the randomness of it all

And some people taught themselves out of happiness one million times, but not even once into it. Because you can't.
And sometimes our lives' stories happen so much faster than our lives themselves that we can't catch up and just be. So we follow stories never written that we can read on our faces.
And then we live so much, so many real lives, written by us, for us, against us, that in the end we never stop needing imaginary friends.
We all have ghosts tattooed on the inside. Of our skulls, of our eyelids, of our toes, of our oceans.
Make me the most me I can be, and we won't call it love, let's say it's just a beautiful toleration of each other.


(may contain some hints or traces of extremely loud and incredibly close)

I come in pairs

My heart sees with one eye, my mind watches with the other. So my vision is impaired.

So my reality is made of gray images stitched together with colorful imagination.

My heart feels with one hand, my mind touches with the other. I may be partially numb.

And my fists are full of scars.

My heart hears with one ear, my mind listens with the other. So I can't hear you clearly.

So I'm deafened by words never whispered.

My heart stands on one leg, my mind walks on the other. I loose my balance easily.

And I can't run just by standing still.

But I have only one mouth, so you'll probably not know and not understand.
So I'll give my heart to people who don't want it. And they'll keep it because they like my mind.

choice. begging.

They say beggars can't be choosers. Most true. If you don't have anything and you're aching desperately for something, you take what you're offered. No comment. No fuss. You just take it and be grateful.

But there's also the other side of the coin. Choosers can't be beggars. As long as you have a choice, as long as you make a choice, there's no begging allowed. Embrace your choice. Own it.

So I'll make my choice such that I never have to need to beg.

the neverlands

Lands of myth or truth, lands seen or heard, lands found at the end of rainbows or at the edge of the world, lands in one's head or dreams. Lands some reside in, lands some dream of, lands we visit, lands we run away from.

• neverenough - the land of want, the land of lust
• neverhappened - the land of lost memories
• nevershould - the land of broken rules
• neveragain - the land of regret
  
• neverhoped - the land of surprises
• neverme - the land of masks, of hidden selves
  
• neverdone - the land of the things not chosen, of paths not walked
• neverforgiven - the land of consequences
• nevertrue - the land of broken promises
• neverthesame - the land of lessons learned
  

overthinking versus notthinking

Notthinking.Notthinking means everything that really happens to you seams surreal.
Notthinking is good. Notthinking means you are relaxed and have so many happy, living neurons. Notthinking means you have no worries, no yesterday and no tomorrow. Notthinking means no inconvenient questions and no uncomfortable answers. Notthinking means you react fast.
Notthinking is bad. Notthinking means you don't see the light at the tunnel as the locomotive it is. Notthinking means you get to see your life flashing before your eyes, or friends crashing into fences in slowmotion. Notthinking means your intentions are thousands of miles away from the effects of your actions.
Overthinking.
Overthinking means everything that really happens to you seems trivial.
Overthinking is good. Overthinking means you are always guarded, always prepared. Overthinking means nothing really takes you by surprise, since you already have seen it coming, imagined it, pictured it. Overthinking means you have a big enough imagination to see all possible parallel universes.
Overthinking is bad. Overthinking means you are paranoid, since you know exactly how it can all go bad. Overthinking means you are able to take the smallest of gestures and imagine the prettiest of stories. Overthinking means you grow hopes in the desert, and fears in the oasis.

to be or not to become of stone

Ignoring it might just make it go away... and that's the worst of it. One day she decided enough was enough, she decided enough with the world. No more would she let it creep in her tiny little box with no corners, seed the seeds of doubt and fear. No more would she let the whims of a big red elephant jumping around her rule her world. No more painting herself with other people's colors.
So one day she went to a far away place, distant and deserted, sat down and curled herself so she'd be as small as possible. She covered her eyes, her ears, her mouth, her nose: let it come, she thought. Eyes covered, she would not see the bad. Ears covered, she would not hear the bad. Mouth covered, she would not taste the bad. Nose covered, she would not smell the bad. Made of stone, numb to all.
But. Eyes covered, she could not speak. Ears covered, she could not dream. Mouth covered, she could not kiss the morning. Nose covered, she could not remember. Made of stone, alone with herself.
Ignoring it might just make it go away... and that's the worst of it.

Source of the photo: .AF648

the words

There are all kinds of words in this world and there are many kinds of ways to tell them apart and categorize them and put them in little boxes.
There are words that you forget to speak, and can only feel and see and touch. Words running before your eyes, impossible to read; whispered in your ears, impossible to hear; held in your hands, impossible to squeeze; tumbling between your teeth, impossible to utter.
There are words that you can eat, words that enter not your ears, but your mouth left open in gaze and shock and disbelief or sometimes just amazement. These words get to your stomach and tingle or pinch or simply turn it upside down or make it burn.
There are words that refuse to be said, words that you swallow when they manage to get to your lips. Words with a curious back and forth movement, never staying put on the inside, never out in the open. Words sometimes looking out into the world through your eyes, screaming at it.
There are words with the specific property to change when reaching the air. Words with one meaning on lips, and a completely different one in ears. Words that start wars and build walls between people.
There are words that are meant for one person, and one person only, words mostly never spoken, which find themselves put in a bubble together with words told by the same person. A bubble that usually threatens to burst just before it finds new ways to further expand and keep everything in. A bubble will never let anything out gently, it will just burst one day and flood and drown everything beyond repair.

sometimes

sometimes I want to whisper every rude rude word that I know in your ear.
sometimes I start talking to you about anything at all, just to talk to you.
sometimes I wish you never knew who I was and what I did.
sometimes I think I'm invisible.
sometimes only you get me.
sometimes I would like to read your mind.
sometimes I want to walk up to you and scream in your face "Let's get the fuck out of here!".
sometimes I dream I can fly.
sometimes I'm a complete and utter insecure, paranoid wreck.
sometimes I smile for no reason whatsoever.
sometimes the ghosts of what I had run their fingers down my spine.
sometimes I am not original.
sometimes I forgive.
sometimes I want to turn to the last page.
sometimes I would want you to read my mind.
sometimes I put walls around myself just to see who cares enough to break them down.
sometimes I am rude to you without it being your fault.
sometimes I forget.
sometimes you don't get me at all.
sometimes I just want to give you the hug you'll never admit you need.
sometimes I must rewind to go forward.
sometimes I wish for things I don't need.
sometimes I drive myself nuts.

I, myself, fear me

We all have our fears. I have many myself. But my biggest is not of something out there, not of someone out there, I fear me. I fear you can't handle me. I won't let you know all there is to know because I don't think you can take it. It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I don't have faith in me. I failed and disappointed me numerous times. So I'll tell you only bits and pieces of me. I'll let you see only what is safe, and what I can no longer hold back.
And anyways, I would not know how to do things right even if wanted to. I tried bullring it out. The result is usually something too strong or too little, it gets misunderstood, it's scary and leads to endless apologizing. I tried thinking long and thoroughly, make a structured list of ideas that I need expressing. When it is time for them to come out, they may come out all forced and artificial and fake; or I may forget and mix them up, or just barely stutter them unconvincingly, all ending in a quiet blushed me with big watery eyes. Or I can just shut up, keep it all inside until there is no point in saying or doing anything because it's way to late and it's all lost for good, or too far in the past to hurt anyone. I can end up grateful I held my tongue, or endlessly regretting having missed that small window of opportunity to come clean.
They are all good approaches if used with caution and in the right circumstances. Sometimes all you should do is say things out loud, impulsively, unpredictable, chaotic and most of all honest; other times you should build up a case, prepare arguments, think things through; and at some point it's better to just shut the hell up, turn around and walk away. I just usually fail miserably when it comes time to choose one and I end up making a big mess of things.

One day at a time

Cand eram mica am fost invatata ca lucrurile stau asa: “Vrei ceva? Trebuie sa faci ceva pentru asta”. Lucrurile nu vin de la sine, nu primesti nimic pe degeaba, pana la urma tot se intoarce roata. Si am crescut cu ideea asta adanc inradacinata. Nu zic ca e doar o problema de educatie, cred ca totul e legat si de felul meu de a fi, iar invatamintele au gasit pamant fertil la mine. Asa ca acum, astept reciprocitate in tot ce fac si dau si primesc.

M-ai calcat pe coada… trebuie sa primesc ceva in schimb, fie ca te calc si eu pe coada mai devreme sau mai tarziu, fie ca iti ceri scuze si pui cenusa in cap pentru asta. Oricum, nu se uita pana nu se echilibreaza balanta.

Sunt politicoasa si amabila cu tine? Astept acelasi lucru.

Esti cu fundul in sus si eu inteleg asta si iti fac gigea? Perfect, dar cand o sa fiu si eu cu fundul in sus… ai face bine sa fii acolo.

Totul se invarte intre a numerota si a tine scorul. E ca in fizica, nimic nu se pierde, totul se transforma. Inchid gura si inghit din cand in cand… o data, de doua ori, dar asta nu inseamna ca aici se termina. Nuuuu. Totul se noteaza, totul se tine minte. La fel functioneaza si daca simt eu ca primesc mai mult decat pot da inapoi. E foarte frustrant si fac tot ce pot sa ma lupt cu asta, chiar daca e in felul meu propriu si personal… ca de exemplu sa dau din maini si din picioare si sa fiu a naibii in incercarea de a demonstra ca nu merit ce primesc, si ca poate fi luat inapoi. De obicei e luat.

Desigur, lumea nu functioneaza asa. In schimbul amabilitatii nu primesti politete. Unele lucruri se dau pe gratis. Si alte lucruri nu le vei primi oricat ai da pentru ele. Si asa e, nu se schimba nimic oricat te-ai oftica.

Incerc sa schimb asta la mine, dar… e cam greu. Am cunoscut un om altfel decat oricine. Un om care stie sa dea tot si poate sa nu ceara nimic in schimb. Exista si asa ceva. Un om care cere doar sansa de a da. Mi-ar placea sa pot sa accept asta, dar pana una alta incerc sa invat de la el. Incerc sa nu mai astept ca atunci cand dau, sa primesc ceva inapoi. E bine cateodata ca atunci cand aduni si faci socotelile si sa stii doar ca tu ai dat tot ce ai avut de dat, tu ai facut tot ce ai putut. Desigur, asta nu functioneaza imediat, peste trei zile s-ar putea sa ma trezesc dimineata si sa zic: “Nu-i corect, daca eu… tu de ce nu?”. Dar incet incet, poate totusi imi iese.

Oamenii care ma cunosc poate o sa zica: “Da’ de unde! Esti aceeasi selfish bitch care ai fost tot timpul.” Dar cred ca asta nu conteaza atat de mult… conteaza ca atunci cand pun capul pe perna seara sa pot sa ma gandesc: “Nu aveti dreptate si eu stiu ca am facut ce am putut. One day at a time.”

Comunicare de diferite arome si culori

Gandindu-ma la comunicare, de toate felurile, imi vin doi oameni in minte. Doi oameni care nu seamana, doi oameni ale caror relatie cu mine nu seamana, doi oameni ale caror eu nu seamana (in traducere, eu cea pe care o vad ei, eu care sunt cand sunt cu ei). Ce este totusi in comun, e faptul ca pot sa vorbesc unele lucruri cu ei, din priviri. Se intampla ceva in jurul nostru, ne privim si radem. Vrea unul dintre noi ceva si nu vrea sa o spuna cu voce tare? Se poate face inteles si altfel fara probleme. Toate bune si frumoase pana acum, si nimic iesit din comun. Cand cunosti o persoana destul de bine, si v-ati creat anumite tipare, e foarte simplu sa vedeti un lucru si sa stiti ca va ganditi amandoi la aceeasi chestie, there is no voodoo magic involved. Asta nu inseamna nici ca poti sa faci asta cu oricine: o cunosc pe mama de cand ma stiu si nu pot face asta cu ea…

Si totusi, where’s the catch? Problema este cand totusi trecem la comunicare de celelalte feluri: vorbita, scrisa, limbajul corpului. Cu unul dintre cei doi oameni nu am aproape nici o problema, pot sa vorbesc cu el, sa ii spun ce am de zis. Daca mai am momente in care ceva nu iese, stie sa ma prinda la jumatatea drumului si sa stoarca din mine ce de scos de acolo. Si el la randul lui imi spune ce are de zis. Nu imi place tot timpul ce are de zis, si “palmele” pe care le primesc mai ustura cateodata, dar de obicei iese bine pana la urma, pentru ca stim sa comunicam unul cu altul, sa zicem ce avem de zis si sa ne auzim. Ma uimeste cateodata cat de bine poate sa ma ghiceasca si sa ma prinda la jumatatea drumului.

Si apoi e cealalta persoana. Ne stim de mult, de ani buni, ne intelegem unul pe altul, ne cunoastem foarte bine, putem vorbi despre absolut orice si ne putem baza oricand unul pe altul. E si el unul dintre putinii oameni cu care pot vorbi orice, oricand, oricum. Si totusi. Cateodata cand e vorba de a vorbi de ceva mai delicat, de a cere ceva, sau in cele mai neasteptate situatii, incepe un joc de-a cainele si pisica. Incepem amadoi sa presupunem ce gandeste celalalt, ce vrea. Orice intentie de a zice direct ce se intampla in mintea noastra este dintr-o data de negasit. Si incepe o conversatie placuta de genul…
“Daca vrei, poti sa…”
“Nu, nu cred ca e nevoie… Dar daca crezi ca ar fi bine… Nu stiu”
“Pai nu, doar daca vrei, adica…”
“Da, nu e o idee rea si as vrea dar… nu stiu daca... Zi-mi tu ce vrei si facem asa.”
“Mai, sincer nu stiu. Nu stiu sigur, s-ar putea sa fie, dar nu conteaza, daca vrei, serios ca…”
Privita din afara, e chiar comica discutia. Dar cand esti acolo si pandesti fiecare gest, fiecare intonatie ca sa incerci sa ghicesti exact ce vrea, ce gandeste celalalt, cand te pierzi in if-uri si tot talentul de comunicare din ochi a disparut… hazul se cam duce. Ne descurcam foarte bine cand vine vorba de povestit despre galetuse de plastic, o barfa mica despre colegul cel nou care miroase ciudat, despre ce ne doare, ce ne bucura, sau despre metode noi si inovative de a evita gandurile lungi si desirate in miez de noapte. Putem sa discutam fara probleme despre nimicuri si mai ales despre toturi, si totusi cateodata reusim sa ne blocam si incepem sa dansam in jurul subiectului ca doi luptatori de sumo gata sa se arunce unul aspura celuilalt. Adevarul e ca e “just our thingy”, dar cateodata imi doresc sa nu am dorinta aia nebuna sa ii dau doua palme unuia dintre noi, impuls care vine in mijlocul unor discutii in care stam ascunsi dupa deget. Si ceea ce nu inteleg, este cum pot doi oameni sa se inteleaga din priviri, si totusi cateodata sa vorbeasca cuvinte si sa nu se inteleaga, sa se impiedice in puncte puncte...

Despre arta de a fi singur

Singura cand intri in casa si inchizi usa in spatele tau, singura cand peretii se aduna si apartamentul devine mic, mic… ca o vizuina de soarec. Singura in patul ala mare pe care l-ati luat impreuna. Singura in el, facand piruete de pe o parte pe cealalta, cu o perna in brate si cu plapuma stransa de jur-imprejur, ca o falsa imbratisare, copie infidela a alteia care a fost demult, in alta viata. Singura in mijlocul noptii, cu amintirea cosmarului pe care nu are cine sa o alunge. Singura dimineata, in fata unui mic dejun pe fuga. Singura duminica, fara nimeni caruia sa ii gatesc ceva, ca sa nu rugineasca in mine acest semitalent. Singura in fata televizorului, la un film pe care ai vrea atat de mult sa il comentezi cu cineva. Singura cand vecina de sus iti inunda baia.

Singura cu grijile adunate peste zi, fara a avea cui le varsa. Despre vecinul care ameninta sa iti taie cauciucurile daca mai parchezi acolo. Despre vanzatoarea care n-are chef sa ridice ochii cand te salute, sau daca ii ridica, te face sa simti nevoia sa ii ceri scuze ca ai avut nevoie de sampon tarziu in noapte, la ora inchiderii. Despre ultimul banc pe care l-ai auzit. Despre urmarirea cu masini prin oras cand mergeai la masa cu colegii. Despre senzatia aia de bine din prima zi de primavara, cand iesi afara si soarele, si peste liniste sunt doar ciripiri vesele de vrabii la fel de fericite ca tine. Despre prima dimineata cu zapada.

So… cum faci sa poti sa trai cu asta? Cum faci sa nu mai cada peretii pe tine cand intri in casa goala? Cu faci sa poti adormi seara, fara sa ti se faca dor? Care sunt secretele ascunse ale acestei arte. Trebuie sa fie o arta. Sigur cei ce fac asta cu succes sunt niste artisti.

In primul rand cred ca trebuie sa inveti sa traiesti cu tine, cu gandurile care apar atunci cand nu e nimeni in jur sa faca galagie si sa le acopere. Sa iti gasesti lucruri de facut acasa dupa ce ai spalat putinele vase din chiuveta, si putinele rufe care parca niciodata nu sunt destule sa umple masina de spalat. Sa te apuci de crosetat, de facut margele, de vazut tot top 250 IMDB, de pictat pereti, de mutat mobila. Apoi, e cazul sa regasesti fosti colegi, cunostiinte, prieteni pe care i-ai neglijat, sa ii scoti in oras si la teatru si la o bila si la un film si la o poveste in fata unei cani cu vin fiert. Sa te apuci de fumat, de baut, de mancat. Sa iti gasesti un hobby, sa faci un curs de calificare in ceva arte de mult pierdute, sa inveti sa dansezi, sa scoti masina din parcare si sa incepi sa cutreieri tara, sau macar imprejurimile orasului in miez de noapte cand somnul tot te ocoleste. Sa iti faci abonament la bazin, la sala, la tenis.

Si mai poti face un lucru. Trebuie sa faci ceva cu chestiile aleea care iti umbla prin cap si nu au cale de iesire. Fie gasesti un hot-line, fie te duci si faci terapie, fie le scrii… Si le scrii… Iti faci un document la serviciu, unde pui ce nu indraznesti sa spui unora. Iti faci un carnetel pe care il porti tot timpul cu tine, unde scrii ganduri scurte care iti trec prin minte atunci cand nu ai unde sa le tii, si care altfel s-ar pierde, unde iti scrii tie, sa iti aduci aminte cum sa nu faci, notes to self. Si poate iti faci un blog undeva, uitat de lume, unde iti dai cu parerea despre lume, in speranta ca lumea nu aude, in speranta ca lumea aude.