Horror happiness

I'm so ill, my neck feels like a watermelon. When I try to speak, it's as if someone stuck his fingers down my throat. I'm on the edge of another night of fever and it's funny how I can see clear now. I can look in the mirror wearing my "you lucky bitch" grin. Every time I get sick, I become as optimistic as nobody who knows my drama queen scenarios would ever picture me. I eat healthier, I drink tons of tea, I work, read, organize and clean as never before. I take times to rest and to meditate. I stop with the worries and the complaints. It's as if I become a better person over night. The truth is... this time it might not be the sickness. Maybe the fever just made me lose my grip. I just know the black hole is indeed away. And sometimes the best thing that can make me crawl out is physical breakdown or physical ecstasy or both.

September is the landmark for new seasons

There is always a new season in life. Over is not over. There is no black screen with names on it to let us know it's time to move on, walk out, change the channel. Sometimes I wish I knew how to say "we're so over, we need a new word for over", rather than "this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship". There are moments in life when I lay in bed and I just know it's over, and that's the only "the end" page that I read. Right now, as strange as it seems, I don't know what's over. For sure the me is kinda the same... and most of the people in my life are still somehow there, even if I've left them behind, or if I naturally make them hate me from time to time. In movies, as in life, you may think some people are meant to be together and lose the bet. Black holes are when I can't even put on a pair of jeans to enjoy the day outside, when I keep myself busy and still be bored with anything I do, when little things around the room are the only source of laughter and unsure hope. I don't know if it was the hangover, or the phone call, or just me, but I've made it out. And maybe a new season has started, but for sure the last episode is over. So over, I need a new word for over. Over enough to be psychotically terrified with the little things around the room, but as comfortable with over as I always knew I would be. Maybe life or whatever is a big TV guru and knows just how to keep high audience rates... every time give viewers something to come back to. Some are thrown out by the script, some don't renew their contracts, but a new season is a natural promise for new faces. As mind-blowing as possible.

Anger

It took some time, but I realised I'm not critical, not hard to please, but angry. I used to beat up my friends in childhood and call them names. I used to have a wardrobe full of black clothes, and that was not for trying to be cool. I take the bus and hate everybody I see thru that window. It sometimes explodes and sometimes implodes, it makes me that girl. The girl with the inappropriate dress at the prom. The girl people won't let cook in their kitchen because for sure she will burn a pan. The girl who says the stupid things in the classroom. The girl who cries in public. The girl who gets drunk enough to piss off all her friends. Just the girl who fucks up things and is really good at embarrasing people. But I'm a friend of my anger. Anger lets me know I'm not as weak and stupid as I look. Anger comes from a feeling of personal value. And from giving in to the idea that life in unfair. Anger is realistic, anger is empowering and most of all, angry is better than numb. Some people may give in to kindness and optimism. They get better health, more good luck and lots of love. I dig anger. It's self-destructive.

S

Scriu rar, si de cele mai multe ori asta se intampla de lene. Urcand spre vila aveam senzatia ca daca nu o sa scriu despre toate nebuniile care ma zgandareau o sa explodez. Dar nu am facut-o. Nu am facut-o pentru ca incerc sa fug pe cat posibil de o chestie care pentru mine e ca si amenintarea nucleara: atata timp cat ramane latenta, mentine razboiul rece rece si pericolul ca lumea mea sa sara in aer e redus. Chestia asta e sinceritatea. Treaba asta cu sinceritatea a stat bine in sertarul sau pana saptamana trecuta la o betie improvizata, cand m-a luat gura pe dinainte. Nu ma mai intreb multe lucruri, si de o buna bucata de vreme ma las dusa de val. Am avut noroc. Valul asta m-a dus in locuri pe care nici cea mai buna intentie a mea nu le-ar fi visat. Dar cuvantul a fost rostit, zeita invocata. Sa fiu sincera cu mine insami e de-a dreptul ciudat. Iar cu ceilalti… la ce bun? Sunt obosita. Nu stiu daca am puterea de a duce un razboi si apoi de a reconstrui. Joaca nu m-a antrenat destul pentru asta.

Lost

Being back in Romania is kind of strange. At first, I felt like nothing had changed, as if I had never been away. Now I think maybe I’ve changed. I want to know more and I put up with less. The country is the same. You can always choose a personal perspective and you will be right. You can see all the beauty around if you are an optimist and all the bad management of this beauty if you are a little more skeptical. I used to say that in my country many things are better than in others. But now I know one thing… the only big thing that can be better is that I’m not a stranger anymore. That’s why we have a word here: it’s better in your small poor house than in a foreigner’s palace. I learned to cherish any place I go to. And stop criticizing everything that is little familiar to me. And now I’ve lost my heart somewhere in between: the comfortable place where my roots are and the magical places my thoughts fly to.

Tot eu, nemultumita

Sportul national in ultima vreme este sapa. Cine pe cine sapa. Cine pe cine amendeaza. Cine pe cine enerveaza. Nu imi place sa ma bag in politica de alta forma decat verbal, dar deja e evident ca Stirile de Sport ProTv sunt Stirile Gigi Tv si mai ales ca daca Tariceanu a zis sa se bage curent in localitatile unde copiii citesc la opait, Basescu o sa zica nu intr-un fel sau altul, adica o sa ceara sa se justifice fondurile la fel ca in cazul majorarii pensiilor sau mai stiu eu ce strambe au pregatite consilierii lui. Si pentru ca asta nu este de ajuns, s-a saturat sa pupe copii mici pentru reclama electorala si s-a apucat de pupat fundul maghiarimii intr-un moment oportun, cand UDMRul trage cu dintii ca un nou partid al minoritatii maghiare sa nu intre in legalitate. Pe de alta parte, autostrazile avanseaza cu viteza melcului turbat si organul nu e in stare sa decongestioneze traficul in cazul unui accident rutier care a intarziat orele de plecare ale mai multor avioane, turistii straini sunt atacati de ursii rupti de foame, iar patrimoniul national se prabuseste azi-maine in capul vizitatorilor . Eu nu zic sa ne facem reclame frumoase, asa cum are mai nou Malaezia, dar macar sa nu ne facem de rusine in halul asta. Poate ca nu suntem atat de orgoliosi ca alte popoare, dar sa nu transformam modestia in umilinta. Si mai ales, cand merg la un restaurant ma astept sa mi se aduca si sa mi se factureze ceea ce am comandat, iar personalul sa fi auzit de respect, dar deocamdata traim intr-o tara in care secretarele conduc institutii si bucataresele localuri. Vorba lui Badea... “traim in Romania si asta ne ocupa tot timpul”.

Complex guide

Yesterday I ran into a whole pile of magazines. They call them beauty magazines, but I guess the opposite word would fit just as well... I personally see most of the content as a very cruel advertising for the beauty industry. When 90% of the clothes are more expensive than most women afford or are willing to spend, and more than half (when at least a third is perfume advertising, which I love) consists of diet advice, plastic surgery and other beauty procedures, what is the use of the few articles that tell you to believe in yourself? They just make you feel bad. Aaa, your weight is ok? Well, we can find some other defect for you. Maybe your breasts are too small. See, one way or another you NEED surgery. Who cares you're 15? You need eye cream and for sure your legs are blasting with cellulite. Then they put photos of stupid bimboes who apparently are the idols of the new generation. Poor generation, who looks up to anorexics and surgery-addicts. Most of the real fashion icons were appreciated for the how genuinely they express interesting personalities in their looks. My personal favorites are Katharine Hepburn (not Audrey, she was just a black and white Barbie), Nathalie Wood (almost as beautiful as Carmina Ordonez :P, some might know what I'm speaking about), Allie McGraw (mixture of college and hippie, great hair), Sarah Jessica-Parker (some might hate me for this) or the new-comer Sienna Miller. And the most depressive part is that after these magazines encourage and greet you for being an independent woman (one of their favorite words), they write articles on relationships. And here Cosmo is not too far from what I used to read when I was 14... rules and rules and attempts to translate the male mind and body for helpless "independent" women. But what pissed me off most was an article in Elle (and Elle was for me a fashion magazine and had nothing to do with the swamp of girly magazines) that was apparently about how a woman learned to be alone. Well, after the initial bullshit with 'now I have time for all the things I left aside when I was in a relationship', we get the same discourse of 'he's out there... you just have to wait... no, better put yourself out there... always get a Brazilian wax, just to feel sexy and then... read more girly magazines to learn about how men work'. I feel offended. And I now understand why most men hate this kind of press. I like men. They are my best friends (no offense, girls), my best teachers, my best lovers (and only ones :P). I don't think any frustrated lady should write about men as if they had remote controls. And I don't approve articles that teach you how to 'manipulate' your boyfriend. It's nonsense and all that control is illusory, they know the game and play it because it's fun, you're not some wonderful hypnosis masters just because you can give good head. Playboy doesn't write about how to make your girlfriend less jealous, so why should Glamour write about how to make your boyfriend more romantic? I think women will stop being so frustrated about their relationships when they can accept that men are different and they are just fine the way they are. And enjoy this. We have become more successful, more educated, more independent (I can't believe I'm using this word), but not wiser. Actually, I guess we are a bit more stupid when it comes to our social behavior, rounded by contradictions... a tradition that makes marriage compulsory in your meaningful life as a woman and an emancipation that gives you the choice. Maybe we girls should just put the magazines in a drawer and go out for a coffee with a male friend. And just listen, be there with a friend and not a gendered person.