.SOMETIMES RAW.

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” — Haruki Murakami

Quarantine has, undeniably, turned me into my best and my worst self. Before this pandemic, the future had a somewhat defined shape for me. Now things feel nebulous. At points, I am no longer certain where I would go from here, where the world and the economy go from here, where humanity goes. I don’t think what I valued before will be what I value after. I already have indications that those values have changed. I ask myself why I am suddenly waking up at 6.30 a.m. every day and practicing yoga daily and caring for my body more than ever before. It does not feel like it is just the extra time I have on my hands.

These days, I am taking pictures of trees, magnolias, flowers whose petals are now just beginning to brown at the edges, while feeling grief settles temporarily in my shoulders. Just the way grief does, and from my inability to be inside a store without a face mask. I miss strangers, I miss bodies, I miss festivals, I miss readings and real lectures at my university, I miss the moments of getting no seat on the subway, I miss going to work. I also noticed that I have the weirdest dreams lately. I guess due to my weird sleep cycle. It is universally understood that to talk about your own dreams is entertaining, while listening attentively to someone else talk about their dreams for more than 2 minutes is next to impossible. Having said that, quarantine dreams seem to hold my interest a beat longer than dreams would in average circumstances.

These days, my dreams seem to be brimming with extra weirdness and symbolism. I dreamt for example that I packed my suitcase for a trip to (ha!) Italy while the plane was already taxiing on the tarmac. I also dream a lot about meeting friends. A couple of nights ago I dreamt I gave birth to a cat in a public restroom at the local movie theater. Why? What would Sigmund Freund say about this? Or this rather Kafkaesque dream of me being taken to prison for not wearing my face mask. At the prison, it turned out that it’s not a prison but an insane asylum like in the movie Shutter Island. And I am here because I killed everyone at the local grocery store. Did I just deposit my weird coronavirus-era dreams into a virtual dream catcher?

But these weird dreams may occur because my sleep-cycle is completely off. During the week I used to go to bed at around 11 p.m. and woke up at 6 a.m. Maybe a 30-minute interlude wedged somewhere before of after. I used to sleep deeply without waking up and felt rested when waking up. On weekends I stayed up later and slept in which was fine, too. These days, I tend to sleep in a weird rhythm. Two hours just after 1 a.m., another two between 5 a.m. and 6.30 a.m. I sleep in chapters, in fragments. These days, there is no softness or continuity. Even with this messed up sleep cycle, however, I exist among the living in this new Corona world. In the morning I get dressed, I brush my teeth and get ready without going anywhere in particular. At night, when my son is asleep, I am this other thing, disenfranchised from the swell of standard human behavior. Caught in an expanse of hours that contain writing but no routines and obligations.

I continue to function, more or less, according to the rules of social normalcy. I am okay with the fact that, currently, I am a broken biological clock, a circadian rhythm sans metronome. The world is crazy these days. My sleep rhythm is weird and crazy but this is what it is. In fact, it’s become something of an asset. I have the luxury that this sleeplessness guarantees me something exclusive: a unique, thoroughly intimate relationship with myself. Insomnia and I have become friends, even. We pass the time together and all of it reframes the night until things get back to “normal” again. For now, not sleeping is simply more interesting to my body than attempting to sleep. I savor the extra time to read, to write or to work on my dissertation. Or to prepare elaborate midnight-snacks that I won’t consume alone. Especially if it is something with chocolate.

I have gone through worse, but I have never been a better version of myself. Corona seems like a condition of the world we are forced to live in now, and it may last for longer than I am prepared to handle. But I will power through that, too. Maybe you, too can give yourself the space to let your multitudes exist and offer them compassion: the good, the bad, and the turbulence in between. What? That’s crazy.

A couple of days ago, when we were on what felt like our hundredth walk of the day, I asked my son a question….

“What are your top 5 most favourite restaurant meals?”

I find that asking a child a “Top 5” question will usually get the conversation flowing, quarantine or no quarantine, but this time the exercise prompted an hours-long drive down memory lane and around the world. While we walked around, we spoke about the perfect lobster roll we enjoyed at the beach in Connecticut. Or pasta in Spain. Or fries at the public pool in Germany. Or Schnitzel in Austria. It felt therapeutic talking about the restaurants we miss and the time we spent at my parent’s house last year.

Before quarantine started, I would regularly write weekend to-do lists that in retrospect seem to have encapsulated the most ambitious pursuit of the person I wanted (or thought I wanted) to be. I am really trying here. Among the usual asterisks to populate the to-do list were art projects using natural ingredients such as coconut flour to make Play-Doh and turmeric to dye it. The desire to read (to him) a lot. More tidying exercises be it for the bookshelf, a pantry, his room, and of course, there is always this weird desire to cook or bake something. These days, whenever I set out to cook, a deluge of excuses would interrupt the effort: Don’t waste the chicken soup. You just had lunch. For this recipe, we just need too many ingredients so let’s go to the store. This seems too complicated to bake. Can you relate? I am just so f****** tired of cooking. I used to love cooking. I used to, before Corona.

I am not into fashion at all but what I am realizing now is that cooking is not so different from it in that anyone can do it. From the outside, it seems so damn intimidating, like it is impossible to break in, but eventually, you realize the only barrier to entry is yourself. As far as fashion goes I guess you just have to be proud that you like to wear clothes, and then wear them. To get good at cooking, you just have to try. Then you keep trying and definitely will fuck up, over and over, until you learn the language and boom: a new skill is born.

I didn’t always enjoy cooking but I love healthy food and trying new things. It is way less soul-crushing than I thought it would be. Worst case scenario: Just toss it in the garbage. All I am really doing is chopping shit up, then assembling it and turning on fire. Sometimes, without fire. Just as fresh as it gets. Really, that is it. To be clear, I am usually exclusively making very easy recipes. I love recipes with fewer ingredients that don’t require ten special spices that are not in my pantry. I need something simple, fast, and nutritious. My son and I are dairy-free, eat less meat (and if, just local, organic meat), enjoy more plant-based meals, and local fish once in a while. Which we actually had yesterday. Food always tastes better if someone else cooks it for you. Someone who knows how to enhance the flavor by adding a bit of white wine and a mountain of butter to fry those fishies. Of course, while drinking wine. And talking.

I love vegetables but my son sticks to what he knows. If you have questions regarding food and how to feed your kids veggies, send me an email or leave a comment below and I will help you out. I am a Certified Holistic Nutritionist and have a healthy collection of simple, approachable breakfasts, snacks, lunches, and dinners that they will enjoy and appreciate. Instead of getting frustrated that your child does not get excited about a kale salad, how about you flip the script. What do they like? And how can you add veggies into that? My son loves meals between bread. I would like to share his favorite veggie burger.

Vegan Veggie Burgers

(Makes 6 patties)

8 oz. (250g) mushrooms, cleaned and well chopped
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic
1 egg
1 tablespoon tamari or soy sauce
1 cup cooked (brown) rice
2 tablespoons flax seeds
1/4 cup oats
salt, pepper and whatever herbs you desire
(I love to add 1 tsp. chili powder and fresh parsley)
3 medium-size potatoes (just grate those uncooked)
1 cup cooked black beans, drained well

How to:

I use avocado or coconut oil for cooking. In a medium pan, heat the oil over medium heat. Add the chopped mushrooms, onion and garlic, along with a pinch of salt. Sauté for a moment, then leave it all undisturbed for a few minutes, so the mushrooms release their water. Sauté again, until browned in some parts and excess water has evaporated. Set aside to cool completely and add into a large bowl. Add the egg, tamari, rice, flax seeds, oats, 1/2 tsp. salt, chili powder, and herbs and then (with your hand) you mix, mix, mix your Corona anger out. Mix, mix, mix your anger out. Mix, mix, mix your anger out. Add grated sweet potatoes, black beans, and cooled mushrooms for another minute until everything is in tiny pieces.

Set aside mixture. Add some coconut oil into large pan and preheat. Now start forming the mixture into patties. If they are too sticky, add some flour. Pan-fry and turn patties in pan until golden brown on both sides.

To Assemble:

Use any bun or bread you desire. I like whole-wheat sourdough buns or English muffins. Then I add avocado slices, lettuce, cheese slices or a bit of tomato sauce. Leftovers make an awesome lunch in a lettuce wrap with some avocado and tomatoes.

Booooaaawne app-uh-teet!

Stay Sane. Stay Happy. Stay Healthy.

What and how are you all doing? At this point, honestly, I NEED ALL KINDERGARTENS AND SCHOOLS TO BE OPEN! “Isn’t it nice to have your son with you throughout this Corona-madness? I am alone in my apartment. It feels weird”, my childless friend said the other day. Initial silence and deep breathing on my end. Then we spoke about kids.

I had a feeling before I had a child that I would not become the kind of mom who is passionate about discovering weekend activities for her toddler, who knows who makes the best BPA-free flatware, how to make the best gluten-free, lactose-free-vegan muffins just because other moms think this is great, and I just realized that I have felt guilty as fuck for a while. These muffins taste like eating sawdust anyway. I’m not that mom. But typing this is showing me that I’ve equated being that other kind of mom but loving him deeply. I love my son. In my eyes, he is the best kid on this planet. What I can offer him is different from what helicopter moms offer their children but this is fine with me, too.

So, my son and I had this argument the other day. Quarantine and hanging out 24/7 is getting to everyone eventually; even to a happy 6-year-old who loves to play by himself. He yelled at me that he does not like me anymore because I did not want to continue building his Lego Hidden Side University after doing so for two consecutive hours. I love Lego. It is fun. Actually, I got this Lego-university partially for myself because it is so awesome and I can secretly play with it when he is in bed. We talked about it. We spoke about how he felt and he was better after. He understood that mom needs some quiet time, too once in a while. He apologized and said he did not mean to say what he said and that he will always love me. Be still my heart.

Part of unconditional love necessitates a level of maturity, and that maturity is governed by an understanding that even if he thinks he does not like me, he is stuck. With me! Forever! And what a gift it is to be stuck with me who loves him so unconditionally that even when he cries and screams, I get down on my knees, pull my arms out wide and leave them open until he is ready for an embrace. This thought let my inner-victim slowly but surely melt away. I chose to have a child almost seven years ago, which makes me responsible so I will make the best out of it. I am here and will support him no matter what.

In the last three Corona-weeks, I got a deeper understanding of my son. His sad sides, his sweet sides, his concerned sides. All sides. Even more than before. The more I accommodate exactly what he wants, the less likely he is to learn that necessity to either figure out how to get what he wants all on his own or to make do with what he has got and manipulate it to his advantage. #donotnegotiatwithterrorists

I want him to understand that I will always give him love, curiosity, and confidence. That I will guide him intellectually and emotionally. That I want him to simply be and feel stable. Content. Even in this crazy time and beyond.

I am familiar with change and its way of aligning itself with seminal life moments and I can completely empathize with his range of emotions. I know him so well that I can read him like a book.

For all of us, life ticks on. These days, I have a tendency to gaze at the seemingly greener grass on the other side of the fence. I am trying to fumble my way through this respective situation, while just doing the best I can. There is a natural ebb and flow. Sometimes I am close, sometimes I am not-so-close, and sometimes I may be downright distant. But it will pass. And kids will be in schools again. Time will move on.

And my son will grow older. He will understand things better. We may drift apart – who knows, and then just as easily, drift back together. But, through all of this, we are part of the same sphere, part of a greater whole, and always there for the other, albeit with a little navigation. I know at some point I will find myself standing on the shore, waving and wishing my son a safe passage. And trusting to always find that bridge that will connect us.