The Stone Book

They say that long before ink was invented, before men carved their stories into cave walls or pressed reed to papyrus, the Earth herself wrote a book.

Not with words, but with time.

She bound it not in leather, but in pressure and silence. Layer upon layer, century after century, pressed together by tides older than memory. It was not written in a language the tongue could speak, but one the soul might remember—if it listened hard enough.

The elders of the coast call it The Stone Book. Hidden between the jaws of ancient cliffs, revealed only when the tide draws back as if turning a page. It looks like a tome forgotten by gods, left behind in a moment of absentminded divinity.

They say the one who reads the Stone Book—truly reads it—can hear the voices of extinct forests, can smell the breath of volcanoes long cooled, can feel the heartbeat of the Earth before it ever knew our name. But it does not give up its story easily. It waits. Patient as time. Silent as the grave.

And once in a great while, a wanderer finds it. Not by map or compass, but by ache—some gnawing need to go where reason says there’s nothing. These are the chosen ones, the accidental prophets.

They find The Stone Book in a cleft of rock, where sea meets sand, sun meets shadow. And when they reach out to touch it, they feel warmth—an impossible, ancient warmth—like the last breath of something holy.

But the book cannot be taken. It does not belong on a shelf. Its story must remain unread, remembered not in pages, but in awe. A relic of a time when the Earth still believed in magic, and was kind enough to leave behind proof.

Hag Fag 2: How to Be a Proper Fag to a Hag: A 10-Step Guide

They say behind every great hag is an even greater fag—and darling, you can be that fabulous bestie. But don’t think it’s all about compliments and cocktails. Oh no, it’s a full-time job. From Mon’s chaotic brilliance to Nina’s protective shield, my hags have taught me that this sacred role requires dedication, sass, and a flair for the dramatic.

Here are ten essential steps to becoming the perfect fag to your hag:

Step 1: Scout for Potential Hags

A great hag is usually spotted in the wild—possibly wielding a Golden Gate Bridge snow globe, laughing too loudly at her own jokes, or confidently rocking a bold red lip in a room full of beige. Think Mon sending glitter bombs or Cat channeling Uma Thurman realness. If she’s unafraid to be seen or heard, she’s a potential candidate.

Step 2: Learn the Art of the Compliment

Every hag needs a fag who can deliver a compliment like it’s the final rose ceremony of The Bachelor.Whether it’s about her shoes, her hair, or the time she casually dismantled her ex’s ego at a dinner party, let her know she’s radiant. Bonus points for using words like “divine,” “iconic,” or “majestic.”

Step 3: Develop a Telepathic Drinking Language

One look across a crowded bar should be all it takes. She nods; you know it’s vodka. You raise an eyebrow; she orders another round. There’s no room for ambiguity here—your telepathy must be sharper than Cat’s eyeliner on a Monday morning.

Step 4: Perfect the Role of the Bodyguard

Every hag will, at some point, attract an unwanted admirer. When Nina shielded me from the jocks in school, she showed me the kind of loyalty I had to pay forward. Whether it’s a drunken creep at a club or her ex at the supermarket, step in, look intimidating (or just raise your green eyebrows, as I once did), and diffuse the situation with charm or sarcasm.

Step 5: Know Your Shared Anthems

You’re not a true fag to your hag until you’ve belted Vogue together at karaoke, preferably while wearing something ridiculous. Know your playlist of empowerment bangers—Madonna, ABBA, Beyoncé, and maybe a sprinkling of Britney. If a dance floor opens up, you lead the way.

Step 6: Be Ready for Midnight Pep Talks

At 3 AM, when she’s sobbing over someone named Tom (or was it Tim?), your phone better be on loud. Whether it’s providing sage advice, googling motivational quotes, or reminding her that she’s too fabulous for mediocre men, you’re on call. Always.

Step 7: Master the Art of Drama

Drama school wasn’t just for the spotlight—it was training for the ultimate fag-hag dynamic. Together, you’ll reenact movie scenes, pretend to faint for effect, or stage elaborate public spectacles to embarrass nosy Karens. Channel your inner Diane and give birth to a football in the middle of the metaphorical classroom.

Step 8: Become the Fashion Consultant

Chanelle and her sisters taught me everything I needed to know about nails, extensions, and wigs. Now, it’s your turn to pass the knowledge along. You don’t have to be Anna Wintour, but you do need to say things like, “Honey, no one’s pulling off chartreuse, not even Rihanna,” with absolute conviction.

Step 9: Share the Spotlight

Yes, you’re fabulous, but remember—it’s a partnership. This is not your one-man show. If she’s feeling down, hand her the figurative microphone and hype her up until she’s the Beyoncé to your Kelly. Friendship is about balance (and the occasional ego boost).

Step 10: Leave a Legacy

Every great fag leaves their mark on their hag’s life—whether it’s a broken snow globe, a singed wig from a failed drag experiment, or just an inside joke that can make her laugh for decades. Create memories that’ll make her say, “You were my best bad decision.”

Final Thought:

Being a fag to a hag isn’t just a role—it’s a lifestyle, an art, a sacred bond that transcends glitter, drama, and late-night kebabs. Mon, Nina, Diane, and all the fabulous hags in my life have shaped me, just as I hope I’ve shaped them. So grab your metaphorical snow globe and go brighten someone’s day. Because in the end, isn’t that what we’re here for?

Help Us Find Missing Loved Ones in Lebanon: A Personal Plea

Help Us Find Missing Loved Ones in Lebanon: A Personal Plea

The ongoing conflict in Lebanon has brought unimaginable devastation to countless families, including our own. Recently, my partner Adam’s family home was bombed and completely destroyed, leaving many of his relatives unaccounted for in the rubble. As of now, we are still searching for his missing cousins, while tragically, we’ve already lost his aunt in the destruction.

For Adam and his family, this is a living nightmare, one that I know all too well. I was just a child during the war in the Balkans, and although my family was safe in Sweden, many of our loved ones faced the horrors of conflict daily. I know the anguish of not knowing where your loved ones are, the helplessness that weighs on you as the days go by with no answers.

But we refuse to give up.

We’ve launched a GoFundMe fundraiser to help aid in the search for Adam’s missing family members and to provide support to others in the area who are suffering the same fate. Any funds raised will go towards search efforts, aid for those who have lost their homes, and providing shelter for families who have nowhere to turn.

We’re asking for your help in this time of great need. Whether it’s through a donation, sharing our story, or simply sending us your thoughts and prayers, every bit of support makes a difference.

No family should have to face this kind of heartache alone. Together, we can offer hope where there is none and bring relief to those suffering in silence.

Please click the link below to learn more and donate if you’re able:

Emergency funds to find Adam’s family

From the bottom of our hearts, we thank you for your kindness and generosity. 🙏🏼❤️‍🩹

The Importance of Pride

As we celebrate Pride, it’s a moment to reflect on its profound importance within the LGBTQ+ community. Pride is more than just vibrant parades and joyful festivities; it’s a powerful reminder of the struggles, resilience, and victories of a community that has fought tirelessly for recognition, acceptance, and equality.

Pride signifies the strength and unity of the LGBTQ+ community. It’s a time to honor those who have paved the way for the rights we enjoy today, and to acknowledge that there is still work to be done. It’s a celebration of diversity, where love and identity are embraced in all their forms, without fear or shame.

For many, Pride is a beacon of hope. It’s a reminder that everyone deserves to live their truth openly and authentically. It fosters a sense of belonging and support, showing that no one is alone in their journey. The solidarity and acceptance experienced during Pride can be life-changing, especially for those who may still be facing prejudice and discrimination.

In essence, Pride is a powerful affirmation of self-worth and dignity. It encourages us all to stand up against inequality and to champion a world where everyone is free to be who they are. Let’s continue to support and uplift the LGBTQ+ community, not just during Pride, but every single day.

The Good Ol’ Days

Alright, darlings, listen up. 

Life, my dears, is an endless parade of the mundane, the trivial, the downright banal. We’re all just clinging to our iPhones, scrolling through endless feeds of utter drivel, hoping for that one moment of excitement, a glimmer of interest, a flicker of fame. The very essence of our daily existence has become a tedious routine, punctuated by the occasional meme or viral video that temporarily lifts us from our ennui. 

Oh, don’t get me started on the whole social media debacle. I mean, really. Once upon a time, a girl could go out, get plastered, and wake up with nothing but a hangover and a vague sense of shame. Now, every embarrassing moment is captured, filtered, and posted for all the world to see. There’s no escape. It’s like living in a fishbowl, darling, and I’m the prize goldfish.

Take TikTok, for example. Have you seen what the youths are up to these days? Dancing like demented marionettes to snippets of songs, hoping to become the next viral sensation. It’s all so desperately tedious. In my day, if you wanted to be famous, you had to have actual talent. Now, you just need a ring light and a modicum of coordination. And don’t even get me started on those influencers. What exactly are they influencing, besides my gag reflex?

And then there’s Instagram. Oh, Instagram, you fickle mistress. Everyone’s a photographer now, aren’t they? Snapping pictures of their avocado toast, their yoga poses, their insipidly perfect lives. It’s all so dreadfully fake. Remember the days when a photo was something you had to develop? You had to be selective, choose your moments. Now, it’s all about quantity over quality. Post ten selfies a day, and hope that one gets enough likes to validate your existence.

Twitter (or X as it’s now so deceivingly called)? Don’t even talk to me about Twitter. It’s like the digital equivalent of shouting into the void. Everyone’s got an opinion, and they’re all equally worthless. The outrage, the virtue signaling, the endless threads of nonsense. It’s a cacophony of idiocy, and we’re all just adding to the noise. In the past, you could simply avoid people you didn’t like. Now, they’re inescapable, their every inane thought broadcast to the world.

And let’s not forget Facebook. The granddaddy of social media, where boomers go to share conspiracy theories and cat videos. It’s a wasteland of bad grammar and worse opinions. I mean, really, who needs to know what your aunt had for breakfast or your former classmate’s political rants? It’s like being trapped in a never-ending high school reunion, with all the awkward small talk and none of the free booze.

But it’s not just social media, darling. The whole of modern life has become a monotonous slog. Remember when shopping was an event? You’d dress up, hit the boutiques, maybe have a cheeky cocktail or three. Now, it’s all online. Click, add to cart, repeat. There’s no joy in it anymore. The thrill of the hunt has been replaced by the convenience of next-day delivery. Where’s the fun in that?

And work. Oh, the drudgery of it all. Once, there was a time when a job was something you did to pay the bills, and you left it at the office. Now, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, we’re all constantly connected, perpetually on call. Emails at midnight, Zoom meetings from your living room, the lines between work and home life blurred beyond recognition. It’s all so terribly exhausting. And for what? A pat on the back and a slightly larger paycheck? I’d rather have a good, stiff drink, thank you very much.

Speaking of drinks, even that’s lost its charm. Once, you could go to a bar, order a proper cocktail, and enjoy it in peace. Now, it’s all about craft beers and artisanal spirits, each more pretentious than the last. Bartenders who think they’re chemists, concocting ridiculous concoctions with ingredients you’ve never heard of. It’s all so unbearably hipster. Give me a simple gin and tonic any day.

And what about relationships? In the past, you’d meet someone in the real world, maybe at a party or through a mutual friend. You’d have actual conversations, get to know each other. Now, it’s all about dating apps. Swipe left, swipe right, a never-ending carousel of potential partners, judged solely on their profile pictures and a few pithy lines. It’s all so superficial. Romance has been reduced to a series of digital transactions, and love is just another commodity.

Oh, and the children! Have you seen them lately? Glued to their screens, utterly disengaged from the world around them. In my day, kids played outside, scraped their knees, had adventures. Now, they’re all indoors, eyes fixed on their devices, living vicariously through YouTube and Minecraft. It’s a tragedy, really. They’re missing out on the simple joys of childhood, the freedom to explore and imagine.

And fashion. Don’t get me started on fashion. Once, there was a time when style mattered, when people dressed to impress. Now, it’s all athleisure and normcore, a sea of blandness and conformity. Where’s the glamour, the pizzazz? We’ve traded elegance for comfort, and it’s all so depressingly pedestrian. Even couture has lost its edge, with designers pandering to the masses instead of pushing boundaries. I miss the days of bold statements and daring silhouettes. Now, it’s all about what sells, not what inspires.

And food! Remember when dining out was an event, a chance to indulge in something exquisite? Now, it’s all about fast-casual and food delivery apps. People are more interested in how their meal looks on Instagram than how it tastes. We’ve lost the art of savoring, replaced by the need for instant gratification. It’s all so soulless.

But I digress. The banality of everyday life is inescapable, and we’re all complicit in perpetuating it. We’ve traded depth for convenience, substance for style. Our lives are a series of fleeting moments, captured and curated for public consumption, devoid of true meaning. We’ve become slaves to our devices, addicted to the dopamine hit of a like or a retweet. It’s all so dreadfully hollow.

And yet, we persist. We wake up, go through the motions, and hope that maybe, just maybe, something extraordinary will happen. We cling to the illusion of control, the belief that we can shape our destinies through sheer force of will. But the truth is, we’re all just cogs in a machine, grinding away in the service of a system that cares nothing for our hopes and dreams.

So what’s the solution, darling? How do we break free from the monotony, the soul-crushing banality of modern existence? I wish I had the answer. Perhaps it’s a return to simplicity, to the things that truly matter. Real connections, genuine experiences, a life lived fully and authentically. Or maybe it’s about finding joy in the little things, the small moments of beauty and wonder that can still surprise us if we’re willing to look.

One thing’s for certain: we need to reclaim our lives from the clutches of technology, to resist the lure of the digital siren song. We need to be present, to engage with the world around us, to rediscover the magic of real, unfiltered human interaction. It won’t be easy, but it’s a fight worth fighting.

So here’s to us, darling. To the dreamers, the rebels, the ones who refuse to settle for the banal. Let’s raise a glass to a life less ordinary, to the pursuit of passion and purpose, to the glorious, messy, beautiful adventure that is existence. 

Cheers! 🥂

TWO MONTHS AGO I ALMOST ENDED MY LIFE...

TWO MONTHS AGO I ALMOST ENDED MY LIFE... 

This year came tumbling down like nothing before it. The COVID pandemic disrupted the world in unimaginable ways and left a trail of destruction, sadness and hardship in its wake. 

I know it’s been a hard year for most people across the globe. I am no exception. 

Furloughed from work I spent my days locked up at home, afraid of this virus and hellbent to stay away from it at any cost, isolating myself. I guess in the midst of it all I became a nasty person to be around and this affected my marriage in a really bad way. Like any couple, we had our issues but this time round we couldn’t work through them and we decided to separate. 

In my mind I thought that we’d have the opportunity to somehow repair and mend what we broke but everything happened so fast. Within a month my then husband found a new place to live and moved out of our apartment, taking half of it with him. 

I was left alone in a half empty dwelling with all the memories and ghosts of our past. Combined with not knowing what is happening at work, (my contract runs out on 30th of September), and the news that my company was letting 4300 people go, I started to spiral.. 

When Nemo took our dog Nellie for a couple of weeks I suddenly didn’t even have a reason so get out of bed.. 

Days merged into each other and the darkness surrounded me in such a way that I just couldn’t see a sliver of hope anymore. 

I had lost everything that made me feel secure; the person that I was meant to be with for the rest of my life. My partner in crime, my lover and my best friend. My entire world came crashing down on me and I was unable to crawl out of the wreckage. Instead I started sinking with the ship.. 

I have a lot of amazing people in my life. If you are reading this, then you are surely one of them. But reaching out to any of you was not possible for me. The shame of those dark thoughts combined with the crippling feeling of hopelessness made it impossible to reach out to anyone. And every day I sank further and further..

I am not a weak person. I am the opposite. But when a chain of events so destructive takes hold of your life there’s only so much a person can handle.. 

I thought of different ways of ending it all. Every way imaginable, I thought of it. 

But a tiny part of me was still fighting, still hanging on and preventing me from taking that final step. That part of me was strong enough to muster up the courage and ask for help. 

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do!

Finding help wasn’t easy. Wherever I turned the phones just kept ringing and nobody answered. I was put in a phone queue and was told I was number 98 in line. 

I waited and I waited. Hours went by. But that queue never seemed to shorten. I gave up. 

Until next day. I tried again. I called different numbers, I searched the internet but it seemed that during the worst year in modern history many known helplines have been closed or disconnected. 

Finally I managed to get hold of the psychiatric ward at the hospital here in Gothenburg and managed to get through. They took me in and helped me find my way back out of the deep hole I had spiraled down in. I am now in therapy, working through my issues. Some that are rooted deep in my childhood even. A lot of events throughout my life brought me to this place. It wasn’t “just” the stuff that happened this year. It was just the last drop that made my cup overflow... 

Why am I telling you all this now? 

There are two reasons. First of all, I know I am not the only one going through hell at the moment. There are more people out there that are struggling with the same emotions and are feeling hopeless and afraid. 

If you are one of them then I want you to know that YOU ARE NOT ALONE! You don’t have to go through this alone. There is help to get! 

Your life matters! YOU matter! 

It may be hard to see when you are at your lowest point and everything feels hopeless. But know that you are loved and you are needed by the people in your life. Don’t give up! Ask for help. If you need someone to talk to, I am here. 

Here are also the numbers where you can get help: 

Psykiatrisk mottagning Östra: 031-3421000

Psykaukten Stockholm: ‭08-123 484 00‬

MIND självmordslinjen: 90101

AssistLine (UK) : 0800 689 5652

HopeLine (UK) : 0800 068 4141

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (USA):

1-800-273-8255‬

And here is a site with international helplines:

http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

I hope that this post can help someone who’s struggling and needs courage to ask for help. 

The second reason for me posting this is because I find myself at a crossroads between the life I once knew and the scary future ahead.. 

I am lost and I am scared of what the future holds. I need help to discover what life could be again. Do you have any advice that could help me find my way back to myself again? Anything to help bring on the positive change I need..

Please send me a DM. Or share in this post and maybe that advice can help someone else too... 

I just know that I am still fighting. I am still pushing forward. I AM STILL ALIVE! 

Feel free to share this post if you think it could help someone in need. 

Thank you for taking the time to read this. 

Dan ❤️

Ode to my Nana

When a soul leaves this earth, how do we keep their memory alive and make sure they aren't devoured by the forgetfulness of time? 

We tell their story, of course. And this one was my nanas..

The year 1931 in a small Bosnian village my nana Marica was born. She was one of 12 brothers and sisters growing up in the countryside. Sadly her childhood didn't last very long nor was it a happy one for that matter. As World War 2 broke out she had just turned 8 years old. Fleeing for safety most of her family was captured, split up and sent to the Jasenovac concentration camp in Bosnia. She witnessed her father Ilija and two older brothers, Vlado and Boro, brutally executed as a warning to everyone. 'Do as we say, or else..' was the message their charred bodies portrayed as they were burned alive. 

A few years ago, before she got a stroke, I sat her down and purposefully made her take this painful trip down memory lane. 

I wanted to know about her life so that one day I could tell her story. It is a life worth remembering. She told me about my grand grandmother Petra, a good hearted and strong woman who lost 4 

children either in child birth or at a very early stage in their lives. She raised the remaining 6 alone after her husband and two sons lost their lives in the war. Radojka, Nevenka and Ratko emigrated to America in the 50's while the youngest; Vida moved to Australia in the 60's. The only ones left in former Yugoslavia were Nada and my nana Marica. 

Once she turned 15 my nana started working in an Iron Foundry as a metal worker. Tough job for a young girl but in those days beggars couldn't be choosers. 

At the age of 24 she met my grandfather Ljubodrag Vrbaski, an officer in the Yugoslavian army and an Auscwitz survivor. They moved to Novi Sad and got married a year later and a year after that their only child was born; my mother Katarina. Sadly their marriage didn't last very long due to my granddads constant infidelity and they divorced when my mother was 6 years old. 

Nana claims that she never loved another man after that. She gave up on men all-together and instead focused her life on raising her daughter and working 14 hour days at the factory. 

And then, she said, came her first and for many years only grandchild; me. 

Once retired from the iron foundry she helped raise me while my mom was at work. I remember our small one bedroom apartment in Zlatna Greda street in Novi Sad. It was a measly 25 square meters with a communal outhouse and no shower. A woodburning stove and a bucket for your needs during cold winter nights. But she made the most of it on her tiny pension and there was nothing I loved more than a nice home cooked meal at my nanas place. 

A few years later my mother and I moved to Sweden. I remember I was 6 at the time and nana was crying as I waved goodbye. 

It took another few more years until our paperworks were finished and my mother could bring nana over to live with us until she got a place of her own.

It was a hard decision for someone in their 60's to just pack up and leave the life you know behind. And it was hard for her once she joined us too. She struggled with the language and never mastered more than a few words, her favorite one being 'Bra, bra!' meaning 'Good, good!' 

It was her answer to anything and everything. She soon found her greatest hobby and favorite pastime; collecting cans and bottles and recycling them for a cash profit at the local supermarket. Every day she would walk for hours and in a week she could easily make about a 500 SEK profit. 

I remember being ashamed of her behavior when I was in my early teens. She cramped my style as I tried to get in with the cool kids in school and at times I would walk past her pretending I didn't know her. She didn't mind back then. But I do mind now. 

Growing up I too fled the life I knew for greener pastures in Great Britain. I lived my life to the fullest visiting maybe once a year, if that. Each time culminating in a home cooked meal at my nanas house and each time she would give me a parting gift of some of her hard earned recycling cash and I would gladly take it and treat myself to a couple of nights out in London upon my return. 

I was ashamed of her back then, but today I am ashamed of my behavior. I hope she knows that now.

Her final five years she spent at the Kviberg Retirement home as her health prevented her from looking after herself. And she refused to move in with my mom and her ex-husband because she couldn't witness the abuse he put her through. Instead she asked to spend her final days with people her own age.

My mother visited and took care of my nana several days a week. I visited her as often as I could, but towards the end I found it hard to muster up the strength to go and see her. I couldn't cope with the fact that my beloved nana was wasting away in front of my eyes.. 

Somehow I was hoping to preserve her in my memory the way she once was; feisty, colorful and full of life. Not the empty shell of the wonderful woman I once knew.

Nana, however, didn't give up. Her heart was strong and kept her alive through 4 pneumonias during the last three years of her life. An accomplishment rarely reached by someone in their 80's. In the end she was the only one left of all her brothers and sisters with great aunty Vida and great uncle Ratko passing on within a couple of months from eachother earlier this year. 

Today we lay her beautiful soul to rest. 

It is a gloomy, dark and rainy day. My heart is heavy and it aches at the thought that I'll never see my nana again. But I have to be strong today. I have to muster up the courage not to break down and be there for my mom through this hard time. And somehow find solace in the fact that mom and I were with nana through her last days. I just hope she could feel our presence. 

Rest in peace nana! May the black earth be gentle on your soul and give her the peace she deserves. Finally she is reunited with her brothers and sisters, and one day, we will be reunited with her.. 

Marica Međed

28.06.1931

~

22.10.2015

Wedding Speech for Edward and Monica

The first time I met Monica there was an instant connection and I knew that very moment that I had found the woman of my dreams. I knew that i had found my soulmate. But being an out and proud gay man this was somewhat confusing for me. (pause for laugh)

According to a dictionary a Soulmate is 

a person with whom you have an immediate connection the moment you meet - a connection so strong that you are drawn to them in a way you have never experienced before. With them you are all that much more aware of the beauty in life, because you have been given a great gift and will always be thankful.

It was clear to me that I had found someone i could share my deepest and darkest secrets with and she would never judge me for them, if anything she would love me even more. 

I could take her shopping and steer her clear of the hideous outfits that seem good in theory but not in practice. A sort of fashion police if you will. Although even I have been guilty of some fashion faux pas over the years. (pause for laugh)

Our relationship consists of unconditional love and respect for one another and I can only remember one major fight we ever had; it was when she decided to move out of our home that we had shared for many years in favor of moving in with her then husband to be. It resulted in a screaming match so loud that the neighbors called the police and reported domestic violence. Imagine the officers surprise when they found a hysterical screaming queen and a bleached blonde in a cat fight over who gets to keep the dining room table.. (pause for laugh)

In many ways we were just like any old 'married couple'. We enjoyed the little things in life, laughed, bickered, bitched and cried together. We were always there for one another and we worked together to realise our dreams; from fantasizing of the Galápagos Islands as teenagers to making it there in person as adults. Monica is the most wonderful woman I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She is my best friend, my sister, my soulmate and the wife I'll never and always have. But as much as i saw us together for the rest of our lives there were certain "husbandly" obligations i just could not accomplish. (laugh)

Enter Edward Jenkins.

Meeting Ed, same cataclysmic effect took place for Monica but this time it was with a man who could fulfill all her dreams and needs. A man who could challenge her, push her limits and boundaries and open her mind even further. He would come to love her in the same unconditional way and slowly they would start building their dreams and making them a reality. 

It has been a great pleasure getting to know Ed. He is an incredible man with a big heart. He's aloof, spontaneous and quirky and totally 'out there' - a perfect compliment to Monicas list making, planning and CCD (compulsive cleaning disorder) - a Ying to her Yang if you will. 

A perfect example was our roadtrip to Vegas when he proposed to her in the Nevada desert while the sun was setting over the pyramid, Eiffel Tower and Caesars Palace. The whole world in one place. Only he forgot one thing - Mons uncontrollable fear of snakes. Although the proposal was a roaring  success it was marked by the 'Warning of Rattle Snakes' sign forever etched in her mind. Monicas perfect moment with an unexpected twist. 

See how they balance each other out? (laugh) 

The culmination of their love has resulted in yet another perfection in the form of baby Dash. The best of both worlds, completing their lovely family together with Jimmy pup and Tilly cat. For now. 

Together they make the perfect family and I couldn't have wished for a better man to hand my best friend over to. Most of all I am grateful that he doesn't mind sharing his wife with me from time to time. A happy ending for all of us! (laugh)

Thank you Ed for making her the happiest woman in the world. I couldn't have done it better myself. (laugh)

So as an ending to this very long speach, here is a poem that could hopefully teach,

a thing or two for a happy long life, 

forever together as husband and wife.

LIVE EVERY DAY WITH YOUR LOVE AS A GUIDE; ALWAYS GIVE MORE THAN YOUR GROOM OR YOUR BRIDE;

FIND IN EACH OTHER THE FUNNIEST THINGS, AND SHARE WITH EACH OTHER WHEN YOUR HEART SINGS.

AND NO TRUER WORDS HAVE EVER BEEN PENNED, THAN THE CRUX OF YOUR LOVE IS JUST BEING BEST FRIENDS.

FROM THIS DAY ON YOU ARE NEVER ALONE; WHEREVER YOU ARE, IT IS YOUR SPOUSE THAT’S YOUR HOME.

AND WHEN TIME HAS PASSED AND THE TWO OF YOU AGE, AND YOUR LIVES ARE ABOUT TO TURN THE LAST PAGE,

YOU’LL SEE NOT THE WRINKLES, NOR THE OLD, NOR THE GREY – INSTEAD YOU’LL SEE YOURSELVES AS YOU ARE ON THIS DAY.

I HOPE THAT YOU’LL GIVE LIFE TO MY EARLY REPRISE, AND THAT YOU’LL SAY TO EACH OTHER FROM TIRED OLD EYES:

“THERE’S NO ROMEO NOR JULIET THAT EVER WAS, IS OR WILL BE, THAT COULD EVER COMPARE TO WHAT IS YOU AND ME.

I SAID IT BEFORE AND I’LL SAY IT TIMES TEN: GIVEN THE CHANCE, I WOULD DO IT AGAIN.

IF SOME WONDROUS FORCE TOOK US BACK WAY BACK WHEN, AND THE LIVES THAT WE’VE LIVED STARTED OVER AGAIN,

I’D AGAIN FIND YOU AND COURT YOU AS HUSBAND OR WIFE; YOU’RE THE FABRIC, THE PURPOSE AND MY REASON FOR LIFE.”

Let's raise a glass and toast to the perfect couple. May they live happily ever after and continue to brighten up all our lives with their presence. To Monica and Edward Jenkins. Now and forever! 

Cheers!

8 letters. 3 words.

Relationships are never easy. No one ever said that they were. But then again we as mankind don’t seem to like anything to be too easy. It seems we always strive for and want something that takes some fighting for. I guess that in the end the effort makes the reward so much greater.

Experience has solely taught me to fight for what I believe in and for what I really want. And I try with all my might to abide by that philosophy. But when you meet someone who’s beliefs are completely opposite from yours it gets really complicated. You start questioning if what you believe really is the right thing and you start to re-evaluate your thinking.

They say that all good relationships are based on equality. But equality can be hard to achieve. There are many factors that play vital parts in obtaining some sort of balance. Different circumstances all add to the equation. Age, experiences, background, education, financial status, upbringing, culture and environment are amongst the most vital ones. 

Overcoming these obstacles can be difficult but not impossible when it’s a question of love. The important thing is to recognise each other’s strengths and weaknesses and work together to balance them out as a couple. I for instance don’t have a higher education to fall back on. Flunking after high school I have always relied on luck to get by in life. It has worked out pretty good so far but as a result I often find myself in situations where I feel incredibly stupid in intellectual conversations. I wouldn’t call myself unintelligent but I sure am no intellectual. Having grown up trilingual I feel as if I’ve mastered the languages to a ‘get by adequately’ level. It’s only when I get to Serbia, my country of birth, that I feel like a tourist who’s just learned the language from a guidebook. I know it’s not intentional but sometimes people I speak with can make me feel really dumb. Good thing that the man I’m with has studied philology all his adult life and can help me correct some of the mistakes I make on a daily basis.

At times I use generosity to make up for feeling stupid. I have been brought up with a sharing mentality and one of my beliefs is that happiness is always at its best when it’s shared with your near and dear ones. I am not a materialistic person. Anyone who knows me can vouch for that. But when I am able to I will make sure that everyone around me is fed and dined and is having a good time. But sadly, this can sometimes be perceived in a wrong way and people feel overpowered.

It is not my intention to make anyone feel bad or feel that they are worth less by any means. On the contrary, when I come to Serbia I have enough money to treat myself to a lifestyle I can’t quite afford back home in Sweden. I splurge on cab fares, clothes, restaurants and travel. I do this because I can and I always try to include my partner or my friends. When all's said and done how much fun is it to do anything alone?

I am also a very emotional person. I make all my decisions on a completely emotional level whilst my partner is more sensible when it comes to decision making. It took some time to get my head around his way of thinking and I still haven’t grasped it completely but I feel like I am finally getting there. It is no secret that our differences have caused trouble in our relationship. Sometimes to a breaking point. We have argued and we have fought and said some terrible things to each other.

Whoever said that words can cut deeper than the sharpest knife was right. Some of my oldest insecurities stem from unintentional things people have said in the past. But I am not much different as I too have made the same mistake. All I can do is ask for forgiveness and hope that the wound I caused doesn’t leave a scar.

It’s been a year now and living 1547 kilometres apart has not been easy most of the time. It’s taken some hard work, plenty of effort and a lot of soul searching and it seems we’ve reached a milestone.

All things considered, when you truly love someone you should do everything in your power to work through your differences. If you are lucky enough to find someone good in this world then do whatever it takes to keep them in your life because many people are not that lucky.

At the end of the day it all comes down to forgiving and forgetting and moving forward. Learning from your mistakes and growing with them. And to be able to let one another know how much you mean to each other. Eight letters. Three words. Very rarely heard. 

Hopeless Romantic

Being a hopeless romantic is not easy. I never thought it would be.As our world keeps evolving and getting more modern by the click of a mouse we seem to be losing touch with what romance really is.

Growing up as a kid I loved getting lost in fairytales. I used to fantasize about one day meeting that special someone, getting swiped off my feet, riding with my lover into the sunset and living happily ever after. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not a complete moron. I do have some sense left in me to know that fairytales aren’t real and that love rarely happens like it does in the movies. But then again, I also think, that if I still believe in romance like that surely there has to be more people that do out there in this world. Or is there?

I’ve come across a few individuals that claim to be as hopelessly romanticized as I am, but when push comes to shove it turns out that only in theory are they prepared to live out those emotions. In practice it’s a completely different matter. I don’t understand what people are so afraid of?If I had given up or lost hope that one day I will find someone who’ll fulfill me in the way that I would like them to then I would have packed my bags a long time ago and settled on a desert island away from the perils of reality. But I haven’t. I’m still here.

‘It Love at first sight’ said Kylie. ‘Love is a losing game’ replied Amy Winehouse. ‘Love tried to welcome me’ exclaimed Madonna. ‘Nothing’s real but Love’ announced Rebecca Ferguson.

I didn’t choose to be a romantic. It just happened. In all honesty I don’t know how. The prospects of me ever becoming one were slim to nothing seeing as my own mother never had any luck in that department. I kept witnessing one failed marriage after another. My nan only ever had one man. Once that was over she swore off men (and sex for that matter) forever. Never once did I see her or hear her speak of a man, ever. My granddad on the other hand was what Britney would call a Womanizer. He couldn’t get enough. He was chivalrous but never romantic.

So where did this stem from within me? Was it the lack of love and romance in my childhood that created this hunger? Or was it childhood defiance that made me go in the opposite direction to the people around me?

All I know is that I had no choice. And I still don’t.

Try as I may I find it hard to live without romance in my life. I yearn for it. I long for it. I need it!

But instead of waiting for someone to do something romantic for me I started doing things for the people in my life. I’m one of those guys that will fly across the globe to be with the one I love. I won’t see obstacles. I’ll see challenges that I can overcome. I will wake up in the middle of the night just to give my lover a kiss. I will leave little notes in pockets for them to find, sometime, one day. I will share everything I have. I will find out what makes them happy and try to multiply that by a hundred. I will write messages that later I’ll regret because I then realize how cheezy they sound – but feel right at the time. I will leave a flower at their doorstep for them to find when they come home. I will write crazy love letters that make no sense at all. I will shout my love from the highest mountain top. I will try and help make their dreams come true, even if there’s no logical way for me to do that. I will try. I will run through fire to comfort them when they’re sad. If I can’t, then I will cry with them. I will always be on their side, even if they’re wrong. I will try and make them laugh as much as I can. I will show them the world, if only so I can see it through their eyes. I will do anything I can to ensure their happiness. Or at least try to help them achieve it.

There’s no limit to what I am prepared to do, for someone I love. In the hope that maybe one day, someone would be prepared to do the same for me. Maybe these seem like small and insignificant things. But these things can make a world of difference.

That, to me, is romance. That to me is love. Maybe my view on love doesn’t coincide with yours. But it doesn’t mean that it’s not right.It’s a broad term that has many definitions. There’s no right or wrong in love.

The one thing I definitely do know about love is that it’s scary. Plunging in there’s not much else you can do but hope that someone’s there to catch you as you fall.Trust that they won’t break your heart once you let them roam free inside it and believe in an Ever After.

Hopeless. Romantic.

That’s me.

D.

Burning Man

It is with a heavy heart that I start this entry. I am saddened and appaled by how parts of our world are run today.

Last night I reluctantly clicked on a link that was sent to me. The heading read; 'African Man Burned Alive for being Gay'.

As I watched the images that emerged on my screen I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing. With my hand covering my mouth I stared at a poor man beaten to a bloody pulp by an angry mob. People laughing at him as he sat there in the middle of the street covered in blood. Some one was filming the whole thing as they continued to hit him with various objects. Then, suddenly, another man approaches and at first it looked as if he was throwing water at him. Only, seconds later, I realised that what looked like water was in fact gasoline.

Laughing and shouting the poeple threw burning matches towards the already incapacitated man and he burst into flames. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was hoping that this was some scene from a bad horror movie or some sort of sick joke - but the punchline never came.

I sat in horror as it dawned on me that I had just witnessed a real life excecution. Something that was clearly filmed by some sick bastard for amusement.

I feel sick to my stomach that things like this are allowed to happen in the world we live in today.

But what saddens me the most is the fact that this video has been online for at least a month and still there has been no reports about it in the major media. I have been looking for some coverage online. Any coverage. But the only thing I can find is personal blog entries from people as shocked as I am.

Today I took it upo myself to send this link to ALL major News Agencies World Wide.

I have sent it to BBC, CNN, SKY News, Evening Standard, Reuters, B92, Press Association, TT - you name it. All this in hope that some justice will be brought to the Burning Man.

This unknown man that lost his life for loving someone his own gender!

I hope that by bringing this story to the public it will open up the eyes of the world. That by telling this mans story his death wont have been in vain. And if by any chance it makes at least one person realise just how wrong this is - then I will have succeede in my task.

This is the video. I warn you. The images you are about to see are EXTREMELY DISTURBING!!!!

http://www.worldstarhiphop.com/videos/video.php?v=wshhu536vRJhP15Vardd