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21 June 2017
Written frim the skies: Nadi to Melbourne flight. 1830pm Fiji time

Mixed feelings.
I just left Fiji, my dream country for 2017 (it was ‘the dream country’ for 2015 and 2016, too, but it was too far from where I was then).

In Fiji, I did 3 main things – surf, relax, and be alone (whenever I could) without letting people around 
me feel as if I didn’t want to be with them. Good thing is that I traveled alone, so I get the leverage. Two nights out of 3, I cried myself to sleep, listening to my favorite yoga piano playlist (the one I play for savasana during my yoga classes, or during week reflection sessions in my training courses).

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Those nights I wept, I felt so much love and abandonment at the same time. I felt so happy and so sad at the same time. I felt so strong and so weak at the same time. I felt so motivated to keep on, yet also felt like giving up…at the same f&);ng time!

I knew my heart was longing for another phase of healing, another moment to question my ‘going with the flow,’ to flash me back to my past decisions and how they are still (I guess) pulling me back every now and then. It picked this moment with no coincidence. June had always been bittersweet since 2015.

BITTER last year, when I cut my long hair too short before five *gaumarjos (toasts) of chacha (Gerogian vodka) and closed all possible communication lines to my last relationship – Whatsapp, Facebook, Skype, deleted numbers, photos, videos, messages, and printscreen quotes (of love, loss, encouragement and moving on). I waved my last goodbye, smiling. I blew my last kiss through the manually rolled-down car window as we drove away from the place I called and made MY home.

SWEET two years ago, when I moved my return flight Tbilisi-Barcelona to stay longer in Georgia, took a 9hr/overnight Soviet-vibe train for the first time, enjoyed a spontaneous roadtrip to the mountain, learned Backgammon over tea and next to a fireplace, hiked the majestic Causcasus mountains in my grey Nike trainers (that slipped and ended up dark…. and with no hiking experience), and loved every moment of uncertainty and suprise that came.

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My heart wanted me to revisit my acceptance of things, to ask myself how deeply I had forgiven myself and others. My heart needed me to take a moment before I rowed forward, moved further on, and it picked Fiji in such a random style, knowing that I would embrace anything that happened here.

It also picked surfing as a lovely metaphor of my outlook on things. At Namotu Lefts and Restaurants (surf spots), I’d excitedly jump off the boat to surf a shortboard smaller than my size and catch huuuge (4-5ft to overhead) waves that hide the horizon behind me as I paddled with all my might, well positioned to take off, my head focused on making those nice steep drops…..only to hold back, stop for a split second, scared, as I feel the wave lift me up, and curl beautifully past me…but not taking me with it. My surf in those 2 days in the beautiful clear-blue reefbreaks of Fiji humbled me. It humbled me of my ‘yeah, sure, let’s do this!’ attitude and how not all things can be done just like that. It humbled me of the fact that I may have the confidence in the outset, but it was not full, because I was not well-equipped to do it just yet. What was I thinking jumping on a shortboard without being on it for almost 4 years?

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Since 2014, I’ve been back to surfing longboards after a black-eyed surf accident in winter surf Barcelona…in front of where I was living at that time. I got tangled in big fat plastic rope dividing Puka surf spot in a line with a yellow buoy, in a heavy whirlpool that smashed me and my 7′ Roxy shortboard. The impact was so strong I ended up washing machine-ing with this rope stripping through my wetsuit and scratching a little piece of skin on my left knee. I got out alive, with my body screaming (yes, the rope got through my wetsuit, I don’t know how it happened). As soon as I unzipped my back, I touched red streaks. On my lower lip as well. And a black-eye. Well, more like a purplish-bluish-pinkish bruise on my lower right eye.

imageI remember exactly how I got out in the water in the first place. I was on ‘sick leave’ from work the day before, because I was ‘not feeling well.’ I decided to stay home that day to recuperate as I was still feeling shit. I was becoming depressed at how things were going on at work, and I just needed a break. It was really over-fatigue and stress. Then while sipping green tea in bed, I look out my window and see the enticing waves that get to visit Barceloneta beach only in the winter. I jumped out of bed, in my head, ‘f€&¶ it! I’ll surf all these negative energies out!!!!’ And there I was paddling out, taking positively over-control of my situation. Doing my ‘yeah sure, let’s do this!’ even when I was definitely not in the minimum condition to be playing out there. It ended up in regular visits to dermatologists and fisiotherapy. While I don’t admit to myself that I have trauma, I have decided to slowly but surely relearn surf from scratch again. To practice and equip myself with the right attitude and humility. To practice and practice and practice.

Back to Fiji. My heart made sure I got the message clearly by giving me this one last chance to surf today, 1.5 hours that ended up in two small cuts that didn’t really hurt so much, but I can feel the pain every now and then. It is reminding me that I need to be true to myself – to how I am meant to deal with my healing ‘the way I am’ and not ‘the way I think I should.’ It is telling me that in my positive, happy vibe, there’s a little inch of me that is still bundled up and needs some attention, too. It is telling me that in the disguise of my ‘letting things be,’ something is still pulling me back. It is telling me that in my 300+ days of breathing meditation and heart-opening yoga, there is something that I still need to truly embrace and accept.
That I need to find that ‘something.’
And set it free.

It’s time for me to be friends with my past.
Not bury it behind me, only to dig back
Every once in awhile.

‘Practice and experience love as you are,’ says my heart.
To practice love, the way I know it to be, the way I am.
Not by closed (and against my will) communication.
Not by holding myself back.
Not by silence.

No expectations.
Only openness.

I freely lift you up.
Be free.