Thursday, 17 September 2015

Confession room

One of the men I have fallen deeply in love with was the last person I would have ever thought I would say  "I am in love with you" to.

He was a lawyer.

He was shorter than me and if God forbid I wore high heels I could actually see his early-bald head underneath my chin.

There was NOTHING attractive about his face or body.

Yet I could stare in his gentle eyes for hours.
I would watch his gorgeous smile and listen to his laugh with my senses wrapped in ecstasy.

There was something absolutely magical about him: everytime I was near him it was electric, I swear. I felt like I was near the source energy of God himself, like all the warmth, kindness and understanding were hidden underneath his skin.

I remember one evening when I called and asked him to come by only to put his hand on my stomach.
And he did.

Everytime he touched me I felt peace and connected.

I was craving his touch. It was addictive.

I saw myself married to him.
Well, so I did with absolutely ALL of my boyfriends. If you could somehow enter my head, you would find over 20 different marriages in 20 different parallel universes.
You could find me there as the obedient wife of my first love from highschool, the wife of a chuby dentist traveling the world together, the wife of a bosnian nomad, the wife of a chuby blonde Croatian traveling the world and dancing together, the wife of a blonde Lithuanian sharing a life of jokes and laughter, the wife of a sun-kissed shrink from Jordan, the wife of a shy Italian model, the wife of a vulcanic Serbian, the wife of a DJ, the wife of a photographer, the wife of a Lebanese sword fighter, the wife of a jew doctor, the wife of a restaurant owner, the wife of a long-haired architect, the wife of an unfaithful corporate guy, the wife of a spanish lawyer, the wife of... oh Jesus, I lost track of my marriages!

 Yet, except my highschool love, the only one who got my feelings on a plate was this guy. I pictured us like Harry and Charlotte and I would have been glad to dive in a life where his voice would be my alarm clock in the morning.

I remember calling him recently. The moment he picked up the phone time just stopped.
There is something soothing and calming about his voice that made me want him to talk to me for hours.

I know I am demanding and when I fall in love I want to watch, listen, inhale, taste and touch my lover with all of my body.

That's why I am terribly jealous and I wouldn't be surprised if I got locked up one day due to a ''crime of passion'' after some unfortunate bitch happened to look at my love the wrong way or longer than permitted.

Yet the thing that sweeped me off my feet was his strong and clear perspective on life towards family.
He was born and raised in a round family where the parents took their commitment seriously and THAT made out of him the best character I have ever met in my life.

His patience towards my stormy feelings, his understanding towards my crazy emotions and outbursts of passion is exactly what any woman could be looking for.
He was never agressive, never angry, never mad and never applied the silent treatment.
Well, only when we were on the finish line.

It took me some months to get over him after the breakup and a while after that I wrote him a heart felt email in which I thanked him for his patience and kindness towards my childish scenes and mood swings.
He understood my passion and was never bothered if I acted like an impossible-to-be-tamed-shrew.

He was there no matter what.

Unless the weekends and friday evening which he spent with his family.
That used to drive me crazy but also made me admire him even more and bow with respect to the values I learned at home as well.

I hope he's fine.
I know he's fine.

I still check his instagram and tend to copy his captions style on my posts.

Damn... what a MAN.
Patient and strong like a rock.

p.s.: if you ever read this... I am sorry for ruining your gradebook with the heels of my stilletos. I was jealous and I loved you.

Sunday, 13 September 2015


In sfarsit am ajuns la calculator. Tot weekendul mi-au rulat in minte ganduri pe banda si imi muscam buzele sa ajung acasa sa scriu.
Iar acum au ramas doar niste franturi de idei fara carne pe ele, care nu mai au niciun sens.

Vineri si luni mi-am luat liber pentru ca in weekend am lucrat. Ideea era sa dorm vineri si sa dorm luni ca sa ma incarc pentru restul zilelor. Am semnat foaia de concediu si joi seara am plecat acasa.
Am scris.
Apoi am citit cateva randuri din Biblie si m-am culcat dupa ce am spus o rugaciune. Vroiam ca ultimul gand sa fie "Faca-se voia Ta", sa arunc in aer orice dorinta si sa las in voia altcuiva ce se intampla mai departe.
E mai usor asa.

Vineri dimineata m-am trezit fara ceas la 8 fara 10.
Ploua. Torential.
M-am intors in pat pe partea cealalta si am privit afara, fara sa incerc sa inchid ochii si sa mai dorm.
Eram lucida.

M-am dat jos din pat si am spus din nou rugaciunea, pe covor in genunchi, in fata geamului.
Faca-se voia Ta.

Era vineri. Eram libera.
Aveam o zi ploioasa in fata si puteam sa fac orice.
Puteam sa ma intorc in pat si sa ma culc la loc, sa-mi dau shut down si sa astept sa treaca timpul, cu increderea ca Cineva acolo Sus isi va face treaba cat timp dorm eu, iar cand ma trezesc lucrurile sa fie altfel.
Sentimentele sa fie altele.
Gandurile sa fie altele.
In oameni si in lume.

Puteam sa ma duc sa pierd vremea prin magazine, sa ma las ispitita de obiecte stralucitoare si materiale fine, sa-mi cumpar ceva cald si parfumat. Puteam sa termin de vopsit biblioteca. Puteam sa ma uit la filme. Puteam sa citesc.

Acolo, in genunchi, am soptit: Doamne, du-mi pasii acolo unde mi-este inima.
Iar din clipa aia am incetat sa ma mai intreb ce vreau sa fac in ziua aia.

Mi-am redus mintea la tacere si am ales cu inima.

M-am ridicat de pe covor, mi-am pus camasa alba pe mine si am plecat la serviciu.

Pentru prima oara am ales sa fac asta. Nu din necesitate. Nu din datorie. Nu din teama.
Vroiam sa fiu acolo.

Pentru ca vrei sa fii acolo unde este nevoie de tine. Pentru ca vrei sa fii acolo unde ai fost ales. Pentru ca energia si zambetul tau vrei sa conteze pentru cineva.
Beauty needs a witness? Ma asteptau in ziua aceea 100 de martori pentru care m-am imbracat si am plecat de acasa. Am vrut ca in ziua aia sa iubesc.
Am vrut ca in ziua aia sa vars peste fiecare om care trecea pragul un strop de iubire si sa ii multumesc, din priviri, ca exista si ca pentru el/ea am gasit un sens sa ma ridic din pat.

Poate asa invat sa iubesc mai mult.
Poate asa uit sa iubesc un singur om.
Poate asa e dat sa fie.

La sfarsitul zilei nu am asteptat nimic.
Dar m-am intors acasa cu multumirea ca trupul, mintea si inima mea au facut viata unor oameni mai usoara. Chiar si atunci cand s-a stricat aparatul de cafea. Am lipit pe el un bilet cu mesajul: Fac cafea, dar il astept pe doctor sa ma repare  :) (si un smiley mare).

Chiar si atunci cand nu am mai stiut sa parchez Lexusul la loc. Steagurile le-am pus in portbagaj si le-am pregatit pentru weekend.

La sfarsitul zilei am plecat acasa cu un Hybrid.
Nu l-am cerut.
L-am primit cu toata inima in custodie pana duminica si m-am bucurat de el, dar nu am mai asteptat nimic si nu am mai cerut nimic.

Tot ce imi doream vineri dimineata era sa fie nevoie de mine si sa ma lase Dumnezeu sa iubesc.

Good things come to those who LOVE.

Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Oh my God, this sucks so bad!

This sucks.
And it sucks big time.

We are LYING to each other not to keep away from stories that are about to be written, but BECAUSE WE ACTUALLY WANT THEM with all our heart.

So we play that pretending game. That "No, I don't want that" when "that" is actually the one thing we want the most.

We lie. We lie.
And we lie some more.

We pretend.

We act.

We hide.

Yes. It's part of the game, but please believe me when I say it as I say this with all my heart: I hate IT!
I hate this game. I hate the guts of it. I hate it more than Hitler hates the Jews, more than I hate waxing and breakups and migrenes.

It's fake.
It has that stinky fake smell that comes out of a cheap pair of plastic slippers. It stinks like fake from afar and fake smells like bad taste.

It's bad taste.

It's cheap.

It sucks.

And morover, not only that it's a cheap fake, but it's not even remotely close to what the ORIGINAL is like.


And, for the first time in my life I refuse to find myself guilty for anything. No.

I am entitled to love and happiness as every living being in the world. I am entitled to respect, care and appreciation as every living being in the world. I have the right to be treated with affection and consideration as my deeds, thoughts and feelings are honest and pure and come out of a full heart and mind.

I have nothing to do with the lack of education, experience and consideration in a person whom I have mistaken for someone honest and capable to bring light and beauty in others lifes.

I refuse to hope in change.
Change won't come.
There is nothing that could be changed. The lack of basic pillars of human values cannot be changed.
There is nothing to be changed. The lack of morality and respect cannot be changed.

There are too many missing pillars. Too many empty spaces ready to be filled with whatever junk comes along. And junk will come as there is plenty among us and is wrapped in  bombastic titles, alluring an innocent mind with the promise of happiness, fame, money and success.

An innocent mind can be a terrible thing as it will believe anything, in the absemce of the basic pillars of human values, and even worse, it will dive in the arrogance of "all-knowing, all-true, self absorbed keeper of the truth".

Wise people know they don't know anything. Only a fool shall consider himself all-knowing of everything.