Songs of the Day

In memory of Chester Bennington, may he rest in peace. Love and prayers for his friends and family. These are three of my favourite songs from Linkin Park. Linkin Park was one of the bands that truly helped me through some very dark times. I can never fully express my gratitude so I wont even try.

Songs of the day: 

Linkin Park – Skin to Bone Listen here

Linkin Park – Not Alone Listen here

Linkin Park – What I’ve Done Listen here


What I Wish I Wore #1

Skærmbillede 2017-07-21 kl. 13.11.21
White shirt, $34.99 USD / Martin Grant midi skirt, $975.00 USD / Betsey Johnson crossbody purse, $68.00 USD
This gorgeous set is fresh and summerly and girlish and all things I can tell you I am most definitely not in real life 😉 I would pair it with a rope braid hairstyle like this created by The Freckled Fox. I’m totally trying to learn to braid my hair, so I’m still doing this hairstyle today even though I’m only dreaming of wearing the clothes.
xx El
Ps. This post is in no-way sponsored. And I do not know the Freckled Fox, though I do think she makes amazing tutorials (so far she’s the youtuber I’ve had the most success with watching while trying to braid my hair)

Journal Entry #7

Dear World,

The past two days has been spend with some of the most amazing friends in the world. And on shopping. So ultimately some really nice things. Yesterday we lazied in the sun, shopped for summer goodies in Sephora and played catch-up. Today we went out for lunch, spent a couple of hours book shopping (one of my favourite things to do), had dinner and played board games and everything just feels amazing.

I bought two books, even though I swear I could have bought a 100 and still find more books I need (yes not want but need), and I can’t wait to read them. If they are worth the effort of writing a recommendation I will be writing them.

  1. Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell (majorly cool name btw!)
  2. Holding Up the Universe by Jennifer Niven


So as you can probably deduct I’m in a YA phase. Now, as I’ve mentioned before I read quite a lot of books (close to one a day on average), so I don’t buy every book I read as I’m not a millionaire. My decision-making-process for whether or not I’m going to invest money in buying a physical copy of a book goes sort of like this: 1) Do I want to read it? 2) Would I be embarrassed if people saw the title? 3) Is the bookcover pretty? Now, I realize this might make me sound a bit superficial, but I might as well be honest about it. Packaging and design means everything as to whether or not I buy something. If I’m going to be looking at it, I want it to look nice. Am I really the only one, who feels like this? A lot of my friends consider it fake, but I mean, I completely acknowledge than this is what I do, and I’m not shy about admitting that I only display the books I feel depict a flattering picture of me.

I’ll create a different post with my Sephora goodies, as well as my two-cents about the products soon.


xx El


Journal Entry #6

Dear world,

A couple of weeks ago I went to the doctor for a check up on how I’m handling the medicine, whether the dosis was correct and similar.. And it went well, I mean for the most part my medicine is dulling the hard feelings, which in turn makes it easier to discuss some of the things I have had a hard time sharing with other people. I shared the attempted assault with the doctor. It was the first time I admitted it out loud to someone I don’t know. I wasn’t prepared for nightmares to resurface during the night though. It’s been years since I was plagued by it. I’ve never really discussed it with friends or family, not because I’m ashamed as most people might think (not because I should be, but because assault victims often are) but because I’d rather not think about it. If I don’t think about it, it’s like it didn’t happen. And well.. If I’m being completely honest a part of me have probably always felt like it was partially my fault. The fact that it was recorded and shared for amusement, didn’t really help to entice me to speak about it either.

I guess I should have seen it coming right? Obviously if you’re going to speak to someone about something you’ve tried to burry in your mind for the past 10 years, it’s going to come back and haunt you. And with the medication I guess it makes sense, it wouldn’t show up until my subconscious was at it’s strongest. It’s difficult, because I honestly don’t remember everything. I was drunk of my ass that night, so drunk I couldn’t move.. I remember mumbling for him to move, I remember the pressure of his body on mine, and I remember being frighten but in the end resigning, and letting blackness engulf me. The next thing that I remember is waking up the next morning.The last thing I remember seeing before the blackness engulfed me was my best friend walking past the room looking in and leaving. And that is the hardest part. Knowing she saw, and she did nothing. We haven’t discussed it afterwards, but if I’m being completely honest with myself, I think I know, that if I really want to heal, I’ll either have to leave that friendship behind or forgive her, and I’m not sure I can actually do any of those things.

First step of recovering is said to be sharing and accepting what happened. First step done I guess. Someone tried to rape me, recorded it and shared it with his friends. My best friend saw what happened and ignored it and I have never forgiven her.


xx El

First encounter #mystories

The below is a rough draft of the first encounter for the two main characters in one of my romance novels. Still working out a lot of kinks, but figured I’d try and share some of my writings in public.


“You fucking asshole!” It all happened in what appeared to be slowmotion but in reality was probably only a couple of seconds. One second I was standing in line at my local coffee shop, the next second a vaguely familiar woman was throwing her coffee at my shirt and calling me out in the middle of Starbucks. Someone who cared would probably be embarrassed or feel some sort of guilt toward the poor woman, I had clearly offended somehow, I however do not care. I stopped caring about anything a long time ago. “You don’t even remember me do you?!” the woman screeched. Sure I do, I just don’t remember what night, how it’d been or her name. I had an inkling of an idea that she might start with an A… Ann… Anna… Ariel maybe? “You know what? Fuck you! You’re a rat bastard and I hope you rot in hell..” the woman continued to sprout profanities and damnations but I wasn’t paying any attention. I was busy internally debating if I’d have to change my coffee routine or find another Starbucks near by for the next couple of weeks. I honestly don’t care about the public spectacle or the woman, but I don’t have time to change my shirt an extra time every morning.. That’s when I heard it. It broke through my internal debat – the most amazing sound I’d ever heard. A soft laughter, to my right side. It sounded like bells chiming and an angel singing – I looked around trying to find the source and was stopped cold in my tracks, my breath leaving me. I’d never been one to romanticize females, sure they could be hot, sexy, fuckable even, but I’d never truly considered a woman beautiful before. She looked like an angel. Absolutely breathtaking, with her long dark hair framing her face beautifully – she had marked cheekbones, full lips and blue doe eyes with a brown speck in them and right now they were filled with laughter. Laughter directed at me. She was laughing at me and for the first time in 15 years I found myself caring. A slap to my face brought my attention back to the livid female in front of me, I’d been in this situation before, and I knew nothing I could say would change the outcome, it was easier just to keep quiet and eventually she’d leave. Just as the thought crossed my mind, she pushed pass and rushed out the door. Not wasting any time I looked to my right for the angel I’d seen before, but she wasn’t there. I turned around and was happier than I cared to admit to see her standing by the condiments table. I walked over to her “are you finding my predicament amusing?” I asked. She startled, as if she hadn’t heard me approach and put her hand to her heart. My eyes couldn’t help but follow the motion, and her breast were gorgeous. She cleared her throat and my eyes snapped up, she looked a little sheepish, timid even as she said “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at your situation, it’s just.. you looked so confused and she was furious, does this happen to you a lot?” I looked around “being accosted in coffee houses?” I asked, she blushed “just being accosted in general..” she countered. “More frequent than I care to admit” I answered drily. She blushed deeper. I found it strangely endearing and couldn’t help but blurt out “have coffee with me” the laughter in her eyes returned and she took a minute to respond “as difficult as it is to tell you no after the ringing endorsement you just received by the leggy blond, I’m going to have to decline” she started to walk away, and I felt myself going frantic. Women didn’t turn me down, and I needed this one. I took hold of her hand and spun her around. She looked stunned and terrified all at once, and I quickly let go of her hand, “what’s your name?” I asked. She looked at me again, clearly evaluating if I was worthy of this information, before she said “you can call me El” and walked out the door. I was stunned, and the rest of my morning was a blur until I reached the office for the first meeting of the day.

So yeah… I wrote it on the plane towards Paris, I haven’t put any “real” work towards my creative writing in years, and this is merely a hobby. Sometimes I just feel like scenes visits me and I need to write them down to get them out of my head. I’m having a bit trouble with this Chris character though. So far I’ve seen him both as a musician and as a business man, and it’s like he hasn’t completely chosen his path yet. Please let me know what you think in the comments. 


xx El

P.s. Yup, I know it’s sort of a self-absorbed move to call her El, but to be completely fair it’s not my real name.

Journal Entry #5

Dear world,

As I’ve previously mentioned I’m currently really wrapped up in finishing my bachelor thesis. Therefore the lack of posts here these days.

I’m happy-ish though, which is the best I’ve been for years. So that’s good. But I guess it is true what they say. Imagination and creation strives on pain and struggle. I’m having a hard time stringing two words together these days, and when I finally do it is much much darker than what I have previously created. It seems that whenever I put my mind to writing what I know, my innermost secrets and darkest thoughts are what fills the paper, and while these reflections are important for me, I’m not sure, they are appropriate for this place.

Lately I’ve been struggling with memories of the attempted assault – and I am currently working on a blog-post related to this, I just need to be sure I’m ready to share it.

I left with my project group for the weekend to get away from distraction and focus on writing the Bachelor thesis, but to be completely fair, I think I’m even more distracted here, than I would have been back home. Don’t get me wrong, I love my group, they are amazing. I am however, the only girl in a sea of guys, and while that might sound like a dream it’s really not. Somewhere along the line over the past three years, I’ve gone from being a female to one of the guys, and I relish this position most of the time, but to be honest, it can get pretty frustrating.

I have to listen to a lot of farts, a lot of inappropriate jokes and even more guy-talk ranging from talk of another girls looks to football. Needless to say, I sometimes need a little girl time. Most of my girl friends are however not in the same city (they are actually not even in the same country region) so I’ve noticed these small changes in my personality over the past couple of months (okay, let’s be fair – years) and I am honestly scared I’m turning in to a guy.

Please tell me it’s reversible? I really love being a girl..


xx El

P.s. the guys are actually really hilarious most of the times, I’ll try to write down some of the better stories and share them with you in the future 😉

Journal Entry #4

Dear world…

Long time no see. I’ve been dealing with a lot of pressure, as I’m finishing up my bachelor project these weeks.. And I’m a bit of an overachiever. So I guess the pressure is somewhat selfmade. I had one entry almost ready, but it’s a little personal and a lot dark, so I’m not really sure I’m ready to share it yet. Some day though.

I’ve really been obsessed with the Jimmy Eat World song Hear You Me lately. I shared it as one of the songs of the day previously. The lyrics and the emotion in the song is just so real and raw, while still maintaining a sort of polished sound – I’m not even sure it makes sense, but it has really imprinted into me. I read somewhere the song was written about a couple of sisters who ran the Weezers fan club and tragically died in a car accident on the way back from a Weezer concert, the phrase ‘Hear You Me’ refers to something the girls would always say to each other. Obviously this is an emotional and very beautiful story, for me though.. the truth of the song is different. I lost my Grandmother four years ago. She was old, suffered from dementia, and everyone keeps telling me, it was for the best, but I still feel the loss everyday and I can still cry about it, guess that makes me a bit of a wuss, huh?

The thing is my Gran was my world. I didn’t always connect with people easy, and I’ve always had trouble creating emotional attachments with people, because I am so so SO scared of disappointing, but to my grandma I was the most precious and perfect thing to ever grace this world. She made me believe in myself and she made me feel loved, something I have a really hard time doing. One of the hardest things about losing her was constantly being confronted with other peoples opinion of her. To me she was amazing, but lets just say, that I was the exception for the rule. Constantly having to contemplate if the image I had of her was a lie, well it sucked.

The reason this song makes me think of my grandma, is the phrases:

So what would you think of me now/So lucky, so strong, so proud?/I never said thank you for that/now I’ll never have a chance

And if you were with me tonight/I’d sing to you just one more time/A song for a heart so big/God wouldn’t let it live

I guess it’s pretty self explanatory why those things would remind me of her, huh? I still want to make her proud, and I think about whether or not I do every single day and with every decision I make. The other part of the lyrics is actually two fold, we used to sing together – I actually once promised I’d sing at her funeral, but I couldn’t. I still feel guilty for that. And her heart was big when it came to me.. While I know that part of the lyrics should probably be understood as a reference to the fact that the girls were young when they died, and my Grandma was everything but young when she died, I still needed her and her heart, so I have to believe God took it for a reason.



So, I guess you know my song truth for ‘Hear You Me’ now.

xx El