Luck can go either way

It was a great day for skiing, not until I decided to have a break. You would think that in a sunny day it wouldn’t cause any problem, but because I was just unlucky before I knew it the weather has changed from sunny to a snow storm.

So the only I could do is put my ski’s on and go to the nearest shelter. I was lucky enough to find one and to be open, my luck hasn’t run out yet, I thought. I quickly searched for a phone or something to give notice to people to come and find me. There was nothing. I screamed to me self, stay calm there is no use to be in panic mode.

I turned on the lights and when on a hunt for firewood, luckily there was some in the other room. I carried everything to the fireplace and tried to light them, it took  an hour. The storm was getting worse and suddenly the lights gone off. Great I murmur to myself, so I went closer to the fire and tried to warm myself up. The cold was creeping through the walls and my negative thoughts were increasing, that I wouldn’t be saved and that soon the fire is going to go off because there was no other firewood.

I was thinking that moment if I was in a horror movie I would be probably the next person to die. As I thought that the wind started howling.

It was so cold, so cold indeed.

Nothing to do, but wait for a rescue, but the thoughts on my mind wouldn’t leave me alone. That a psycho Killer is out there ready to kill me and I didn’t do anything to save myself. Morbid I know but the only thing I could keep in my mind was that someone was playing with my head. With these   thoughts, I fell asleep.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Under the Snow.”

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Ten Thousand Hours

You know when you get a wake up call from yourself?

Yes, I know how rare it is, but never late than ever.

So this is what happen, two years ago I realised the thing I want to do in my life wasn’t hospitality but art. What did I do? I applied for it, and I went on a summer school to hone my skills in drawing. I was really insecure of them and that I wouldn’t be able to succeed in the course that I got accepted.

Something amazing happened on this summer course tho, I met the tutor that changed my life. I am grateful that I passed his path because not only he encourage me to keep trying, but he said something that I will never forget:

“Elektra, you work so hard and you know what? One day you going to do better than everybody in this class because you never give up. Remember this, you need ten thousand hours to master it.”

I proudly have to say that, that sentence guided me those two years as one of the top students, who thought, that this person helped me understand that anything can  be done with some practice and persuasion.

So thank you, best tutor that I met.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Never Too Late.”

I call upon the great power, my mum

I call upon the great power, my mum. This is a story not about calling her, but her taping into my head on a great need.
This is how it begun:

On a moonless night I went out with my friends for drinks. I was wearing a white lace dress that I bought that day with my red boots, that I bought not so long ago too.Adding on that my grandmother insisted that I take her leather black bag, my resistance failed and so I left the house with her bag as well.

It was Saturday and the night seem promising; that day was our day; we were a big company flirting, laughing and a warm glass of sangria was making this night great.

Well I should probably get to the part that the real story begins.

And so when the night ended, everyone went apart to return to their warm homes. As I was walking to my grandparents place, a car came and stoped and two guys inside started talking to me “hello pretty lady” and they were going slower and slower. I was panicking that sign wasn’t good and suddenly my mums voice was in my head saying “quick turn the opposite way they can’t come is a one way street” and so I did. I waited for them to turn and I started running up again towards my house but unfortunately they were parked a block away.

My heart was rasing, I hold on tight to my grandmothers bag and started walk/run with my head down. One of the guys came after me laughing, saying ” hold on sweety don’t go” he tried to grab my ass. I turned looked at his face and there it was my mums voice again ” hit him, he will not except it coming” and so I did.

That hit was a sock, he took a step back. I did it again, thank god for my grandmother bag. He went back to the car with his friend to come after me. I run, and suddenly stopped, they passed me. I waited at the corner to if they still coming after me, as soon as I saw the car on the other block I run, I run so fast that I got to my house safe.

I was so scared and so glad that my mum on the darkest and the scariest moments of my life was in my head guiding me. I wouldn’t be able to go through this without my mums help not then not now.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Calling Uncle Bob.”

Where there is land there is a home

Where there is land there is a home.

This is a saying we say in my country, which is Greece. Growing up there you realize how strong you feel about the place you grow up, your family makes sure that your roots are your core of your whole existence and I am grateful for that. Now that I live in another country, I don’t feel lost I have my culture with me.

It’s a great thing to be in touch with your past, present and future. It gives you the opportunity to create new routs or teach people; What it means to be so proud were you come from and that you can never be lost.

So the key of knowing where you are from, for me, is history and family those two should work as one because without acknowledging the past there is no future. And it should work in any circumstances because roots never stop developing.

In response to The Daily Post’s weekly writing challenge: “Digging for Roots.”

Bound to be different

My biggest step of leaving my comfort zone and doing something big was moving out of Greece and moving in New Zealand. It was the hardest thing I ever did regarding to my future, and it was two years ago. Since then I chose to re-define myself, which meaning jumping my comfort zone all the time.

So if you get the chance to leap to make a difference, do it, it turns out an amazing trip of discovery and positive outcomes. I am telling you from a personal experience you grow in ways you never imagined.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Envelope Pushers.”

The Bad Storyteller

In my life I have met a lot of people that are amazing storytellers, but there is one that beats them all, my dad. He is that kind of a storyteller that can make you believe that you are an elephant with fairy wings and dancing ballet; I know pretty extreme, but it’s true. Although I admire his gift of speech, I dislike it even more because that gift can be used wrong.

I guess what makes good story teller is not the story, but the use of voice on people. How you can make them believe what you want, good or bad. A storyteller inspires but also puts down people that’s the gift and curse of a powerful voice.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Spinning Yarns.”