Bitter shots of love

Today I want to go back to kindness and realness. During the past months this has been a recurring idea in my head and my reality. I find myself in situations when I am asked to be kind, to give and give and give. I’ve called myself Lovegenerator even, which implies that I am going to take whatever shit is thrown at me, I will understand it, get the meaning of it, write about it and squeeze it into love.

That is what I will drink. Shots of love.

Concentrated portions of sweetness are mostly all the time bitter.


The day is flowing towards the end, about to become part of the past ocean.

We are still in the office though. The phones are ringing, the phones are jingling.

I am in the middle of a conversation with a store employee. I can hear both, the world in the store, the world in the office. I hear the breath of the person talking to me through this device, I can feel her posture, her face, her eyes. There is music in the store and background noise.

I hear behind me S., the “crazy” colleague on the French line, mumbling and fighting with the screen. I hear the martian colleague, the one who doesn’t get English in an office where English is the language in use. When she does’t know what to say, she compliments the beauty of the caller’s name. Your name is Greta, oh what a lovely, splendid name you possess! 

I feel the heavy air moving around me, layers of time are pealed off with each second. Different chat windows pop up. Users asking things. One of them is from the new German team leader, the crying colleague whom I embraced and listened a few months ago. She just stepped in this new role. She is good at it. She is good at pushing something over the hill and making a great show about it.

I presume that she is stressed and a little bit overwhelmed. That is why she is acting like a bitch in this very moment. In the chat she is demanding us to gather for a flash meeting. Then, when she stood up and talked to us as if we where her dogs and she the drunken owner kicking, she forgot who she was.

I was still on the phone the whole time but a I felt this icy presence behind me.

Lovegenerator tried to squeeze the love out of her discourse, her attitude, but there was no that much love to drink at the end. Just the bitterest taste.

She is giving me the feeling of a boxer smashing his own face in front of the mirror. This  tension and rigidity is hard to take. When I saw her crying that evening during the late shift, I thought, finally! Good job! Let’s do this! I even embraced her. I felt her upper body  rigid like a stone.

Why is she treating us like that now when she jumped a little higher?  Does’t she understand that building something on pain, feeding the supposed success with that tension is not sustainable? In this way she will always look for situations which cause tension so that she would have more of it to invest in the next thing.

When I got off that call, her little discourse was also done. I chose not to react to it. I chose to let it go.

Yesterday it was only me and her at work. I decided again to be kind, anyway. ‘Cause this is how roll! 🙂


Rolling towards the bathroom one day at the office, guess what?

Another crying colleague. She burst into tears when tearing open the bathroom door. She was clearly holding it inside her for a long time, as a special gift for Lovegenerator, Lovegenerator would say. I thought again, holy molly, what to do? Another one crying, what the hell is going on here? I thought also, well done, you still feel. You, the perfect colleague who is always, and I mean always, smiling. This smiling (fake) tenacity reminds me of the days in Korea when I also had to do it. Not only there. Let’s just choose a random example: 8 h underwear catalog shooting under menstrual pain in a freezing studio, changing clothes, makeup and hair every other photo.

Smile Victoria, why don’t you smile? Smile! Smile! Smile! Smile!

On the set

There you are! Good girl! Change clothes! Next!

Crying is a healing process and people should not interrupt it. Or bury it. Also, other people should not stop a crying human being. Don’t cry is not something you should say. If you really want to help choose to be there in that moment and share the sadness silently.

I am learning too. Some words did come out (why? what happened?) but then I hugged her for a moment in silence, I gave her a napkin and I told her, I will let you alone now, this is your moment.

Funny thing, after a few minutes she came back. She sat down at her desk and she started again to smile. The fake one.

At this point I felt this great desire for the whole show just to stop. I wanted to jump up and scream: Stop it! Please stop pretending all! You don’t have to do it. I am telling you, you don’t have to do this shit!

You don’t have to smile Victoria, not if you’re not feeling it!


My father  and I are talking, writing emails, about God.

Not that I chose the topic, even though it is one of my interests, I would like to know how to implement this idea of God in every day life. I feel that all this theoretical discussion about God, Hell, being eaten by the dark if not following the rules of the bible, homosexuality being devilish and homo families coming right form it’s fire etc, this is not helping me with what I am going through every day.

This is resistance to reality.

I feel that God is not judgement. This is done by humans.

This estrangement from reality has always been a hot spot in our family. My mother was concerned about what are we going to eat, if we have wood for the winter, what could be done to this house next (a never ending building process), do we have boots for the winter, while my father had this aloof attitude, like he was not there. Which at times was cool and interesting to see but still it did not feel good.

That is why my mother hatted him reading books. Not because she hatted books in particular, or him, but because she felt left alone right in the middle of a fight which was supposed to be shared, since he gave his agreement. That is why she felt the same about the computer, the internet. That is why she used to say (to me also): I don’t understand why are you reading those books if you still live like this. In translation: What the hell is the use of reading if your reality is shitty? Don’t you want to do something about it? Don’t those books teach you something useful?

She hates being alone. That is all. My father should have understood that. My mother should have give him a break and I should have stayed out of it!

As strange as it might sound, God is not there when you are not. God is not helping if you are not helping you first. That is what will is for.

The other day a new colleague from Romania, while talking about his experience with drugs, what he saw, what he understood, said, I did not find any God out there. There is no God.

That was his conclusion after this journey in his mind.

A voice in my heart said, You did not find it because you where not looking for him actually. God is love. In this very moment you are looking at and doing the opposite of what love is.

Don’t expect to find God  if you are not really wanting to find him. You are only trying to back up your terrestrial beliefs, infused with the influence of all kinds of cultural archetypes.

Don’t look for a job if you are not really interested in working.

Don’t start building a house if you are in fact interested in reading about it.

Start with deciding what you really want.

You will have it.


I want to feel, see, understand and still stay. This year of self – exile in Brno is dedicated to this practice. Stay. Still. Feel. Listen. Be Kind. Stay anyway.

To remind me…to remind you










But, at the end of the day I am asking myself, what does it suppose to mean? Why am I playing the same “song” over and over again? Why do I believe that I can? Why should other people take this into account and respect?



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