Un fel de bilant

Mi-au trebuit 25 de ani ca sa. Ce sa fac eu cu toti acesti ca sa? M-am gandit sa-i ordonez aici, sa-i triez, sortez, analizez si mai apoi sa concluzionez. Dupa ce concluzionez, firesc ar fi sa actionez. Cale lunga, dragii mei. La unele concluzii am actionat si mai rau am facut. Deci, cum sa procedezi? Sa le lasi sa vina de la sine, aud voci soptite. Sa faci exact cum simti, spun dragii de pitici ai mei. Sa treci prin viata ca gasca prin apa, si-asa ce rost are? Hop, stai, ca eu nu ma pot aresta la domiciliu cu resemnarea mioritica.

Firesc, ca sa-urile, le trec mai jos:

1. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca oamenii chiar nu-si suporta confratii cand sunt deprimati. Deprimarea si tristetea merg pana la un anumit puncticel, pe care-l infioara si-l satisfac in ceea priveste natura umana, care se stie ca-i curioasa, ii place sa traga cu urechea, sa-si gadile un pic self-estime-ul, ca, nah, eu o duc mai bine sau ca, nah, stiu ceva ce tu nu stii sau ca, nah, traiesc si eu pret de cateva secunde in universul cel paralel, dar cand nu imi mai convine, ma teleportez inapoi la senzationala mea existenta, pentru ca puncticelul a fost zgaltait de-a binelea. Merge sa fii suparat si sa o arati o vreme, pana cand nimeni nu se mai incarca de ale tale, fiindca le are pe ale lui. Deci, fara deci, zambeste, maine poate fi mai rau! (Imbecila chestie: daca maine va fi mai rau, cum sa mai zambesc stiind ca maine o s-o dau in bara? Sau zambesc asa in avans, ca dupa aia n-oi mai putea?).

2. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca responsabilitatea e povara grea, n-o duce nimeni, maxim exista cateva exemplare care fac ping-pong cu ea.  Fugim de rupem pamantul, c-am facut destule si suntem indreptatiti.

3. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca decizia mea aplaudabila de-a face ordine intre prieteni si de a-i inlatura pe cei care-s acolo numai asa, de forma, m-a lasat de una singura. Adica, prietenul la nevoie se cunoaste. Ce-i tampenia asta? De ce la nevoie? Daca ei vor la petrecere sa se cunoasca, ce avem noi cu ei? Eu m-am luat dupa zicala, eroare. Nu faceti asa, ca-i mincinoasa. Oamenii au foarte multe nevoi, pe care nici ei nu si le cunosc si daca tu-i selctionezi in functie de asta, ei cum or sa afle? M-am hotarat, de azi prietenii mei se cunosc la petrecere. Adica de Craciun, Pasti, niscaiva zile onomastice. In rest, fiecare cu nevoi.

4. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca stam unii cu altii fiindca ne proiectam dorintele si asteptarile in persoana de langa noi, fiindca noi fugim de responsabilizare si asumare, si, cand aceasta da gres, rezultatul e tragi-comic: mai spalam o soseta, facem o ciorbica, tragem o palma si uite ca trece vremea.

5. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca eu cer foarte multe de la persoanele de langa mine, adica eu cer atentie, grija, sinceritate, trebuie sa am si ce vorbi cu ele, ca well..., cand rontai o samanta mai trebuie sa si impartasesc una-alta. Gluma la o parte, sunt dura, nu fac compromisuri si am o lipsa de incredere fantastica, pe care lumea o interpreteaza ca indiferenta, orgoliu sau mai stiu eu ce alta trasnaie. N-am incredere, mi-e frica si prefer sa-mi reprosez mie, cand mi-e rau, sa-mi plang mie, pentru ca am convingerea ca in momentul in care as lasa garda jos, cineva mi-ar lua capul. S-a si intamplat, de altfel.

6. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca daca as zambi frumos si-as face cu mana, lucrurile ar sta altfel.

7. (ca sa) imi dau seama ca urasc cuvintele sonore, care incarca, urasc sa mi se spuna lucruri, mie imi place tacerea. Cand am sa spun si eu ceva, e clar ca o sa fug rupand pamantul sau o sa mor interior pe loc, urasc felul in care se sparg cuvintele de pielea mea si lasa urme, pe care orice-as face nu le pot sterge. Imi plac cuvintele nerostite, dar alambicat transformate in gesturi, fapte, mangaieri, cuvintele intemnitate, fiindca nu le-ai aruncat in lume si le tii in tine, cuvintele nevorbite, trimise in zbor printre gene ca o pulbere magica. Tacerea aceea calda, care are grija de tine si-i acolo si-o sa fie mereu si-o sa-ti transpire prin pori, astfel incat s-o poti imparti cu cel de langa tine, licoare fermecata, care o sa va transforme in niste fiinte inaripate in universul vostru construit cu grija.

Eu am mai multe ca sa-uri. In timp ce le insiram, m-am lamurit: e un moment cand simt ca s-au terminat toate, dar nu-i momentul cand nu mai pot, pentru ca in capul meu ii aud pe dragii de pitici: faci exact cum simti, da-o incolo de treaba, uneori mai si doare, dar ce bine-a fi cand te uiti in jur si vezi ca in toate e un pic din sufletul tau?

Mirrors

Take a good look in the mirror. Do you recognise who you see? I watched a show once where a girl was told to look herself in the eye in her mirror and count to ten. She counted to three and then burst out crying. Of course, it was a TV programme. But that didn't stop me from trying it in front of my bathroom mirror that night.

I think, generally, life can be divided into cycles or phases. Simplisticly, I call them the 'up' cycle and the 'down' cycle. The 'up' cycle is basically when I feel the gods are smiling down on me. Everything fits. Everything feels great. The sun shines. The birds sing. You get the idea. The 'down' cycle is like a rainy day that never ends.

Sometimes these cycles are a direct result of the decisions we make. Sometimes it's something that happens which you have no control over. I guess then that's where the words.. 'God grant me the strength to change the things I can change, the serenity to accept the things I can't and the wisdom to know the difference' seem most apt. The problem with me is, I think I can change everything, the wisdom kicks-in often slowly and thus resulting in acceptance which is often belated.

If our behaviour like Freud said is governed mostly by the unconscious mind, it would mean a lot of the decisions I make come from a hidden place that I am not aware or mindful of. And with that comes the need to blame others for my failures, insecurities, fears, disappointment and hurt. It is so easy to.

Taking responsibility for my own actions is hard. It would mean admitting I was wrong. Something I hate being. It would also mean that I have failed. Not the best place to be either.

I came to a realisation recently, that I may have wasted 2years of my life being hung-up over a guy who wasn't "right". Probably wasn't even right from the start. I have blamed everything about him, from the mixed signals he seemed to permeate, to the things he said and then didn't, and the things he did for me and then to me.

But what about me? What role did I play in the equation. Although I say I want to take responsibility for my part in this, I'm not exactly sure what for? What I do know, is people only treat you the way you allow them to treat you. And I allowed him to get away with a lot. But why? Out of love? Fear? Habit?

The landscape we function in is constantly changing. The people you let walk into your life. And the ones you decide to let walk out. The loss of someone dear to you. The pleasure of new found love. It shifts your outlook, it shifts your behaviours, it moves you out of a comfort zone and makes you want to react in new ways.

For now, I've been moved out of my comfort zone. It's tempting to sneak my way back in. Denial takes centre stage in that zone and it infuses a false warm, cosy feeling. But despite what Freud said, I'm trying to make this a conscious choice.

So here's to strength, wisdom and serenity!

In romana despre...Mirona

Nu mă interesează un bărbat decât în măsura în care cred că-l stăpânesc ca femeie, în care cred că sunt pentru el, într-un moment din viaţă, o fiinţă unică, de neînlocuit. Ştiu că sunt femei mai frumoase decât mine, dar asta nu are nicio însemnătate, fiindcă oricât de frumoasă ar fi o femeie, se poate totdeauna ivi alta, care să fie şi mai frumoasă; dar cred că poate exista o adâncime sufletească, o sensibilitate, o inteligenţă care pot însufleţi în aşa fel un anumit fizic, care pot crea o feminitate infungibilă, amalgam unic de însuşiri de neînlocuit, cel puţin într-o clipă dată, pentru un om într-un anume climat sufletesc. (Panza de paianjen,Cella Serghi)

Magic Day

Maybe every once in a while things fit perfectly.

Maybe there is a certain time that only lasts for maybe a second, where everyone, everywhere is happy. Maybe there are ways that one person can be happy without making someone else sad, or ways someone can make someone else happy without making another person sad.

Maybe one day everything will fit perfectly, and until it does. We’ll go on hurting people, making others happy, being happy, or being sad. Wasting our lives trying to figure out what if, or why not? Trying to find ourselves and when we finally do, realizing the journey was more important than what we found. I can’t say when, or if it will ever happen.

But the day will come where everyone everywhere will be happy, and it when that day comes. That day will be splendid.

In honor of nice girls

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don’t give it up on the first date, who don’t want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they’ve heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren’t perfect and that the guys they’re interested in aren’t either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe… maybe this time he’ll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don’t deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from “there are plenty of fish in the sea,” to “time heals all wounds.” This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it’s an experience that they don’t want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they’d rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn’t care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they’re too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one’s for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won’t because it’s easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he’s just not ready, he’s just not over her, he’s just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it’s easier to believe that it’s not that they don’t want you, it’s that they don’t want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you’ve returned home alone, for the nights when you’ve seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he’s with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t want a relationship: it was that he didn’t want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he’d realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep. 

This is for the “I really like you, so let’s still be friends” comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you’ve received from your female friends, for the nights they’ve reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you’d have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we’ve believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we’d have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisfied with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don’t think that they deserve more, because they’ve been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don’t understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don’t appreciate them and don’t want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mind games, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call… and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the “stalker chick” you’d met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this “nice girl” who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But  you’re looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.
So don’t say you’re on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won’t answer your catcalls, sometimes you’re looking at a nice girl in whore’s clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we’re all thinking the same thing: “This isn’t me. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be wearing a t-shirt and flannel shorts, I’ll have slept alone and I’ll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me.” You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don’t want the nice girl.. so don’t say you’re looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we’re willing to extend - - but in return, we’re looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they’re running they’re chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets… the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congratulatory hug (and yes, if she’s a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won’t matter), hoping against hope that maybe you’ll realize that they’re the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won’t last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we’re waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what’s a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)"

Food for Thought

"Selfish people might be embarrassed by you. While they're using their time and energy almost exclusively on themselves, they see you giving time to others, and your kindness puts them in a bad light.

Maybe they'll think you're a phony, that you use your altruism to get others indebted to you so they'll then owe you a favor. Or perhaps they'll accuse you, directly or behind your back, of focusing on the needs of others so no one ever focuses on your foibles or your genuine wounds.

All of these are false accusations; yours is a genuine compassion, because you truly have a tender heart. One criticism might be more substantial, though. People might notice when you let things get out of balance and spend so much time responding to others that you neglect your own needs.

Perhaps it's true to some extent that you are more comfortable when the focus is on someone else's needs than when you and your needs are front and center, and this may be a criticism worth paying attention to."

Scratches...

I buy things and I keep them clean.
I take care of them.
Keep them in a special pocket.
Away from keys and coins.
Away from other things that should be kept clean and taken care of as well.
Then they get scratched.
And scratched again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
Soon, I don't care about them anymore.
I don't keep them in a special pocket.
I throw them in the bag with everything else.
They've surpassed their form and become nothing but function.
People are like that.
 I meet them and keep them clean. In a special pocket.
And then I start to scratch them.
Not on purpose.
Sometimes I just drop them by accident or forget which pocket they're in.
But after the first scratch, it's all downhill from there.
I see past their form.
They become function.
They are a purpose.
Only their essence remains.