I once was a writer...

I don't know about you, but I have always heard only one side of the wedding story: the bride's. She is always so happy to have been asked to join the group of women who have found meaning in life only because they switched from Miss to Mrs. She is always thrilled to wear a huge, puffy, white dress. She is always delighted to be the center of attention during the planning and the day of. She is always a bridezilla. She is always crazy, insane, unbearable. She is always the one who tells the story. Even when my uncle got married - even then I only got her side of the story. My friends who have gotten married are all the brides. Even when I am acquainted with the groom, I still always only hear her side of the story. For the first time I have been close to the groom. Very close to the groom , if you know what I mean. We were recently skyping (he was in Colombia while I was still in Germany) and he kind of failed to properly hang up on me, and I overheard a conversation betwee...

I am obsessed with birthdays. I love that there is one day every year where you can feel like a princess and it's socially acceptable. It is, in fact, somewhat encouraged. I am especially obsessed with my birthday - but not because of the princess thing (I am a princess every day, Honey tells me so). I am obsessed with my birthday because I keep turning older. And older. And older. I tried to stop the age thing, I tried to turn 23 for five years in a row. I even moved to three different continents to make it work! But no. Someone always knew the truth... and was more than happy to expose that truth. I did manage to confuse many, many people. But in heart - nay, worse: in my mind I knew it not to be true. I was actually 24. Or 25. Or 26 (I actually had a blast in Bogotá that day). I have a few very worthwhile reasons for disliking my real age, and some extremely lame ones as well. After Thailand, when my life took a stand-still in a very boring point and place, I was as...

I'm flying home next weekend. Home . What does that mean, anyway? If home is where you work, then my home is intangible because I work online. If home is where you study, then my home is Kiel, Germany. If home is where your friends are, then my home is the world, because my friends are spread all over the place. If home is where your heart is, currently my home is Sopó, because Honey is there. If home is where your family is, then my home is Barranquilla. I am flying to that home. I am flying to Barranquilla. And I have mixed feelings about that. I am delighted to go home, but I don't want to stay. I am excited to go home, but I don't want to go. I am afraid to go back home, but I can't stay here alone. Home . Such a complicated concept... Going back this time will be weird. It will be a first-time-ever kind of experience because, for the first time ever I will stay in a hotel and not in my parents' home. Not in my bed. Not in my room, which is now the guest roo...

When I was 16, I had a boyfriend. One of my mom's friends, very close to the family and for whom I cared very much, once asked me (in front of my mom) if said boyfriend made me laugh. In trying to be bold and mature and, well, in trying to surprise and scare my mom, I said, "Well, yeah, kinda. But most importantly, he is awesome in bed!" I was lying, in case anyone is freaking out. My mom was (and probably is again now) freaking out. Her friend simply said, "Whatever, that is not important. What is important is that he makes you laugh. That is the most important thing: to be with someone who makes you laugh." This is perhaps the best piece of advice I have ever been given. Be with someone who makes you laugh . Because, the thing is, this not only refers to sex partners. This is true for life, and for everyone in your life. In my life. In counting my friends, I realize we laugh a lot together. Bear in mind that most my friends are English majors, like me; so ou...