'Have you got any soul?' a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues. -from 'High Fidelity' by Nick Hornby
Old soul in a 21-year old's body. Eastern European. London via a 10-year stint in Germany. Full-time humanities student and political activist. Wannabe cultural theorist, critic, photographer, writer, music/fashion/culture/food blogger and researcher. Trilingual. Dedicated lover of imperfections and stains on white vests. Words are what I like best. Language language language. I'd only talk in song lyrics and quotes if I could. Anglophile. Collector of old stuff, working on a vintage-only wardrobe. Passionate about music. No musical talent whatsoever. Books and magazines, lots of them. Traveling, concerts, food, new places, old places, journeys. A love for places and things that have a history. Flea markets, vintage shops, record stores, cafés and parks. Cat person. A weird sense of humour. Favourite instruments in no particular order: violin, cello, accordion. Coffee, cake and ice cream. Peppermint flavour. Loud and obnoxious. Honest. Enjoys watching and/or being part of other people's lives.