cheese
pie, worth every bite!) and coffee from the airport outlet, followed by a
ciggie and loads of chatting and planning. The time flew and we went for the
check-in with a smile glued on our faces.
For me, personally, the airport is something like Santa’s village. You
never know what you’re going to see and what magic things might happen. I get
butterflies in my stomach just at the idea of me being at the airport with a
ticket in my hand!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">We arrived
in Barcelona at 6 in the morning. Only
when we got in the bus, did we realize that the majority of our travelling
companions consisted of couples. How gee! We’re the only singles in a sea of
couples! Yes, I felt like a spinster, yes I was dead tired, yes I wanted to
have a shower because the heat was unbearable and yes I was dying to go to the
hotel. So we sat in our seats, dreaming of the shower and the gurgling water
spraying our sweaty bodies when the guide tells us something that none of us
expected to hear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US">‘And now we’re going to Park </span></i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2870244422832883555" name="OLE_LINK49"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2870244422832883555" name="OLE_LINK48"><em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;">Güell</span></em></a><span lang="EN-US"><span style="float: none;">.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="background-color: #6fa8dc; float: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Did I hear
right? What is he talking about? What park? It’s not even 7 in the morning yet!
All those thoughts crossed my mind when he added…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">‘After Park
</span><em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;">Güell<span style="float: none;">, we’re visiting the Sagrada Familia, Barrio
Gotico and we’re stopping for a coffee at Port Vell. After we enjoy our coffee
by the sea, we’re going to see the Estadi Olímpic and we’ll finish our tour
with a visit to Pueblo Espanol, where you will have an hour at your disposal to
stroll around. Finally, at noon, around one o’clock, your rooms will be ready and
we’ll drop you off at your hotel. <o:p></o:p></span></span></em></span></span></div>
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<em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><span style="background-color: #6fa8dc; float: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #6fa8dc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What?! Is he for real? He hasn’t left anything! In 6
hours we’ll see the whole city! Should I burst into laughter or tears? I turn
around to look at Nicoletta and she’s speechless. There is no way of escape. We
have to follow the group, whether we like it or not. And that’s that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #6fa8dc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #6fa8dc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So the tour went as follows: climb down the steps of the bus, walk, admire the
monument, and climb up the steps and all over again. We were sleepwalking,
couldn’t see past our nose, we were sweltering from the heat and humidity, our
quadriceps were aching from climbing up and down the endless stairs and we were
running to catch the bus because it seems that we were the only ones who wanted
to take a bloody picture or buy a stupid souvenir (where are those Chinese
Sayonara people when you want them?). When we reached Pueblo Espanol and we had
a bit more time to wander around by ourselves, then I finally realized where I
was. I was in wonderful, bright and magical Spain. The Pueblo was a patchwork
of different Spanish cities and you could get a general idea. It was as if all
those hours I had been asleep and I finally woke up in a fairytale castle.
Nothing mattered anymore. Yes, we were in Spain! And a strange feeling
overwhelmed me. I felt like I always belonged here. As if I were home...<o:p></o:p></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #6fa8dc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></em></div>
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<em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: #6fa8dc; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To be continued…</span></span></em><span lang="EN-US" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>Tania Kon.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13794729107680857115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2870244422832883555.post-4722110914812086012011-12-04T07:22:00.001-08:002011-12-13T07:22:28.327-08:002.2 I can… offer my help to children.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQotmrQgmu5xN_VnPFl-9T2woa68UZFppIuSlaYSMXvc11-b2WyOJ6PM1-9nQqsYodclXmQN1NJQwg09IE2TZV0IoTYjsGypOm6AKj6Uopjck_EBkLHicGu2bQsIQfbJBXza_Et7G1sA/s1600/tumblr_ls4wm48HW51qdzpbco1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQotmrQgmu5xN_VnPFl-9T2woa68UZFppIuSlaYSMXvc11-b2WyOJ6PM1-9nQqsYodclXmQN1NJQwg09IE2TZV0IoTYjsGypOm6AKj6Uopjck_EBkLHicGu2bQsIQfbJBXza_Et7G1sA/s320/tumblr_ls4wm48HW51qdzpbco1_500.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2870244422832883555" name="OLE_LINK44"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2870244422832883555" name="OLE_LINK43"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2870244422832883555" name="OLE_LINK38"></a><span lang="EN-US">Based on my previous article and
taking into consideration that I haven’t been the best of sisters as a kid,
making Nicoletta’s life a living hell, I had been looking for ways to atone
myself. Having in mind that I would like to offer as much as possible, I
concluded to volunteering. I looked up on the web (thank God for google) and
found numerous volunteering organizations and programs and I picked the ones that
have to do with kids. After taking into account all the parameters, I was
excited to find an Orphanage in my area, close to my home asking for
volunteers. I logged in and completed the necessary application. I caught
myself waiting impatiently over the phone and only then I realized the
necessity I felt, not only to get but also offer my help to other people. While
I was waiting for the phone to ring-ring, I found all my old forgotten toys and
teddy bears that I used to play with when I was a child. If my toys were alive
they’d all say with one voice: Wash us up! So, I started the laundry but the
anticipation was eating me alive. Finally I gave up and I decided to give them
a call. I spoke to a very sweet lady and booked an appointment. Two days later
I put my toys in a box and the sweetest smile on my face, got into my car and
went there. The lady who welcomed me was kind and obliging. She informed me
about the 100 years old Institution, which functions without any help from the government
and for the activities of the 72 girls who inhabit it. I told her that I am a
dance instructor and that it would be a pleasure to teach or play, to help with
their homework and to be in direct contact with them. The answer that I got was
totally unexpected. I will state her exact words:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Since
we are preparing our annual Christmas Bazaar and there’s a lot of work to be
done and we need people to help us, you can come tomorrow to help us in the cracking
of the nuts for the Christmas cakes! We don’t know how long it will take us…we’ll
stay as much as is needed. The girls will be passing by from time to time and
you will see them.</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What!
I was staring at her like a retard. My thoughts of being close to the girls
immediately vanished. All my dreams were crushed like nutshells. That’s
certainly not the way I imagined the whole experience to be. I would teach them
ballet, we would play together, I would tuck them into bed and read them
stories, they would confide in me their secrets, give them my advice and so
much more… But the only thing I can do for now is crush a tone of nuts. But
after giving it some thought, I realized that volunteering has nothing to do
with what you’ve dreamt missy, but doing what’s necessary to help the group you
chose. And this is how things are. If my cracking nuts can help these kids get
a plate of food on their table or a warm coat, then bring on the sacks! </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Besides, the Nutcracker happens to be one of my favorite stories and since it’s
nearly Christmas, it’s perfectly suitable!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I said yes and we shook hands. There’s no greater feeling than offering unconditionally
your love and knowing that you will put a smile on the faces of 72 little
girls!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So
in the spirit of Christmas and the Nutcracker, I uploaded Tchaikovsky on my
Ipod and off I go to crack some nuts!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
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<br /></div>Tania Kon.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13794729107680857115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2870244422832883555.post-50289131383783423782011-12-04T04:53:00.001-08:002011-12-13T06:50:58.197-08:002.1 I could… torture my sister.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OnldbgxQaeJB0jvcEC2PFlgnO4envzkMndV5AGzut8oGIJCFhyphenhyphenGo6ZuWEArYGvSzyBWghFHi85iomV3EIBYZTKc3TWk43OaY6-19DokCcIYI8lW7PBh9xIj4rP_oIJE8bce6iCvL2RI/s1600/sister.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_OnldbgxQaeJB0jvcEC2PFlgnO4envzkMndV5AGzut8oGIJCFhyphenhyphenGo6ZuWEArYGvSzyBWghFHi85iomV3EIBYZTKc3TWk43OaY6-19DokCcIYI8lW7PBh9xIj4rP_oIJE8bce6iCvL2RI/s400/sister.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">In 1977 my
mum brought to the world a weird little girl that was so tiny, they used to
call it ‘’hamster’’. But they had no
idea that such a small little thing could make so much noise. Yes, I was a cry
baby, yes I was annoying, not a soul could stand me, neither a human nor an
animal, yes I was a little devil. I have no recollection of the first 4 years
of my life and when I asked my parents about those years, I realized that they
preferred not to remember them either. This is why I choose to move on to the next
chapter of my life. In 1981, Mr. Stork brought us a second baby, my little
sister, Nicoletta. With her curly blond hair and her fluffy rosy cheeks, she
looked like a fairy. And of course she was the exact opposite of me. An angel. It
was like that toddler didn’t exist, no moaning, no complaining, no crying, she
could stay by herself all day lo</span>ng in her room, mumbling and playing with her
toys. And obviously, she was getting on my nerves. She was so perfect and benevolent
that every time I did something naughty, she would run and tell mum all about
it. That’s why I used to call her ‘’Freaky Nicky’’ and as her older sister I always
came up with sneaky ways to punish her. The tortures were slow, devious, tricky
and always presented to her in the form of a game.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">One of my
favorite ‘’games’’ was the following:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You put on
your little sister a sleeveless blouse. Then you place her in the high chair
and you make sure the seatbelt is fastened and secure, so that there’s no
escape. You tell her that she has to be very quiet while you play, otherwise
dad will scold her. Then, always with a smile, you explain to her the terms of
the game. You have to raise your arms as high as you can. I will tickle you continuously
for 2 minutes and you must not lower them. If you manage to keep them up, then I challenge
you to last for 3, 4 or 104 minutes. I knew how to push her button and I kept
telling her that she can’t make it because she is a baby and that if she lasted
longer, then it would be her turn to tickle me. That’s how I succeeded tickling
her excruciatingly for hours and when my turn came, I threw her off by telling
her that I am too old to play such silly games. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="background-color: #6fa8dc;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My sole
disappointment was that she never complained no matter what I did to her. For
example, every time she got a new doll, I would immediately go to exercise my
hairdressing skills by cutting off its hair (I’ve always wanted to master the
frigging ‘’carre’’ haircut and of course I never did). When she was eating
chocolate, I would grab it from her hands and she wouldn’t make a sound. When I
read her stories, I would make up my own (un)-happy ending for the sweet
princess and she would listen to me quietly without objecting. In vein I was
struggling to get on her nerves. Was I asking too much? I just wanted to see a
damn tear in her eyes, to hear her complain. Do you know what it is to have Mother
Teresa in your house? Well, I do. And although she made me so furious that I
used to throw my BiBi-Boes against the wall, now that I’ve grown up I can state
with certainty that there is one thing I wouldn’t change in my life: my sister…</span></span></div>Tania Kon.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13794729107680857115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2870244422832883555.post-31152950664870366342011-11-30T13:34:00.001-08:002011-12-13T06:53:18.438-08:001.2 I want, I must, I can.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXMk0xbGWcjDWV0Wdsr_inDpcU2Q7GH0xIVT_iJx2mSv0z4wH36syx7PQfX97R6qgpeueC9rTioOrC4dmwIlsVFAhRm6TWZHEYEzUOxixrTCGUjLmXbWKFOcC5ucPt5BlWUdhc7osUq1Q/s1600/wish+wait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXMk0xbGWcjDWV0Wdsr_inDpcU2Q7GH0xIVT_iJx2mSv0z4wH36syx7PQfX97R6qgpeueC9rTioOrC4dmwIlsVFAhRm6TWZHEYEzUOxixrTCGUjLmXbWKFOcC5ucPt5BlWUdhc7osUq1Q/s320/wish+wait.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After
giving it a lot of thought, I ended up with these 3 options:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">What
I want to do - the things I’ve always wanted to do but I never went for them or
kept postponing.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span lang="EN-US">What
I must do - to cover my basic needs, which are my obligations or in other words
the things that like it or not, I must do (Must: a despicable word indeed).<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';">
</span></span><span lang="EN-US">What
I can do - Hmmm… Because there are plenty of things that I would love to do but
what’s the point if I can’t do them!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh! At this
point I should add my 4<sup>th</sup> option – My midsummer night’s dreams,
which includes all those little stuff that are going through my mind and I
could easily cite one by one. For example, I’d love to become a violin virtuoso
(the fact that I don’t even know how to hold the violin is a tiny insignificant
detail). To become a famous ballerina and be invited by the New York City
Ballet to perform as Odette in Swan Lake (and I can clearly hear the voices of
the audience cheering ‘’Bravo! Amazing!’’- or maybe they’re just the voices in
my head?). Another fantasy is winning the Lotto and travel around the world
without having to worry about which is going to be the next excuse I have to
find for delaying my rent (I think I’ve exhausted all reasonable excuses… next
thing, I’m going to use Alzheimer’s decease as an excuse, pretending to forget
I even rent an apartment… hm not bad at all, might have to consider that option).
It would also be nice if in one of these trips I met Mr. Right. Yeah, the more
I think about it, the more it’s growing on me. Somewhere in the middle of
nowhere, in the depths of the desert, I can picture myself on a camel (I’ve
always wanted to ride a camel, no idea why… I’m so attracted to the idea of
sitting on it… is it its hump? Or maybe the spitting factor? Because you can’t
actually call it a cute animal!). So, where was I? Right, on my camel, wearing
a turban around my head ala Salma Hayek (am I a fashionista or what!), a one
shoulder leopard top (sexy is my middle name), a pair of flowy pants and my
Manolo Blahnik sandals (it’s my fantasy, I can wear whatever I choose),
journeying with my caravan on our way to discover the mysteries of the desert,
here he comes! Riding his black horse just like Indiana Jones! He’s dark,
muscular, alluring but also dangerous at the same time. He suddenly halts in
front of me, I can feel the blood rushing through my veins, my knees are weak, I
can feel his stare burning with passion and desire. Alrighty. And then I woke
up. The camel turns out to be my crashed little car, my shoulder is freezing
and I wish I had put on a damn coat (stupid air-condition is broken again… how
original!), my Manolos are actually by Mr. Manolis (the shoemaker around the
corner who was kind enough to repair them for me) and of course the dark hunk
is none other than the Pakistani who’s
winking at me offering to wash my windscreen for free, while I’ m waiting for
the bloody traffic light to turn green and get the hell out of here! I think it’s time to slap myself and get back
to reality. Right.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I want. I
must. I can and let’s see what happens…</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Tania Kon.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13794729107680857115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2870244422832883555.post-51079907751911598362011-11-30T12:32:00.001-08:002011-12-13T06:33:05.620-08:001.1 Mission (I’ m)Possible: Emerging Aphrodite<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIeWzv4iilSQC8q2KG76jF4q_D2o6IOCitJGNErB8OQvsWFFf9UFntIaKj8rhsN34QojiS1bjywZx3GLB6nW2wefuQ82wKvxlJLkPK2XToO7YHlZtQSPutkJ2AYtjkHB-8tngzMDe_I-0/s1600/eaPic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIeWzv4iilSQC8q2KG76jF4q_D2o6IOCitJGNErB8OQvsWFFf9UFntIaKj8rhsN34QojiS1bjywZx3GLB6nW2wefuQ82wKvxlJLkPK2XToO7YHlZtQSPutkJ2AYtjkHB-8tngzMDe_I-0/s320/eaPic.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My name is Kon,
Tania Kon. I’m a Greek 34 years old, unemployed and single woman. I live in a
world that is falling apart, everything has changed, money counts more than
love, corruption is everywhere and nobody cares about the other anymore. And
yes, it seems that I’m going through my own little depression phase. So, while
I was waiting today in a line full of jobless people at the unemployment
office, in order to receive the ‘’excessive’’ amount of 460 euro, so that I can
pay my 460 unpaid bills and avoid spending my life behind bars – and unfortunately
there’s no drinking or dancing in this kind of ‘’bars’’, I saw all my failed efforts
in my professional and private life, flashing before my eyes like a movie. So,
I’ve decided that it’s high time I changed my ways. I’ll start by changing my
own little world and who knows? Perhaps I can eventually change as well the
world around me. Besides if you don’t change some basic things about yourself,
how can you expect your life to change?</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">For
example, a good job will not fall from the sky (though I wouldn’t complain if
my bloody luck could help me a bit), neither my knight in shining armor on his
white horse (or even his Beetle Car, whatever!). Since whichever way you see
it, I’m a disappointment, I’ve decided to give myself 1 year in order to make
my dreams come true (or at least some of them). Since I’ve reached the bottom
of the sea with the weeds dragging me deeper and deeper, I declare that today, November
30<sup>th</sup> 2011, I’m ready to start swimming towards the surface of the
sea, in the hopes of emerging (like another Aphrodite) and confronting the
shiny sunrays warming my face (and not clouds, lightening and storms). I don’t
want to sound extremely optimistic but something tells me that I better get
lots of sunscreen and rub it all over my face just in case happiness is way too
hot for me. It is known that if you want the rainbow you have to put up with
the rain first. But my life so far hasn’t been a simple rainfall, more like Katrina
the Hurricane – oh I’m so ‘’gone with the wind’’! There have been some good
moments of course, but it’s been a while since the last time that I felt truly
happy. So, this blog is going to be my diary. My past and my present. As for my
future, that, we shall discover it together!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I’ve never
contemplated on what went wrong in my life or whether I am to blame. So, by
writing about my past, I might succeed in improving my present and learning
from my mistakes so that next time I can at least make different or better
mistakes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #6fa8dc; color: #351c75; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But where
do I start? Hmmm… I have to hatch a plan of action. What the hell! James Bond always
had one and never failed to make it work! I know my deadline, it’s 1 year. Same
time next year, right before Christmas, which happens to be my favorite
holiday! But my priority is this year’s Christmas and I plan to spend it
without moaning, nagging, whining or fighting. Because even though the
financial recession dictates us to live in a constant depression, I plan my
holidays to be as creative and magical as possible. Although I’m 34 years old
(dammit) I still believe in Santa Claus and I still write him a letter every
Christmas Eve, just like I used to do when I was little (Ok, maybe I’m not
leaving milk and cookies under the tree…besides I don’t have a fireplace nor a
chimney). But it looks like I’m losing track of my very important subject. Right.
Plan. Goals. Desires. Needs. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>Tania Kon.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13794729107680857115noreply@blogger.com0