Christmas is more than a time of year. It's a mood, a spirit if you will. The red, green and gold, the lights and christmas trees peaking out of every corner. The crisp air and rosy cheeks. The planning of the presents you're going to buy for your loved ones. The excruciating wait until you can actually present them with the carefully wrapped box. The moment when you see their smile. The guilt- free hot chocolate because it's cold. The decorations on the store windows. The Christmas movies. The advent calendars. The mince pies (if you're into that kind of thing). The chocolate Santas.
Everywhere you turn there is something reminding you to spread the cheer. Just because it's Christmas. It's not just a time of year.And there are places that portray the spirit so well. They hit the spot in just the perfect way. London does that. And some say that it is nothing more than consumerism at its' finest. But it's more than that- it's tradition.
You leave South Kensington Station and are greeted by tourists and kids, smeared in chocolate. Everyone is made of equal parts frost and excitement as Christmas floats in the air through the smell of gingerbread cookies and Eggnog Lattes. The bookstore is filled with books illustrating the magic that is this holiday. The Victoria and Albert museum is packed with people attempting to sneak a peak at the great works of art that reside there. The store overflows with the desire to please and make someone happy. Wrapping paper and bows go as fast as freshly baked baguettes.

The Natural History Museum portrays one of the simplest wonders- how water freezes into ice. The rink is huge and decorated with a beautiful Christmas tree. Parents and kinds, girlfriends and boyfriends and husbands and wives holding hands attempting to evade the had fall. It's intense and it's beautiful and everyone is happy. Spiked hot chocolate and a smell of mulled wine and nothing seems to be missing. There is a magic in the air that is like opium- one whiff and you are hooked. You fall for the oldest trick in the book- Christmas Magic. Because everything is better in December. The smiles are wider, the food is more, the love is more intense, the loved ones are dearer, the sparkle is blinding. And not much else matters.

I seem to be one of those people who have a top of ideas, but get bored mid-task and never really finish it. Ideas have never been my problem. It's always been execution. But I do have the rare moments when something really inspires me and motivates me to actually power through and get to the finish line.
But when I have managed to conclude a project and reach the desired outcome... you can't compare it to anything else. It gives me a sense of pride- like I have finally achieved this. And did so out of nothing- just creativity and a teardrop of enthusiasm and motivation. It is truly an amazing feeling. And yes, that does happen rarely. Most of the time I fail miserably and admit it.
But does that mean that I shouldn't be allowed to fail in my own way. No. It doesn't. That is my main problem with most educational systems- the limitations put on a person's creativity. It really kills the flow.
If a professor tells you that your idea is all over the place and not good enough. He is more than hinting that he disapproves and you should change it. Like right now. Change it. But I like to stick to most of my projects. With most of them, I am quite passionate about the subject. I am not going for the grade, but for the opportunity to say something. Or better yet- show something to people. I am not attempting to teach or show that I have learnt. I am trying to convey feelings, emotions and ideas. That's it.

Sometimes all a person needs is pancakes. Especially on your day off. Especially when they are shaped like hearts. For some reason this always makes me happy. Having your food look good is more than just a waste of time. It's an art form that is an integral part of your life, influencing you at least 3 times a day. 

There is something very strange about living in a city like London. Especially if you've been born and brought up in a place very different from it. At first you go there and you attempt to explore every little corner of your new habitat. You want to see everything, meet everyone and let it all sink in. Then you take your impressions and create this romanticized perception of the city. You fall in love with the amazing views, the richness of the history and the plethora of opportunities that are there for you to just reach out and grab. And then there is a gentle transition to something else.
 You start going to school or work (or both). You make a bunch of friends and you find your favorite spots to hang out. Your days get filled up with arrangements and chores. You find the stores you like and the ones you hate. You find the fastest route to class. And all the magic starts to evaporate. You become familiar with your surroundings and they no longer impress you or even grab your attention. You get on the tube when you have to get somewhere because it's the fastest and most efficient way  to travel. If not, you take the bus- it might be longer, but it's also cheaper. On the rare occasions when you do walk, you take the fastest way and perhaps stop for coffee or to buy some groceries. You already have the loyalty card- you're there every day. You say "hello" to the salesman, who is more like your best friend these days. You do see him at least once every 48hrs after all. You conduct the small talk that is expected, you get the products you need for tonight's dish and get on your way. You get home, kiss your loved one, thank God for TiVo and do what you've been looking forward to all day- a big, fat nothing.
And the romance between you and the city is lost.  You used to walk and get inspired by everything. The tourist bus would take you to see all the things that are supposedly worth your time. But then you would satisfy the thirst for more by searching for the little places that would be particularly interesting to you. You would find them and they would be amazing. Everything was. Everyone was new, interesting and full of adventure. You would take cabs, because you wouldn't know where things were and when you were in a hurry it was kind of justified. Strangely enough, it is so much  easier to admire the beauty of the city through the window of a taxi. The colors are different when you see them through the dirty one of a bus. They are not as expressive and that same beauty seems faded. The history makes it seem old. The diversity is nothing more than smelly food on the tube next to you. The small streets become nothing more than death traps full of tourists. The boutique bakeries and afternoon tea become more than luxuries- they become redundant in the fast-paced life where necessity is the only justifiable reason behind most actions. Adventure and inspiration take a back seat, while needs, time and hunger to prove yourself are behind the wheel. Everything seizes to appear as though created by Superhumans. Now it's just the place where you live.