Emmanuella Hristova

Goodbye 2022, Hello 2023

Mon, 20 Feb 2023 07:07:10 -0800

It’s been over a year since I wrote my last blog post.

The truth is, words are always swirling around in my head, aching to be written down, but I haven’t taken the chance to sit down and put pen to paper. Not until today, that is.

What’s happened in over a year?

For one, I started painting again. In a very slow attempt to wrap up the publication of my second poetry collection, I painted the book cover using watercolor and ink. I also started dabbling with acrylics again, moving back into my representational abstract phase which I want to continue. A colleague of mine also commissioned an abstract piece—which was a first for me.

Over the summer I was able to visit my boyfriend’s family in Tunisia, which is a part of the world I had never visited before. Kelibia, located in the northeastern part of Tunisia, boasts the Mediterranean’s best beach. It did not disappoint.

My mother came to visit me in Paris in August, at which point I rediscovered the city as a local tourist. And when my best friend came to visit me in October, I did it all over again.

Much to my surprise, Monet’s gardens might be their most beautiful in the fall, with all the burgundy, rust and golden leaves trickling to the ground, covering the earth like a Persian carpet.

We flew off to Portugal,...Read More

Unplugging in Georgia

Wed, 08 Dec 2021 07:38:49 -0800

It would have been my fifth year doing National Novel Writing month; and yet, I almost didn’t do it.

I spent the last year feeling as if my creativity had been sucked out of me raw; as if someone had siphoned it out of me, slowly. I started making lists to try to determine the problem. Was it confinement fatigue, a result of a terrible stint at a call center, was it because I had settled into a relationship? Without inspiration, I started to feel so shockingly average. It sounds cocky to admit it, but I’d always considered myself a special person.

I had always succeeded at school, at art; and sure, I wasn’t athletic, but I had good genes.

But what happens when age starts to chip away at our naïve self-exceptionalism?

There wasn’t a specific day; but rather, an unknown minute and unknown hour in which I realized I was simply ordinary. Like out of a scene from Groundhog Day, I crawled out of bed every morning, a cup of fresh espresso required to turn me from grump to pleasant. I took miserable public transport to a job that I hated. I spent hours in front of a screen. And no, not just at work, but on my phone almost every waking hour of the day. And when my face wasn’t glued to my phone, it was in front of one of the two TVs in my house. And don’t even ask me how many laptops I have lying around. The motivation to do anything escaped me. I had to force myself to do anything. I was, for the first time in my life, lazy. And that was...Read More

Turning 30 in Jersey

Sun, 02 May 2021 13:48:40 -0700

This month I turned 30. The big three-oh.

And to commemorate, I decided it was time to visit the States, since I hadn’t gone back in 2.5 years. I took two weeks off, printed and filed all my French documents (and negative covid-19 tests) just in case I had issues at the French border, and set off. As part of my homecoming and time off, I expected to write and find some time to refocus and push new energy into the various writing projects I’ve been working on simultaneously. Instead, I sat on the couch most of the time eating long-forgotten and well-missed junk food. I was taking care of my nephew a lot of the time, however. And as any working parent will tell you, I should cut myself a little slack regarding my lack of productivity.

I hadn’t visited the house that my sister passed away in for five years. Which wouldn't be a problem, except that this happened to be the house where my brother-in-law and my nephew still lived in. And they could only fly out to California or god-knows-where I was at the moment for so many times. So I went back. And I slept in the same room where I saw her pass away in front me. It wasn’t as painful as I expected; more like, pressing down on a scar and feeling the rough edges and tough skin that had built up.

Something that’s there but you don’t know how to define it.

I was relieved my brother-in-law’s New Jersey home no longer gave me PTSD, but instead a sort of unfamiliar numbness crept in. One that was linked with apathy. I had taken two weeks off to spend with my family, but I was also planning on working my writing projects as well. Instead, I just sat on the couch and stuffed my face with long-anticipated American junk food that I hadn’t had for two years. As if it was the prohibition era and New Jersey was my speakeasy.

The writer’s block didn’t break until the morning of my departure flight, when my brother-in-law...Read More

Perseverance, Character & Hope Following 2020

Sun, 10 Jan 2021 12:48:39 -0800

2020 was not my worst year. No, this is not a humble brag. I realize that for a lot of people, 2020 was one of their worst years ever. And for that, I am sorry. Especially for those of you in the United States—I am sorry that the U.S.’s version of predatory capitalism puts the economy over lives; multimillion dollar companies over mom-and-pop shops; the king over paupers. My prayer for you this coming year is that you find peace, prosperity, and change. Because if 2020 (and a terribly incompetent president) showed the U.S. anything, is that it needs change. now.

There is a reason why Paul wrote most of the New Testament. He had a gift for words. Words that could fuse age-old religious interpretation and traditions into the theology of a brand-new sect. His words are timeless. As evident by the fact that his letters to various Christian churches during the first century were later canonized into the scriptures Christians know as the New Testament.

And it is these words that I used to loathe that now, looking back on my life, understand with wiser clarity:

But we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character, and character, hope. Romans 5:3-4

Suffering. Oh, how I used to hate that word. And part of that disdain was due to an upbringing in a pseudo-prosperity gospel/toxic-positivity interpretation of the Bible. An American interpretation of the Bible. Now, don’t get me wrong, the American church is good at a lot of things. They are good at creating hard workers, at fostering hope and presenting positive and life-changing messages, and have, in the last couple of years, presented a broad, watered-down enough gospel that has drawn in even the most misfit of celebrities. Its greatest appeal is packaging messages, ideologies, and interpretations, and drawing millions of followers. But suffering. That’s where the American...Read More

Thanksgiving During a Global Pandemic

Sat, 21 Nov 2020 11:55:27 -0800

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, but I wasn't always a fan. As anyone who's grown up in a dysfunctional family can tell you, holidays are often dreaded. However, as I grew up, I made holidays my own. My best friend and I started to go shopping on Christmas Eve as a tradition, my friends from church held a Friendsgiving gathering every year, and my university years featured some rad Halloween parties.

That being said, Thanksgiving is a special one. On one hand, contemporary tradition encourages us to spend time with our friends and family members, to cook and enjoy a meal together, and feel grateful for what we have.

Gratitude is essential to feeling satisfied in most areas of our life.

Even when things aren’t ideal or turn sour, practicing gratitude in human relationships, and extending gratitude towards ourselves and to whatever higher power you believe in, increases our emotional well-being and happiness.

On the other hand, Thanksgiving has a sinister side to its history as well, which is what makes it so goddamn fascinating. Just like feel-good American lore tells us, the first documented Thanksgivings celebrated by the British colonists in Massachusetts was indeed due to the help of nearby indigenous groups. But that's just the beginning of U.S. Thanksgiving history, and how the story ends can hopefully show us what mistakes to avoid in the future.

Massachusetts, like other parts of the United States, was home to many different people groups prior to European arrival. However, due to previous contact with Europeans and their animals, these indigenous groups began dying from diseases brought over from the “Old World”. According to Charles Mann who wrote 1491 (one of my favorite nonfiction books ever written), the indigenous populations of the Americas had antibodies against

the parasites that invaded their own ecosystems, but they had no immunity against the bacterial infections that their...Read More

Everything I Did & Didn't Do During Quarantine

Sat, 13 Jun 2020 07:59:57 -0700

“You must be getting a lot of writing done now, right?” I got asked that question a lot during France’s two-month mandatory quarantine.

The thing is, not really.

Everybody finds inspiration in different ways, and mine was definitely not through being confined to tiny space with just me, myself, and I.

I did read a lot of books, however. I devoured them. I got through about seven novels, most of which, I enjoyed thoroughly. I watched a hell of a lot of TV and finished quite a few series. I talked to a bunch of my friends online. And I finished editing my first novel. Like, ready-to-be-sent-to-literary-agents finished.

I guess you could say my time during quarantine wasn’t wholly unproductive. But it didn’t always involve good habits either. Although I should have turned into one of those health freaks that exercised almost addictively; I did not, as athleticism is not my go-to addiction of sorts. Instead, I ate too much and I vaped too much, both habits of which I am now trying to remedy.

“We’re all developing weird habits,” Maria remarked to me over a much-needed WhatsApp check-in call. Even over thousands of miles away, my old coworker-turned poetry editor remains one of my strongest personal champions, writing coaches, and confidants.

One thing that I learned during quarantine was that, you need to be okay by yourself, to be by yourself. Unlike my other extroverted counterparts, I felt content being alone, not affected by the sense of loneliness and anxiety that so many others faced going into this uncertain time. I was relieved at my calm disposition on the matter, as I recognized that there was nothing I could do to control a government’s response to a global pandemic. The only thing I could control was my attitude. So, I accepted the slow, isolatory pace of confinement.

I made a plan to read 50 pages a day, and I stuck with it. I felt like a little kid again, as I used to read sitting on my mother’s couch,...Read More

Works on Systematic Racism and Black Identity that Shaped My Worldview

Tue, 02 Jun 2020 03:51:17 -0700

As many other folks with white skin can attest, you don’t really know about your white privilege until someone points it out to you. Because you never really had to worry about it. But you should worry about it, because those blessed with melanin in their skin wear targets on their backs. And no one should have to live their life that way.

Thus, a healthy education on racial injustice (specially for white folks) includes reading, research, and listening to other people’s stories.

I’ve compiled a list of non-fiction books, novels, albums, songs and TV shows that have broadened my perspective and impacted my understanding of systematic racism and black identity in the United States:

Racial Domination, Racial Progress by Matthew Desmond

This is a thorough sociological text that explores race first as a social/cultural construct, and from there, takes the reader through a historical account of social and political policies that have shaped the current messy web of interlacing issues that weave together to make up systematic racism. Desmond provides an adequate explanation of our modern political parties, and how their present platforms attract voters of certain socioeconomic identities. He explores how the Democratic platform has attracted voters of color in the recent decades, while the Republican platform bolsters a mainly homogenous, white following. From there, he describes the 1950s segregationist residential policies and highway building that gave way to the housing districts we see to this day: divided by color. This historical fact is key in understanding how the current residential structure in many American cities and suburbs contributes to opportunity gaps within education between white communities and communities of color. Educational funding...Read More

Homesickness, Escapism, Uncertainty

Tue, 17 Mar 2020 09:41:44 -0700

I was homesick before the lockdown set in.

I started missing everyone—my mom, my best friend, my brother-in-law, my ex-boyfriend. I had already spent way too much time in my tiny studette, teaching online and barely going out because I was dealing with some health problems (no, not corona virus-related). I was in a slump and I couldn’t get out. And although Paris is such a beautiful place to live in, there are times when I’ve spent too long in the city and I start to feel trapped. Rather than being glamorous, the previously charming limestone buildings feel like they’re going to topple on me. They resemble a cage. And the California-girl side of me starts to come out. I want to see green hills and sparkling sunshine and smell the salt spray of the ocean. I crave nature and escape.

Fast forward two weeks and my Parisian best friend and I are midnight-bus riding north through two other countries to get to Amsterdam. It was marvelous. The view of the water, the clinking sounds of bikes rolling through, the smell of weed wafting around an alleyway, delicious street food, cheerful English. I felt like I was home away from home. Until we almost got stuck there.

Although it is dangerous to give in to rumors and panic, we did.

But also, we didn’t. I had been trying to think about anything but the corona virus. Not because I was in denial; but rather, because every piece of media and social media covered the pandemic. When I scrolled through my Facebook feed, the virus dominated. When I swiped down through Google News, articles about the American and French elections no longer saturated the news networks. Covid-19 did. And I was sick of it because I began to feel the uncertainty weigh in. Mainly about the repercussions. I have never experienced an economic recession as an adult. And now, I’d grown out of the cushion of my adolescence. How would this affect the job market, my career, my finances—how would this affect my mother...Read More

The Bookstores of Paris

Wed, 12 Feb 2020 09:29:39 -0800

I have a problem. I buy way too many books.

Currently, I have a stack of 11 hardcopies that I need to get through. And that’s not counting the eBooks waiting for me in my Kindle. Oh yeah, and these are just the ones I have with me in Paris. I have stacks upon stacks of books waiting for me when I return to California.

The second time I fell in love was also the time I fell in love with the bookstores of Paris. The man of my sixteen-year-old teenage fantasies took me to Shakespeare & Co. He was the manifestation of my teenage dreams because he was tall, dark, spoke multiple languages, wore black spectacles, and found me in front of a cathedral. He also took me to a bookstore. Which was full of my favorite things.

That was over two years ago, when I was just visiting Paris for the first time. Now that I live here, one of my favorite things to do when friends and acquaintances visit is to introduce them to the bookshops near Cluny La Sorbonne, Odeon, and Saint-Michel. Like people, they all sport different personalities, with various things to offer and discover. Here’s a list of my most beloved:

Shakespeare & Company

By far the most famous Anglophone bookstore in Paris. Not only does this bookstore offer thousands of books, including a separate poetry room, but it also holds free book readings and talks by well-known authors regularly. My favorite thing to do here is to go upstairs and hang out in the lending library: a room full of old and new books alike that you can read while you lounge on the plush couches and pet the store’s cat. If you’re so lucky, someone will serenade you on the piano while you read the history plaques posted about the store’s namesake: Sylvia Beach. The current shop is named after her famous 20^th century Anglophone bookshop, where she published and supported some of literary’s greats like James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway.

Outside, you can peruse a prime selection...Read More

The Unforeseen Consequences of Being Too Much "In My Head"

Fri, 10 Jan 2020 14:52:22 -0800

I have always spent way too much time in my head. I’ve been this way ever since I was little. My favorite childhood memories are of daydreaming, of being imaginative and playful. My favorite childhood memories aren’t memories at all—they’re of the fantasies I formed in my head. Two years ago when I sat down to write the story of my life, my opening lines were: “I have spent most my life in my thoughts”. Because it’s true.

I recently went on a first date with a man who asked me, "What is your favorite thing to do in the world?" I squinted my eyes a bit, and thought. "To think," I replied, without second-guessing myself. Next to me, my Parisian best friend rolled her eyes and scoffed. Later, she would tell me, “That’s not what you say on a first date, Emmy.” And maybe she’s right, but I’m dead set on being myself, otherwise, how am I going to attract the right person?

There are consequences to being too dreamy.

Practical consequences. Hit-you-right-in-your-face consequences. Like how I am always running late, because when I put makeup on in the morning I zone out and think about all the things I want to come to pass. And when I look at the time I should have already left 10 minutes before, but I haven’t even put my mascara on.

The worst is when something emotionally taxing, or distressing occurs. I start to forget shit. Important shit. Like things for work, which results in financial consequences. Or I forget to pay bills on time or reply to emails. Or I forget my flight from Stockholm to Paris the day before I have to go back to work. Shit like that. You know, shit that matters.

I've come to accept this part of who I am.

So after checking out of the immaculate Stockholm hostel, finally glancing at my phone just for kicks, to see that my flight had arrived in Paris—because it was scheduled to leave at 6AM that day—it didn’t surprise me much. I was eager to grab a cinnamon...Read More