It’s time to say goodbye!

October 27, 2011

Time has come for me to say goodbye to my blog. I think this is more of a post for myself, to let myself know that this blog is over, rather that to let anyone else know. I guess by now all of my (former) readers, pretty much,  figured it out that this part of my life has come to an end.

For the longest time, I wanted to keep this blog alive, to keep it going. It might have been just my attempt to keep a part of my “old” life going, just like a teenager that refuses to grow-up and move out of his parent’s house. But I’ve changed. I am a different person now. Is this good, is it bad? I don’t know. I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while now, but I still haven’t found (yeah, yeah, I hear you, it’s a U2 reference!) the answer I was looking for. And who knows if that answer even exists. Some say, the answer will come when you less expect it. So maybe it’s a good think that I am not looking for an answer anymore.

Writing this blog was fun. I loved every single moment of it. It was, and it will be a little part of me- one that I treasure! What will I do next? I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out sooner or later. So long blog friends, and keep blogging! :-)

High heels and random fragments of memory (Writing as a therapy IV)

July 11, 2010

I remember the high heels I used to wear as a kid. Of course, my mom’s shoes. Beautiful white sandals I used to wear all over the house while trying on clothes, mostly dresses, accessorized with whatever jewelry I had, and, of course, handbags.

Then I remember my friend Tam. We are sitting in Harvard square, sipping on a nice tea, and talking. I’m telling her about the man I love and I want to marry. She’s in sock. I guess she thinks this is a mistake. I want to make her understand how much I love this man. I’m not a kid anymore, I’m a grown woman, living on my own, in a foreign country away from my family, friends, and everything.

And suddenly I remember the heat. It’s that heat that one could almost see during the summer days of my childhood, back in Romania. I remember how happy I was in my polka dots skirt and my white top that my mom made especially for me. It’s hot in the room, maybe that’s why I’m thinking about those hot days sent in Romania. Surprisingly, I’m not thinking about the time spent in Italy- and south Italy can be really hot, I’m thinking about those good old days I had in Romania. As I’m typing these random thought, I can almost hear one of my reader- if there are any readers of this blog left, saying how easy it is to psychoanalyze that memory. I smile and decide to move on, not to delete this paragraph. Usually that’s pretty much what I do, but this time I save my own text from myself.

I’m tired. I can’t sleep. I keep thinking what should I do. I keep asking myself where do we go from here- me, myself and I? I try to find my way, so I go to the shoes store and buy the same shoes my mom used to have. They don’t carry them in white these days, they just have them in black. So, fine, are not the same exact shoes, but are similar enough to the shoes I used to wear as a kiss. I put them on, and I feel happy. It’s almost the same happiness the I used to feel wearing my white high heels. Happy I say; hmmm, so I start wondering why are the tears falling down my cheeks.

People should have the option to push an ignore button for all the things they don’t want to have in their lives, or don’t want to deal with. I guess this is not a very mature, strong, positive attitude, but before you go ahead and judge me, think about this for a second or two: if that button existed, we could focus on the positive, the most important, and the most valuable thing, instead of all the crap we’re constantly surrounded by. Would you do it? I’d at least give it a try, for a change.

And I remember Patri: her cute little smile, her beautiful eyes, her arms around my neck. I keep thinking about her, how I miss her, how I’d like to see her play, and hear her adorable voice. Guess what, she loves high heels too. And then I hear that inner voice that I’d like to ignore sometimes, saying: she’ll spend many sleepless nights like you, thinking, and thinking, and thinking once again. I want to make that voice stop. And more than anything I want to stop thinking. I need a break. I’m here on this couch, because I put on hold too many things that I valued, too many thing that I loved. Now I feel that I don’t even now how I feel…

ani de liceu- interviu in viata incepe la ora 8

May 17, 2010

întrebări şi răspunsuri

Dacă în numărul anterior aţi putut afla mai multe despre viaţa unui luduşean de-al nostru, pe care valurile vieţii l-au îndrumat tocmai până în Japonia, în acest număr ne-am gândit la o fostă profesoară a liceului nostru, şi anume Ligia Pamfilie, care de asemenea a hotărât să înceapă o nouă viaţă dincolo de frontierele României. Stimata noastră profesoară a ales ca punct de destinaţie America, exact în cealaltă parte a lumii faţă de Vlad Herţa, intervievatul numărului trecut. Cum şi de ce a făcut această alegere, dar şi consecinţele ei le puteţi desluşi aruncând o privire asupra dialogului ce urmează

So: Vroiam să facem o paralela pe tema “plecatului din ţară” între un elev şi un profesor. Numărul trecut l-am ales pe Vlad Herţa, care şi-a început facultatea în Japonia. Şi mai vroiam un profesor. Dar dacă mă gândesc bine, aţi fost şi elev al liceului nostru. A fost el un “cimitir al tinereţii” sau mai degrabă o imensă enciclopedie din care nu apucai să înveti tot ce aveai de gând (şi aici mă refer la perioada în sine a liceului, nu neapărat la materiile obligatorii)?

Ligia: Privesc mereu cu drag şi nostalgie la anii de liceu. Au fost ani rodnici pe care i-am folosit din plin şi asta mă bucură. Am studiat intens, am citit enorm, iar timpul rămas l-am folosit pentru a mă implica în voluntariat. Sunt ani în care am dormit puţin, uneori 4 ore de somn pe noapte, după modelul lui Eliade. Trebuie însă să recunosc că am avut şansa extraordinară de a avea oameni minunaţi în jurul meu şi pe părinţii mei care m-au sprijinit şi susţinut în tot ceea ce am ales să fac.

pikchiu: Şi după ce aţi trecut prin băncile liceului, aţi ajuns şi la catedrele acestuia. Cum era priveliştea din spatele catalogului? V-aţi dorit mereu să-i “educaţi” pe tineri?

Ligia: Priveliştea din spatele catalogului… hmmm… era diferită de la clasă la clasă. Dacă m-ai fi întrebat însă care a fost cea mai plăcută privelişte pe care am văzut-o, ţi-aş fi răspuns fără a sta prea mult pe gânduri: satisfacţia pe care am perceput-o în ochii şi comportamentul elevilor mei, la sfârşitul unui proiect, a unui referat, sau chiar a primei cărţi citite. Am văzut tineri cu un potenţial creativ imens, cărora am avut şansa să le împărtăşesc din cunoştinţele mele şi de la care am învăţat la rândul meu.

Mă întrebi dacă am vrut mereu să fiu dascăl. Să fiu foarte sinceră, nu. La început a fost o provocare. Am vrut să-mi demonstrez în primul rând mie, că pot să mă achit cu suc- ces de o responsabilitate aşa de mare, în ciuda faptului că eram foarte tânără. E o profesie pe care am ajuns să o iubesc treptat, pe măsură ce m-am implicat din ce în ce mai mult în munca mea şi am ajuns să îmi cunosc mai bine elevii. Din păcate meseria de profesor se bucură de foarte puţin respect în România la ora actuală. Mă doare acest lucru. Nu pot să nu mă întreb unde am fi oricare dintre noi fără nişte dascăli buni? Ştiu că le datorez enorm profesorilor mei şi că nu aş fi putut să-mi îndeplinesc vi- sul de a vedea America fără contribuţia lor. În plus, me- seria de profesor mi-a permis să am o contribuţie, fie ea cât de mică, în evoluţia câtorva sute de elevi. Şi asta nu e puţin lucru.

pikchiu: Aţi plecat la studii în America, deci. Ştiu că eram la sfârşitul clasei a IX-a când ne-aţi dat “marea veste” – “de la anul nu ne mai vedem”. Aţi crede dacă v-aş spune ca uneori îi aud pe colegii mei (mai ales tipul cu “so many girls, so little time”) spunând “ce bine era pe-a noua la română”? Nu sunt mulţi, dar mai sunt. Vă mai leagă ceva de liceu? Sau poate de oraş.

Ligia: Mă bucur să ştiu că mi s-a simţit lipsa. Mi-e in- credibil de dor de acea parte a vieţii mele. România, Transilvania şi Luduşul sunt şi vor exista întotdeauna în inima mea. Sunt parte din mine, şi oriunde în lume voi fi, o parte din inima mea va bate mereu pentru locurile natale. De România m-am despărţit doar fizic, niciodată afectiv sau intelectual.

pikchiu: Îmi amintesc un articol publicat de dvs. în ziarul Luduşeanul, la scurt timp după plecare. Vorbeaţi acolo despre “feţele gri ale oamenilor din metrou”. Doamna dirigintă ne-a adus ziarul în ziua aceea şi ne-a citit arti- colul. Nu sunt prea coloraţi oamenii nici peste ocean?

So: V-a fost greu să vă acomodaţi?

Ligia: Ştii cum se zice, iarba pare mai verde în curtea vecinului. Din afară lucrurile arată întotdeauna diferit. SUA au fost lovite din plin de criza economică actuală, iar de multe ori asta se vede şi pe feţele oamenilor.

În ce priveşte acomodarea, trebuie să-ţi mărturisesc, Cambridge-ul a devenit rapid a doua mea casă, m-a adop- tat fără prea multe întrebări, fără reţineri. Cambridge-ul e un oraş universitar foarte cosmopolit, extrem de aproape în spirit şi atmosferă de marile oraşe europene. Despărţit de Boston doar de râul Charles, Cambridge-ul găzduieşte nu numai renumitele universităţi Harvard şi MIT, dar şi un număr mare de alte şcoli, muzee, biblioteci, parcuri şi cafenele. Oamenii sunt foarte deschişi, prietenoşi, aşa că tranziţia a fost nu doar uşoară, ci şi extrem de plăcută. So: Atât în calitate de student, cât şi de profesor, cum aţi vedea o comparaţie între învăţământul străin şi cel din ţară? Există măcar grade de comparaţie?

Ligia: Constat cu stupoare că învăţământul din Româ- nia e în continuă cădere. Nu pot decât să mă întreb, până când şi până unde se mai poate continua aşa. Nu avem cu toţii nevoie de educaţie, de şcoală, de profesori? În- cerc să înţeleg de ce tot acest circ mediatic iscat în jurul profesorilor. Oare cât de jos mai trebuie târât sistemul de învăţământ românesc până când se va face ceva?! Citesc presa din România cu regularitate. Mă doare imaginea şcolii din România ce se desprinde din presă. Ce exem- plu le oferim studenţilor cu toate acestea articole denigra- toare? Mi-aş dori să văd că părinţii se străduiesc împreună cu profesori să le ofere tinerilor cea mai bună educaţie posibilă. Din păcate, cu riscul de a supăra pe unii, trebuie să recunosc că nu prea am văzut acest tip de colaborare.

So: O continuare a studiilor s-a dovedit în cele din urma a fi o plecarea definitivă din ţară. Mai e urmă de întoar- cere (vizitele nu se iau în calcul)?

Ligia: Ştii cum se spune: “Niciodată să nu spui niciodată”. Dacă şcoala din România ar înceta să fie ţinta bătăii de joc a tuturor şi dacă aş putea să trăiesc decent din salarul de profesor din România, normal că m-aş întoarce.

pikchiu: Consideraţi că România (ca să nu particular- izez) v-a dezamăgit? Să stai în ţară doar pentru că “esti român” nu mai este o idee prea bună. Cum i-am spus şi lui Vlad, naţionalismul devine din ce în ce mai prostesc în situaţia de faţă.

Ligia: Am muncit enorm pentru tot ce am realizat în România. Îmi amintesc, de exemplu, cum în anul III de facultate, am avut un curs de Istoria Literaturii Române pentru care am avut de citit peste 150 de cărţi, dintre care mi-au rămas necitite doar 4 sau 5. Nu regret timpul şi energia investită. M-a durut însă că am pus acest efort în slujba unui sistem ce se bazează în continuare pe pile, nepotisme şi relaţii. Nu România m-a dezamăgit. M-am săturat de acest sistem corupt în care nu mi-am putut găsi nicicum locul.

pikchiu: “Statul” în America poate fi considerat şi ca o călătorie mai… lungă. Bănuiesc că aţi avut destule de văzut. Ştiu că vă plac locurile şi oamenii noi. Şi vă mai place (puţin spus) şi Eliade. V-aţi gândit să-i călcaţi pe urme, şi să vizitaţi India?

Ligia: Dacă mă gândesc bine viaţă asta e o călătorie, o sumă de experienţe care ne ajută să creştem, să evoluăm, să ne maturizăm, să ne cunoaştem mai bine. Am călătorit destul de mult în SUA şi am avut posibilitatea de a cunoaşte oameni extraordinari, din domenii şi culturi diferite, de la care am învăţat foarte mult.

E adevărat că Eliade mi-a marcat adolescenţa – am început să citesc într-un ritm frenetic după ce am citit jurnalul lui Eliade, şi tot datorită lui mi-am dorit să descopăr Ameri- ca. India e parte din acelaşi vis, la care nu am renunţat niciodată şi care sper că va deveni realitate în viitorul a- propiat.

So: Ce le-aţi sugera tinerilor încă foarte confuzi în ceea ce priveşte viitorul pe care să-l aleagă? Sa profite de orice ocazie si sa nu-si planifice prea tare viitorul, sau din contra?

Ligia: În condiţiile în care mi se pare că tot mai mulţi români cred că se pot realiza în viaţă prin bani obţinui rapid şi, dacă se poate, fără prea multă trudă, le recomand tinerilor să muncească din greu pentru ceea ce îşi doresc. Le-aş sugera să profite de anii de şcoală cât mai mult. Cunoştinţele de limba română, limba engleză, operare calculator şi matematică ar trebui să facă parte din min- imul necesar fără de care nimeni nu poate porni la drum. Fie că ne place să recunoaştem sau nu, România e o ţară săracă, mică, încă tributară comunismului. Cred că singu- ra eliberare poate veni prin educaţie, prin cultură, iar cei ce vor cu adevărat să reuşească vor trebui să muncească enorm.

So: Mulţumim pentru timpul acordat!

au consemnat Sorina Mărginean şi pikchiu un articol realizat de Sorina Mărginean

Row thoughts or Feminine literature on my desk

May 1, 2010

It’s not a secret anymore that I haven’t been writing a lot lately. I can’t say the same thing about reading. I got to read some interesting books, that have something in common: all of them are written by women. Was I planning on this? Not really, it just happened. I realized it only later, after I’ve already read most of them.

It all started with Leslie Morgan Steiner’s,  Crazy love. I was at the library one day, reading Psychology today, when I discovered a very interesting article in which a Harvard graduate is telling her story, not as a successful professional, but  as a battered woman. I was socked, saddened, depressed and more reading her story. I lost sleep for several night in a row, and I finished by writing about this powerful book, and talking about it over and over again. Crazy love made me realize how fragile our relationships with others are and how important it is for a person, for a woman, to be in charge of her life.

Soon after I finished Crazy love, I read Mommy war, an anthology featuring 28 essays about modern motherhood. This anthology left me with mixed feelings. I was always thorn between being a career woman, and  a stay-at-home mom. How can a woman balance her job outside of the house and the responsibilities she has as a mother? I’ve learned that there are several correct answers to this question. Know I finally know, it depends on what works for your family, what makes you and your family happy. If a woman will be highly dissatisfy staying at home with her children, maybe she should just go back to work and have some external help with her children. So when she’ll be with her children, she’ll value that time and she’ll try to make the best of it. There’s no perfect situation, and no perfect solution. It’s a give and a take, and no matter how hard one will try, all we can do as women, and as mothers is to make the best of it: to try to be happy with our decisions, so as to be able to irradiate that happiness to our spouse and children.

While still reading Leslie Morgan Steiner’s books, one of my girlfriends (Thanks, Ale!) told me about the book she was reading: Elizabeth Gilbreth, Eat, pray, love. My friend’s review of the book was very negative. She was very disappointed with her choice. Before buying the book, she read a bunch of reviews and everybody seemed to be impressed with this woman’s search for everything. Everybody, but my friend. So, I decided to read the book, thinking I was up for a great reading experience. Nothing true. Throughout the book I had mixed feeling: is the narrator/ character just a spoiled little brat who gets money form her boss to travel to Italy, India, and Indonesia and write this pre-ordered book? It’s hard not to have this feeling while reading her book. Every single part seem so artificial, so constructed. But then, another part of me comes in saying: “What if her feelings are real? Why should I be so harsh on her just because she’s got everything pretty easy in life?” Needless to say, I still have mixed feelings about this book. To me, Elizabeth Gilbreth is a writer because that’s what she wanted to be, not because she had something so powerful to say. It definitely took me a long time to finish her book. Why? Maybe because the book is so artificial. What’s real and what’s fiction in her so-called memoir? I couldn’t tell. Maybe it’s all a big fat lie, or maybe not.

Drink, Play, F@#k: One Man’s Search fot Anything, Across Ireland, Las Vegas, and Thailand is  a witty parody written after Elizabeth Gilbreth’s Eat, pray, love. Andrew Gottlieb’s book goes along with one side of my reaction to Gilbreth’s book. He’s basically building the same story from a man’s perspective. I read his book sitting on a little chair, at Borders. It’s a quick read, for a boring afternoon, when all you want is to decompress and have a good laugh. I enjoyed this non-pretentious, funny, ironic, and realistic view of our modern time existence, with ups and downs, successes and failures.

On another continent, around the same time, another friend of mine was reading Desert flower. (Thank, Iulia!) She warned me that Desert flower is a different kind of reading. I’ve never read a book about FGM before. Waris Dirie’s story is more than impressive. It’s a powerful story, of a woman that went to hell to escape from her own family, her own culture. It’s  a story about how to overcome your own limit and succeed in spite of the cruel conditions that life has offer you. Waris Dirie, can be a role model for any girl, and and woman on the face of the earth. Her story has the fresh smell of the desert, of a barbaric society that believes in it’s own rules and traditions. Women are mere animal in this culture, individuals with a lot to do, but little to say. I suggest everybody should read this book. Men and women, should listen to her story, and thus truly understand what effects FGM has on women.

After discovering Waris and her books (shortly after reading Desert flower, I read Desert down, and then Desert children) I couldn’t stop researching and reading more about FGM. I couldn’t believe what I was reading, what I was discovering. It was hard for me to accept that our modern and post-modern society still allows, in a way or another, cruel practices like this. FGM is practiced not only in African and Arabic countries, but also in Europe.

Waris Dirie’s Desert children investigates the FGM practice in Europe. I have to confess, I was shocked, I was ashamed, and I was sadden to find out that many European countries permit, directly or indirectly, FGM to continue. I know we can’t change the world, but I strongly believe we can make it a little bit more bearable. We don’t have to go on with practices that have been created hundreds or thousands of years ago, just because are part of a culture, or a tradition. How about stopping for a second, to think at the consequences, to think at the impact a certain thing will have on an individual, on his/her future and of course on his/her family and society. I think it’s time to stop acting like machines, that pretend to be smart, that pretend to know, but just copy-paste an information that requires not an upgrade, but a re-creation.

Writing as a therapy (II)

April 21, 2010
  1. I miss my mother. I miss both my parents more than I usually like to admit. I miss my cute little niece, and my brothers.
  2. I miss Cambridge. The nice streets, the access to culture, all the coffee houses, and my quite peaceful existence.
  3. I miss my girlfriends.
  4. I miss teaching.
  5. I miss writing on a regular basis.
  6. I miss working for a literary magazine.
  7. I miss Sissy.
  8. I miss being able to walk everywhere, and using public transportation.
  9. I miss seeing a play, a show, or going out dancing with my friends.
  10. I miss hanging out with easy going people. You know, people that have a life, so they mind their own business, instead of making your life a living hell.
  11. I miss being surrounded by people with positive energy.
  12. I miss the Ocean.
  13. I miss dreaming. Day dreaming included.
  14. I miss New York City. NYC is not very popular in the MidWest. But NYC has such a great influence on me. It gives me so much energy, and makes me write every single time I go there. How could I not love it?
  15. I miss living in a fascinating place.
  16. I miss the sun and the blue skies. Working in an office with no windows is no fun.
  17. I miss those times when being myself was enough for people to like me, or even more,  to love and cherish me.
  18. I miss enjoying life, being at peace with myself and others.
  19. I miss my life more than anything else.

Kat

February 25, 2010

Yesterday I got to talk to one of my friends, I haven’t talk to in a long time. For privacy reasons I’m going to call her Kat. I’ve known Kat since high school. She was one of the most beautiful girls in my school. Slim and tall, she could have easily passed for a model with her beautiful black hair, and deep blue eyes. But she is not just a good looking woman. Kat is a wonderful friend, a great mother of two, and such a strong individual.

Since she got married, soon after graduating from high school, Kat’s been through a lot. Her story is pretty much the story of the beautiful girl who married the bad guy. Kat’s family wasn’t thrilled about her decision to marry an older guy, with a very different background. Little by little they got used to the idea, for the sake of their daughter’s happiness. But happiness wasn’t quite the right world in this context. Kat was anything but happy. In her in-laws house she couldn’t find her place: as a wife, as a mother, as a woman, as a person. Their life lacked privacy, was filled with conflictual situations, and stress that progressively killed the love she was sharing with her husband.

Eight years later Kat and her husband moved in in their new home. They got to live in a nice house, with a big garden, and nice neighbors, located in a beautiful area. By now, their daughter started school. It was around this time that Kat discovered she was pregnant again. The timing wasn’t great since she was one semester away from graduating from College, and she was looking for a job in her field. Nine months later, Kat had the baby, and she decided to stay at home with her son for two years.

Having a new baby and getting a College degree didn’t really help her marriage. Kat was feeling lonelier and lonelier in her relationship. She arrived to the point when she couldn’t refer to her relationship in a different way than “loneliness in two”. They had privacy now, but it was way too late. At this point there was nothing that really reminded Kat of the person she used to be. She felt lost, abandoned, empty. What was she supposed to do? She did make a mistake. She married the wrong guy. Together they had two beautiful children. Kat didn’t want her children to pay for her mistake. So she started putting a mask on her face in front of her children. That only made her sadness deepen.

Since we spoke yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about Kat. Her sadness, became mine. I couldn’t help but thinking how unfair life is sometimes. So many times. Too many times. I wish I could help Kat. I wish I could take away her pain, her burden. I know there’s nothing I could do to help. This is Kat’s story. I’ll keep being her friend no matter what she’ll decide. I’ve secretly got my answer while talking to her yesterday. I’m glad I was strong enough as to keep it to myself, and trully allow her to decide whatever she things will work better for her and her family. Kat’s story can be everybody’s story. And I think that’s the saddest part of Kat’s story.

Crazy Love

January 11, 2010

I haven’t been writing for a while. At least not on paper. I’ve composed my posts mostly in my head, a very safe place to keep them. Yes, I was hiding. Please, don’t even ask, it’s a long story. Maybe one day, I’ll be able to continue my “Writing as a therapy” posts, and I’ll get to tell you about my feelings, and about my thoughts. You know, those written only in my head so far.

So, what made me write this time? Write and share with the world? It’s this book I devoured mostly last night, in the solitude of my basement: “Crazy love”. ”Crazy love”, by Leslie Morgan Steiner, is an incredibly powerful book any woman should read. Maybe you’ll ask yourself, how will  ”one woman’s fight for her life in an abusive marriage”- that’s the book’s subtitle- help me?

At first glance, this reading is nothing but a traumatic experience for the reader. So then again, why would somebody recommend this book? It’s a very intense life experience. It’s an intense life course -there’re courses about mostly anything, why wouldn’t we have life courses too?- you’re taking throughout the whole reading: so vivid, so powerful, so painful, but so true. The book starts out almost like a New York City modern fairy tale. When you think something is too good to be true, it’s time for you to put on comfy shoes, and run away as fast as you can. But then again, we love dreams, and we love fairy tales, and we love to think, even if we rarely ever admit this, that a modern Prince Charming will come and rescue us, and make us fall in love with him head over hills. And there’s nothing wrong with that I believe.

I think women all over the world, regardless their marital status, or the state of their relationship can identify themselves with Leslie, or Les, how the author often refers to herself. Almost every woman has done something crazy out of love. Maybe she moved away, gave up on her education, her studies, her family, her friends, her religion, her beliefs, or some things she used to love, just to be “happily married” or a “good supportive wife”.

I smile, remembering how us women like to think how different we are, how unique, and how special our love experience is.  I’m not going to say anything to destroy that. I’m just going to say, that weirdly enough, I think us women have a lot in common. I used to think I would never make the same choices my mom made years ago, but, hey, I guess I was wrong. In the name of love, we sacrifice everything, and we are ready to put our lives on hold for the sake of the person we love. All until one day! And then, the strong side takes over our weak side, and we finally stand up for ourselves. That’s exactly what Leslie did after more than 3 years of physical abuse.

The last part of the book is painful. Almost like a horror movie. After reading almost the whole book, I lay in bed without being able to fall asleep. Different fragments of the book were coming back to me; various questions popped in my head, but more than anything sadness. Why? Why? Why?

Reading the book, I couldn’t help but wonder, why didn’t she leave him after the first time he battered her, 5 days before their wedding? Or after he abused her on their honeymoon? The book itself answered my questions over and over again: where was she suppose to go, to whom was she suppose to turn for help, how could she publicly admit that the man she adored was cruelly beating her? He took her away from the city, where she had her friends, a good job, and a place to escape. Plus, – pathetic as this may sound- she loved him! While we as readers are trying to understand Leslie, Leslie’s question is why men beat women? Why her lover, husband, her so-called soul mate beat her?

Leslie has finally stood up for herself. She saved her life, she saved herself from an abusive husband. The lesson learned and her message to us: nobody should ever say yes to abuse. Being abusive is wrong, and we need to make a statement about the abusive persons we have in our lives. They might need help, but we need to help ourselves first, and get out of that situation as soon as possible, before it might be too late. I strongly recommend this book to all the women out there, and not only. Leslie Morgan Steiner’s book is not just another piece of writing, it’s a life experience, or a life course, I encourage you all to take!

Writing as a therapy (I)

December 21, 2009

Have you ever desired that by some sort of a miracle your life will change? Have you ever wished to be in two places at once? I guess I’ve been sleeping for a long time now, and I’m finally waking up, only to discover that all my worries are real, not part of a dream, or a nightmare. And when reality hits, what should someone do?

This is not the typical choice between good and bad. Whatever I choose, whatever I do, I lose. I have to weight the loss, and decide based on that. I stop and think for a second; instantly, I have tears in my eyes. I try to be strong, and stop the tears from falling. And then, I start wondering, why is this life such a whore? Why do I have to lose something I love, and really need in my life, in order to gain something else I love and want? All of a sudden, I’ve heard a voice in my head whispering: “This is so unfair”! I couldn’t help, but agree.

I used to think this life could be different. Now, I don’t know what to think anymore. I keep digging for a solution, but it seems like the solution keeps running away from me. I close my eyes to pause for a second, and then I remembered some words I’ve heard a while ago: “Ligia, this is the eternal condition of the immigrant.”

When I first moved to America, I had so many dreams. In spite of my very young age, I already had a successful career behind, and I obtained pretty much all I worked for. People respected me, and I was appreciated. America was a dream. America was the land of Eliade, my mentor, was the land of the unknown, the land that had all those intriguing stories. I was looking for more knowledge, for a chance to learn and discover even more; I think I knew America was going to be a life-changing experience, but I didn’t realize how much my life was going to change.

Shortly, in my head, Cambridge became a synonym for America. I’ve rediscovered myself in Cambridge, I’ve come at peace with myself, I’ve made many friends, and I had a life there. I enjoyed every single day spent there; I opened up and bloomed like a flower. But, for some reason, all good things have to end. I soon discovered that there is no real happiness outside of the paradise. Now, that I don’t live there anymore, I can’t help but wonder: “Where did all the dreams go?” “ Where is all that energy, that happiness, where are my all wishes and wants?”

[…]

I’m not sure whether all these words make sense to anyone. I guess this is just another example of writing as a therapy- the cheapest form of therapy I know, and the only one I can afford. After all this time, I finally found that inner power one needs in order to accept his life isn’t perfect. Of course, this is just a small timid step; but it’s a start, it’s a beginning. I need to get myself back to me. I need to be able to dream again, be happy, make people around me happy, and live with a purpose.

Random thoughts, on a random grey day

November 24, 2009

I do what I do, and then I start thinking of time again.  It’s me, over and over again, realizing that time is passing, it’s running away from me without me being capable of doing something to stop it. I open my blog page sometimes, and I can’t believe it, it’s been more than 5 months since I last wrote, and published a blog post.

It’s true; I won’t deny it, these 5 months were 5 different months, way more intense than other months: beautiful, busy, new, exciting, and sometimes stressful. I didn’t just move from one part of the country to another, sometimes I feel I’ve moved from one culture to another. And even more than that, I’ve moved on with my life, and I’ve started “writing” (ironically speaking, cause in reality, I’ve stopped writing!) a brand new chapter of my existence.

There are so many things inside my head. So many thoughts, so many ideas, so how come I can’t write anymore? I read a lot every day, I try to stay focused, but somehow I lost it, it’s not there anymore.  I surprise myself sometimes in front of the white page of my blog trying to put down some of my thoughts, but nothing really sounds interesting, or at least decent enough to allow someone else to read it. Who knows, maybe that’s the core of the problem? I’m over thinking it, and because of that my writing is becoming too artificial, or just too “tense”, exactly like a person that’s trying too hard.

I like this idea of viewing my small piece of text as a person, with it’s own personality, desires, and, why not, feelings. Is this crazy? Maybe. Did you, my reader, whoever you are, did you ever think of your text as a person? I’ll just get back to my thoughts now, a little bit happier that I’ve finally broke the ice, and put some of my thoughts on paper.

Joaca timpului cu mine

June 12, 2009

Frunzele copacilor din pădure radiază sub lumina blândă a soarelui după-amiezei. Liniștea naturii se amestecă cu vocile suave ale copiilor. Râul pare liniștit și doar freamătul pădurii pare a răspunde neliniștii din sufletul meu. Aștept… aștept… aștept… am numărat zilele, dar apoi zilele s-au transformat în ore. Mă încăpătânez să nu mai număr orele, să las timpul să treacă în neștire, în speranța, nespusă, că, poate, astfel, timpul va trece mai ușor, mai repede.

Ce ciudată e percepția mereu relativă a timpului. Uneori aș vrea să pot să opresc timpul din curgerea lui prea rapidă – mai ales în oraș, unde ritmul vieții este foarte alert. Și apoi, alte ori, timpul pare a se așeza de-a curmezișul asemeni unui catâr și refuză să treacă, să-mi aducă mai aproape, mai repede, clipa atât de mult dorită.

Și atunci ce e de făcut? Să mă resemnez? Să-mi ocup timpul cu altceva? Să evadez în natură sau pur și simplu în vis? Să accept cumva joaca aceasta a timpului cu mine?! Sau poate să lupt și să-i arăt timpului că îl pot înfrânge, că-i pot schimba încăpătânarea?! Zâmbesc la idea mea năstrușnică de a mă juca cu timpul. Ar fi cu siguranță doar o altă încercare don- quijotescă menită să stârnească fie hazul celor care nu și-au dorit nicicând să grăbească sau să oprească mersul timpul, fie un oftat din partea celor care înțeleg exact despre ce vorbesc.


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