Am I Really...?

 Am I really wise? Beyond my years, still? 

My mom used to say I was, but I was twelve. 

I no longer feel wise, I feel naive now. And yet the choices that I make, I make knowing full well how much hurt I might be signing up for. Does being wise mean always playing it safe? Probably not. 

I guess I am wise after all... I guess I do just love the thrill of the gamble. Especially when I can bend the rules.

Am I really kind? 

Oh I hope I am.

For the good of generations to come, I hope I find within myself the kindness that would make me proud. 

I feel kind, most of the time. I pride myself in being nonjudgemental and in allowing room for feelings and words and silence. Is that kindness? 

I'm no longer kind to strangers. I don't have it in me anymore, but by my honor I will teach my son that all deserve his kindness. That kindness is not to be earned, it's to be gifted, and that, while you're young and carefree, there's plenty to go around.

Am I really a warrior of justice and truth?

In hypothetical situations, over a few drinks, I suppose I still am.

To my detriment, most of the time, I will fight for the truth, and honesty and transparency, that I believe will save the world. Am I wrong?... Probably. But it's my truth and I stand by it.

And I stand by all who have been wronged. Even in thought. I vow to myself to do my best; to at least not fall prey to herd mentality. And my best is the best that I can do.

Am I really resilient?

I may not seem so, and other people may have pushed through harder times than I.

But I feel resilient. 

\Yeah, I may complain, and I may take my sweet time completing a task, or a stage in my life. But I sure do it, and I end up doing it well... By my standards.

Am I really curious?

Oh absolutely! 

About nothing and everything all at once.

About the experience of being a bee, and about the Universe that is a stranger. About life... and death, and possibility.

The minute something becomes exact, or clear, or definite, I may lose interest, that is true; but wow, that inital ravenous curiosity on my first encounter with a thougt... That fuels me. 

Am I really enough?

...

Yes. Yes I am.

Take care!

Anger

There is a rage within me that will not subside.

For the past few days, my inner voice has been screaming with every heartbeat. At the weather I normally love. At a power cut that may have otherwise seemed funny. At any inkling of obtuseness, or a delayed response. The drunk across the street that would not shut up - I feel like yelling in his face. An old lady stopping suddenly in front of me - normally I would be patient - now, I want to scream at her, the same split-second. 

It's not a wail, or a yelp or a shriek. It's a battle-cry. The inarticulate bellow which, if revealed, would nonetheless be clear - perhaps clearer to any witnesses, than me. It's instant. I feel it forming in my throat, spawning a snarl across my lips. 

There is nothing but aggression. There is no pain, nor want for something. There is no immediate frustration - just Rage.

I keep this beast hidden. For now, only few have glimpsed its shadow. They're not yet terrified - just worried; and sometimes resentful. I understand.

Take care!

You have my heart...

You have my heart.

I wouldn't know how to take it back, even if I wanted to. 

I feel like I could love you forever. And although there is an entire list of reasons why I like you, I love you for none of them. I just do. It's like a universal humming that makes it all OK. The high of being near you, and the low of worrying about our future; the good that is your patience, and the bad that is my anxiety; the light in your eyes and the darkness within each of us; the warmth of your embrace and the chill in my heart when you're not near. It is all submerged in this cosmic wave of balanced and steady... something. Something clear, but with a violet hue. With star-like sparkles all around... and it smells like... baked apples and clean linen. 

It has to be love. This has to be the most accurate description of love, if there has ever been one.

You have my heart, my mind, my soul, my everything.

And I hope I never want it back.

Take care!

The Illusionist

You see the poster, you buy the ticket and you go inside.

It's just smoke and mirrors.

The room seems to change decor each time you shift your gaze. At first it's a library, full of books - old and new, exciting and intriguing, then it's a playground, then a chess-board, then a playground again, with swings and carousels and a sandbox. Then it's a home; for a brief second, it's Heaven. and then it turns back into a chess board. And he's always there - guiding you, urging you on, trusting you to keep your cool.

It's just smoke and mirrors.

He wears a heart on each sleeve, and you can never tell for sure which one is his own, and which one he borrowed from a book on card tricks. He'll take your own and pull its strings and tear it to shreds, only to put it back together again. And when you think you're safe, that the show is over and you can go home, he'll tell you to "pick a card, any card".

It's just smoke and mirrors.

You pull a card out from the deck hoping with all your might that it's a simple 2 or 3, but when you flip it over, you're rendered stunned and speechless, because the card in your hand keeps morphing back and forth between the King of Hearts and the Red Joker, and your heart sinks and skips a beat with every transformation.

It's just smoke and mirrors.

Surely you could leave. But will you? Knowing that it's all smoke and mirrors is what keeps it safe, right? But that chill in the air is real. And so is the road you took to get here, which is what makes the illusion even more believable.

It's just smoke and mirrors.

And you are compelled to stick around till the end of the show, when the mirrors come down and the smoke clears and you get to see the man behind the mask.

Take care! 

When we're fourty...

*Just a few lines I wrote before I met you...*

Why is life such a heinous witch?

And how did the simple decision to start talking to some guy I had found on a forum years ago change my entire perspective on men, relationships and the human race, in general, so much?

I wonder if your eyes light up when you smile at our little inside jokes...

I wonder if you daydream about that moment when we'll meet, be it next week, in 10 years, or when we're old and grey. I can't wait to take our wheelchairs for a spin in a park, by the way. (you choose the park)

We are yet to discover a subject on which we disagree completely, and yet it feels like we've talked about everything under the sun.

I wonder who you'll end up with, and I hope, with all my heart, that you'll fall madly in love with her. I hope she'll spark new ideas in your mind every week, and make you smile every day. I hope she has a sweet voice you'll want to hear in the morning, even before your bitter coffee. I wonder what her name is... I don't think you've met her yet...

And you'll turn slightly sad when she tells you something funny one of her guy-friends said that day, and then blame it on your hard day at work. "She doesn't have to know." But she knows... And she can't really tell if she's happy or sad that you can't put anything important into words. But she will. She'll be the kind of girl who tells you exactly what she thinks or feels, because she won't be afraid words will make it real. She'll know it's real anyway...

Oh I hope you find one another.

That way, by the time you're fourty, you won't have missed what could have been the best years in a relationship. You'd have been through it all. The fun 20s, the chilled out 30s and you'll just begin to really organize things in your lives; together.

I hope she's pretty. So pretty, I wouldn't dare to look at her. So pretty, all your friends will envy you. And faithful. I hope she'll never do or say or even think anything to hurt you, ever. And if she does, she'll have me to answer to. Just... Just put her on the phone.

Oh, we're worlds apart, but you're so much a part of my world, that I feel it would collapse if we were to miss even one week.

You'll be hard to explain, that's for sure....

Take care!

A student, no more - Part 2

"I'm sorry, but I have other plans for you." The words were like a song I'd been playing on repeat in my head for the past week or so.

I was now on the train to Budapest, talking to this lady in her fifties about leech therapy and zodiac signs. She knew nothing about phones, and although she said she'd traveled a lot, she didn't seem to know a lot about that, either. Romanian was not her first language; I couldn't figure out what it was, because my fear of awkward situations prevented me from asking (this fear will become a recurring theme throughout this story - fair warning to you, reader). She was really nice - bordering on intrusive. Asking me how long I was going to stay in Budapest and where. I told her about hostels and she seemed to have the biggest Eureka moment of her life, realizing that for the price of sharing a room with 4 or more strangers, you could get a roof over your head for the fraction of what you would pay at a hotel. I feel like I've changed her life.

Finding my hostel in Budapest was a matter of walking up and down Rákóczi street, finding, fist the street that I had set as a landmark telling me I'd gone too far, and then the street I should have known came before the one I was looking for. Finally I found my street, and walking along it gave me the best feeling I'd had in a long time. It was full of cafes and pubs and bars and restaurants, each with its own personality and a representative crowd of people in front. Street singers, languages I kind of understood, languages I recognized and languages I had never heard before - all spoken by young people in colorful clothing, smiling and going... God knows where. And the hostel itself? Just... wow. Friendly staff, a guitar hung up on the wall, a bookshelf with a sign on it that said "Take one & give one", beanbags everywhere, and the beds - each, a room in itself, a little shelf with a drape towards the room, so you could create your own tiny universe to read, write or sleep to your hearts content. There wasn't much socializing among room sharers. But that's okay. Only the guy in the bed below mine (I was bed 7, by the way) was quite talkative - both online and with whoever was around him and awake at the time. No matter, I fell asleep like a baby that night, after a long walk.

I crossed Elisabeth bridge, and I swear, the Danube worked wonders with the hills/mountains around here, and then the Hungarians worked wonders along its banks. I mean, look at this view! I was greeted by this wonder before I even got to the bridge. 

Ignore the ladies in front. I did. :)

And after crossing, there was a waterfall with some stairs around it. Climbing the stairs was fun, I found these little gems along the way:

You can't really see, but in the picture on the left, some passer by (I wandered if they were tourists or they lived around here) left a glass bottle upside down on that wall.

And on the right - well... a picture speaks a thousand words, I think that's what they say...

When I got to the top of the stairs, I was so glad I had taken that little detour (the plan had been to walk upstream, to Margaret bridge, passing the famous Chain Bridge along the way, and return on the other bank). This was the view from up there:

Looking to the right...

... and to the left. You can see the bridge I had just crossed.

I just gave up on taking pictures after that. I remembered that the Internet is full of pictures of landmarks, mine weren't going to make a difference. I could probably download much better ones, if I ever felt the need to look at these places again - although I am pretty certain that Budapest is a city I'll revisit more than once.

I followed the plan. I walked along the bank to Margaret Bridge. I got cursed at (I think) in Hungarian, by some angry guy on a bicycle - although he might have sworn at the much bigger group I myself was trying to find a way around. I got thanked (this I know for sure) by another, much calmer guy on a bike for getting out of his way. And I saw a sad man. He was in his 40s, I think, and he was hunched over, sort of hugging himself as he walked, as if trying to comfort himself through some great tragedy he'd been through. He didn't even notice the people around him; he was in his own bleak world, and his eyes were staring somewhere far away as he walked. I wondered where he was coming from and where he was going. But I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.

I watched the sunset across the Danube,  slowly starting to feel cold and tired, by this time. And as the nightlife was just beginning to stir - clubs opening, people drinking beer right off the docks where boat-restaurants were conveniently waiting for cash-laden tourists, and streetlights in the distance making the city look more like a fairy town - I got back to the hostel.

I was too tired to eat. I had a shower and went to sleep in my little box.

The next morning, in the kitchen I made myself a cup of tea and simply had to take a photo of the goulash recipe printed on the wall:

Blurry picture, but a good reminder that there's always a recipe online if I want one

After finishing my tea, I got my stuff, and went downstairs to wait for the buss that would take me to the airport. The bus that the hostel staff so kindly helped me book was right on time, which I really appreciated. But I had a little time to spare, so I started reading this:

The first few paragraphs seem promising. I'd like to read the rest, some day. I wonder if that copy will still be there, the next time I'll go to Budapest, or if someone will have replaced it by then.

When I got to the airport, with lots of time to spare and famished since I hadn't had dinner or breakfast, I decided to buy a sandwich and a latte and go outside on the terrace to enjoy my food and drink. Imagine my surprise when I realized I'd have company for breakfast.

They enjoyed some crumbs I decided to share, and they were so close!

After that, I took the flight I'd really come to Budapest for...

A student, no more.

So, I don't think I'm the only one who's had this baffling experience: For ages before handing in my dissertation, and especially between the time I did hand it in and the time I presented it in front of an intimidating audience (a grand total of two people) I felt like once that was over, my life would be great. I would go out and drink, and party, and then sleep like a baby and then drink and party some more. Instead, the minute I walked out of the room, once I'd messaged everyone who needed to know that my time as a masters student was over, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach; this emptiness took over, even before the actual thought struck me: "What now?". The deadlines I'd been dreading all these years, the pressure to write essays that would actually be worth reading; they had, all of a sudden, vanished. And my life suddenly had no purpose. I felt lost, and in no mood to celebrate. The epic night that I thought would follow my last day as a student was now far less desirable than a day of wallowing and just trying to figure out what I was going to do next.
And all this happened despite what turned out to be my mom's best idea ever. Sometime during the week between my dissertation being handed in and my presenting it to my vast audience, she IM's me, asking what my plans for the near future were. I tell her I'm not really sure if I should go visit my dad (it's been at least two years), or if I should start looking for jobs immediately. She says "I'm sorry, but I have other plans for you."
And that's how it all started.

To be continued.

27 Things

1.The way you kiss me.

2. The fact that you have no idea how amazing you are.

3. The wrinkle on your nose when you laugh at something cute.

4. The moments when you make me feel like a child.

5. Your hands.

6. Your fears.

7. Your courage.

8. The way you say you need space and then do all you can to minimize it.

9. The way you pay attention to my every move, expression or word. And the fact that you always know the perfect way to react to them.

10. The way you encourage me to strive for my goals.

11. The fact that I’ve come to realize that if I just wait a couple of seconds, you’ll say exactly what is on my mind.

12. The way you understand my interests and find a way to translate and include them into yours.

13. The fact that I can rely on you even if you’re afraid I can’t.

14. The fact that I got to watch you sleep.

15. The way you take care of me.

16. The way you enter protector mode whenever we’re in even the smallest amount of danger.

17. The fact that you’re just as afraid of putting important things into words as I am.

18. The fact that you take the time to understand everything I cannot say yet.

19. The fact that you express important things through actions.

20. The way you said you’d miss me.

21. Your voice.

22. Your history.

23. Your passion for planes.

24. The fact that you feel you can let your guard down when you’re with me.

25. Your writing.

26. Your determination.

27. You.

 

De ce sunt revoltata? De asta sunt revoltata.

*Articol postat la mult timp dupa ce a fost scris...*


"LUNI, 20 IANUARIE, ORA 16:16 - Chirurgul Radu Zamfir suna la 112 si anunta ca avionul in care se afla alaturi de alte 6 persoane s-a prabusit in munti.  Echipajul medical aflat la bordul aeronavei mergea la Oradea pentru o interventie de prelevare de organe."

In urma accidentului, Media  a luat foc. Media a inceput sa ia informatii de unde apuca; si-a trimis reporterii si cameramanii sa incurce cat mai mult posibil oameni care incercau sa salveze niste vieti. A inceput sa sune oamenii care INCERCAU SA SALVEZE NISTE VIETI! si sa ii tina in telefon, cerand explicatii despre un eveniment in plina desfasurare, care avea nevoie de toata atentia lor, pentru ca incercau sa salveze niste vieti.

Trece ziua. O parte din vieti sunt salvate, o parte nu. E tragic ce s-a intamplat. A murit un tatic al unor copii si o fetita a unor parinti. E crunt. Dar eu, in timp ce mureau oamenii aia, mi-am dat ochii peste cap si am inchis televizorul, gandindu-ma: "se descurca ei; si chiar nu am chef sa ii vad pe cei de la stiri facand tam-tam si incurcand niste oameni care incearca sa salveze niste vieti." Asta am facut. Mi-am dat ochii peste cap, am inchis televizorul si m-am culcat. Mi-e sila de mine. Dar sunt convinsa ca primul pas in a schimba ceva la mine consta in a imi recunoaste greselile si a-mi permite sa imi fie sila de mine.

Trece si a doua zi, in care nu am aprins televizorul nici macar odata, iar in dimineata celei de-a treia zi, ajung pe internet, unde gasesc stirea asta: 
http://stirileprotv.ro/stiri/actualitate/victimele-accidentului-din-apuseni-ar-fi-trebuit-sa-traiasca-aveau-la-bord-telefoane-inteligente-cu-localizare-si-internet.html
Titlul este "Experiment Catalin Radu Tanase si George Buhnici: Cum poti localiza un om in cateva secunde. De ce MAI si STS nu au reusit?" si contine un clip de cateva minute in care doi tipi inflacarati ne arata cat de prost s-au organizat autoritatile si ce solutii simple existau la problema lor. Comentau la doua zile dupa tragedie si ridiculizau subtil incompetenta celor care incercau sa salveze niste vieti. Comentau ca dupa un film de actiune de la care au iesit impreuna. Ca nu trebuia asa, ca de fapt alta e tactica folosita in ziua de azi, ca s-au vazut firele, ca efectele nu erau de calitate... Iar eu, pe masura ce ma uit la acest clip ma enervez; si ma enervez; si ma enervez. Si mi se face sila de mine. Abia acum, in al noualea ceas, mi se face sila de mine si de tot ce e in jurul meu. Dar ma includ in sila aia care ma sufoca, pentru ca nu pot sa arat cu degetul doar pe cei din jurul meu, stiind ca am reactionat exact ca ei. Si comentez la stirea aia. In speranta ca sila asta, care o sa ne curete, pana la urma, de toate, o sa ii cuprinda si pe altii:
"ok. Autoritatile nu se ocupa de ce ar trebui; nu sunt preocupate de competitivitate si nu s-au gandit la solutiile promovate de voi aici. Si totusi... de ce nu le-a sugerat cineva mai devreme? De ce... vorbind cu reprezentanti ai autoritatilor in timpul cautarilor (pentru ca ati reusit sa ii contactati, nu-i asa?) nu le-ati facut aceste sugestii? Ati asteptat sa esueze ca sa faceti un articol de impact? Daca asta ati facut, sangele celor doua persoane moarte este atat pe mainile voastre cat este pe al autoritatilor incompetente. Iar daca nu ati facut aceste demersuri pentru ca, pur si simplu nu v-au venit ideile, pe moment, din cauza ca incercati sa coordonati cat mai bine demersurile incepute deja, atunci nu mai judecati oamenii pentru ca sunt oameni, exact ca voi. Mesajul acesta este pentru toata lumea: pentru reporteri, pentru cetateni... chiar si pentru mine. Puteam sa fi ajutat, daca ne interesa."
Asa simt eu. Asa gandesc eu.
Imi pare rau.

Perseu îngenuncheat

 

 Mă urc în mașină să merg să văd spectacolul dat anual de fiii cruzi ai lui Perseu, deasupra capetelor noastre. 

An de an, lumea nici nu știe ce se petrece. An de an trec pe langa chipuri reci de oameni preocupați de treburile lor, care nu știu - pe care nu îi interesează - unde ne aflăm.

0

Nu știu încotro mă îndrept. Sper să găsesc vreo parcare, vreun loc întunecat de popas pe marginea drumului. 

Puteam să fac dreapta aici.

Sau aici.

Fir-ar să fie! Nici nu mă mai uit după drumuri spre câmp. Dacă nu le-am văzut ziua, dacă nu știu că urmează, nu am nicio șansă să le văd la timp. Caut parcări. Sau un drum secundar pe care să merg mai încet.

Uite! Perfect!

0

Greieri. Mulți greieri. Unul e chiar nervos; aproape că îmi vine să îmi cer scuze că l-am deranjat.

0

Sper să nu vină nimeni... de ce-am venit singură?

Pentru că nu am nimic de spus nimănui, de fapt.

Uite! (O fractiune de secunda, nimic mai mult. Departe de centrul câmpului meu vizual, a apărut o liniuță; pentru o fracțiune de secundă.)

 

1

Mi-e puțin frică.

De ce nu ești aici?

De ce ai fi?

1

Ne uităm la aceleași stele.

Colega mea e în Vamă. Spunea că ea se va uita în sus de pe plajă. O sun.

Vorbim ca fetele.

Zgomot?

Merg să verific.

Nu e nimic. Mă întorc să mă sprijin de mașină.

Începe să mă doară gâtul, dar nu mă întind pe-aici. Nu știu cum e, de fapt, pe jos.

Oau! (Asta a fost cu totul altceva. Exclam la telefon, ca un copil. Ea nu a văzut nimic. Oare a mai văzut cineva? Dâră lungă de lumină. Mijlocul s-a stins primul, capetele s-au stins concomitent. Ciudat.)

2

Închid telefonul. Nu cred că mai stau mult. Am văzut despre ce era vorba și devine din ce în ce mai ciudat locul acesta.

3

Stelele se uită la mine. Aș putea să jur că mă privesc.

4

Cassiopeia pare să stea comod. O salut cu un surâs; noi ne știm de mult. 

5

Parcă n-aș pleca înainte de 12. Dacă se întâmplă ceva mai interesant? 6

6

OK. Șase stele căzătoare. Îmi ajung pentru o singură seară. Nu mi-am pus dorințe. Am tot ce îmi trebuie, iar dacă e să primesc ceva în plus, vreau să cred că am meritat - nu că am forțat mâna vreunei zeități a bucăților de materie cosmică.

A fost o seară interesantă.

Aveți grijă de voi!

Cu pirați

A fost odată, ca niciodată un pirat. Iar modelul lui în viață era Căpitanul Hook. Și tare trist era piratul nostru, pe numele lui, Niagord, că nu avea și el cârlig. Simțea că alura lui de Simbad îi diminua din frica de Timp pe care era convins că trebuia să o simtă.

Însă nu știa Niagord că Timpul murise odată cu teribilul Hook, iar tot ce rămăsese era legenda - tâlcul. Ticăitul acela mecanic, apăsător, tot ceea ce inspira teamă tuturor piraților veritabili dispăruse. Încetase de îndată ce crocodilul, prea epuizat să mai încerce a-l provoca pe  Hook la discuții, s-a transformat în delfin, si a plecat să-și strige prietenii pe nume.

The End.

Take care!

Goodbye Agony?

When you feel like letting go of something that may never even have been there to begin with...

... and you know you've fought really hard - to avoid getting in way over your head in something you knew you wouldn't want to get out of - and you fought in vain...

It's like...

It's like a drug; like a gateway drug that you start off having just at parties, just for a bit of fun. 

And then you begin to notice that it helps you get through the harder moments in life... without doing much - just by being in your system.

Then it becomes a part of your everyday life. That one thing that just makes your day feel complete.

And then you get hit in the head and left for dead because you owed someone some cash and you were just too weak and doped up to fight back.

But I haven't been hit on the head just yet, now, have I? There are just a few scrapes and bruises here and there... Self inflicted, all of them... But that doesn't count. It's not enough. I need that sobering pain that comes with being left for dead in some ditch. Then I'll come to my senses.

Then I'll be okay.

Hit me. Hit me hard, like I owe your boss some money. 

Only then can you leave.

Only then can I live.

Take care of yourselves.

For Those About to Rock, I Salute You!

THE R.O.C.K. IS CELEBRATING 40 YEARS OF AC/DC!

Vineri, 23 mai, de la ora 21:00, La Căpiţe si Dynacord Hsa-Audio prezinta un concert tribut AC/DC de EXCEPTIE cu trupa The Rise Of the City King(The R.O.C.K.),!
\m/ Video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFvhotOyo-M

Pret bilet: 10 RON
Rezervari pentru loc la masa (4,6,8): 0720 400 333

Din set list nu vor lipsi hituri ca Thunderstruck, TNT Highway to hell sau You shook me all night long dar si multe altele. Trupa The R.O.C.K. v-a pregatit multe surprize, una dintre ele este legata de sistemul de sunet pus la dispozitie de Dynacord HSA-Audio si cu ajutorul caruia energia transmisa din scena se va face foarte puternic simtita in randul fanilor care vor ajunge la concerte.
"FOR THOSE ABOUT TO ROCK WE SALUTE YOU!" \m/
" Proiectul The R.O.C.K. aduce in scena explozia si dinamismul concertelor AC/DC. Cu un solist vocal de exceptie care se apropie foarte mult de Brian Johnson, un chitarist solo din Moscova (la fel de "nebun" si energic ca Angus Young si instrumentisti cu experienta la bas, chitara ritmica si tobe, trupa The R.O.C.K. reuseste de fiecare data sa surprinda publicul si sa ii transmita starea specifica unui concert AC/DC autentic".
Componenta The R.O.C.K.
Daniel Ignat - Lead Vocals
Nik Baydin (Moscova, Rusia) - Lead Guitar
Adrian Popescu- Rhythm Guitar/Backing Vocals
Mircea (Burete) Preda- Bass/Backing Vocals
Mirko Grusa (Koln, Germania) - Drums

În seara asta, merg la concert. Un concert pe care l-am ratat cu o vară în urmă și, după care, mi-am dat seama când am aflat de evenimentul din seara asta, am avut un mic regret, mereu. Un fel de ciudă pe factorii care m-au determinat să renunț la a mai merge sa ma zbengui încă o ora. Azi voi afla dacă era chiar așa important pentru mine să merg la concert, sau dacă voiam doar să am niște vină de dat.

Oricare ar fi răspunsul la dilema mea, cert este ca mă voi distra, pentru ca sunt convinsă că lumea va fi faină, vremea va fi perfectă, berea va fi rece și în general, n-are ce sa meargă rău.

Aveí grijă de voi!

Noaptea Muzeelor, CM style

CM? Cine-i CM?

CM este Clubul de Management. E o organizație de studenți, relativ puțini, dar absolut minunați, alături de care am ocazia și mândria să mă dezvolt ca ca leader, ca team player, poate și ca manager, dar în special ca om.

Ieri a avut loc acest eveniment, Noaptea Muzeelor, pe care o parte din noi l-am văzut ca pe o oportunitate să cunoaștem mai bine orașul în care studiem, să vedem rodul muncii unor artiști, să ne cunoaștem unii pe alții mai bine și să ne și distrăm copios.

Pentru început, am vizitat piețele (șantierele) din centrul orașului (chiar mai de aproape decât ne-am fi așteptat, având în vedere circumstanțele), după care am  fost la Muzeul Catedralei Mitropolitane, unde, spre încântarea noastră, am avut parte de un mic preview (chiar foarte mic: era un model în miniatură al Bisericii din Topla) a ceea ce urma să vedem mai departe. Curioși, am pornit spre Muzeul Satului Bănățean, unde am admirat căsuțe care mai de care mai îmbietoare și ținute care mai de care mai interesante, și ne-am bucurat să vedem și adevărata Biserică din Topla.

După o vizită scurtă la o galerie de artă, o bine-meritată pauză de cafea/ciocolată caldă/limonadă (am fi vrut și ceai, dar n-am găsit) și o degustare de prăjitură „raw”, am mers la Casa Artelor, să vedem spectacolul „Eppur si mouve!”, susținut de teatrul Thespis.

Seara s-a încheiat cu o vizită la Muzeul de Artă, unde, cu toate că nu am reușit să ajungem la timp pentru recitalul de pian care ne atrăsese, de fapt, atenția, exponatele ne-au încântat, interesat, și, uneori, ne-au și amuzat.

A fost o zi lungă, ploioasă, dar atât de frumoasă, că abia aștept(ăm?) următoarea ocazie.

Mulțumesc, Silvana!

Aveți grijă de voi!

Hartă cu muzeele participante

Ar mai fi fost multe de văzut...

De ce vă ocolesc privirile?

Sunt multe teorii cu privire la dilema asta. Și de fiecare dată când se discută subiectul, încep o dezbatere interioară, pentru că ce aud nu se potrivește cu ce simt; nici măcar ce răspund nu e 100% potrivit. Dar se schimbă subiectul, și nu mai apuc să ajung la vreo concluzie.

Ce mi se spune de obicei este că mă intimidează privirea celeilalte persoane. Dar eu nu sunt așa de ușor de intimidat. Nu... ce simt eu nu e vreo forță care cade asupra mea dinspre interlocutor. E altceva. Și țin morțiș să fac lucrul ăsta cunoscut. Și tot ce reușesc să fac pentru a corecta greșeala de interpretare pe care o intuiesc, este să încerc să îmi amintesc ce am simțit cel mai tare când am menținut contact vizual cu cineva mai mult de 2 secunde. Și aici apare problema: de fiecare dată când m-am uitat în ochii unui om și-am simțit cu adevărat ceva, acel ceva a fost un amalgam de nervi și agresivitate; pentru că atunci când confrunt pe cineva, o fac în special din priviri. Pentru ca mi-e mai ușor sa privesc „m-ai dezamăgit”, sau „ nu mai vreau sa te mai vad niciodată”, sau „cum poți să provoci atâta durere și să râzi, ființă demnă de dispreț?” decât îmi e să spun lucrurile astea. În general mi-e greu să spun ce cred și ce simt. În schimb ochii... Mi s-a întâmplat să mă dea de gol, uneori.

Și cred că am găsit răspunsul. Ocolesc priviri pentru că îmi place să mă ascund. Și nu ascund lucruri grave. Nu ascund lucruri de interes național. Mă ascund. Pentru că mă tem să nu spun prea multe. Să nu jignesc, să nu mă fac de râs, să nu mă cunoașteți prea bine. Întâi trebuie să vă cunosc eu pe voi. 

Aveți grijă de voi!

Pustiu

N-am nimic de zis.
Scriu, pentru ca mi-am dat seama ca nu am mai scris de ceva vreme.
Caut inauntrul meu idei, pe-a caror prezenta o simt, o intuiesc, dar nu reusesc sa le gasesc. Sunt undeva, ascunse in labirintul pustiu care imi poarta loc de minte.
Da.
Ati citit bine.
Bate vantul la mine in creier. Uneori, foarte rar, eman cate un gand cu efecte care ma surprind. E genul ala de gand care dupa ce-l imbrac (cu chiu, cu vai) in niste cuvinte care se leaga cat decat intre ele, si-i dau drumul in lume, (sa-si traiasca si el, linistit, viata lui de gand... sa treaca de la om la om, sa cunoasca alte ganduri... si el... ca un gand ce se afla...) imi creeaza o stare de panica totala si de jena cumplita.
De ce?
Pentru ca urmatorul meu gand (pe care de cele mai multe ori reusesc, totusi, sa il tin strans sa nu zboare si sa il sufoc cu o perna de injuraturi interioare) este: "O vai, mai bine taceam. Oare cati oameni am jignit? Oare cati m-au inteles gresit pentru ca pur si simplu nu reusesc sa port o conversatie civilizata in care sa nu spun verde in fata ce gandesc despre o anumita situatie? Oare cum sa explic eu ca de fapt la mine in cap gandul asta nu suna asa de ignorant/vulgar/bagacios/plin-de-sine? N-am cum. Taci, Ioana! De-acum si pana ramai complet singura nu mai spui nimic. Acasa, in oglinda mai ai voie sa porti discutii din astea."(Da, asta e, tot, un singur gand).
Ce e surprinzator, uneori, e ce observ dupa ce ma uit putin (cred ca sunt cateva secunde bune) in gol, purtand acest monolog interior: cei din jur chiar se prind de umorul situatiei pe care le-am povestit-o (asta doar daca nu e un banc... trebuie musai sa fie intamplare din propria-mi viata, pentru ca bancuri nu stiu sa spun sub nicio forma...), sau ma privesc uluiti, de parca le-am dezvaluit cel mai important adevar al lumii/ al existentei lor; sau se opresc din avalansa de cuvinte nervoase la adresa altora si incep sa zambeasca pentru ca i-am facut sa vada cat de triviala era, de fapt, problema cu care se confruntau. Si astea-s momentele in care ma bucur ca bate vantul la mine in minte. Sunt momentele in care simt ca gandurile mele, asa putine cum sunt, au putere. Sunt momente faine, cu endorfine.
Evident ca in majoritatea momentelor, insa, se lasa o liniste ciudata in jurul meu, pentru cateva secunde, dupa care cineva incearca - in mod fortat, sintetic - sa schimbe subiectul. Cand se intampla asa, tind sa imi ascult propriul sfat, si sa tac asteptand sa port o conversatie profunda cu oglinda. Si ce-i mai grav e ca urmatoarea data cand ma intalnesc cu grupul acela, raman la fel de tacuta. Ceea ce, probabil, le confirma teoria ca eu in loc de pustiu, am in cap calti.
Ei bine, asta mi-s.
Nu stiu daca mai pateste cineva asa; dar daca se recunoaste cineva in randurile de mai sus, eu propun sa infiintam un club. N-am idee de nume, dar sunt sigura ca ne-am distra pe cinste.
Aveti grija de voi!