the loner

the loner wears a hat that has little stars embroidered on its deep blue velvet.
he's shy and quiet. he barely speaks and when he does, he always whispers.
he likes to make tea, to watch the same shows over and over again till he knows them by heart.
he will laugh when hearing a joke a second time around, not because he is polite, but because he really finds it just as funny as the first time.
he reads the same books that he keeps on his nightstand.
he likes to put music on shuffle and then wait to be surprised by the order of the songs, the same songs he has been listening to for years and years and years.
sometimes he hides in my closet, but he never leaves. he lights my candles at night and he loads the washing machine when I don't feel like it.
he likes to sort through things, put them in a different order than they were before.
he doesn't like parties that much, but he will always look for another loner to go talk to.
he's very friendly, actually. we talk sometimes about all sorts of things.
he likes to take pictures and write in his diary that he keeps locked in a golden little box.
despite his repetitive routine, my loner never gets bored. sometimes he doesn't speak to me and he hides in the closet for days, but he never leaves.
he knows I'll always be there for him.

What 2017 has meant to me

Hello my lost friend searching the internet for excitement, welcome to my blog.
In case you just wandered here and you think what the fuck is this, you're welcome to go away, be free, prosper and die.
In case you didn't, well... it's been a long time, glad you're still around to read some of the crazy stuff that goes through my mind. Hope you enjoy it!
So I have been quiet lately, I know. But trust me, I've been crazy busy, running like a tit from left to right, pardon my French.
In the last few weeks, however, I kinda got into this state of thinking about life, pondering things and ruminating around decisions. It just made me realize just how much I've grown since I last posted on my blog and this is what I want to share with you. It's what I've learned in the last few years, so not really all 2017, more like "how I got better at life by sucking at it for a very very long time"
So here goes, what 2017 has meant to me:

• Youtube dive for music is one of the best most rewarding activities I ever conducted. If you don't know what Youtube dive means, it's when you start listening to a song you like and look for recommendations in the right bar and go from one recommendation to another for about 100 times till you find PURE GOLD, MAN. I am not kidding, 50% of the good music I discovered in the last 2-3 years has been found this way. Totally worth it. And yes, I did notice commercial music like Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift creeping out through the recommendations on a Cigarettes after Sex video. Don't think that I don't see you try to push crap music that sells to your users, Youtube. You're better than that.
• Next one, I fucking met a TON of nice, fun, amazing people. Some of them I stayed friends with, some of them I didn't, but it was fucking awesome. I actually think that your friends are like a box of chocolate. And let me explain to you why I say that: I am known for not craving or even liking chocolate at times. I know, it sounds like I'm a serial killer, but trust me on this one. There are only a few sortiments of chocolate I actually will not say no to, but I will not have more than one tiny piece. So, to me, friends literally are like a box of chocolate. Sometimes you get strawberry filling (ew!), sometimes you get dark chocolate (meh) and on occasions you get one small piece of caramelized pralines with a touch of pistachio (yeah, babyyyyy). You never know what you get till you try, so this takes me to the next point:
• Always try to have low expectations. Or none whatsoever. Why? It will save you from feeling disappointed or letting other people down. If you plan small, you will have the greatest time of your life when you get to do something that's even a tinsy bit extra. Trust me on this one. Like let me give you one concrete example: I just moved into a small country where everybody speaks a language that I don't. It makes it almost impossible to meet new people. So I plan to not meet people and do some alone time, I go to the swimming pool a lot and I cook almost every day, and I read and spend my time on the couch watching shows (for the hundredth time). And guess what? Every time I get the chance of having a drink with a colleague or see a friend or relative, or have my mom over, I fucking cherish that and I end up having THE BEST TIME. I don't know about them though :D
• Regardless of what it is, if you are good at something and you enjoy it, you go and do that. DO NOT let others tell you that video games are bullshit, that makeup is bad for you or that you should feel ashamed for watching Netflix. OK, if your passion is around drugs or drinking yourself into oblivion, you might need to take a step back and reconsider my advice here. But otherwise, do not listen to others and do not give up on the things that bring you pleasure. For example, I used to be (and still am) very conscious of my bad French. People that have known me for long enough know how afraid I am to speak in French. I'm just really obsessed with how beautiful this language is and how bad I am at it. And I've got a lot of criticism on it from French speakers too (shame on you). And you know what I did? I kept trying and trying and trying. I listened to French radio every day, I still do it. I bought books in French to force myself to read. I terrorized any French person I could find that had the boldness of saying they're ok with helping me out. They all regretted it, but you know what? I got better! Still have a lot to improve, but seeing how far I've come makes me really proud of myself. Shout out to me for being a total kickass at not giving up!
• Ok, last one because this post is getting a bit long. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT ever think you are completely lonely and that nobody loves you. Bullshit. Lots of people care about you, they just don't always have the time or energy to show it. And regardless of other people, YOU should be your own best friend. As long as you like you for you o_O you will always have somebody to rely on. And remember, people are like these amazing fun stops in your train ride through life, but your one and only companion through the entire journey is YOURSELF, so learn to have fun and amaze yourself, because you deserve it. Stop competing with others, stop thinking about the things you want to have or that society is telling you you should have. You go out there and be the best version of yourself every day. And when you don't feel like being your own superhero, don't feel bad. Just take a break, recompose and remember what matters to you.

So yeah. I guess this completes what 2017 has meant to me.
It sure was a fun interesting year and I absolutely loved every minute of it.
If you learned anything in 2017, please don't be afraid to share, we're all here to exchange opinions and spread the LOVE.

Wishing you a marvelous holiday time, don't get too drunk on New Year's Eve and if you do, hope you don't feel hungover the next day!

Hugs,
Alexandra

My inner princess said "Piss off!"

You know that princess locked in a tower of a castle guarded by a dragon.
I think she hired the dragon in the first place.

The dream

I dreamed
I had this disease
I could hear people's thoughts
It wasn't just any people whose thoughts I could hear
It was strangers
Passers by.

Some had strange ideas
Others were depressed
Most of them were worried
About their jobs
Their health
Their families
"Did she cheat on me?" was the thought of a young man wearing a grey suit
"Did she really do it?"

Some would have disturbing ideas
Others would sing songs in their heads
Most of them were boring.

I started looking for people that were in love
They had the happiest thoughts
"Which movie shall I take him to? What would he like to see?"
"I have to think of a nice surprise for her birthday!"
"Can't believe I'm going to propose to her!"
"I wish I could run faster home to give him the great news!"

The only problem I had
Was that people who fell in love
Could also fall out of love
But I learned soon enough to look for fresh couples
They were everywhere in parks, restaurants,
Walking in the rain
Spending the nights under the stars
Soon enough I knew all the places where to search for them
And then I saw him

Looking at me
"The light is blind
And pointless on the sun;
So, in search for purpose
It roams from star to star
And finally finds its shelter
In my love's hair"
That was
The first thought
And only one I could actually hear

He shouted his name at me
And my ears were filled with pleasure
For I could taste the sweet air around me
And him
And feel

Like I was protected
His touch made me feel
Like I was wearing a summer dress
Made of light

I told him about my disease
And he closed his eyes
He told me the light was too bright
And was hurting his eyes
I had a shiver crossing through my body

And he never spoke to me again
Instead he would speak to everyone else
About me
And my disease

Soon
They got me
They closed me
They told me
They would treat me
For I was sick
And I need to get better

"Doctor, will I ever love again?"
"We don't know yet, it's better that you rest."
"Doctor, will I ever love again?"
But the doctors were silent
And so were the nurses and the rest of the patients
Silent
For I couldn't hear their thoughts anymore
From all the storm of thoughts in me

Then I woke up from my dream
And he was next to me
Smiling at me
And it was
The first time
I didn't want to know what he was thinking.

Despre Dire Straits și căpșunele din curtea bunicii

E mai și în curtea bunicii sigur căpșunele se coc.
În fiecare an căpșunele erau culese cu grijă de-o fată cu părul lung și negru. Le spăla în două ape și apoi le punea pe o farfurie, își lua o carte și o pătură și dispărea pe după crini în grădină.
După o vreme bunica o găsea tolănită la soare, adormită cu cartea în mână.


Dire Straits a purtat mereu un loc special în sufletul meu, le fel ca și Sigur Ros, Pasărea Colibri și Vama Veche. Și Edith Piaf. Dar să ne întoarcem la Dire Straits. Muzica lor mă face să simt miros de drum de țară, de flori de câmp, de struguri copți și apă rece de fântână. Mă imaginez mergând pe drumul către câmp în satul natal al mamei. Pentru mine nu există nimic mai fascinant încă în lume ca peticul de pământ unde mi-am petrecut copilăria, unde grijile dispăreau, iar bunica ne făcea mereu clătite când o rugam frumos. Iar Dire Straits îmi cântă despre dansuri pe dealul ce ducea spre canal, printre salcâmii tineri plantați de tătăițu' și pe cele 3 dale de piatră ce stau și acum la intrarea în curtea cu gard alb, boltită cu viță de vie și presărată cu ghiocei și lalele primăvara, cu crini vara, cu crizanteme toamna și zăpadă de 2 metri iarna.


E mai... iar căpșunele se coc, dar nu mai nimeni să le culeagă. Iar părul fetei nu mai e lung. Iar bunica a și uitat că are căpșune.

Angels in Purgatory

- Heaven has angels. Hell has devils. Then who would you say keeps an eye on Purgatory?
She looked at me for a few seconds and then frowned, and then ran her index finger over her lips.
- I guess it would be retired angels.
- Retired angels?
Her eyebrows frown a little more.
- Retired angels. Don't you think there's some that get really tired with all the running around taking care of people? I know I would be. I can hardly take care of myself, imagine if I had to take care of an entire city.
- But you're not an angel.
She softly kicks me with her left foot.
- You don't know that. I might be an angel in disguise.
She sticks her tongue out and makes that face I adore.
- So how would you say a typical day of an angel goes?
- Pfuuuu, I guess it depends on who they have to take care of!
- I take it your angel is always busy with keeping you from running the car into trees or burning down the house?
Space between her eyebrows gets dangerously narrow.
- You know, this story is actually interesting. Angels in Purgatory. I can imagine them to be old Angels that have seen it all and got bored with being Angels.
- How can one get bored with being an Angel? They have eternal life, they can speak to God, they have redeemed themselves and they have wings!
She smiles at me and puts a finger on my lips.
- It's easy, can't you see it? Angels in Purgatory want to be humans again!
- Why would you want to be human again?
- So that you can dream and suffer and hope, why not? I'd like to be a human forever.
I smile and I take her in my arms.
- How can you be human when you're my angel?
- I found a way out of Purgatory!

The story of Min and how I learned to stop shouting - part |||

... find a way of expressing the feeling of warm softness in his heart. He couldn't find the right explanation for it, he just felt like he was soft as a feather and could fly over the countries, over the rivers and seas he found in his way.
After a few days of wandering around, he decided to set camp next to a small village and rest for one day and then start his mission again. He realized he will have to renew his water supplies, so he went into the village. But what he found there scared him.
Everybody was gone. There was little sign the village was inhabited, except for the fact that the streets were clean, the houses looked well maintained and the well was in perfect use.
Just when he decided that it's better to leave, he saw an old man walking down the street. He watched the old man as he walked passed him as if he was a statue. The village was probably miles away from any other one, so seeing a foreigner in these parts would have been a... noticeable event.
As he stared at the old man getting smaller in the distance, he realized that there's somebody else coming. A woman. This time she was walking towards him. She came with a sure step and started getting water out from the well. She didn't salute or make any kind of gesture that would acknowledge his presence there.
Min felt very weird. Silencers were usually very polite to each other and a great deal was given to greeting people, even the ones you didn't know.
To his surprise the woman drifted away with one bucket of water that she was spilling everywhere. She wasn't really paying attention to that, as if she was daydreaming. At one point, she actually tripped over a rock in the middle of the road and the bucket went upside down.
As he was contemplating the entire scene, Min couldn't help but notice that the woman wasn't really in a hurry to pick everything up and get back home. She sat there for a while, calmly touching the ground around her. It was that moment that Min realized something was off. She wasn't patting the ground, she was looking for something. The woman was blind.
He immediately started walking in her direction and he saw her turn her face in his direction. She strangely opened her mouth and closed it for a few times. She pulled back when she felt Min's steps getting closer and got up to her feet.
Min wasn't sure what to do. He just sat there and watched her.
After a few seconds, the woman started running in the opposite direction and even if Min thought like it was a shame she left her bucket there, he also felt strangely relieved.
He turned around to find himself faced to the old man.
The old man smiled. He had a piece of paper in his hand. There was something written on it. It was...

Dilema zilei

Visez la o lume a mea, în care nu trebuie să mă trezesc în fiecare zi la 7, în care nu mă grăbesc să ajung la muncă în timp ce-mi sorb cafeaua dintr-un termos, în care scaunele de la birou nu sunt inconfortabile, în care calculatoarele nu dau greș și nu au nevoie de upgrade-uri, o lume în care totul se întâmplă în acum și nu mâine, peste o săptămână, peste o lună sau peste un an. O lume în care atunci când plouă oamenii sunt fericiți și se oferă să-ți prepare ceai și biscuiți.
Biroul te face să îți pierzi culorile dimineața, iar până la ora de plecare ești deja o schiță în creion. Biroul te obligă la dietă zilnică de mail, ecommerce, sales, ședințe și business.
Biroul te face femeie din copil, îți pune costum și cămașă călcată în loc de tricouri colorate cu AC/DC, Nirvana, Winnie the Pooh. Te îndoapă cu ceas și pantofi și tone de make-up cât mai natural. Te face să râzi mai rar și mai rezervat. Alexandra, reminder: comportă-te ca o profesionistă.
Alexandra înainte de birou avea 20 de ani, purta eșarfe colorate, se îndrăgostea nebunește și suferea ca proasta după fiecare bou, purta bocanci de munte, scria poezii răsuflate, respira libertate și era tristă câte o oră pe zi pentru că realiza că există multe, multe, multe probleme în lume pe care nu le poate rezolva.
Alexandra din birou are 29 de ani, are un desk mic și două monitoare, poartă tocuri ortopedice (că are probleme cu spatele), fuste mulate, scrie în jur de 100 mailuri pe zi din care 50 sunt forward-uri, are 4 conferințe pe zi, organizează meeting-uri și spune cuvinte precum color accuracy, device manager, TMP module, operating system, IP67 și hot swappable, totul ca să apară în rapoarte de shipment la sfârșit de lună cu cifre de milioane de dolari.
Și totuși, când face pivoți și calculează rate de YoY growth, Alexandra visează că e beată în Vamă și dansează pe plajă, că mănâncă pateu cu ceapă în Trascău și culege căpșuni din grădina bunicii. Și când intră în câte o cameră de hotel de 4 stele începe să râdă și să spună cu voce tare printre hohote "uite unde a ajuns țăranca de la Ștefan cel Mare" (inside joke, sorry), când are o audio-conferință cu IT Manager-ul dintr-o companie de engineering mestecă gumă mentolată și face baloane, iar în loc să răspundă la escaladarea aia importantă care ne-ar putea costa contracte de milioane de euro, Alexandra se duce-n parc cu o carte a vreunui autor francez obscur ca să uite și să deconecteze și să-și lase subconștientul să rezolve problemele. Pe drumul de întoarcere la birou subconștientul bate la ușa conștientului și uite-așa totul se termină cu bine.
Când Alexandra a început această postare era necăjită și credea că și-a uitat visele, dar a realizat că se înşală și că de fapt și-a reciclat visele și ele sunt încă acolo. Alexandra rezolvă 99% din dilemele pe care le are pe drumul de întoarcere și în timp ce scrie sau se vaită despre ele.

Packing myself

As I pack my bag for the first time this year, I realize how many things I leave behind.
There's costumes of an Indian princess, a Bavarian girl living in the mountains, a 60s gal, there's cards, notes and old remains of the games we used to play, all the books I've read, all the books I wanted to read, photos, weird souvenirs and gifts, shoeboxes of my old diaries, theatre and concert tickets, old gadgets I really should throw away, guitars and so many bags I could fit all my stuff in them.
Back then, I would go to a costume party and dress up in the bathroom of Springtime because I'd be running from work to school and then to an unhealthy dinner with a friend.
Back then, I'd get nice birthday cards I'd frame and put on the wall. I've actually found some Christmas cards I forgot to deliver to some of my friends.
Each time we wanted to watch a movie together we'd make small pieces of paper and write the names so that we all get a chance to pick the movie.
Books were my only treasure and I'd feel like a king if I could afford the luxury of spending the last of my pocket money on them.
I've never been a fan of photos, but I seem to appear in a lot of them. I even have one painting of myself.
2 years ago I got a dragon sculpture from a friend because I am Khaleesi. I love that present because it's weird, it's lovely and it has a cool blue light when you plug it in. Yes, my friend, this sculpture can be plugged in. Deal with it.
Back then, I'd write on scrapbooks and notebooks in a small writing that's now spreading from page to page because of the low quality pen I was using, making it impossible to read.
Remember when we fell from a boat and I got my Kindle and phone soaking wet? I kept those 2. I'll probably throw one away because the other is sufficient to remind me about this one.
Now I don't need so many things. I go to parties as myself, I no longer need any costume. I no longer get so many cards and if I do, I don't frame them anymore. It's because people tend to fade away once their writing has been framed. I watch movies alone most of the time, mostly because I can't stand it when people ask me about the plot instead of actually following it. I no longer buy so many books because I have a subscription to all the public libraries in Catalonia. I've learned to appreciate photos, but I still don't take a lot of them. I hereby thank my friends for taking a shitload of photos and sending them to me.
I'm sad I'm leaving again, I'm happy I know what awaits me. Now I am sure my heart cannot be still.
Now I am sure I'll never follow crazy dreams again. I'll just be happy with normality and every time I'll miss being a loveable idealist I'll open one of the shoeboxes I have and remember the times when I used to be one. And my heart will be as young as it is beautiful.

About cowards, mediocrity and shaded people

I've always been attracted by the quiet and shaded people. 

The kind of people that don't speak much when they're in a big group.

The expressive kind.

The kind that make you say to yourself: what's up with him/her? 

The troubled kind.

I guess they have the best stories to tell. I guess it is those stories that make them go quiet. Like they've seen enough from this world to want more. They just wait for the end of it.

You can see it in thier eyes, they suffer and they hide it. But they don't do it very well. Because there's something in the way. It's their own soul, that wants to breathe out through them. Like if they don't let it out from time to time they risk to implode.

I admire them, I want to stay close to them and I want to become one of them.

But I don't.

Because there's something in the way.  

It's my fear.

It's the fear.

I feel like if I become one of them, I wouldn't be able to go back. And I've never been too good at controlling my emotions, unless I make a big effort. Bigger than most people, but I still do it and it counts because if I were to say "fuck off" or "I love you" every single time I felt I should my world would have desintegrated. I'd be ashamed of myself for being so honest.

I know I'd be self distructive if I were to let out that side of me that knows how to write, that knows how to sing, that knows how to express pain and happiness and loathe and sickness of this entire collection of blind heartless people our society has created. I know I wouldn't be able to take it.

I may seem like I'm making a big deal out of it, but I'd rather be ridiculously right than deadly wrong. It's the fear again, and she's my best friend.

I don't even have to wonder why things are like this, because it's simple. I'm not the only coward. There's lots of them. And they all come together as big groups of cowards that do the same cowardly things: go to the same highschool, do the same jobs and hang out in the same bars.

I'm a fucking coward and I love it.

However, I still have this attraction to the dark, to the artistic, to the insane.  And it's morbid and it will probably consume me if it gets me.

I guess it will not, thanks to my dear cowards.

And thanks to the shiny, happy and kind cowards that are attracted to me. They are dear to me, but they bore me to... was about to say death, but I'm not dead yet. 

So, in order to close this outburst of sincerity that is making me write exactly what I think, I just want to glorify my cowardness by saying: even if I make it, even if I let all the talent in me touch the world, I'm sure I'd still be mediocre to myself and most people.

Here's to the safety of mediocrity! I love it!

tu me plais, să mor dacă te mint

îmi place de tine.

nu mă faci să te visez în fiecare noapte, nu mă zgudui cu iluzii care mai de care, nu îmi dai lumea peste cap.

n-ai nici cea mai mică intenţie să mă ameţeşti, să mă zăpăceşti, să-mi dai frisoane.

nu îmi aleargă inima pe câmpii de tâmpită când te văd. nici nu arăţi a cine ştie ce. ce-i drept, îţi stă bine cu cămaşa aia bleu.

nici măcar nu ştiu ce culoare au ochii tăi, tu realizezi? cred că-s albaştri, că poate aşa se explică treaba cu cămaşa bleu.

ah, şi n-ai păreri care mai de care, nu exagerezi, nici nu faci excese. nici prea relaxat nu eşti.

şi totuşi îmi placi.

ai un zâmbet tâmp care îmi aduce aminte de unul din şoriceii din Cenuşereasa. Cred că ăla gras, deşi tu nu eşti gras. Gus Gus. ce mai comedie.

şi-ţi place brânza împuţită şi vorbeşti cu accent franţuz, ce nebunie.

cred că ştiu de ce îmi place de tine.

ai nişte steluţe în ochii de culoare neidentificată de fiecare dată când mă priveşti. şi se asortează de toată frumuseţea cu zâmbetul de Gus Gus.

şi steluţele din ochii tăi aprind steluţele din ochii mei şi zâmbetul tău tâmp trezeşte un zâmbet absolut ridicol pe faţa mea.

hai să bem vin, să mâncăm brânză împuţită şi să parlons nous d'amour, cheri.

să mor dacă te mint.

despre azi

beau vin
c-un vecin
ascult jazz
ce mai haz

cam atât.
a se nota că am diacritice.
şi nu mai ştiu a scrie cu literă mare la început de frază.

anarhie
şi beţie.

Entitled to Sadness

I'm going to continue writing in English for a while.
I'm using whatever laptop/PC that I can find to sometimes update my blog.
That's right, I do not own one anymore.
I actually don't have a lot of stuff these days.
I only have 4 pairs of shoes: one for cold weather, one pair of sandals, one pair of flip-flops and one pair of trainers.
I can pack all my clothes in a normal suitcase.
I do not have an extra blanket. I actually do not have A blanket.
How did I get here?
Easy. I packed the most important things I had and I moved to the other side of Europe, in sunny Barcelona.
And I am loving it.
As much as I cut down on stuff, I started growing on the inside. I started seeing myself from afar, getting to know myself better. All this while exploring a much sweeter, easier and more intense way of living.
I have moved to Barcelona, Spain in May and it's the best decision I have ever taken.
But all about my adventures in Barcelona some other time, in another place.
There's some thing I have to tell you about me. I rarely write when I am crazy happy. Why? Because when I am happy I feel there's no way I can sit and think about what I am feeling. I don't want to analyse it, I just want to feel what I feel and if there's anyone I want to share it with I run to them.
I also avoid writing when I am sad, as my blog then tends to be a collection of sad moments which does not represent me at all. If you meet me at any point during the day, there's a 95% chance I am smiling, laughing, about to tell you a very bad joke or waiting for you to tell me one. My grandmother, bless her, she always says to me: "My darling, you are made of laughter."
And she is so right.
So my point is I generally write here when I feel most in equilibrium.
Today is one of the days when I am a bit sad.

I have never met Andra.
But I've been praying for her since May in (almost) every night.
And today I found out Andra has left this world for almost two months.
I feel sad like I have lost a friend.
And yet I lost friends over time and I never felt quite as bad.

I will go to bed now.
But before doing that, for a very long time starting today, I shall pray for Andra's mother.

Thanks Boschi for the idea.

The story of Min and how I learned to stop shouting - part II

The word was MUSIC.
Music. Music.
Music, where did I hear about that, asked Min himself. I´m sure I heard it somewhere.
A strange thought started to haunt him.
Was it a dream?
He started searching his memory, digging into each dream he ever had. What was MUSIC? Where did he hear about it? Why does it sound so familiar?
He went home, tired and excited at the same time. A headache was pulsating on his temple as he went to bed without eating. He wanted to sleep. He had to sleep in order to dream.
And he did dream.
He dreamt about a girl, so happy and so full of dreams that she could have made Silencia look like the saddest place on Earth compared to the wonderful world she´d create even with a word or a gesture.
She was not beautiful, but to his eyes.
She was not sweet, but to his taste.
She was not real, but to his hands.
She was not alive, but to his mind.
And so he woke up feeling the touch of her deep inside of him and he knew he´ll never be the same. He knew he will not stop looking for her in the real world, as long as she was alive in his dream world.
He immediately packed his things and started planning his trip around the world to find her. He knew she was not living in Silcencia. He knew she must be somewhere else.

His parents were concerned, but they let him decide what was best for himself.
And for the first time in his life, Min had a purpose. A purpose so clear, so palpable, so strong it made his eyes water with tears of joy. He felt happier than ever.

He left in a week´s time. He decided to first try going to the East, since that was the world least explored in the books he read.
And to his mind it made perfect sense that his best chances of finding Music were there.
As he was crossing the border he made a decision. As soon as finds Music, he will...

Dor de Vamă (Pentru Luci)

Ascult Vama Veche cu foame, cu dor, ca o nebună. Ca un surd ce şi-a imaginat timp de secole că poate să audă şi, nebun de dorinţă, într-o zi a reuşit printr-o operaţie dureroasă şi costisitoare.

Mă străduiesc să mă teleportez. Închid ochii şi simt mirosul de alge, de mâl şi pietre, de piele sărată şi nisip. Văd malul plin de corturi colorate, un curcubeu răsarind din marea murdară sub faleza pe care stau cocoţate cluburi, restaurante, cherhanale, adevărate locuri de veghe pentru beţivi fericiţi. Aud zgomotul valurilor, glasuri de toate felurile, Muddy Waters zbiară de la Stuff, un chitarist zdrăngăne undeva mai sus pe plajă.

M-am îndrăgostit de Vamă pe vremea când era jegoasă, gălăgioasă şi colorată. Poate şi acum e aşa. Nu am de unde să ştiu, nu am ochii altcuiva să o pot admira altfel.

Pentru mine este cel mai liniştitor loc de pe pământ.

Şi realizez că nu este aşa, deci iată dilema. De ce mă face acest loc să mă simt atât de bine?

Poate pentru că a fost şi poate încă mai este într-o oarecare măsură simbolul libertăţii.

Poate pentru că o doare în paişpe de cum arăt, cum mă îmbrac şi câţi bani am în cont. Şi deşi nu îi pasă de toate lucrurile astea, este foarte atentă la cum mă comport. Nu poţi să fii cocalar în Vamă şi să te simţi în largul tău. Cred. N-am de unde să ştiu, n-am fost niciodată cocalar.

Poate pentru miile de amintiri frumoase pe care le am legate de oamenii pe care i-am cunoscut acolo pentru prima dată.

Poate pentru miile de amintiri frumoase pe care le am legate de oamenii pe care îi ştiam deja şi pe care am ajuns să îi cunosc mai bine după ce ne-am întâlnit în Vamă.

Poate pentru dimineţile când tot ce-ţi doreai era să ieşi dracului cât mai repede din cort, mama ce căldură, uff ce frige nisipu’!

Poate pentru soarele ce mă mângâia în fiecare zi în timp ce adormeam pe pled sau mă ascundeam sub umbrelă să citesc. Pentru valurile imense, pentru algele ce ţi se prindeau în păr ca şi ghirlandele, pentru planurile care ne ieşeau din prima pentru că nu ni le făceam cu mai devereme de 1 minut. Pentru jocurile de cărţi, Trombonu’ cel de toate zilele, pateul vegetal sau sniţelele pregătite de tanti Clara miam-miam ce bun.

Poate pentru serile de festival, artişti care ne cântau din inimă, pentru berea la pet şi luna răsărită la est de doi rockeri care se pişă liniştiţi în mare.

Poate pentru nopţile la Stuff sau mai ştiu eu ce dugheană cu iz puternic de bere aflată la o scurtă furtună distanţă de a dispărea, dar cu muzică bună şi oameni cu chef de dans şi voie bună.

Poate pentru miezurile de noapte când te arunci în mare dezbrăcat şi sigur apare un bou de prieten cu o cameră şi hop, uite-aşa rămâi imortalizat într-o postură umilitoare.. Când ieşi cu dinţii clănţănind şi boul nu vrea să îţi dea prosopul. Io ştiu, că io eram boul de prieten.

Poate pentru răsăritul pe care în vezi cu capul greu şi ochii împăienjeniţi de la alcool şi dulcea oboseală ce marea ţi-o strecoară cu picurişul în corp.

Poate pentru pufuleţi, pentru drumurile până la magazin hai că vin eu cu tine, iei tu pâine şi iau eu bere. Poate pentru hahaha Roman ce mutră ai, dă-te mai încolo că n-am loc să mă pun la soare, cum adică n-ai loc de mine nu vezi ce mică sunt, hahaha să mori tu Roman că eşti mică. Poate pentru Baniciu şi Andrieş şi Alifantis şi toată gloata de artişti care cântă pentru toţi, inclusiv pentru punkiştii ce dorm lângă un pom claie peste grămadă. Poate pentru nisipul din păr şi dezordinea din cort şi pedepsele idioate cu şerveţele în urechi. Ce umilinţă, să-ţi iei un papuc în faţă. Sau să-ţi placă unu’ şi să scoată carnetul de elev la control la bilete.

Poate pentru te simţi vlăguit, obosit, adormit.

Dar atât de fericit.

My thoughts on body shaming

I used get a lot of body shaming from my mom.

GOD. IT'S SO GOOD TO LET THAT OUT.

Okay, I'll focus now.

But really, I used to get a lot of body shaming from my mom. From my family. School mates. But mostly mom. And she'd never talk to me, trying to convince me losing weight would be good for my health. Nope, she'd just make fun of me, and it was SO BAD that I would literally hate myself.

Now I look at old photos of myself and be like... Hey, dude, is that me? I was smokin' hot!

I'm not kidding, I was smokin' hot.
I mean... I am fat now, but I was smokin' hot back then.

But all that made me think. There's a really good chance I will be looking at pictures of myself in 20 year from now and think I was a hot piece of sh*t!

So, this goes out to the future me: you are really hot. 

And to the old me: you were a dumass. You REALLY WERE. SMOKIN' HOT. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I realized this body-shaming thing is a real problem and it changes the way I used to see myself. 

I'm not blaming my mom for it. That skinny bitch!

Okay, I'm blaming my mom for it just a little bit. But you know why? Because she never really sat me down and told me about the importance of being fit and healthy. She would always pick on me, give me examples of other girls that used to have flat tummies while making me feel bad about the way I looked in a bathing suit.

Well you know what? Today I flashed my jelly in front of people. PEOPLE I DO NOT KNOW.

So there you have it. I'm chunky and I know it. And I ain't afraid to show it. 

The subtitle to that is the fact that I, for the first time, undressed and got dressed, panties and everything, at THE GYM LOCKER ROOM. I did that shit after 3 months of hiding and dressing in a little toilet room where I had to sit on the toilet just to get my socks on.

I'm not saying I'm delusional, that I look absolutely flawless and I should pose in mf Vogue. No. I'm saying that I'm aware I'm not in shape, but I work it out and I care about other stuff more. Like culture. And kindness. And having real hobbies that don't involve heavy drinking. Okay, scratch that one out *stupid drunk grin*

PS - Today I made salad and I screwed it up! One might ask how can that be possible.
Well, it just happened. And you know what? I'm happy I screwed up! Know why? Because now I know you should peel the potatoes before you slow-cook them, ya-ha!

Peace out everyone. You freaks on the internet with nothing better to do than read my nonsense. You guys are wonderful, I love you.

Okay, I'll stop.

Woohoo.

There's a part of me that doesn't want me to speak to anybody.
There's a part of me that doesn't want to speak to you in special.
There's a part of me that really really wants to hear your voice.
And there's a part of me that really craves for pizza.
I don't know why, it's just how my mind works.
All in all, today was a pretty fucked up day.
I guess any day you get to see that ex you hate and wish you could stab with a rusty knife enter your local store with his new girlfriend can qualify as a pretty fucked up day. You should just take a break from life and start over.
Kidding about the rusty knife part.
Actually, I'm not.
But at least I'm embracing my inner rage. I'm not in denial anymore. Woohoo.

So yeah, this is basically me not falling asleep and begging that a little bit of writing will do me good.
Cause if this doesn't work, I'm going to just text you that I miss you, OK? Please just text me back you miss me too and we'll just call it a day.

Hey, this writing thing does help! Woohoo.

Actually, the reason why I'm writing is because I'm out of wine. Writing seemed like the next best thing after getting slightly drunk and going to bed. Another thing I am not in denial anymore. I am an adult that drinks in average one bottle of wine per day. No, I am not an alcoholic. I just happen to like wine. And get dangerously dehydrated over the day. Give me a break. Thanks.

I've been replaying this entire day in my head and also realized I feel guilty for putting my trash bag in another trash can than the one assigned to my building. Bad Alexandra.
One of the neighbors called me bitch because of that. I just smiled and said "OK" like it was the most natural thing in the world. Guess another thing I feel now comfortable with is being called bitch and not giving a fuck. Woohoohoo.

So I guess this post doesn't make any sense. Well, not to you, my virtual amigo that got lost on the internet. I guess you are wondering how the hell you got here and what in the name of Bananahammock did you just read.

Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. Unless you're a bad person. Then you should definitely be hard to yourself.
Man, I'm not making any sense!
OK, I'll stop.

The story of Min and how I learned to stop shouting

Once upon a time there was a country far far away.

A country of many colors and shapes and textures, a country so glorious and so crazy in its existence that you could taste the sky and you could swim in forests of apple trees. 

Birds would dance around flying flowers and tiny mountains would sprout on the ceiling of the rainbow houses where lovely friendly people lived in peace with one another. They were the happiest people on the planet of Earth; they would be good neighbors to each other, always ready to help and welcoming. They would never fight and there was no such thing as a conflict in this land.

The divorce rate was 0% and there would be a wedding every weekend; they would drink fuchsia beer out of floating sparkling glasses then, play funny games and exchange gifts with each other.

All kids in this country were happy. All elders in this country were grateful with the lives they lived, that's why each death here was celebrated instead of mourned. 

Everything was bliss. Everything was peace.

A peace so deep that the entire country lived in silence.

Because this was the strangest thing about Silencia, for this is the country I am talking about. There were no sounds here. No music. Everything was quiet. And all its inhabitants were deaf. They would communicate only in written and by the use of gestures.

Which brings us back to our story.  

Once upon a time in Silencia there was a strange little boy named Min.

Min was just about your age or mine. He liked to play football and going to the cinema (where all movies were silent) and most of all he loved to dream. He dreamed about foreign countries and fantastic worlds and fairy-tale creatures. All kids in his school called him Weirdo because they found him strange. They couldn't understand his fascination with other things, different things, curious things. It was the same with the teachers. They all thought Min should be home schooled and not forced to study in a normal institution. They would call him special.

So they all left poor Min by himself, not realizing this way he would become even more absorbed with his inner world.

I forgot to mention that Silencia was always welcoming foreigners and that they had very good relationships with all the surrounding countries. However, it was very rare that people would leave Silencia. So rare, that people on Earth would always make fun of the silencers, that they are as rare as hen's teeth. 

Anyway, as days went by and Min graduated, he was very confused about what he should do. All his colleagues had their career decisions taken even before starting high-school.

Another strange thing about Silencia was that for some reason there were very few fiction books published by silencers. So when Min told his family he will start working on writing a fiction book, they were a little disappointed; but since they were good silencers, they couldn't help being happy about his choice in the end.

One day, as he was doing research work for his book, Min stumbled on a word he didn't understand. And not only that he didn't understand it, he couldn't find it in the dictionary and all papers he consulted in order to find an explanation for the term were not very helpful, as the concept was not familiar at all to him.

The word was...

mi-e sufletul îmbibat de tine

mi-e sufletul îmbibat de tine.
în urechi îmi țiuie jazz.
mă trezesc cu tine în gând, și e un gând drag, nici nu mă deranjează în timp ce îmi servesc micul dejun și cafeaua cea de toate zilele sau în timp ce-mi aranjez părul în oglindă.
un zâmbet senin îmi flutură pe buze. știu că și tu te gândești la mine.
apoi ziua înflorește, și bune, rele, toate se împletesc într-un melaj din care aleg doar ce mi se potrivește. uneori pot să înfrunt tot răul, alteori mă simt slabă. uneori îmi plesnește inima de bunăvoie și țopăi ca un copil în jurul oamenilor dragi. alteori mă strâmb la ei. de cele mai multe ori, însă, îi iubesc prea mult să nu mă iubească și ei.
și clipele trec, trec, trec, și uit de tine, apoi îmi amintesc, sau îmi amintești tu, și zâmbesc, zâmbesc, zâmbesc, până iar mi se face atât de dor că simt cum îmi cresc aripi. aripi cu care aș putea să zbor la tine.
când seara se lasă, dorul de tine devine pălălaie.
și-atunci mă las purtată de muzică, de cuvinte citite prin cine știe ce carte, mă las inundată de orice stinge marea de foc ce-mi incolțește în inimă. și tu mă mângâi, uneori mai atent, alteori mai distras, uneori mai absent, alteori sârguincios și cu chef de joacă.
mi-e sufletul îmbibat de tine. și mă simt un om mai bun.

#colectiv

- și, cât sânge vrei să donezi?

- pe tot. nu mai vreau să am "un sânge de român".