Nine years ago, I witnessed one of the most heartbreaking moments I have ever experienced in a public space: the terrorist attacks in Barcelona and Cambrils.

I wasn’t watching it unfold on television—I lived only a few streets away, right next to Barcelona’s main police station.

While buying milk for my coffee at the supermarket around the corner, we were suddenly told to run home and lock ourselves in.

Police cars raced past my apartment. Helicopters filled the sky. One of the terrorists, heavily armed, had reached my neighborhood. We were told to stay indoors.

The day after, I sat down and tried to make sense of what had happened.

I recently remembered the essay I wrote back then.

Reading it again today reminded me of this: some people might try to take us down—to destroy our warmheartedness, softness, empathy, and kindness. But if these qualities are firmly anchored in who we are, they will show themselves again. Always.

So, I here are these words exactly as they were written:

Their blood on my feet, our claps in my head

This was the first time terrorism became part of my own reality. 

For quite some time, I had been looking at the world around me, shaking my head in disbelief.

I’m not even going to begin listing what shocks me most. I wouldn’t know where to start—or where to stop.

Yesterday, two cowardly attacks claimed the lives of fourteen people in Catalonia and left more than one hundred others injured. The deadliest attack took place in the beautiful city I had recently begun to call home: Barcelona.

I have friends all over the world—warm-hearted, kind and deeply compassionate human beings. If they happen to live somewhere where something terrible happened, I am the one asking: ‘are you ok?’ 

Yesterday, my phone never stopped ringing. Friends and family reached out, asking if I was okay. The truth was: I didn’t know. I was afraid. Confused. Still trying to grasp what had happened. Yet, wrapped in all your love, care and support, I also felt strangely strong and protected.

As the streets slowly filled with people again, I found myself doing what all of you had done for me first: reaching out to others. Hugging neighbours. Comforting strangers. Becoming part of the same chain of kindness that had first reached me. Reminding one another that love is stronger than hate.

Today I went to Plaça de Catalunya to participate in the minute of silence and afterwards, to walk down Las Ramblas, joining the “demonstration of peace”.  The square was filled with people of all age and backgrounds. Every now and then, the words “No tinc por” (Catalan for “we are not afraid.”) echoed through the crowd.

Were we really not afraid, deep down inside? Or were we simply refusing to let fear become louder than our humanity?

Perhaps we were swallowing our fear because we still had something worth defending: resilience, unity and compassion.

After the minute of silence, the applause began—and carried on. With every single clap, that was joined by a spoken “No tinc por”, an incredible energy spread out. It felt as though all of us were lifted into the blue sky. The sun dried our tears and proved one thing: The beauty (Barcelona) is strong.

We started marching. Entering Las Ramblas, that feeling remained. In my thoughts, I thanked every single police officer for protecting us—not just today, but every day. I lit my first candle at the first spot where so many had already left flowers and teddy bears. People cried, embraced, and applauded. The energy was a mix of sorrow, trying to make sense of all of it, and hope. We made a stand against hate and showed our deep sympathy for the victims and their families. In my heart, I held not just the people here in Barcelona, but everyone affected by violence around the world.

I continued walking and joined the officials for a while, walking next to them. They were less protected than I thought, and I wondered what was going on in their minds and thoughts.

I clapped “No tinc por”.

For those who (well, hopefully) have never experienced something like this: Being surrounded by a crowd of people, clapping, chanting those words from the very bottom of their hearts—that’s when you feel empowered. With every step, every clap, every “No tinc por!” we grew louder. Stronger. Love will win over evil.

The atmosphere and my emotions could not change faster. 

A small group of people on the street to my right caught my attention.

Only a few flowers, scattered, and some candles were to be seen. I left the demonstration, stopped to light another candle and send all my love to the victims. It was right then when I realised my surroundings. The buildings. With the blink of an eye, all the warmth and strength that I felt before disintegrated into a single emotion: inner pain. Pure. It hit me as if someone had taken my heart between their hands and squeezed it whilst clapping. The dead. The injured. The injustice. This could have been me. The day before, not long before the attacks, I had cycled down this very street.

I realized my left foot was standing in blood that hadn’t even dried yet. Wearing flip-flops, I felt as though it entered my body, as if I could feel their pain. I stepped aside, pushed my sunglasses up into my hair, tried to breathe. I watched. People stepped into the blood, took photos, moved on. Rage and helplessness filled me.
I tried to submerge myself again into the powerful wave of “no tinc por”. Did all the affirmations I know – yet my chest remained tight. Yesterday I was the one hugging people, now I would have simply loved to hug the Mosso (policeman) next to me. There was a rifle in between the both of us. The gun. Breathe. The pain. Breathe. My flipflop. Breathe. Legs shaking. Heart racing.

A red light hit my eye. A rolling camera, aimed straight at me. The cameraman seemed pleased to have found someone visibly falling apart. Beside him, an equally satisfied journalist planted his white sneakers directly in the blood. This blonde will do perfectly for the evening news. The lens zoomed in. A nod. The microphone shoved into my face. The first question asked. In silence, I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes, shielding what was left of my heart: Go film your own reflection.

I felt numb, as if I were in a bubble, walking back to my bike on autopilot. Read positive messages from friends trying to cheer me up. Their words reached my heart, yet not my smile. People were saying, “We cannot let them stop us from living our daily lives.” Well, we weren’t, not really. Obviously, we had decided not to hide in our apartments out of fear. And yet, we had stopped our daily lives. We were here, clapping, chanting, leaving candles and flowers. Standing shoulder to shoulder. Refusing to let terror decide who we were—or how we would treat one another. We were actively changing our daily routine because of what had happened yesterday—because of what happens far too often all over the world.

Can I go to the Fiesta de Gràcia tonight, knowing this tragedy just happened? My phone buzzed. As if a Barcelona friend could read my mind: “Fiesta de Gràcia is still on. Just to show ‘No tinc por.'”

Ha—it is already affecting me.

A few hours have passed between being on Las Ramblas and writing this down. Time spent being deeply hurt, wanting to throw up, scream, and hit one of those idiots really badly—and all of you know that I am usually more of a hugger. I had conversations with great friends, filled with love and empathy. I felt protected again, knowing I am not alone with my feelings, that I am understood. Right now, reflecting on what happened while sitting on a bench outside, there are two doves having sex right in front of me. Love is in the air.

What happened in Barcelona yesterday, and to me today, shook me deeply. I will forever carry that blood in the form of empathy, humanity, and kindness in my heart; I will forever feel the vibrations of “No tinc por” in my cells.

Because after all, no matter how broken this world sometimes feels, there are people in this world who still show that life is lovable.

Nine Years Later

Looking back today, I realise that what stayed with me wasn’t only the horror of that day.

It was the extraordinary humanity that followed.

The strangers who hugged each other.
The silence.
The applause.
The people who refused to let terrorists have the final word.

I had become part of something much bigger than myself: a community standing together against hate, united by compassion and hope.

The world still feels heavy at times.
Perhaps even heavier than it did back then.

The blood disappeared from the streets.

The sound of that clapping still lives in my heart.

If there is one thing it reminds me of, it is this:

We cannot undo what happened. But we can decide what we carry forward.

As for me, I choose this:

Empathy is never wasted.
Kindness is never weak.
Love is still the strongest force I know.

No birthday.

No big celebration.

No special occasion.

Simply because I felt like it.

A friend replied:

“Treat yourself.”

That phrase stayed with me.

Because how often do we actually say that?

We treat ourselves to an ice cream.

A glass of wine.

A long breakfast.

A new pair of shoes, a nice dinner, or a weekend by the sea.

Indulgence often seems connected to things we can buy, eat, or drink.

This Midsummer was different.

There was no glass of wine.

Instead, I treated myself to a glass of quiet.

A little distance from all those thoughts that always seem to show up right on time.

The worries.

The self-doubt.

Am I good enough?

Am I doing enough?

Am I achieving enough?

Should I have done more?

What if it doesn’t work out?

For this Midsummer weekend, those voices got some time off.

As daylight still lingered around midnight, I realised how rarely we allow ourselves exactly that.

Quiet.

Trust.

Stillness.

Simply the moment itself.

The sun.

The scent of summer.

And the feeling that life doesn’t always have to be evaluated, optimised, or analysed.

Sometimes the greatest form of enjoyment is not found by searching for it somewhere outside ourselves.

Sometimes it comes from letting something go.

Because often it has been waiting within us all along.

In a moment of ease.

In a deep breath.

In the trust that life has something beautiful in store for us.

Since then, I have liked the phrase “Treat yourself” a little bit more.

Because sometimes it means an ice cream.

Sometimes a glass of sparkling wine.

And sometimes it means sending your self-doubt on vacation for a little while and letting life have the final word.

Let’s allow ourselves that.

The sky is gray, the ground is muddy. Rain from above, dirt from below. The kind of weather where you usually glance out the window and decide it is better to stay inside.

Without a dog, I would do exactly that. With a dog, reality looks different.

So, I put on my jacket, take the lead, and head out. Every day. In any weather. An hour of movement, whether it is storming, hailing, or the sky is just laying heavy and gray over the landscape.

Later, back home, I discover it: a dog hair on my sweater.

In the past, this would have bothered me. I always carried that little lint roller to remove dog hair from my clothes. Especially before meetings. When I was invited somewhere. A dog hair was considered flawed. Something that should be made to disappear as quickly as possible.

Today, I see it differently.

When I discover a dog hair on my clothing, it brings a smile to my face. I think of the cuddling on the sofa. Of playing with the ball. Of the little ritual in the morning, while I meditate and my dog lies beside me, breathing deeply and waiting for the day to begin.

It has long been scientifically proven that these moments do something to us. Stroking a dog releases oxytocin—the hormone that promotes trust and relaxation. Playing releases endorphins, and even a walk in the rain helps reduce stress hormones.

A dog enriches everyday life not only through liveliness and connection, but also gives us a solid structure. It ensures that we go outside—no matter how much we might actually be longing for the sofa.

This is where the true significance lies: a four-legged companion is not just a blessing for our mental and physical health, but it reminds us to embrace life in all its facets.

Suddenly, this little hair on the sweater is no longer a flaw, but a quiet sign of closeness, joy, movement, responsibility, and discipline.

Sometimes, we carry on our clothing little reminders of what gives our life structure and warmth.

Along the shore rests a clear, piercing cold that settles deep into the lungs with every breath.

Then it happens.

Without a sound, the sun pushes above the horizon. A narrow line of light touches the muted white of the frozen surface. The trees along the path begin to glow. The night’s moisture has frozen onto the branches, and in the first light they start to shimmer.

Each twig carries a fine edge of crystal. A beauty so quiet it seems almost fragile.

A jogger passes by, his breath forming small clouds in the frosty air. Usually, his gaze stays on the ground oor on the pulse at his wrist, timed by his watch.

But today he pauses.

For three seconds, he lifts his eyes toward the glass-like treetops.

With a faint smile, he continues running.

The lake remains still. The sun climbs higher. New points of light spark in the snow, and beneath the ice there is a soft crack.

It is a morning like many others.
And precisely for that reason, easy to miss.

Sometimes three seconds are enough
to restore something inside us.

Perhaps that is where
a small piece of happiness lives.

Outside, there is that padded silence only winter knows. It feels as though the snow is slowing the rhythm of the world – simply because it can. A timeless phenomenon, indifferent to deadlines, packed meetings, or endless to-do lists.

Inside, time seems to give in to that rhythm. Everything is slightly muted. Slightly slower.

Coats drip quietly onto the floor. Scarves are unwound. Cold hands warm themselves around paper cups. The espresso machine hisses, as if complaining about the morning rush.
Coffee to go. Names are written on cups – sometimes wrong, sometimes with a small heart beside them.

In line stands a woman wearing a coat that has seen many winters. In her hand, a phone she types on mechanically. Her shoulders are tense – that posture one adopts when the day already promises too much before it has even begun.

At a table by the window sits a couple. They speak softly, sharing a croissant. Crumbs on the saucer. She says something; he listens. She laughs, and he briefly places his hand over hers – as if wanting to store that moment of happiness.

Warmth spreads through the room.
Not from the heating.
From something else.

The woman’s name is called. She looks up.

The barista smiles. Not a big smile. Not a staged one.
More like someone who, for a moment, has chosen to truly be there.

The woman hesitates for a second – and smiles back.
Her shoulders drop just slightly.

Nothing remarkable has happened.
Yet something has shifted.

It was only a smile.
Nothing more.

Sometimes that is enough
to make the world feel a little gentler.

Perhaps someone carries that smile onward,
out into the snow.

Who It Is Suitable For

The sessions are perfect for people who…

• …sit a lot or feel physical strain in their daily lives.
• …find it difficult to switch off or settle down in the evening.
• …are regularly tense (neck, shoulders, back).
• …are looking for an uncomplicated, regularly guided relaxation routine.

What You Can Expect

A clearly guided, relaxing hour that noticeably helps you:

• Release physical tension
• Wind down mentally
• Sleep better
• Become more flexible

We start with a brief arrival in the body, work through gentle, everyday stretches — and conclude with a Dream Journey that is loved by all participants and promotes deep relaxation and better sleep. Your camera stays off, so you can fully concentrate on your relaxation.

What You Need

• Yoga or fitness mat
• Warm, comfortable clothes & thick socks
• Two blankets (warmth = relaxation) and a cushion for the relaxation phase.
• Optional: A tea light for the small intention ritual.

Sessions are held via Google Meet or Microsoft Teams.

Perfect for These Target Groups:

WHO	WHY
People with high stress levels	For mental relief
Professionals & Team Leads	For effectively switching off after work
HR Professionals	As simple health promotion
Everyone who wants to noticeably unwind	For a lighter body and mind feeling

Your Options at a Glance

1. Group Session (60 Min, online)

• Relax together – at your own pace, with the camera off.
• Prices: Upon request.

2. 1:1 Relax Coaching (60 Min)

• For your personal “problem area”: tense neck, aching back, stress in the head. Individual. Tailor-made. Effective.
• Prices: Upon request.

3. For Companies, Teams & HR

• Would you like to give your team something truly meaningful?
• The Added Value: For focus, stress reduction & better cohesion.
• Business Rates: Upon request.

Ready for a relaxed body feeling?

Then let’s start: Breathe deeply in, breathe deeply out, and send me an email now at smile[@]liebenswert.art – I look forward to hearing from you!

PS: A portion of the proceeds will go to Frida, a project of my local Stadsmission hier in Västerås. Homeless women receive a safe place to sleep and a warm meal here.

Sometimes the alarm rings, and even before you open your eyes, you know the to-do list is longer than the day has hours. You sense conversations that might be draining, moments when you wish you could just stay in bed — protected under the covers, while the world outside moves on.

Then — amidst this mental tangle — you listen to the rain pattering against the windowpane and think you hear their voice in its rush.

You get up, slowly slip on your wool jacket, and for a moment, it feels as if a familiar embrace is settling around your shoulders. In the aroma of freshly brewed coffee lies a hint of their perfume, a memory of a smile, of warmth, of closeness.

As if they were saying: “You can do this.”

No matter what the day brings, no matter what weather comes, no matter what storm you have to brace yourself against — somewhere out there are people who hold us. Their warmth is present, even if they are in another place.

Like a quiet magic of life that you feel as a thought, as a feeling, as a silent piece of confidence that sustains us when we need it most.

Such people are there. Sometimes only in thought, sometimes in the heart, sometimes simply in the sound of the rain or in a sunbeam that briefly falls through the window.

And suddenly, the day feels lighter, almost joyful. Because you know they exist — people who love and support us who we are.

Foto: IZA Dominik Izaquiel Tomé

Tinder and Bumble are full of interesting profiles, but few are as memorable (or terrifying) as The Enlightened—the guy who promises Tantra massages and spiritual healing after a single swipe.

Here’s what you need to know about this kind of online guy and their typical approach:

• Tries to get you straight into bed with Tantra massages (which he may or may not have learned during his travels in distant Asia).

• He skips the wine altogether, since his seductive aura is supposed to be intoxicating enough.

• He knows every breathing technique to moan each other into a ‘spiritual orgasm’ and of course wants to teach you these.

• He promotes his spiritual Yoni massage as the ideal first date, including the practice of breathing onto each other.

One is unsure how much garlic you’d have to eat to keep him at a distance.

Shared traits:

Photos: Sitting in lotus pose // Standing in front of a temple // Surrounded by candles, shirtless.

Status: Only casual sex but: Once you meet him, you can’t get rid of him

Emojis:

Promises “healing” through physical contact

Believes the universe matched you for a reason

Conversation:

Tinderella:
So… is the lotus pose in your pics comfy?

ShivaVibes:
Forget the lotus, that’s my legs. My hands are trained to open more than chakras, if you know what I mean.

Tinderella:
…

ShivaVibes:
Hhhhaaaaaaahhhhh

ShivaVibes:
Hhhhaaaaaaaaahhhhhh

ShivaVibes:
Hhhhaaaaaaahhhhhh

ShivaVibes:
Tinderella?
I sense your aura needs… cleansing. Hhhhaaaaaaahhhhh

Tinderella’s Verdict

The Enlightened can be funny to chat with for a while.
If you’re not in the mood for a spontaneaus date with chakra cleansing through a Yoni massage, better swipe left.

The American:

What are the two most famous words that start with “S” and count as a workout? Sex and Sports. With guys from the stars-and-stripes nation, you can skip the gym — they somehow manage to incorporate crunches into sex

Him: “We like to keep it efficient.”

The French:

With all the twisting and turning of their tongues, your head might start spinning.
Though it’s hard to say if that’s from their acrobatics — or just too much champagne.

Him: “I’ll speak French between your legs.”

The German: 

Ah, se German. There’s always one puzzle to solve: is he flirting with you — or just deeply in love with his beer?

Structured, punctual, and every move planned in bed. Just don’t expect pillow talk. Unless it’s about football or excel sheets. 

Him:  “I have scheduled this to last exactly…47 minutes.”

The Austrian:

Is he great between the sheets?

You can find out here.

This is how it goes: after a long day at the office, you open your dating app, swipe a few times, and suddenly — there he is. Grinning. Sitting on a plastic pony.

First reaction? Swipe left. Out of curiosity, however, to see how the boss markets himself, your thumb brushes up instead of left, and you see the entire profile:

• His Bio? “Riding a pink unicorn on a playground. If that doesn’t scare you off, maybe we could rock something big together.”

• The next photo? The boss licking an ice cream cone.

• Followed by one in the gym locker room — towel slung low on the hips.

The Deal in Three Words

His answer to the prompt: “Describe what it’s like to date you in three words”?

“Sweat. Play. Thrill.”

Shared Traits:
None.
Because ideally, you’d have seen as little of that profile as humanly possible.

The Conversation (Or Lack Thereof):
Since it’s physically impossible to like your boss, there is, of course, no match.
No match = no chat.

But the upcoming salary negotiation might go a little like this:

You (to yourself):
“Shhh. Half-naked boss in the bathroom mirror. Get out of my head.”

Tinderella’s Verdict:

Swipe. Left. Now.

It was one of those sweltering summer nights in Manhattan — the kind where the pavement radiates heat, the air itself seems to shimmer, and the city pulses with a mix of anticipation, heartbreak, and joy. The air stuck with humidity, and every breath felt like breathing through hot soup.
The scent of New York City in summer?
A heady cocktail of steamy asphalt, hot dog stands, late-night pizza, designer perfume, sweat, and the ever-present undertone of car exhaust and ambition.
It was a night where hopeful expectations danced with broken ones — all wrapped in the city’s electric heartbeat. Every street corner felt like something was about to happen: a spontaneous laugh, a random encounter, memories that stay with you forever.

The protagonists of this night:
Two young women, mid-twenties, friends.
One: Black, with beautifully braided hair, Harlem.
The other: white, blonde, Sylvi.
Ladies night.

After hours on the dance floor, drenched in sweat and happy, they decide to change locations — their goal: to hit as many spots as possible in one night.

Harlem is already outside, her head tilted slightly toward the sky, as if trying to steal a bit of oxygen from the evening air — but the air is thick, humid, heavy.

Sylvi follows, pausing briefly as she leaves, reaching into a glass on the bar to grab a branded New York City condom —
when suddenly a voice from the bouncer shouts:
“Put that down!”

She freezes.
Looks at the condom in her hand in disbelief, then at the bouncer.
“Why shouldn’t I use protection during sex?” she asks, confused.

Harlem watches the whole scene with a knowing smirk, crossing her arms.
Sylvi takes a few steps toward the burly bouncer.
His eyes sparkle in that mischievous way you only find in New York.
He leans in slightly, hugs Sylvi, and whispers in her ear:
“Let’s just say: if he puts it on — and it fits — put your clothes back on… and run.”

The first hug of the night, where white, female skin meets black, male skin —
a moment of teasing, friendly protection.

The second hug, later that night in the subway station, carries a very different feeling. One that sinks in differently — that goes under the skin and stays there.

A moment that leaves nothing but quiet question marks about how and why difference shapes the way we move through the world.

After a successful bar crawl, both are tired, waiting for their trains.

On the opposite platform, a train arrives going in the other direction.
Within seconds, Harlem cheerfully yells: “Hello guys!” and runs toward two younger men who just stepped off the train.
They start talking, and after a while, Sylvi thinks, why not join their conversation?
She follows her friend’s lead and opens her arms to hug them — something very natural to her.

She tries to hug the man standing closest to her.
He steps back, almost in shock, unsure how to respond.
An awkward silence falls, and her puzzled expression meets a shy:
“Someone with your skin color would never hug us.”

The men are black.

Two hugs in one night.
Same city. Same humidity. Different realities.

One carried laughter.
The other carried history.

In a city built on closeness — crowded trains, packed bars, shoulders brushing on sidewalks — it’s strange how distance can still exist.

And sometimes all it takes is an outstretched arm to realize how far apart — or how close — we actually are.

Maybe we just need to learn how to step toward each other without assuming we already know the story.