Modern Love

Love & Other Emotional Crimes

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  • Songs, Signs, And The Universal Radio

    I find it fascinating how random songs just… find me. Like I’m some human Spotify playlist curated by the universe itself. What’s even wilder is that I don’t even have to speak the song’s language to understand the lyrics. When it’s one of those songs, I just know. Before I even translate it, there’s this internal “oh this one’s gonna hit home”. And sure enough, it always does. It’s like I’m tuned into a private radio frequency between me and the universe, and honestly, it’s the best station out there. Zero ads, 100% existential truth, sometimes accompanied by the video clips my mind comes up for them the first time I hear them.

    Speaking of radios, they’ve recently started appearing in my dreams. I don’t know what that means yet, but I’ve got a feeling I’ll find out in spring, you know, when life starts blooming again and the universe drops its next episode of “and that symbol was about this.”

    I genuinely love all the ways guidance finds me. Birds randomly doing something symbolic. People casually dropping sentences that feel like they were sent by my spirit team. Dreams, songs, numbers, random thoughts that turn out to be premonitions… it’s like living in a multidimensional treasure hunt with clues hidden in everyday life.

    For the longest time, I fought it. I wanted proof. Charts. Receipts. Maybe a color coded manual from the universe itself explaining how everything worked and what each thing meant. But of course, the universe had other plans. Dreams started coming true. Visions I’d brushed off showed up in my reality. Signs matched their meanings with surgical precision. Eventually, even my inner skeptic had to sit down and shut up.

    I stopped being a doubting Thomas. (And yes, the irony is delicious.) His name literally means “twin,” which feels poetic considering my whole life has been a tug-of-war between doubt and faith. Between logic and intuition. Between my ego and my soul. Maybe that’s why I want to name my future son Thomas, if I ever have one. To honor that part of me that questioned everything… until it finally believed.

    Because once you stop demanding proof, and start trusting what you already know, that’s when the universe stops bending reality to throw guidance in your face like bricks, but starts to gentle parent you. 

    So here is a little line from the manual; when signs and guidance are loud, supernatural even, intense, coming your way like sushi in an all-you-can-eat restaurant, you have more work to do. More healing, more triggers. When they calm down and get clearer, you’re in alignment. 

  • The Code Beneath the Wings

    I was standing there, watching a cluster of starlings move like liquid thought across the sky. A murmuration. Thousands of bodies, one mind. No leader. No command. Just pure communication in motion.

    And as I watched, something clicked. It was the code. The same one The Matrix tried to show us, not the green symbols, but the pulse beneath everything living. The way energy organizes itself when it’s free.

    Every wingbeat was a line of code written in real time. Every shift in direction was a choice born from trust. The whole sky was a breathing organism, constantly dissolving and reforming, never once collapsing into chaos.

    That’s when I realized: this is what we lost.

    We built systems over systems, cages over cages, and every escape, every structure, every fear based decision we made hardened into another cage that trapped us even harder than the other. 

    But the starlings reminded me what freedom actually looks like. It’s not lawless. It’s not control. It’s coherence without command. It’s order without oppression.

    Civilization wants to be the architect of order. Nature already is order: because it never stops listening.

    The birds move as one because they remember what we’ve forgotten: Connection isn’t forced, it’s felt.

  • The Original System of Control

    Somewhere between the first spark of language and the first wall built from stone, humanity made a deal with fear. We traded freedom for structure, and called it civilization.

    From that moment on, every system we’ve created has been an echo of the same impulse: the need to control what we don’t understand. We built religion to escape chaos, capitalism to escape scarcity, and spirituality to escape ego. And every single one eventually hardened into another cage. Bent and hid truth beneath fear, control, and interest.

    That’s the paradox no one likes to look at: Our escapes always become our prisons.

    The Matrix told us this decades ago, that even the idea of freedom can be scripted. Zion, the city of the awakened, was just another form of control. Even the One was an algorithmic anomaly designed to keep the system stable. But love: the code that couldn’t be predicted, categorized, or controlled, broke the loop. Neo and Trinity didn’t just escape the Matrix; they transcended it. They remembered that freedom doesn’t come from destroying the system, but from seeing through it.

    That’s the same lesson humanity keeps missing. Every time we evolve, we just build a prettier version of the cage. We replace one god with another, one ideology with its opposite. The binary itself: good and evil, light and dark, awakened and asleep, is the real prison.

    Look back far enough, and you’ll see the same pattern in our origin story. There wasn’t just one kind of human.

    There were many: sapiens, neanderthals, denisovans, coexisting for a time. And then, only one survived.

    We like to call that evolution, but maybe it was the first act of separation. The first Matrix. The moment humanity decided it was safer to dominate than to coexist.

    Since then, we’ve just been building more sophisticated versions of that original illusion, more elaborate systems of “us vs. them.” From tribes to nations, from gods to markets, from religions to algorithms. We keep building walls around infinity, manipulating circumstances we cannot understand to fit it in structured boxes and dogmatism.

    But the truth was never meant to be contained. It breathes, it mutates, it dissolves structures. It’s not the light or the dark, it’s the pulse between them.

    Maybe the real awakening isn’t more division. Maybe it isn’t deciding which sub-category of the same human species you belong to. Maybe it’s accepting that we are all one, connected and having a human experience all together. Maybe the point is unity through acceptance. 

    That’s when love reclaims its original function: not as emotion, not as attachment, but as the frequency of wholeness.

    And maybe that’s all “The One” ever meant, the remembrance that we were never divided to begin with.

  • Matrix

    They say we were born into a system of control. That we live inside a simulation. That somewhere out there, someone, or something, is pulling the strings.

    But what if there’s no “out there”? What if we did it?

    Once upon a time, we were just wild things under starlight, sleeping by rivers, trusting instinct more than reason. Then we started to gather, and to gather we needed rules. And rules needed rulers. And rulers needed followers. And before we knew it, the code was written.

    Civilization began as a survival hack, a way to make sure our fires stayed lit and our bellies stayed full. But like every invention, it turned around and started inventing us. Agriculture created hierarchy. Writing created bureaucracy. Religion created moral control. Money created worth systems. And the internet? It created an economy out of attention.

    We wanted safety. We wanted love. We wanted belonging. And to get them, we started building walls: around our cities, around our hearts, around our very sense of self.

    Fast-forward a few millennia, and now we scroll through our own architecture: screens, systems, currencies, careers. All the digital temples built to worship the illusion of control. We call it progress. But it’s just the next version of the same software.

    And here’s the cosmic joke: even those of us who say we’re “waking up” are still playing by the same rules, only now it’s spiritual capitalism, emotional branding, and ego dressed in enlightenment. The Matrix 2.0: the Conscious Edition. 

    But maybe awakening isn’t about unplugging. Maybe it’s about remembering who built the system, and realizing the code still answers to you. Because awareness changes everything. When you see it, you can shape it. When you own it, you’re no longer owned.

    Maybe the goal isn’t to escape the Matrix at all. Maybe it’s to become conscious within it, to use the system without being used by it. To love without losing ourselves. To earn without being owned. To play the game, but never forget we’re the ones holding the controller.

    Maybe we’re not meant to burn the Matrix down. Maybe we’re meant to turn its architecture into art: to live as the glitch that reminds the world it’s dreaming.

  • Ice Walls

    My relationship with the cold began after I was mentally, emotionally, and spiritually destroyed. I couldn’t even stand the heat, my chest would tighten, my breath would catch, and the sun felt like an interrogation lamp I never agreed to sit under. I hated the sun because it was warm and bright and cheerful, three things I was not. I even avoided the sea, the same sea I grew up with, because water was too emotional. Too much flow. I needed the mountains instead. The heights, the rigidity, the stillness, the cold air, the quiet blanket of snow. 

    I became cold-resistant out of sheer survival. I learned to control my muscles, to reverse the involuntary flexing that comes with feeling cold. When you relax your muscles in the cold, you stop feeling it. Wild, I know. That little trick trained me to control my emotions too, especially the negative ones. I built walls. My heart became an ice fortress. Elsa would’ve been impressed. 

    Then he came along. (There’s always a he, isn’t there?) I remember the exact night my walls melted in front of him. With him, I started enjoying the sun again. I found peace near water again, like I used to. I remember floating, laughing, breathing. I was healing. I even lost my cold resistance, which at the time I blamed on his overheated apartment; meanwhile, mine was hanging out somewhere between 13 to 16 degrees like a polite fridge. Now I know it wasn’t his radiator. It was my nervous system feeling safe. Warm. Nurtured. 

    It didn’t last, of course. I’m cold-resistant again. But this time, I don’t hate the warmth. I can enjoy both the sun and the snow, the flow and the stillness. My apartment’s still cold, but I’ve got blankets. Layers. Tea. Balance. Orange and blue. The Moon and the Sun. The Feminine and the Masculine. Shadow and Light. Harmony.

    My walls are still down, but don’t get me wrong, the boundaries are very much installed. I learned them the hard way. I broke every rule I had for a person, stretched my limits into a yoga pose that didn’t exist. And that taught me everything I needed to know about myself. 

    So even if my ego still throws shade at him and says, “no forgiveness, not today,” my soul knows better. It sees the whole thing as growth. As healing. As my love finding its way back to me, even if it took the scenic route through chaos. 

    Someone once told me I needed to get hurt to learn. At the time, I thought, “that’s a terrible teaching method.” But they were right. Pain really is the ultimate life coach. And the sooner we accept that, the sooner we get to ride the waves of life instead of fighting them.

    Some waves crash you down, some you ride like a pro, but either way, the ocean always teaches you something. That’s probably why I want to surf so badly. My emotional body has been riding waves its whole life; it’s only fair my physical body gets to join the party, so I can master the act of Surrender in real time. 

    So maybe, just maybe, the point isn’t to stay warm or cold. Maybe it’s to live in that perfect middle ground; balance, harmony, integration. Learning to dance between shadow and light, and realizing you’re both the wave and the one riding it. 

  • Living From the Heart: The Real Kind

    I have been given several blueprints and templates on my journey. The concept is always the same: live from the heart. 

    I used to think “living from the heart” meant being endlessly soft. Always forgiving. Always open. Always the one who loves a little harder, gives a little more, stays a little longer.

    Spoiler: that wasn’t living from the heart. That was living from fear, fear of losing love if I didn’t overextend myself.

    Real heart energy is quieter. Cleaner. It’s not about chasing connection, it’s about being it.

    Living from the heart isn’t romantic or poetic all the time. It’s gritty. It’s saying, “I love you, but I won’t lose myself again to prove it.”

    It’s realizing that boundaries are sacred. That sometimes the most loving thing you can do is walk away. That being at peace doesn’t mean being passive, it means being rooted in your own truth.

    Here’s what living from the heart actually looks like:

    You give because it feels aligned, not because you want to be chosen. You listen deeply, not to reply, but to understand. You forgive because it frees you, not because someone earned it. You stop performing your softness for people who only understand power.

    You start realizing that the real power is softness, when it’s conscious.

    Living from the heart means your inner masculine protects your peace, while your inner feminine keeps your heart open. You stop waiting for others to balance you, because that balance is already built inside you.

    And by spending time in a city I love the most, one that amplifies everything inside me, I can recognize the “flow state.” The inner peace. What being in alignment feels like. What inner union feels like. I don’t have to do anything when I’m there: I set foot at the bahnhof, and my energy body starts opening. My energy rises. I feel safe. I feel home.

    Leaving that city is a different story. I feel the crushing ache of being separated from a part of myself. I feel whole when I’m there: like all of me is finally in the same place at the same time. But I only go when I’m called. The distance teaches me detachment. That I can be “whole” without a person or a place completing me.

    And that’s the secret no one tells you: When you’re truly in your heart, you don’t fall in love, you rise in it.

    Living from the heart isn’t butterflies. It’s balance. It’s choosing love without losing discernment. It’s being gentle without being blind. It’s standing in your truth and letting it be enough.

    Maybe “living from the heart” doesn’t mean giving yourself away. Maybe it means finally coming home to yourself, fully, honestly, and without apology.

  • Home

    I realized my hair grows twice as fast when I’m at home with my family. This isn’t some woo-woo cosmic hair growth secret, it’s just biology with a sprinkle of emotional stability. My nervous system finally goes, “ah, we can chill now,” and apparently, my hair takes that as a green light to thrive.

    We seriously underestimate how much energy it takes just to feel safe. Especially for women. If you’re living alone in a country that never quite feels like “home,” chances are your nervous system is doing overtime trying to keep you grounded. It’s like having an overworked security guard inside your body who never gets to clock out.

    So, I’ve been finding ways to tell that guard, “hey, you can take a break now.” My personal favorite? Ashwagandha. My nervous system loves that stuff. I swear the first time I took it, my brain sighed in relief like, “finally, she’s doing something right.” I’ve been off it for a while, and wow, the difference is noticeable. We’re getting back on that wagon, stat.

    Then there’s my apartment. My safe zone. My cozy fortress. Blankets are my emotional support system. I wrap myself in them like a sentient burrito. I love warm, dim lighting, the kind that says “you’re safe here” and not “interrogation room.” Candles, plants, essential oils, my holy trinity of comfort. Pine, cinnamon, lemon zest, rosemary. Basically, I’m trying to recreate my childhood olfactory memories. And yes, I still have my plushies. My inner child deserves companionship too. 

    When I can, I escape to nature. Sometimes it’s just sitting in the park after rain, smelling the earth and sharing walnuts with the local crows like a low-budget Disney princess. Sometimes it’s the mountains, sometimes the sea, because I grew up by the water, and apparently my soul still thinks I’m a seal with wi-fi. I go to the pool occasionally, not only to swim, but to play in water like a manta-ray, whale and a seal, and to sit at the bottom holding my breath like an aquatic philosopher. Chlorine ruins my skin, but honestly, that underwater peace is worth every flake. 

    Everyone’s version of safety looks different. The real trick is noticing how much energy our nervous system burns just trying to keep us okay, especially when we’re busy distracting ourselves with the emotional rollercoasters of unavailable people. If we could just sit with ourselves; with compassion, patience, and a bit of humor, we’d actually feel present. Safe. Whole. And when you become your own safe place, the magic happens. You stop grasping for safety in other people’s hands. You stop crashing every time someone leaves. 

    Because you finally realize, home was never a place, or a person. It was you. 

  • The Self Care Revelation

    I’m 27 now. And I’m not ashamed to admit that it took me a very long time to understand the concept of self-care. My upbringing was basically a cross between an endurance test and a renovation show. We didn’t “rest.” We tiled. We didn’t unwind. We rebuilt houses. We didn’t go to all included resorts. We worked on the boat. 

    My parents weren’t the “weekend spa trip” kind of parents. They were the “let’s sand the deck and live in the camper van while the house is being built” kind. Every summer had the faint smell of paint thinner, and at least one power tool soundtrack playing in the background. That was our version of a lullaby.

    In my youth-athlete era, my coaches carried the same torch of intensity. Rest days? Optional. Pushing limits? Mandatory. Up until this year, I genuinely believed that the entire point of exercise was to find your breaking point, and then casually jog past it.

    Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my family. But none of them seem to know what “taking a day off” actually means. My grandparents live in the countryside, which basically means their version of retirement is “working forever.” The women handle the house, the men disappear into their basements to “work on projects” (translation: aggressively drilling things for fun). Maybe that is their version of self-care, but honestly, it looks like cardio with tools.

    My mom talks to me about their days. I get tired just by listening about it. “Your dad worked on the staircase he’s building single handedly, and crushed some wood for the fireplace, and oh now he’s wiring some cables in the basement.”

    So, naturally, it took me a while to realize that self-care doesn’t have to involve sweat, sawdust, or physical exhaustion.

    Today, I had a revelation. I realized I had free will and could make myself crepes; just because I wanted to. No birthday, no brunch invite, no celebration. Just… me and a frying pan. I lit candles, put on some music, and even diffused essential oils like I was my own spa therapist. Then I whipped up a homemade Himalayan salt, oil, and rosemary peel because apparently I am now that person.

    Here’s what I’ve learned: self-care doesn’t need to be an all-inclusive spa retreat in Bali (though, if anyone’s offering, I’m in). It can be small, simple, and even slightly chaotic. Maybe your version is retail therapy and buying yourself flowers. Maybe it’s doing face masks while watching conspiracy documentaries. There’s no wrong way to love yourself.

    For me, self-care looks different every day. Sometimes it’s me half-asleep on the couch after giving myself a full massage with a gun that sounds like a small helicopter. Sometimes it’s me balancing on my wobble board, lights dimmed, downtempo techno in the background, my apartment smelling like palo santo and ambition.

    The point is, self-care isn’t about perfection, it’s about permission. Permission to rest. Permission to do nothing. Permission to light the candle, eat the crepe, and enjoy the hell out of it.

    Because it turns out, taking care of yourself doesn’t mean pushing harder. Sometimes it just means finally letting yourself stop pushing at all without a single thought. 

  • The Intuitive Person’s Survival Manual (A.K.A. How to Decode Signs Without Losing Your Mind)

    If you’re anything like me, someone who receives divine communication through signs, dreams, songs, repeating numbers, random strangers that look like your ex, and the occasional billboard that seems way too specific, then this is your manual. You know, for when your brain is trying to figure out whether that butterfly was your spirit guide, or just a butterfly.

    Here’s the deal. When something truly is a sign, you don’t question it. You just know. It lands with that internal ding! The one that makes you go, “Yep, that was for me.” But when you see something that grabs your attention and your brain goes into a full decoding spiral like, “Okay, but does this mean something!?” It’s not a sign. That’s your ego trying to play scavenger hunt with the universe.

    Premonitions, on the other hand, hit different. They come with a knowing that’s so obvious it’s borderline annoying. You don’t have to decode it, you just understand. You could be half-asleep, half-delirious, and still know what it means. Cleary. 

    Now, dreams are a special case. Some are cinematic masterpieces filled with hidden symbolism and emotional trauma disguised as plot twists. Others are just… weird. (Like that one where you’re eating spaghetti on the moon, no, that one’s not prophetic, that’s just your subconscious being weird again.) But even then, deep down, you know which dreams matter and which ones are just your brain cleaning up emotional clutter.

    The point is: if you find yourself confused and the message isn’t clear, move on. Don’t make a PowerPoint presentation out of it. Don’t Google “meaning of blue feather and broken shoelace together.” If it’s not landing with clarity, it’s not a message. The ones that matter always come with a clear mental download, like a spiritual push notification that just pops into your awareness. Every single time that’s happened to me, it matched reality. The vague ones? Never did. Not once.

    Sometimes the messages are tiny and seemingly irrelevant, like getting a song that randomly plays and later turns out to have predicted your next chapter. Sometimes they’re huge and life-changing. We don’t get to pick what we receive. Apparently, the universe is the one running the group chat. We just have to figure out what’s worth replying to.

    In my experience, the “smaller” signs often mirror the energy of the bigger ones that haven’t yet manifested. Think of them as sneak previews, or cosmic teaser trailers. Some dreams I’ve relived months later, sometimes five, six, even seven months after. Once, I was a year and a half early. I’d love to say that means I’m ahead of my time, but it’s really just the universe running on its own Netflix release schedule.

    Here’s what I’ve learned: when you do get guidance, just take the hint and do what’s needed. Don’t try to rewrite the ending. I’ve tried. Didn’t work. The outcome always came, just… delayed sometimes. Which, yes, makes me deeply question free will. Like, if I can’t change the ending, why am I even getting the spoilers?

    Maybe it’s less about control, and more about preparation. The universe doesn’t send signs so you can fix the future, it sends them so you can understand it when it happens.

    So, dear intuitive human, the next time you catch yourself overanalyzing the alignment of your morning playlist, take a breath. Not every cloud formation is a cosmic code. Some are just clouds.

    And maybe that’s the real wisdom here: If you have to ask whether it’s a sign, it probably isn’t. If you just know, it probably is. And if you’re still unsure, maybe just get a snack and let the universe text you back later.

  • Do It Your Way

    In 2020, when I first dipped my toes into Kundalini Yoga, I was determined. Like, full-on “new me” mode. I was going to wake up at 5am, dry brush like a goddess, take an ice-cold shower that would supposedly “awaken my DNA,” and meditate to Sadhana before the sun even remembered to rise. Spoiler alert: I lasted awhile. Maybe two months if we count the days I thought about doing it but hit snooze instead.

    Needless to say, I couldn’t keep up with it and gave up on Kundalini Yoga entirely. But here’s the funny part, even though I abandoned the practice, I listened to Kundalini kriyas like they were the only songs ever released. It was all mantras and the occasional meditations at night for a solid year. At the time, I didn’t know why I loved them so much. I just knew they made me feel… lighter. Like I had my own private cosmic concerts.

    Fast forward to the end of 2025. I’ve gone through my fair share of dark nights of the soul, awakenings, and breakdowns disguised as breakthroughs. Somewhere in between reaching “flow state” just by being physically present in a particular city, and laying on my couch overthinking, I figured something out; how to do it my way.

    Now? I get up when I wake up. No 5am alarms, no punishment schedules, no “sit-down and focus on your breath” meditations. I drink my coffee in peace. I play my Kundalini kriyas while journaling, doing an easy yoga flow without yoga instructors, and balancing on my wobble board like a spiritual circus act. I take warm showers afterwards. I eat breakfast when I’m hungry, not when a wellness influencer says I should. I still check Instagram (yes, I know, very un-yogi of me). I listen to Swiss German pop songs on the metro, do my work, read my book, maybe binge a show, maybe go out, and I go to bed when I’m tired, which somehow started being around 10 or 11pm. My old night owl self could never. I play my frequency playlist in the background when I’m sleeping. 

    I found a rhythm that fits me; a mix of modern human chaos and ancient soul wisdom. I’m living in the physical world but from a higher consciousness, taking care of my mind, my body, and my soul without overcomplicating it. The goal isn’t to ascend: it’s to integrate. Some days my higher self drives. Some days it’s my inner child. Most of the time it’s my inner feminine and masculine navigating through life like a healthy couple. And on bad days, my ego takes the wheel and speeds, but hey, at least now I notice when it does.

    Maybe that’s how we’re meant to do it in 2025. Living in cities, juggling jobs, paying bills, and still finding moments to breathe, connect, and tune in. It doesn’t have to be full monk mode or full matrix mode. We can live in 3D with 5D awareness.

    There’s no one right way to do this thing. The point is to find your way, the one that feels good, not forced. And some days, you’ll totally fall off the wagon, but that’s fine. You can climb back on whenever you want.

    Because at the end of the day, we’re not monks. We’re modern mystics trying to keep plants alive, make rent, and stay grounded while ascending, preferably with good coffee and a decent playlist.

    And maybe, just maybe, that’s the new age way of doing it. Our way.