There’s a crack in your gaze like those broken days, am i seeing things...

[wearing black sweater from Greenhills, Topshop maxi dress, H&M mens hat]

These photos were taken on day 1 in Marrakech the other week. I have gotten many compliments on this outfit from the locals, perhaps because it is as unshapely and conservative as I could possibly make a daytime outfit? But it was perfect for strolling around the Medina, visiting museums, villas and being mugged by snake charmers. I'm not particularly afraid of them, but when the scales snagged on my hair I have to admit, I had to fight the urge to throw it at some passersby.

Slow and steady is my mantra these days.. everything is slowly falling into place, after a month here, I don't wake up wondering where I am anymore and have gotten used to sleeping in a big bed all by myself. If fact, I am enjoying my time out and really treasuring the time I get to spend in bed with my new friends, the cast of Grey's Anatomy. I know I'm a bit late on that, but seriously, when is it ever too late to start swooning over McSteamy's McSteamy-ness and the fact that Denny Duquette is the most devastatingly handsome ghost in the history of television..

But not to worry, in an attempt to maintain my above average drinking talent, i got all dressed up last Friday and worked my way through bottles and bottles of white wine and earned myself a big fat hangover the legit way. You know, just in case..

PS: That there, is my little sister and YES; she is all kinds of gorgeousness and rainbows. ♥

Gold and silver lined my heart but burned into my brain all these stolen images

So. While the weather here in Rabat is toying with my emotions, I am dreaming of summer and spending some time by a large body of water, any body of water. I have been warned of the wrath of the summer gods and am already grinning at the thought of 40-50°C, I mean, seriously? I'm gonna wither and dry up if I don't stay near a pool. Nothing left to do but plan some vacation time to maybe run off to Essaouira for a weekend or two..

 These last few weeks have been a journey in itself, like a post apocalyptic-breakup cleaning up mission. Its like everything has to fall down around you and be broken before you can see yourself again, for the first time in a long time. I have always suffered from my innate "talent" to let myself go completely and surrender to my passion and my unwavering faith that maybe happiness just might be around the corner, at last. The result of these emotional kamikaze missions, are usually a broken heart, and yet, the desire to do it all over again.

 Some say the heart knows best, some say it is foolish, I say, it is resilient. It is a muscle made of wishes and wonders and hope and undying love, and if you are wise enough to decide that every kink and every sprain on this muscle can be healed and rehabilitated, then you shouldn't dread putting it to good use, over and over again.

 It is, after all, a muscle ♥

Where we look for where it went, It's only echoes in the melody

 [wearing vintage eyelet kaftan, Parisian wedges]

I just got back from a crazy 4-day-last-minute trip to the insanely beautiful city of Marrakech! My feet ache from the alternating abuse I subjected them to (running around the Medina and clubbing all over town), travelling back to Rabat via train in a hungover daze and still managing to come up with enough energy to go out to get groceries. I am spent. I look forward to moving as little as possible tomorrow, and doing basically nothing all day, which wont be hard to do, because my heart is still stuck somewhere in Marrakech's old town.. What a magical place!

Today's topic on my mind, spurned by girlfriends' Facebook statuses and current dilemmas, is one that seems to resurface on my blog from time to time. As we continue on in life, it seems to be impossible to avoid falling in and out of love. Movies, media, celebrity are all sorts of factors that help dumb down our female logic and reduce us to insecure and fragile beings who mistakenly believe they need to be loved by the opposite sex in order for us to feel whole. And so we commit ourselves over and over again, hoping that each time will be the last time we have to play this emotional lottery, and that maybe, just maybe we will finally find "the one". The fickle soul that I am, I am a constant mess of cynicism and hope, but today the former took a hold of me. At my age, I have had my fair share of I love you's, but today was the very first time I actually thought about the meaning of those words, and had to ask myself: "Have I actually ever been in love?"

Confusion.

Maybe I just had too much time to think on my 5-hour-train-ride.

And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me..

 [wearing H&M dress, thrifted denim jacket, Parisian sandals, Zara bag]

 So, Morocco has become home. I am making friends, I am adjusting.. I am even speaking French. At least I think I am.. Everything works itself out, in time. Wounds heal, albeit slowly. But still, memory, stays our worst enemy.

Memory has turned my life into a tragedy. I am strong, as Hemingway would say, "at all the broken parts." But even the strong can break, over and over again. The trick is, to be so convinced that happiness is within reach, that we continue to glue ourselves back together, and never tire of doing so. In that lies my saving grace. I am the tragic heroine of my own story, bound by my past, shackled to my fears and cursed by my ignorant hope. And this story is a lot of things, but boring it will never be. I laugh, cry, dance, crawl, smile my way through it all, the sky coming down on me, but I stay blinded by the sun.

Sometimes I ask myself if I would be happier if I lived a mediocre, monotonous life. If I had a routine and stability, and never had to doubt or dissect any part of my soul. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to feel happiness and love without the trepidation of losing it all in a heart beat. Or that it would be so refreshing to be able to look into the future, without having to carry the past with you.

But sometimes, I think, it all has its purpose.

And sometimes, like today, I think, I wouldn't wanna have it any other way, anyway.



Oh and.. Here's a video.  

Darling, don't forget there is sweetness left unearthed for you and me..

The Kinga Varga lookbook is finally out! It's always extraordinarily easy to shoot with Katia Kalyani, she knows me so well and it really ends up being more playtime than work. We shot at Spiderhouse in Boracay, which is located all the way at the end of White Beach, so it overlooks the entire strip, and therefore offers a much wider view of the sunset hitting the beach. The turbans might come in handy very soon, now if only I could remember how to tie one..

So, I'm not really sure how an announcement like this should be made.. I am temporarily moving to North Africa! I don't wanna kill the suspense so lets keep it at that. I have about 9 days to get my act together and organize exactly 23 kilos of baggage.. I have no idea how to even get started on managing that, especially with this clogged up brain of mind. A shrinking machine must be invented! I spend way too much of my hard earned money on excess baggage!

This weekend I am heading to Malasimbo for a much needed weekend full of trouble making shenanigans and deadly hangovers.. Music festivals are the best place to look for those things, I hear. And considering I have been drinking all week while working, my liver should be in top form and ready to rumble. But for today the only thing on the menu is one of my rediscovered favorite past-times.. retail therapy! ;)