Hilla Ohayon

I just took these pics today when I somehow found out that these are the things I do every day! I pack two bags: 1 handbag, 1 laptop bag, go out to my favorite cafe to work, get a big coffee and go over my favorite fashion blogs and websites. Here are a few of my everyday to-do’s.

You can always trust that life in fashion will be beautiful and interesting

to enlarge, click on the pictures -

source: http://thesartorialist.blogspot.com/

My bags with my everything in them

My favorite cafe

source: http://jakandjil.com/blog/

source: http://jakandjil.com/blog/

source: http://jakandjil.com/blog/

http://www.garancedore.fr/en/

A bag on the floor. A perfect hairy dude.

xoxo,

Hilla Ohayon

Yeah, I know, it’s been a while since I last wrote here. I’ve been so busy! It seems like it has been like a long and on-going tornado when I think about it.

A second before I turn 30 (this Friday if you’re really wondering), almost everything changed: I left my job at the law firm after 2.8 years, opened my own private business and started working at a part time job from home.

That’s a lot! I hope I didn’t go mad on this tornado. Its felt right, it felt like it was time, and it took me a long time to get there. I’m very happy.

So I work as a Director of Community at an internet company which makes work management software. It’s actually a very cool job: I do their SMO (Social Media Optimization), share their news, articles, blog posts, etc. on social networks and interact with the readers.

On the other part of the day I write for Haaretz about fashion and trends, and freelance for small and medium businesses as a new media consultant. I also write content, edit and translate.

I’m very happy with what I do now, and always trying to get more and better. I just need to learn how to manage my time better and I’m sure I’ll be on the go asap.

As for my fashion writing, I have a great idea that’s been building itself up for a couple of weeks now, and I’m meeting my editor tomorrow morning about it. I really hope she’ll like it, it’ll be great if I get to do it on the paper and here as well.

Tomorrow I’m being “kidnapped” by my boyfriend. He’s taking me somewhere for the weekend, and wouldn’t tell me where as a surprise for my birthday. I have no clue on where we’re going! I hope (and sure) I’ll like it. I wish I knew what to pack… I have so many guesses about the location, and neither is certain. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to wait till tomorrow then

Stay tuned,

xoxo,

Hilla Ohayon.

11 years.

You and I.

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, just not till death will do us apart.
My first baby. My big love.

I’ve been thinking and couldn’t decide when will I feel OK to write this post about you. Well, I was wrong. I’m still not ready. Just thinking about writing it makes me cry.

The last weekend was all about keeping it in, bursting out with tears and keeping it in again. As much as I could. I don’t want to cry because of you. I want to be happy for you. You’re all better now. Without me.

As life turned its direction the other way around of the usual in the last few months (all for the best, I should add), you became lonelier and lonelier. I was no longer around the house to be your friend. I was there to feed you and walk you out, but no more than that. I had to live my life. I had no time to be the world’s best mummy any more. And you never got mad on me. I was expecting you to, but you didn’t. No barking out loud when I left you alone at nights. No barking when you saw me packing, again and again. You just looked at me with your human brown eyes, sad but understanding.
<I really shouldn’t write this post in the office>
At some point a crossroad appeared once again, and for the first time in our ever loving relationship, I had to not think of myself, and to decide what is best for you.
You deserve it all. Love, companion, compassion,friendship, someone to play with, someone to sleep with, someone to BE with. You have never done anything wrong in your 11 and a half years of living with me and on this planet, therefore it’s true, you deserve it all.

My dad and brother took you to my uncle’s on Saturday morning. You were running and playing in his garden and then with his daughters. As they left you there, you were smelling every inch of his house and came to be petted on the head every now and then.
I was crying the whole day. Just like I’m trying not to right now.
I was told on the morning after that you came into my uncle’s bed at night. Just like you did with me. Quietly, gently, and a second later you were under his blanket. No matter how hot it is, you need to be covered every night so you can sleep well.
Exactly like I do.

I miss you, Chipi. With all my heart. So much. Can’t even begin to tell you how much. I hope you’re OK. I know you’re OK. I just hope you’re better than before.

I love you.

I wrote someone last night, that yesterday was all about the doors and the windows cliche. Well, yesterday was an important day, even if I was trying to underestimate it.

It started when I woke up into my favorite hug. That’s always a good sign, right? It went on to a very nice meeting with someone (same someone from the first paragraph) whom I liked from the first minute I saw her.

Now, that was a door being opened widely towards me. I wasn’t ready for the lovely breeze, but I let myself lay back and enjoy the feeling. As I left and went down the escalators, the vicious reminder of cynicism crossed my mind saying, that if one extra door opens to your face when you didn’t bother closing another, then it must be wrong. I also remember thinking about the motive of timing, because when it comes down to the basics, then that’s what it’s all about. I figured it won’t be too long before I get the news from the university in New York, which will probably shake my world once again in for the last couple of months.

I was ready to get confused, relieved, sad, disappointed, happy and crushed all together. And then came the sick sense of humor of this life and decided to just make it easy for me.

I don’t do easy. Never. I’m all Miss-I-work-hard-to-get-what-I-want. It can’t be easy. Not that easy anyways. Or can it?

They turned me down. As in N-O. No New York.

I was supposed to be devastated. Crushed. Crawling on the floor crying. But I wasn’t. Sure, I was sad and disapointed and sorry and all that. I knew all along that it’s going to be damn hard to get in to that special program that costs United States of America tons of money. Sure, I was taking a No option under consideration when I was working on my application. Dammit, I just worked so hard on it.

And then it happened. After Mr. Ego has left the building, I was relieved. I don’t have to leave my country anymore, I don’t have to work something out with my man, I don’t have to go through any of the drags of moving. Been there, done that, and apparently it’s not going to happen again.

Is it really that easy? Can one really have it all? Do I really get to keep it all? The love, the life, this city, my friends, my family, and my job – all wrapped in a gift wrap with a smiling future included?

Summing up:

1. No NYU, but:

2. Love

3. Tel-Aviv

4. A nice and full of fun job

5. New and old friends

6. Home

Therefore: 7. I’m happy.

(reminder: copy-paste to fridge door)

3 Brunches
2 dinners
1 drinks with a friend
1 haircut
1 family dinner
1 almost a weekend long meeting with one of my best friends
1 trip to Barcelona to plan
1 chapter in my thesis to finish.

If this is what it takes to make this week fly away and have my love back home from his skiing vacation – I’m up for the (many!) challenge

oh yeah, it’s called Bora Bora

Sure, it’s been a while. I’m very not used to not writing for so long.

The past month has been pretty much a rollercoaster for me. My life, or as it may have been seen like my life only a bit more than a month ago, had completely changed. Now, how more dramatic can I be? Unfortunately, not much more than this…

It’s about a man. Not a boy, not a guy, not someone. A man.

Isn’t it always about men?

It usually is, but I still hope that I can say that not always, and if I wish to be specific – not always in my case.

But then again, it is, this time it is.

Oh, it turned into love very quickly. As if there’s no lower level on the way to the big L. There wasn’t. There isn’t.

To make a long-short month just short, it has been a month of love and very little serious work. Of no regrets, of honesty, of pureness, of appreciation, of embracing, of letting go of all  boundaries of all kinds, of letting in, and I mean really in, as if I never let in before.

Emotional suicide for the new-all-better-and-ever-improving world. Ooh yeah.

As for the rest of it, for whatever  it still means, I’m trying really hard to do everything else. I gave a lecture about two weeks ago at a conference for Young German History Scholars and received a nice grant. Going back to work in a week, hoping to finish writing the first chapter of my thesis by then. One of my best friends is getting married next week, I’m really excited for her. Wow, this paragraph would probably be a post long a month ago, now it looks like tiny dots  written in the margins

I feel like I’m changing as I write here. At this very minute. How weird is that ?! How could one feel change in its making?

I’m getting harsh on myself here now, but this is probably what happens when I need to catch up on my writing. I actually want to write about something else, completely different. I should come back later on tonight and just write it.

Sounds like a plan

אתמול בלילה חששתי לחייה.
נו, בסדר, אני היסטרית. אבל במשך 11 השנים בהן אני מגדלת אותה, היא הייתה חולה רק פעם אחת, וגם זה היה כשהיא עוד הייתה גורה.
משהו עקץ אותה, ומכיוון שהיא אלרגית לעקיצות, היא ממש עשתה לעצמה פצע פתוח בגב מרוב שזה הציק לה. רצתי איתה לוטרינר, זריקות, אנטיביוטיקה ו… כובע מצחיק כזה, ששומר שלא תנשך או תלקק את פצעיה עד שאלה יעברו.
כמעט 700 ש”ח עלה לי הביקור הזה, אבל שיהיה.
ארבע בבוקר, ליל שבת. היא דוחפת אותי בשנתי. בוכה. מייללת. מתחפרת מתחת למיטה. בוכה. מנסה להיכנס אל תוך ארון הבגדים שלי להתחבא מפני משהו לא ברור.
היא בת 11. לא צעירה.
אני נבהלת. שואלת אותה אם היא רוצה לצאת החוצה. ארבע בבוקר, כפור עם דממה. לקחתי מעיל וסלולרי, שיהיה.
חצי שעה אנחנו בכפור, למטה. חזרנו חזרה הביתה. היא בוכה מאוד. הורדתי לה את הכובע, אולי הוא הציק לה מדי. היא בוכה.
זהו, התקשרתי להורים שלי. היה ברור שאם אני אירגע אז גם היא תירגע. והם הרגיעו אותי. ליטפתי אותה, נתתי לה לישון על הכרית שלי (!) כי שם היא רצתה, עטפתי אותה בשמיכה והיא נרדמה.
אני לא.
המחשבות והדאגה סילקו כל סיכוי שהיה לי להירדם שוב. וגם זאת, המחשבה הנוראה מכול – מה יהיה ביום שהיא לא תהיה איתי עוד. היא ישנה, ואני בוכה בשקט, שלא להעיר אותה. המחשבה פילחה לי את הלב בכאב. אסור לי לחשוב על זה.

בבוקר ישנו עד מאוחר, ורק בצהרים נזכרתי באותו כאב של לפנות בוקר, מהמחשבה. הבנתי שרק כשחושבים על זה במבט לאחור, כשההיסטריה שככה, מבינים: זאת אהבה מסוג אחר, זה הדבר האמיתי.
הלב שלה פועם בתוכי.

תחיי לנצח, צ’יפי שלי, טוב?

אני לא מתכוונת להתנצל. אני חיה בתל אביב כי בחרתי בה ולא באף עיר אחרת, לעכשיו. אם הייתי בוחרת באחת מערי הדרום או מושביה, שם הייתי חיה, כיום.
המציאות העיסוקית שלי בימים אלו שואפת למקסימום כתיבה ולמקסימום הספק. גיליתי, שבבית יש לי המון הסחות דעת ואני מספיקה מעט מאוד.
לא כך קורה כשאני אורזת בתיק הגב שלי את הלפטופ, חומרי הקריאה, מחברת, עטים ומרקרים, ויוצאת לבית קפה לעבוד בו. ההספק שלי גדול פי עשרה. באמת.
אני נהנית מכל העניין כולו: מהקפה המשובח, מהעוגה או הכריך או הסלט שמונחים לצד הניירת שלי, מהשקט-לא-שקט הזה, מהאור הטבעי שמגיע מבחוץ, ובעיקר מהחיים בהם אני יכולה לצפות בכל רגע בו ארצה להרים את עיניי מהמסך ושוב ושוב לא ליטול בהם חלק. הם קרובים, ממש במרחק הושטת יד, ואני עדיין, בשלי.
מדי פעם אני לוקחת הפסקה קטנה, ומטיילת אל אתרי החדשות. הניתוק בבתי הקפה האלה הוא מוחלט, ולכן אני מרגישה צורך בהתאפסות על הנעשה גם שם, בדרום. אני כאן, הם שם. אם ארצה ואבחר בכך – לא אדע דבר. אבל אני רוצה לדעת, אני רוצה לדאוג. אלה הן ההפסקות שלי.
הדרך הביתה בסוף היום רצופה תענוג פרטי אף היא. אני ממקמת את האוזניות הכי עמוק שרק אפשר בתוך האוזן, ונכנסת אל תוך כל חנויות הספרים הקטנות שמאפיינות את אזור בית הקפה שלי. מדפדפת, עוברת בין המדפים, נעלמת. קסם רצוף. באמת.
אני כאן, הם שם. אני איתם, והם איתי. אנחנו עם. אחד. קטן. ואני כאן, והם שם.