Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Toronto are cerul de un albastru însorit iarna, Toronto are o energie incredibilă primăvara, poate pentru că iarna este atât de lungă, vara în Toronto este magică iar toamna…nu am știut că toamna poate fi așa frumoasă, că frunzele de arțar pot murii în atâtea zeci de culori, de la galben la roșu, roz și grena.
Da, iubesc Toronto, iubesc orașul acesta cu totul, cu bune si rele, îi iubesc străzile, parcurile, plajele, oamenii. Îmi amintesc prima mea călătorie cu metroul în Toronto. Diversitatea culturală m-a izbit din plin. Știam că este un oraș cosmopolit dar cred că nu știam exact ce înseamnă asta. În mintea mea mă gândesc că așa trebuie să fi fost Babel, cum este Toronto: o amestecătură de culori, de limbi și de tradiții. Merg agale pe străzi și încerc să-mi adun gândurile, cu zumzet de spaniolă, de chineză, de arabă sau de hindi pe fundal. Acum admir ținuta haute-couture a unei tipe, câțiva pași mai încolo mă izbește frumusețea unui sari sau ciudățenia tatuajelor ce acoperă trupul unui bărbat de naționalitate incertă. Un polițist cu turban mă ajută să găsesc adresa pe care o caut, Batman se plimbă pe același trotuar cu Elvis, o arăboaică acoperită toată mă privește cu ochi misterioși, un negru îmbrăcat în haine largi ascultă muzică hip hop prea tare și un pâlc de asiatice frumoase și fragile ca niște păpuși de porțelan, ciripesc vesele într-o limbă pe care nu cred că am mai auzit-o vreodată. Așa este Toronto al meu de zi cu zi: grăbit, vesel, multicolor.
Aș vrea să am simțurile și nuanțele unui pictor, să stau într-o zi pe Yonge Street și să prind pe o pânză sufletul acestui oraș care bate în atâtea culori, religii și tradiții. Aș vrea să am ochiul unui fotograf, să capturez într-o poză, o clipă din sfârșitul unei zile oarecare în Financial District. Dar am doar cuvinte și sunt prea puține ca să facă dreptate acestui oraș minunat.
Și mai am o seară caldă de vară, cum nu sunt multe în Toronto. O seară în care am zăbovit câteva ceasuri pe o plaja frumoasă, nu departe de fabrica de zahăr, cu vorbele spunând povești și cu ochii încercând să ghicim contururile insulei din zare. Eram noi: eu, românca fugită de acasă, cu vise puține dar cu speranțe multe, ea, nemțoaica șatenă, care se plimbă de colo colo prin lume și nu-și găsește locul, angajata unui lanț hotelier prestigios, prietena ei, venită în vizită din America, angajata unei corporații de renume, apoi rusoaica blondă, veselă, petrecăreață, pe atunci șomeră și iranianul cu inteligență peste medie, om de știință, doctor și profesor la o grandioasă universitate.
Am depănat amintiri frumoase, la lumina stelelor și a ambarcațiunilor ancorate în port. Cinci oameni atât de diferiți, adunați aleator de viață, sub același cer, în aceeași noapte, pe aceeași plajă, într-un oraș unde este loc pentru oricine și unde oricine poate să aibă un vis și unde orice vis poate să devină realitate, facând loc altui vis. În Toronto.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Suzi are iar un nou iubit. Recent ieșit din pubertate, la cei 22 de anișori ai săi, se uită la Suzi cu prosternare, deoarcece Suzi, femeie experimentată, trecută prin viață, și-a coborât ochii spre el. Este frumos de pică și pasional. Este de undeva din Centrul Americii așa că îi spune lui Suzi “mami, eres bonita, te quiero mucho” și Suzi se simte de parcă ar mânca un desert păcătos de delicios dimineața, la prânz și seara.
El vrea să-i facă patru copii lui Suzi. Suzi crede că parcă el e suficient dar îi spune că și ea ar vrea doar că nu prea mai are timp chiar de patru și ar fi bine să se limiteze la maxim unul, având în vedere că ea nici măcar nu-și mai amintește cum este să ai 22 de ani. El îi explică euforic că are timp destul, adică, dacă începe la 35 de ani, face unul pe an și la maxim 39 – 40, termină. Mda, Suzi nu prea se vede schimbând scutece aproximativ un cincinal dar el îi spune “mi amor, quiero hacer el amor contigo” de suficiente ori pe zi ca să tacă din gură.
În rest, relația decurge normal . El îi face pe plac și ea nu se supără. El gătește, ea nu spală vasele, el vrea să fie surprins și Suzi nu trebuie nici măcar să se trezească din somn ca să reușească asta. Când ai 22 de ani, nu prea ai avut timp să fii surprins așa că totul ți se pare nou și ieșit din comun. El o adoră și ea îl lasă, generoasă cum o știm. El se crede macho și Suzi îl aprobă. El e fericit că ea îl aprobă și îi zice pentru a nu știu câta oară într-o zi “mamita rica, quiero hacer el amor contigo ahora mismo”. Dar asta e și ideea…
Suzi are un nou iubit. Un iubit tânăr, frumos și exotic. Pentru că merită.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Noaptea este caldă și cuvintele sunt puține. Dar gândurile sunt nenumărate. Avem un million de gânduri prizoniere între noi doi și nici măcar un cuvânt care să le elibereze. Avem doar zâmbete, priviri, atingeri și speranțe că nu vom înțelege greșit.
Nu știu în ce fel să-l citesc. Nu este o carte, să-l țin în mână, să-l răsfoiesc pagină cu pagină, să zăbovesc asupra unui rând până îi deslușesc înțelesul. Așa că, probabil avem și un milion de semne de întrebare între noi.
Aș vrea să existe un muzeu al primelor dăți, cu expoziții de nerăbdare, speranțe, dorințe, întrebări, temeri, nesiguranță, zâmbete timide, săruturi furate, îmbrățișări pătimașe, să mergem acolo de fiecare dată când ceva ni s-a întamplat pentru prima dată acum prea mult timp, ca să nu uităm vreodată.
Pentru că nu trebuie să uiți cum este să simți tot și să nu știi nimic. Nu trebuie să uiți cum este să ghicești, să te întrebi, să te miri. Nu trebuie să uiți ziua care a fost fermecată doar pentru că nu s-a mai întâmplat vreodată.
Ne ținem de mână și nu întrebăm nimic. Visăm un million de vise, gândim un million de gânduri, zâmbim un million de zâmbete. Noaptea este blândă și cuvintele sunt puține. Săruturile sunt multe și atingerea lui este caldă. Este doar un băiat pentru restul lumii, dar în seara asta, pentru mine, el este lumea toată.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
This post is about men. What’s new in that, you may wonder, as I always write about men, like I am a manoholic or something! My bad, my dear readers. Is that I love men so much! And I find them fascinating, I can’t get enough of them! I look for their company, I like talking to them, I like trying to find out how they function, why they are so…men. The experiment is still running and I haven’t made any outstanding discoveries yet, of course. I am mostly having fun. I am looking at them slowly, I am taking my time. Either they are my friends, my ex boyfriends or just boys that I dated once or more than once, I want to make justice to them in this post. I want them to know that I enjoyed / I am enjoying every moment with them and between them and I, men make more sense than women. In everything! One conclusion I have come to, is that we don’t understand men, because we think too complicated. They think in such simpler terms that our mind can’t comprehend.
Go to http://ana-lavinia.posterous.com/men-men-men for the rest of this entry.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Ryan googled a little about Romania and he found interesting stuff like: gypsies, Inna, Muma Padurii, Brăila, Hungarians, Traian Vuia, communism. Nothing about Dracula, though. Or Hagi. But his observations are priceless! Enjoy!
P.S. Ryan is the cuttest drummer ever! :))
Ryan: Gypsies. 2.6 percent of the population.
Lavinia: Yeah. One too many, some might say :))
Ryan: You guys start school at age 6 or 7?
Lavinia: Usually 7.
Ryan: Inna is hot
Lavinia: Hahahaha. I like her looks. She is my type of girl. :)))
Ryan: I will be famous and tour Romania to meet her. Hahaha.
Lavinia: She is already famous so it is a matter of time until she gets here. I hear one of her songs all the time here.
Ryan: Oh, she has a song named Hot. It makes sense. I bet she is completely manufactured.
Lavinia: Yes, she is a product.
Ryan: Muma Padurii sounds freaky. She lives in a little house in the woods and attacks children. Why is she such a bitch?
Lavinia: Not anymore. Fat-Frumos killed her.
Ryan: OH RIGHT! The Knight, who fought her and the griffons! The Knight is like Romanian Batman but Batman is cooler. …You guys use spells?
Ryan: The star boys sound kinda gay.
Lavinia: Who is that?
Ryan: It says they sing at Christmas. Braila sounds like a place where blind people live. Oh, you guys are mega orthodox. Not good. Church bad. What else? Lots of Hungarians live there. Traian Vuia built a stupid plane.
Lavinia: It wasnt stupid!!! Come on!!
Ryan: Hahaha it was ok for THEN! It couldnt fly well now.
Lavinia: He tried!!!
Ryan: Yeah well, we invented penicillin, antibiotics.Go Canada!
Lavinia: You did? I thought we did! :)))
Ryan: Yeah, we did!
Lavinia: A Romanian guy invented the pen! How about that???
Ryan: So if your country actually did cool stuff in the past, what happened?
Lavinia: That is the one million dollar question, cute drummer!:))))))
Ryan: You guys are in the middle of everything. So every war probably had you in the middle.
Lavinia: True. Everybody fucked us. J)))
Ryan: Someone has gotta fuck something. MR SAXOBEAT.HAHAHA. BEST SONG NAME EVER!
Lavinia: I have never heard about that!
Ryan: Looks like an evil government screwed you guys up.
Lavinia: Or several.
Ryan: All the oligarchs still control things. So basically, before it was communist, so at least people got a bit, now everyone is on their own and it sent it into a chaotic state.
Lavinia: Our president told us that we are on our own and if we dont like it, we should leave the country. Which I did.
Ryan: Fuck that. What an ass!
Monday, August 8, 2011
How to make a man feel special
Between you and I, it is not such a big deal being a man. Maybe it was a big deal few hundred years ago when men were ruling the world and the households, but now? Except for sexual entertainment for straight girls, they have no other significant use. They should pray nature doesn’t make all of us bisexual because in this case they are gonna be extinct. We can do everything they do nowadays, we can even have children without their help. We can keep some good ones for breeding in special facilities, collect the DNA from time to time and we are done. No more drama in our lives.
Meanwhile, while men are still running free and we are not all bisexual, we should try to make them feel useful and good about their manhood. For example, everytime you must open a can, check if you have any man around you and if so, you can ask for help: "Hey, be a man and open this for me". If you have no man around you, just open it by yourself, it is ok. Anyway, we are genetically scheduled for doing harder things in our lives, like giving birth.
Remember, you can also make a man feel special if you have to open a jar or reach for something on an upper shelf or if you must carry a bag of groceries. Trust me, they will feel irreplaceable and some will get so arrogant about it that they will treat you like shit just because you have to put up with it otherwise, who on Earth will open the jars for you? In this case, stop using jars/cans, buy a stool to reach the upper shelves and get another man.There are plenty out there.
How to make a man be loyal to you
Feed him. This is how you get any pet’s love and undivided attention. Men, just like dogs, will always come back where the hot meal is. Meanwhile, they might stray like there is no tomorrow but you just want them to be loyal, meaning to always come back home after playing outside. Feed him and you will have him home by dinner every day. If this is what you want, ok, do it. It actually works. That guy, Pavlov, proved it.
But, if you want from a man to start straying as late as possible, the secret is not to feed him. First of all, show him what you got in bed, on the floor, in the shower, all over the house. If he claims he is hungry, order something. Pizza delivery got faster and faster these days. When you think he already likes and appreciates what you gave him in the other rooms, you can show him your skills in the kitchen. Let it be a surprise. Tell him it is the first time you cooked so he will think you are a natural. Sex him first, cook for him after. Otherwise, you will be just like his mother. Whom, I am sure, he deeply loves and no woman will ever be as good as she is but keep in mind that he doesn’t have sexual desire for her. So, figure out your priorities.
Bottom line is that you cannot make a man loyal, you can just hope for the best. If he is not loyal, it is ok, he is not irreplaceable. Now go get yourself one (man) and practice.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
I like being a woman but I can’t tell why. We are so fucking weird. We might look cute in dresses, you might like our shiny hair and soft skin but you don’t wanna be in our head. There are days when I want out of my head as I just can’t take it anymore. If I want out, how can I blame a guy? How can I tell him he is so lucky to have me when I actually think of how much bad luck this guy must have, to bump into me, from all women. And no, I am not worse than other women. I am just more honest. We are a pain in the ass and we know it.
Out of my great honesty and by answering a few basic questions, I have decided to share some tips to help men understand women a little. No reward required. Just try to be a better man. If you can.
How do I get a woman?
Go to http://ana-lavinia.posterous.com/women-sex-strawberries for the rest of this entry.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Question: What happens if it's raining men and you have no umbrella?
Answer: You get wet.
Ok, so I can’t find my umbrella. Not that I looked for it too much. But this is a different story.
What I wanted to tell you is I have realized that in my every day life I mostly talk about myself and about men. And this is not my choice. I would rather talk about myself but men always come into discussion and steal my thunder. Girls talk about men. Men want to know what girls talk about men. So either I hang out with girls or boys or both, the topic will be the same: men. No matter the job people will have, from unemployed to scientists, topic is the same: men.
Because I don’t find men that interesting and I would rather talk about myself as I am way much more of a topic than all the men in my zip code and not only (forgive my arrogance, but it's true), this post will be about what I think of men.
There are few questions girls ask all the time so here I am disclosing the absolute truth, just out of my good nature. Say thank you very much, ladies!
How do I get the man I want?
Go to http://ana-lavinia.posterous.com/men-sex-strawberries for the rest of this entry.
Friday, July 1, 2011
When I look back six months ago it is if I look back in another life time. So many intense, beautiful and meaningful things happened to me during these six months in Toronto, that I sometimes have the feeling I am living somebody else’s life.
When I left Romania, I actually ran away. My country and my town couldn’t have me anymore and I couldn’t have them. I was slowly turning into a small person, with a small mind, living a small life. For me, sky is the limit and my dreams have no borders, so living like that was killing me on the inside. I remember I was feeling drawn and bored. Tomorrow was just another day. My life was going by too fast. I didn’t stop to cease the day anymore. What was even worse, was that I couldn’t foretell anything interesting in the years to come. It seemed that when I ended my relationship with my ex boyfriend, I ended my relationship with my town and with my country. Therefore my strong desire to escape as soon as possible. At least for a while, to figure out where I stand and what I want to do with my life. Everything felt wrong and I didn't fit there anymore.
I chose Canada for my escape and I let fate choose between Toronto and Montreal. I believe in fate. So many times destiny had its way with me and proved me wrong when I was so sure I was right. There were times in my life when I thought I can have things my way. Many times I discovered that in fact, different things were carefully planned for me and what I wanted didn’t matter. That is why I don’t fight destiny anymore. I walk through life with a smile on my face and a positive attitude, always ready to embrace the unknown and to take all chances life offers me. I don’t spend my lifetime planning ahead anymore, I would rather spend my lifetime living and enjoying everything I am given. The same happened with Canada. I just intended to come here. The rest was nothing but destiny. That is why I like to think that I didn’t choose Toronto. Toronto chose me. It was supposed to be a five months getaway, to put my mind in order and get ready for the next step. Now, six months later, I want to live here forever. From the first moment I walked the streets of Toronto, I felt like I was home, back from a very long journey.
Go to http://torontotraveller.wordpress.com/2011/08/11/toronto-six-months-later/ for the rest of this entry.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I moved to Toronto. My little sister couldn’t join me but she decided that London is closer to Toronto than Craiova. I feel like she is breathing in my neck, especially that she lives twenty minutes away from Heathrow Airport. If she wants to come over one day, she can actually be here in six hours! So far and yet so close! But of course, having her over is always a pleasure.
She likes London but she has all kinds of health problems. Not that there is an issue about it. Nooo! The worst the health problem is, the better she feels. Her dream is to have a great disease, without cure so that she can give us a loud: I told you sooooo! Meanwhile, God, exhausted after all the real problems Earth is facing lately: earthquakes, floods, pollution, wars, recession etc, takes some breaks from time to time and makes fun of my sister. Now he gives her a huge pimple and she thinks it is skin cancer, now he makes her tonsils hurt and she thinks it is throat cancer, now he gives her a bad cough so she thinks her throat cancer got worse, now he gives her a backache and she doesn’t know what this is but she is sure it is really serious. Above all that, she lost a nail because she got a finger caught in the door of the car. You cannot imagine what a tragedy that was. She cried all over Skype, Yahoo Messenger and Facebook, I had to watch the finger in the webcam for a few hours and the family in Romania was alerted.
Now she has the chicken pox. What is surprising is that nobody has it at work or in the building she lives in. Well, not yet, at least. They will all get it soon. Thanks to my little sister. Chicken pox doesn’t really look nice on her but she is pretty anyway. Her boyfriend says so, not me. I find her extremely ugly. We all pray to God she won’t scratch too much and she won’t die, because it is ridiculous to have monthly check-ups for all types of cancer and in the end, to die because of chicken pox. A very severe and rare form of chicken pox but still...
I hope chicken pox won't give her high fever either, because when she has high fever she doesn’t understand the surroundings anymore. One morning, she had to take the train to be somewhere, so she went to Victoria Station. She went up and down the street where the station used to be. No station, what so ever. My sister was very puzzled. She was checking the map, walking the street again…nothing. The station was gone. After about half an hour of looking she decided to ask somebody: “Hi! Can you please tell me where Victoria Station is?”. The guy looked at her for a few seconds and then replied, without judging: “It is right behind you, love!” Oh, shoot! She looked all over the street but she didn’t think of turning around! The fever really makes her lose her way around! It’s ok! All is well when ends well.
Probably the most interesting thing my sister is doing in London, is an Indian guy. Kind of handsome, exotic type, with Kama Sutra in his genes. Can you ask for more? Of course, I don’t understand why on Earth they have their own tree to sit under? My sister says it is romantic but she is full of crap when it comes to romance. They have a very passionate relationship. They are seeing eachother for about two months, maybe. I am not sure, my math is really bad. During all this time, my sister thought he died only twice. But she had really strong, solid reasons to believe this. First time, he went to India and after both of them checked in on his Iphone at Heathrow Airport Terminal 4, she made him promise he will check in at Mumbay Airport as well, so that she knows the plane didn’t crash. He didn’t check in, so she was absolutely sure the plane crashed. His phone was also out of order for like 12 hours. A phone can be out of order only if the plane crashed, according to my sister's beliefs on how the cell phones work. She couldn’t see another reason. After 12 hours of torture he called. Apparently, he forgot to activate his roaming and then he got home and fell asleep after the long flight. These reasons were so non-tragic and so normal that my sister needed some time to accept them. A boyfriend disappeared in a plane crash is way more romantic than a boyfriend that forgets to activate the roaming service and the first thing he does when landing after a long flight is to rest and not to call her.
Few days later they were talking on the phone. They talked for a few minutes, then silence. Of course, any normal person would have thought that maybe the line cut off or the guy fell asleep or something. Not my sister. She told me on Skype right away: “I think he is dead again. He was just telling me he has a terrible headache. So I am sure he had a stroke. He is dead. This time, he is really, really dead!” There was no way I could bring her back to reality, like maybe he fell asleep. Actually that got her mad: “He’d better had a stroke than falling asleep while talking to me! This is rude!” Right! While a stroke is very polite to have while talking to someone on the phone. Anyway, the mystery was cleared few hours later, when he woke up. When he woke up from a deep sleep not from death! Apparently, before calling my sister, he had a wild party with some friends. The party involved alcohol. Alcohol makes you fall asleep. Simple as that!
But now my little sister is fine. I mean, she has chicken pox, a very severe and rare form of chicken pox but I am pretty sure she will survive. I wonder what cruel disease she will get after this. Maybe indigestion? A very severe form of indigestion, of course. We are talking about my little sister here! Even the common diseases are not common when she has them! She only gets the unique, very dangerous forms of the common diseases.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Julie enters her house and leaves the whole world behind the door. Now she can allow herself feel the pain until her soul starts hurting and she can cry until she loses her breath. She loves her yellow walls, her best friends the past few days, the unique witnesses of her torment. Some people know what she is going through but nobody is aware of the real dimension of her drama. She can’t develop the subject thoroughly with anybody. Not because she doesn’t want to. She would feel reliefed to put some of her sadness on other shoulders. But she can’t enunciate full sentences about it without starting crying. Some understand her and hold her without asking further questions, letting her deal with it her own way. They are offering her a warm hug, a kind look or few encouraging words and this means the world to Julie. Others rejected her. They needed full information in order to provide comfort. She couldn’t give it so she was sent away. This was a sad natural selection of true friends. She tries to visualise it as a cleaning of her closet at the end of the season but it is not easy as she never looked at the people in her life as if they were disposable. The fact that she was disposable for some should make things easier. But it doesn’t. When your motto in life is not “eye for an eye” but “forgive the bad and never forget the good”, broken friendships hurt like hell. She knows that who can’t handle her at her worst doesn’t deserve her at her best. But still….
How often do we think about dying? Almost never, although, in fact, it is the only certainty we have in life. We wake up every morning, we go to work, we get mad at small things like crazy traffic, slow internet, rainy day, bad hair day…We are not aware that we are actually, extremely lucky just because we have the chance to wake up, even on a rainy day, we are lucky to have a bad hair day, or to stay hours in crazy traffic, or to have a failed connection to Facebook. Life is such a wonderful gift and somehow, we are so spoiled that we take it for granted, we never take a moment to think about it and to be grateful.
Human nature is amazing. We go through life and we lose ourselves in the smallest things as if we are immortals. Although it is enough just to watch TV or read a newspaper to learn about people that die every day. We don’t even blink at it, as if this is something that will never happen to us.
Julie has never seen the ugly face of death so close before. She knew it was out there, having its way both with good and bad people, young and old people, never having a logical criteria when choosing its victims. Cruel and unexpected, this is how she always thought death is. But now, Julie feels like for a few days, she and death are face to face, staring at each other, waiting for the next move.
Julie is fine. But he might die. No one can tell if he will wake up after the surgery. He is Julie’s age. And, just like Julie and all the other people in their 30’s, he never thought about death before. And now he is counting the days until the surgery and he realizes he doesn’t have time. He left things unsaid, things unfinished, things unbegun. He would like to do them all now, in a breath. But he doesn’t know what to begin with. His girlfriend left him. She couldn’t handle the pressure. He didn’t argue. He let her go. He turned to Julie. Julie always knew what to say when the times were hard. He needed her strength and her positive attitude. He is so scared. He can’t die now. He has just started figuring out life.
Julie is overwhelmed by his fear. She has never felt fear at such level in someone. For the first time, she can’t find the right words to bring a bit of optimism to his mind. She can’t tell him that everything is going to be fine because she is not sure it is not a lie. He is practically begging her to tell him that things will get better and he will live. She finds it hard to tell him that, even though she knows how much he needs it. His fear makes her lose her mind little by little. She can’t answer the phone anymore when she sees his number. She feels his terror in every word, in every sigh, in all the long pauses he makes between sentences. She can’t see him because she doesn’t have the power to look him in the eyes. She used to be able to see his entire soul in his eyes: his kindness, his love for her, his happiness, his content, his dreams, his naivety, his simple dreams, his disapproval for her great dreams. Now nothing. His eyes are empty. She knows his soul is also empty. Nothing but an ocean of fear. She is afraid to let her eyes swim in that ocean. She is afraid she will drown, she is affraid she will get lost in there. So she won’t see him. He sends her emails. Julie starts crying before opening them. Every letter is a cry for help. And she can’t help him. He put all his hopes in her and she can’t do anything. And this is killing her slowly on the inside.
Nothing is the same anymore. From the moment she found out, her life is in slow motion. The bright colours she used to see the world in turned grey. Julie is not sure of anything she believed in the week before. Everything lost its meaning. She wakes up every morning, she has her coffee on the terrace, she puts on a nice outfit and nice make up, she flirts with her neighbour in the elevator, she goes to work. She does her job wonderfully, she smiles the entire day, she has lunch with her colleagues, she goes out with the girls after work, she goes to dates, she reads on the sofa in the evenings while drinking a glass of red wine, she watches her favourite sitcoms, she even makes plans for summer holiday. She does all that with a big smile on her face but she lacks her usual glow. The happiness that used to make her eyes glitter is gone. By pretending that life goes on, she hopes not to feel the pain that is tearing up her heart to pieces. The smile on her face prevents the million questions on her lips to come out in the shape of loud words. She doesn’t want to allow the world to see her puzzled, scared, insecure, with no control.
Once, he was her other half. Time has passed since then, lots of words were said, but time or angry words couldn’t kill the memory of a true love. Even if that love doesn’t exist anymore, trust and affection remained behind. Thinking that someone once so close to her heart might die, makes her think about her own death. When will her turn come? Is it near? Is it far? Is it going to hurt, like it hurts him? Who would she turn to, if something like this happened to her? Is she ready to go? Did she say everything? Did she say too much? Was she happy? Did she make enough people in her life happy? Did she forgive too much or too less? Did she try enough? Did she make the best of it?
This is what Julie thinks in the nights when she can’t sleep and she is counting the days to his surgery. She doesn’t have answers anymore. Just questions. Then the morning comes. And she gets out of bed, she has coffee on the terrace, she puts on a nice outfit and nice make up and she goes out the door to face the world with a smile on her face and a great pain in her heart. And she is determined to tell him that everything is going to be fine and that he will have all the time in the world to do everything he ever dreamed of. Because he deserves it, because he has just started figuring out life. And she goes out there to face the world with a smile on her face and to make the best of her life today. Because she might not get tomorrow.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
The walls are white and so is the ceiling. I can guess the sunshine and the blue sky through the grey shades. I can guess a glorious summer day outside, even if the curtains are drawn and my eyes are closed and full of tears.
I am trying hard to send my mind to happy places and not to listen to him. He is yelling. He is hurt. I am hurt. We are both hurt. I hurt him with one word. He hurt me with many of his actions in time. He tried to compensate every now and then. Everytime I was about to forgive him, he would strike again.
Now he is good and then he is bad and later on he is good again. I am more and more confused because I realise that with every day that is going by, I know him less and less. He doesn’t let me enter his mind so I keep mine locked too. The distance between us is increasing while we are actually getting closer.
His words are reaching my ears. I try not to let them reach my mind. He wants to put me down and he wants to put all the guilt on my shoulders. I am willing to do anything: to declare myself defeated, or guilty, even to ask for forgiveness if that would make him let me go. Because he doesn’t want to let me go. He wants me to bring arguments for the word I threw to his face. He won’t take it, otherwise. I don’t want to bring arguments. I just want him to accept that like he can do whatever he wants to me, without explaining me why he is doing it, I can say whatever I feel under the same conditions. Apparently that is not the way it works.
So now I am laying on my back on his bed. The ceiling is spinning. The white walls are suffocating me. The summer day seems to be in another dimension, so far away from this room full of our anger. I don’t dare to look at him and I try hard not to listen to what he is telling me: “You think you know it all, but you know nothing. You think you have it all and that you are above everybody. When you talk, people think you are invincible. This is not what I see when I look at you right now.”
I don’t respond back. Because I don’t know what to say, because I am not above anyone, because I am not invincible. Why would I respond to that? Why does he think I would try to prove him wrong? How come he thinks I consider myself a super woman when I struggle with life every single day and I lose most of the battles? Because I do this quietly and I don’t surrender? Because I don’t complain? Because I don’t ask for help? Because I don’t involve all the people I know in this great personal war I have with life? He doesn’t even know about my war. He never tried to look beyond the smile on my face or beyond the jokes coming out from my mouth. But he dares to judge me. He dares to tell me what I am and what I am not. He dares to keep me prisoner in this room so that I would listen. And maybe feel hurt. Again. Well…I am deeply hurt. And I am defeated. For real. I am defeated by the hate I feel in his voice. By his lack of understanding. By his failing in trying to sense with me. By his constant need to hurt my feelings. By his great attempts to try to make it up to me so that he would hurt me even more after.
I am defeated. You win. I am weak. You are strong. I am whatever you want. You are great. Let me fight my battles in silence. Let me deal with my hardtimes my own way. You can call me whatever you want. I will not argue. I will not try to prove you wrong. Because you might be right. Or not. But I don't know. Because there are so many things I don't know. Because I am not invincible. I am just defeated. I don't want to be right. I don't want to have the last word. You can have all that. Just let me go.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
My life started when everybody least expected, on December 31, not so many years ago. I came into this world at around 3 pm, just in time to make myself pretty for the New Year’s Eve party of 1980. Who would be so crazy to miss a party in the 80’s? Really now! Not me, for sure! I never miss a good party! You might think it is more appropriate for a child to come into the world on Christmas. But I was never crazy about old men dressed in red, so I decided to skip it that year.
I am sure I will also die when everybody least expects it, but enough with the morbid talk since it is spring outside and I am pretty sure I will outlive most of my friends, best case scenario. Best case scenario, for them, of course. Because I may outlive all of them. Thank God I can make friends really easy otherwise I would be dead! Well, not exactly dead, just socially dead. You know what I mean. But I take this chance to let them know that I will miss every one of them and to thank them in advance for keeping me company all their lives. Thank you, guys!
As a child, I was an angel with big eyes and curly hair. Bossing around the other kids and harrasing my sister but getting away with it because of the big eyes and the curly hair. My sister is fine now, in case you are wondering. She has her own tree in London and she spends romantic moments with her exotic boyfriend under that tree and when women in their 40s tell them they are a nice couple she doesn’t understand tat, in fact, those women would like some sugar with them. But otherwise, she is fine. Most of the time, at least. I hope. I don’t know. Anyhow…
My life is not easy. It never was! I had to face hard times ever since I was a teenager, when I realised my breasts didn’t take a break from growing but they actually stopped the process. Although I like to believe I came into this world as a bless, there were times when I thought that actually God made a joke on me. It is like he said, in his greatness: Well, here you are, girl! I gave you the small breasts and the big ass! Let’s see how you will manage to have a sex life with this package!
Go to http://ana-lavinia.posterous.com/spring-sex-candies for the rest of this entry.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Bărbații din viața mea nu pot fi cuantificați sau clasificați. Nu au fost mulți sau puțini, buni sau răi, frumoși sau urâți. Unii au zăbovit preț de câteva ceasuri, alții au rămas câteva luni sau câțiva ani. Unii au vrut să rămână o viață, alții abia au așteptat să plece. Unii mi-au trecut doar prin gânduri, în vreme ce alții mi-au trecut prin brațe sau prin pat. Dar fiecare dintre ei m-a întregit. Fiecare dintre ei a venit când a trebuit și a stat cât a trebuit. Pe toți îi port în mine pentru totdeauna. Ei sunt trecătorii care mi-au ieșit în cale când pășeam agale prin viață, căutându-mă și negăsindu-mă. Amintiri calde de pe vremea când sufletul meu era un puzzle enigmatic.
.Mă jucam cu păpușile și îmi erai în minte. Lăsam păpușile deoparte să mă gândesc la tine. Să visez. Inocența nu mi se terminase dar era pe sfârșite. Vroiam să visez săruturi și mângâieri dar nu le cunoscusem, așa că nu știam să le visez. Apoi mă jucam iar cu păpușile. Fetița se lupta cu femeia. A fost o luptă dreaptă și a învins femeia. Cu tine în gând, am dat jos fundele din păr și am început să cresc…
Pe tine te-am iubit cu încăpățânare dar nu am știut să-ți spun. Îți sorbeam vorbele și-ți încredințam secretele. Mi-era bine când eram cu tine. Nu demult mi-ai spus că și tu mă iubeai atunci. Dar nici tu nu ai știut să-mi spui. Îmi sorbeai vorbele și-mi încredințai secretele. Îți era bine când erai cu mine. Și acum ne spunem secrete și ne este bine când ne avem aproape. Nu știu dacă ne iubim. Poate nici acum nu știm să ne spunem.
Cu tine am învățat dragostea frumoasă, adolescentină. M-ai iubit privindu-mă în ochi și ținându-mă de mână. Ne lăsam visele pe băncile parcurilor și când te-am părăsit ai plâns. M-am iertat că te-am făcut să suferi, chiar dacă ochii tăi în lacrimi mă urmăresc și azi. A fost prima dată când am rănit un bărbat. Apoi m-am obișnuit…
Tu cântai la chitară, aveai părul lung și haine ciudate. Cântai frumos și îmi făceai inima să bată mai tare. Nu știai…Apoi mi-ai scris o scrisoare de dragoste. Ai tradus-o în Morse o noapte întreagă și mi-ai pus-o pe bancă, la școală. Când am gasit-o, ai fost în preajmă. Și te-ai oferit s-o traduci. Că tu știi Morse. Am aruncat-o cât colo și atunci nu ai mai avut curajul să-mi spui că este de la tine și iubirea noastră n-a mai început. Ți-a luat un deceniu jumate să-mi povestești despre scrisoare. Prea mult…
Cu tine am devenit femeie. Nu te-am iubit. Erai doar frumos. Și acum ești doar frumos și te joci cu toate femeile. Și-mi povestești despre ele și despre cum presimți tu că vei muri de mâna unui bărbat gelos. Și-mi place să am acces la mintea perversă a unui bărbat afemeiat…
Tu m-ai salvat de o mie de ori. În brațele tale am venit când vroiam să uit alte brațe. Și mereu m-ai primit. Și când vroiam să plec, mă lăsai. Și mă primeai iar, când vroiam înapoi. Când realitatea devine prea greu de îndurat, trăiesc o poveste cu tine. Ești basmul meu personal…
Cu tine am simțit ce înseamnă să fiu jumătate dintr-un întreg, să fiu sufletul pereche al cuiva. Am fost fericită că te-am găsit, că te am și eternitatea părea prea scurtă, trăită cu tine. Ai fost extaz și agonie. Iubirea pentru tine o simțeam în toată ființa mea. Iubirea pentru tine m-a făcut mai caldă, mai bună. Și apoi, durerea m-a doborât, m-a epuizat. Și uitarea părea să nu mai vină… A rămas amintirea dulce a unei povești ce ar fi putut fi frumoasă. Mulți oameni trebuie să trăiască zeci de vieți până să aibă ce am avut noi. Dar chiar dacă tu nu ai fost pentru totdeauna, amintirea ta este…
Tu ai fost un răsărit de soare, o mare caldă și un băiat frumos. O dimineață de vară ca nici o alta din viața mea. Ochi albaștri, vorbe frumoase, săruturi lungi. Și un regret…
Tu ai venit într-o duminică geroasă și însorită, pe Markham Street și mi-ai arătat puțin din lumea aceasta nouă, în care în unele zile vreau să mă pierd și din care, în alte zile, vreau să fug. Ești normalitatea din ceea ce poate să fie haosul unui nou început sau doar o aventură de-o iarnă. Cea mai lungă iarnă…Ești frig, zăpadă, Downtown, Plato, Pink Floyd, weekend-uri leneșe, filme, ciocolată, ochi verzi care râd când mă privesc, răsfoit de cărți la Indigo, cappuccino în fotolii largi, în cafenele prietenoase, glume multe și lungi discuții despre viață…
Ei sunt ei. Imperfecți și necesari. Eu sunt și eu și ei în același timp. S-au amestecat cu mine și m-au făcut ceea ce sunt acum. Unul singur dacă ar fi lipsit din viața mea, nu aș mai fi eu, întreagă.
Și de asta iubesc bărbații. Pentru că dacă nu ar fi ei, nu aș mai fi nici eu, așa cum sunt azi. Și nici fericirea nu ar avea atâtea fețe și nu ar fi la fiecare colt, pândidu-mă, să mă năpădească, să mă posede, să mă copleșească…Pentru că bărbații sunt bucuriile și tristețile noastre, fericirile și durerile imense care ne inundă sufletele și mințile o viață întreagă, iubindu-ne sau părăsindu-ne…
Friday, April 22, 2011
Tell me later about you, about what you like and about what scares you. Now, I want to eat a peach, to pet a cat, to dream that I will never get old and that I will fall in love every day of my life. With you... Or not…
I like hot summer days when it is yellow outside because of too much sun and the night forgets to fall over the world and we laugh until the light of stars is reaching us, sitting on benches torn by other people, in other seasons. Tell me later that winter has not left the backyard yet and let me listen to how it snows and shed silent tears while all my dreams are gone to a warm sea, on an empty beach…
You want to love me when my thoughts are black and my coffee is almost over, when I miss other times and I want to hear a voice of a dear friend whispering anything to me. Tell me later that you would like a sandwich or you would like me not to be sad anymore or you would want me to wear a red scarf when it is raining outside.
I always do tomorrow what I have not done today, tomorrow is always the most beautiful day because tomorrow it may happen everything that did not happen until now. Tomorrow everything is possible and tomorrow I am invincible. Tell me later that there is no tomorrow, that yesterday is already gone and that today is all we have...
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The boy met the girl on a Sunday afternoon, at an art gallery. The girl was looking at how the bright colours of the paintings got even brighter in the sun that was coming in, through the large windows and the boy was looking at how the girl’s eyes smile when enjoying the Sunday, the summer, the sun, the colours of the paintings…
The boy met the girl on a Sunday afternoon, at an art gallery. The girl was looking at how the bright colours of the paintings got even brighter in the sun that was coming in, through the large windows and the boy was looking at how the girl’s eyes smile when enjoying the Sunday, the summer, the sun, the colours of the paintings…
The boy took the girl to the lake and the girl said that the sun is the greatest painter of all because it can change colours like no other. It can make water blue or grey, it can make her eyes green or brown, it can make his hair yellow or sandy…He said that the sun is the best therapist of all because it can make you smile just by rising, it can make you fall in love just by setting in a million colours, it can make you feel like a Sunday is the most beautiful day in your life…
The boy and the girl spent many sunny days together. The time was passing and the boy liked the girl more and more. One morning, the girl wanted to hold his hand, because she also liked the boy more and more. But the boy put his hand in his pocket. The girl’s eyes got so sad but her lips kept on smiling. And she held his arm. Sometimes, one needs time to take their hands out of their pockets and hold hands with others. And one might need help and patience and understanding. And more sun in their lives, to make the colours brighter…
The boy and the girl are walking on a quiet street under the warm morning sun. She is holding his arm. His eyes are changing colours. His blonde hair is getting golden in the sun. He takes his hand out of the pocket and holds the girl’s hand. Keeping his hands in his pockets for so long, he never thought that sometimes, happiness is nothing else but holding someone’s hand in a sunny morning…
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Catrinel nu-și găsește cardul așa că, nevoită să nu mai facă cumpărături, pleacă bombănind să se culturalizeze. Cică ar fi pe insula Macao un castel vechi. Vechi, deci cultură.
Cu poșeta pe umăr și ochelarii Ray Ban pe nas, Catrinel purcese spre castel. Dar na, că azi are numai ghinioane, vere. Castelul ăsta este pe un deal și poșeta ei este grea. Cum poșeta n-o lasă acasă, fie că urcă pe un deal sau coboară într-o peșteră, își continuă preumblarea de culturalizare, cu chiu, cu vai. Și cum urcă ea, așa, agale, gândindu-se unde ar putea să fie cardul ei și încercând să-și amintească la ce mall erau rochițele alea la reducere, vede cum pe poteca dealului urcă sprintene și două mirese chinezoaice. Adică astea chiar urcă ditamai dealul să se mărite ele la castel. Ce prințese wannabe și chinezoaicele astea. Catrinel n-ar fi urcat dealul ăsta daca ar fi avut card! Ar fi urcat maxim scările rulante de la un mall. Sau două malluri. Poate trei…În fine…
Miresele, având un scop precis, au lăsat-o pe Catrinel în urmă. Biata Catrinel, sub povara genții, nu mai are altceva de făcut decât să admire peisajul în pas de melc. Când ajunge sus, pe culmea dealului, iaca poznă! O mireasă e victorioasă, că se mărită, tocmai zice “da”, în timp ce cealaltă plânge de-i saltă rochia pe dânsa, că ginerică se pare că se hotărî că nu e cazul să se cațere pe forme de relief ca să-și ia nevastă. Prea mare deranjul…Sau oare o fi fost concurs? Ginerică stă în vârf de deal și miresele fac concurs, care ajunge prima se mărită? Un fel de Amazing Race? Oare ar fi putut și ea să participe? Ah!!! Dacă ar fi știut! Lăsa geanta într-un boschet și o lua la picior. Sigur le făcea pe pipernicitele astea, care se vede clar că nu se duc în fiecare zi la Pilates și de Zumba nici măcar nu au auzit!
Face pe furiș o ședință foto fericitului cuplu și miresei parasite la altar, pardon…pe deal…și își continuă drumul spre castel, unde nu știm ce s-a întamplat, că pe Facebook a pus doar pozele cu tinerii însurăței și tânăra parasită. Dar dacă nu a fost concurs și ala nu a venit la nuntă, este chiar țăran. Putea măcar să-i trimită un mesaj: “fată, vezi că eu m-am gandit că parcă n-aș avea chef să mă însor azi. Nu mai urca dealul, ca proasta, în rochie de mireasă, că nu vin. Hai pa! “ Ar fi fost chiar așa greu?
Oricum, supozițiile sunt inutile că de fapt nu știe ce s-a întâmplat și crede că dacă se duce să întrebe, în primul rând nu e frumos și în al doilea rând, sigur nu înțelege engleza de baltă a chinezoaicei.
Culturalizată până la ultima șuviță de păr, încărcată spiritual și fără să-și amintească unde a lăsat cardul, Catrinel începe să coboare dealul. Se învârtește ea ce se învârtește prin natura din preajmă dar civilizația tot nu se ivește. Caută nordul, cum a învățat în școala generală. Steaua polară n-o găsește, că nu este întuneric încă. Se apucă să caute mușchi pe trunchiurile copacilor. Găsește pe unul. Bun! Deci ala e nordul. Ok. Și ce? Că ea nu știe în ce direcția e autobuzul spre vaporul spre Hong Kong…Na că s-a rătăcit! În sfârșit, înțelege cum trebuie să se fi simțit Scufița Roșie când îi ducea mâncare bunicuței sau Hansel și Gretel când n-au mai găsit cărarea presărată cu firimituri. Dacă e să fie, măcar să n-o mănânce lupul, mai bine s-o prindă vrăjitoarea aia, s-o ducă la casa de turtă dulce. Că o să o rezolve ea pe vrăjitoare și o să mănânce casa. Chiar că ar mânca niște turtă dulce! Dar padurile chinezești au lupi care mănâncă fetițe în rochițe? Ia să scoată telefonul să caute pe google fauna și flora pădurilor din Insula Macao. Și să-și dea și un check in: Catrinel is in the Macanian Woods. Să vadă câte like-uri primește.
Cum butona ea de zor, (nu pe Google, că până la urmă s-a luat cu Facebook-ul și a uitat de lupi), din negura pădurii apar niște flăcăiași chinezi. Do you speak English? le zice Catrinel plină de speranță. No! No! Good bye! Good bye! urlă puștanii. Ok! Ok! Good bye! Hong Kong? Taxi? Bus? îi roagă Catrinel. Adică în traducere liberă ar însemna: dacă vreți să good bye de aici, arătați-mi cărarea spre Hong Kong!
Băiețașii nu îi pot arăta, bariera lingvistică îi oprește așa că o conduc pe biata noastră eroină, cale de juma de ceas prin pădure, că se rătăcise Catrinel, nu glumă! Tot drumul, copiii au urlat: Good bye!!!! Good byeeee!!! Cum naiba să te simți bine venit? Sincer acum…
Călăuzită de vajnicii macanezi, Catrinel ajunge în cele din urmă la autobuz. Luminile mallurilor se vedeau în zare și reclame luminoase îi încălzeau sufletul. Civilizație! Tinerii băștinași i-au întins câteva bacnote continuând să urle Good byeeee good byeeeee! Catrinel dă să le explice că are bani, ăștia nimic! Îi îndesau banii în geantă urlând good byeee good byeee. Catrinel le arată portofelul și încearcă să le spună prin semne că are bani, doar că nu-și găsește cardul, motiv pentru care se și află aici. Ăștia nimic, domnule, ziceai că-s turci, nu alta. Good byeee good byeeee și îi băgau bani lui Catrinel prin buzunare ca la lăutari.
Până la urmă Catrinel a acceptat cadoul de bun rămas (așa a hotărât ea să-l considere), s-a suit în autobuz și dusă a fost!
Macanezii nu s-au mișcat de acolo până când nu s-a întors autobuzul gol și au primit confirmarea șoferului că insula este în siguranță. Catrinel a luat vaporul spre Hong Kong.