Ieva Tarajeva: “Kol plaukai ant galvos mums gražu, o kai išslenka– šlykštu, tas pats su dantimis, nagais ir kūno skysčiais.
Kiek iškrypęs yra kūno estetizavimas?
Kas yra žmogaus esmė, kai išskaidai kūniškas asociacijas?”


Learning to be thankful

I am grateful for:
– the sun kissing my body, realisation that the summer is still here,
– fresh air,

  • wide spaces. The rooms in my flat with soothing cream colours and wooden pallets on the floor,
  • eating ice-cream with my mom in the park. For walks with her. The undying love and acceptance she is always showering me with.
  • the presence of my sister
  • my friends being around
  • re-reading texts from my Literature class and questioning
  • time to rest. time to be. time to not do and sleep
  • the future with all of the possibilities in it. the new out there, behind the corner.

Is there more than this?

People are just bags of meat with an expiration date.

A few weeks ago I read this phrase and it just struck me with its boldness and cruelty. Are we just pieces of meat that are slowly degrading/decaying..? Is one’s life just acts of sleep, food, and material provision..? Is there more than this?

Metropolitan Dating

Just an illusion. Some sort of existence, created by neurons that does not translate in the physical here. Yet, in my heart – something is aching. Something repetitively disrupting the flow of my thoughts and causing a sense of loss – unexplained loss.

Maybe my heart is just a mere construction of neurons as well.

This is how I could define the abruptness of dating in the metropolitan cities. There are no traces, no explanations – just an abrupt ending. It is like a fantasy. The other is erased out of everyday. Completely. No smiles, no meeting of the eyes, no looking over the shoulder – it is all lost in the maze of millions. Millions of people, cars, shops, tube stations, without an intersecting reality. Traces of individuals moving simultaneously without crossover.

Moving together in the forms of physical or digital presence and then, suddenly, none. No vibrations, no symbols … dead end silence.

But perhaps, there was something real. As my brain, like an old tape record is replaying the same imagery, just with different details. And questions of friends are echoing in my ears: “Where is the cute guy, you kissed in that bar?’

While in Cambridge

At peace. Or perhaps an overwhelming passivity of the current state/situation.

The effects of London living have etched a deep hole and resistance in me in experiencing stress or simply caring of what’s happening around. This too shall pass. Constant tiredness is a state of everyday. Yet, my body is begging me to stop – to pause and recharge – by inflicting aching in my head, thighs, fingertips, back, throat and cheeks. A never ending to-do list, walking, walking, walking, hard seating, cold and heat an sun kisses.

Cambridge is a lovely place – with lowkey  gossip, caring colleagues and eager faces to see/to learn/to be.

Being back in the normal – beautiful, clean and peaceful… makes me cringe of going back. Yet, it encourages seeking for better and to not accept less, not to be satisfied by something less.

The desire to love and be loved. To be and to share, and feel and rest…and be OK.


A gift is something that is given without the intention of being paid back, almost without an intention of reciprocation. It takes away the individual self-absorption and provides a space for connection – a creation of something new, that wasn’t there yet.

Intimacy, collaboration and play. And creation. Creation of words, meanings, windows, ways of seeing and terrorising the surroundings with the affect of care and compassion. Being singular in the plural. Building, destroying, and recreating networks of interconnectedness. In selectivity, in coincidences. In silence, in confidence and in vulnerability. Opening up by closing down the barriers. By knowing and treating the within. By shutting down the noise.


Time…not in seconds, but moments and steps of the heartbeat (s).


“learning to be awkward, to be graceful, to leap, and to fall”

Living in becoming. Transitioning trough the states of life towards something ungraspable yet genuine and real, through bumps of awkwardness, silence and noise, through pits and holes of sadness and clumsiness into graceful, unselfish self.