Crazy Love

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)

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

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

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.

Jeremy

 Jeremy is a song by Pearl Jam. This is my reading of the song, nothing more, nothing less! ☺

The song starts with Jeremy in a place he calls home. This location has nothing warm and cozy, nothing truly familiar, nothing really appealing to him. All he wants is to escape from this environment. In his locked room, he starts drawing pictures of mountains tops, those far away places where he could possibly feel happy, and be strong. In those remote places he could be himself, not (a) nobody, but somebody, a different person.

His arms raised in a V are nothing but a loud attempt to grasp the sky, the limit, a strong image of the ultimate freedom. His arms are expressing what his words are unable to say, are reaching for attention. He can’t escape from this world without making one last try to stop all this pain he feels inside. So he’s sending out desperate signals to a world that never had or wanted him.

Death is following him everywhere: at home, in his drawings, but more than anywhere else, dead is in his mind and in his heart. The dominating color of his world is not black, is not grey, but maroon, a dark tone of red. I couldn’t help but wonder why maroon and not any other color. Is he seeing blood all around him? Is that his own blood, a metaphor for all the pain he’s constantly going through, or is that the blood that will fall when he commits suicide? Is he referring to the wound that’s bleeding deep inside him or is he foreseeing his own death?

Maroon can also stay for a descendent of a runaway slave. Is he a prisoner in this life? Is he trying to run away? Is that the reason why he’s drawing mountain tops that could take him closer, at least as a mental illusion, to the sky? Is thus suicide the only way to escape or to regain freedom?

The realization that the sun he puts in his drawings is not yellow, but lemon yellow, makes his pictures even sadder. The yellow sun should have stood for sunshine or happiness. But not even the sun makes his heart rejoice; the sun is not bringing him warmth, but more lemony taste, bitterness. His mommy never cared. The use of the affectionate word mommy for the mother that was never his mother, emphasizes the emptiness of his existence. Daddy (the word is used for the same artistic purpose) never gave attention. So little Jeremy had to build his own world, had to be strong and become the king, ironically, again, of his own world, of his own person.

At home Jeremy is quiet. He speaks through his drawings, but nobody is there to see them. Why is he the wicked one? Is it because he is different? Is it because he feels the world in a very intense way? At school he is misunderstood. He needs to communicate but his connections with the world surrounding him are altered by the lack of affection and the lack of care that damaged his mind and heart. That is why he bits the recess lady’s breast. He has never had a normal, natural relationship with his mom. Was he physically aggressed or just emotionally tortured? His natural reaction is to bite, not to love, not to express affection, since he has always been deprived of those manifestations.

One day the voice in his head, yeah that voice of truth, of reality was just too loud. And he couldn’t stop it, so he just had to stop the pain. He spoke up for the first time. So sad, he spoke up, for the last time too. This is the reality Jeremy tries to get rid of.

Like in the Greek tragedy, a member of the community, accompanied by a chorus, is telling the story. The cathartic purpose is noticeable, since so many others can reflect themselves in Jeremy’s pain.

25 things why I love you

 1. You make me happy!

2. You make me smile every single day, so that even random people can see how happy I am!

3. You’re real. A real person, a real man, a real friend…

4. I trust you and I feel you trust me too.

5. I love the way you love me!

6. You make me forget I’ve ever loved before; you make me feel I’m falling in love for the very first time.

7. You’re intense!

8. You’re not afraid to show me how much you love me! Oh, how I love that!

9. You spoil me!

10. You understand my writings. 

11. You bring out the best in me; you make me be a better person.

12. You make me feel special!

13. When I’m with you I feel so strong, I feel there are few things I cannot do.

14. You are such a sweetheart.

15. When you hold me, time stops, problems disappear.

16. You’re not afraid to be emotional/ or to let me see that part of you.

17. You love your mom so much and you made so many sacrifices for your family that only this reason in itself would have been enough to love you more than I’ve ever loved before.

18. Each time you look at me, I feel you can see deep inside me. That’s why sometimes I get scared, cause I feel you can see so much.

19. You don’t need lines to make me love/ want you.

20. I love you because you don’t run away scared each time I freak out.

21. You are one of the most amazing persons I’ve ever met (I like to think you’re my unpolished diamond; that’s why not everyone can see your real value; but I know it’s there, so I don’t want to lose my beautiful diamond!)!

22. You made me understand that the reality can be as good as the dreams are or even better. Isn’t that something?

23. You make me forget that I was running away from love.

24. You send me flowers on a random day, just because you love me.

25. I love you because “25 reason why I love you” are not enough to complete my list of why do I love this guy.

La Vita è bella

Nu, nu am de gând să scriu despre filmul care a dat titlul postului meu. Aceasta e doar o altă pagină de jurnal, una dintre paginile pe care nu trebuie și nu pot  să le ascund de ochii celorlalți. 

Îmi spun: La Vita è bella când descoperi cu plăcere că mergi pe aceeași stradă pe care ai pășit și ieri, și în urmă cu o săptămână sau un an, dar descoperi că ceva, în tine, e schimbat. E un sentiment nou și parcă totuși cunoscut. La Vita è bella când realizezi că zâmbetul de pe fața ta nu trece neobservat, nici chiar de oamenii de pe stradă, pe care nu-i cunoști și care nu te cunosc, dar care înțeleg ce e imprimat pe chipul tău. 

La Vita è bella când povara pe care o porți în inimă și parcă greu pe umeri, dispare. Zâmbetul conturat înainte, prin și datorită altor surse, se intensifică și dintr-o dată, parcă vrei iar să oprești timpul și să privești spre cer și să-i zâmbești celui care-ți dă forță zi de zi. Dar nu, nu, de data astă nu vreau să opresc timpul. De data asta vreau să las timpul să treacă. Curând o să zbor, o să mă transform în leac și atunci o să-mi doresc din nou să opresc timpul pentru că de fapt altceva se va întâmpla: zâmbetul meu își va vedea reflectarea, surprinzător, fără o oglindă. Și atunci voi auzi iar în minte, o voce, venită de nicăieri, șoptind: La Vita è bella!

Peste tot, în oraș, magnoliile stau să înflorească. Zâmbesc din nou și o voce interioară îmi confirmă că evoluez și eu în același ritm cu natura. Armonia aceasta îmi creează o stare de bine și, deși urăsc promisiunile, îmi promit să nu renunț niciodată la vise.

Ploaia

Plouă. Azi soarele s-a ascuns de mine. Aș vrea să-i spun că mi-e dor de săruturile sale suave ce mă fac să visez la primăvară. Dar nu, nicio șansă să se arate azi. Totul e gri! Încerc să topesc monotonia cu  o ceașcă de cafea neagră. Gândurile refuză să se lase transformate în cuvinte. Se vor căutate precum un copil ce se bucură pentru întâia oară de descoperirea jocului de-a v-ați ascuns.

Nu renunț. Încep un nou paragraf și-mi propun să mă las inundată de gânduri. Fețe cunoscute, idei asupra cărora m-am oprit în ultima vreme îmi apar dintr-o dată în minte. Zâmbesc pentru că știu că ceea ce trăiesc acum, deși departe de țară, de familia mea, de patria mea de limbă, e ceva special. Și totuși mi-e dor de bătrâna Europă. Din nou îmi doresc să fiu în două locuri în același timp. La prima vedere, ar putea părea o dorință egoistă. Dar simt că nu pot renunța, definitiv, nici la America, nici la Europa. Mi s-a spus că aceasta e eterna condiție a dezrădăcinatului, a celui care se desparte, cel puțin aparent, de țară. Fără să vreau gândul mă poartă la Paul Goma și al lui exil. Nu doar din România iubită în care nu și-a găsit nicicum locul, ci exilul din literatura română. 

Și nu am putut să nu mă întreb: ne despărțim oare cu adevărat de oamenii sau locurile  care nu mai sunt în viața noastră? Sau dimpotrivă continuăm să purtăm toate acestea cu noi pe parcursul întregii vieți? Și ce înseamnă a lăsa în urmă, dacă avem mereu cu noi oamenii pe care i-am cunoscut și iubit, locurile dragi? 

Părăsind România m-am despărțit de o întreagă existentă. Simt că am lăsat în urmă o Ligia care acum mai există doar în inimile celor dragi sau în amintirile mele. Reminescențe ale Ligiei celei de atunci, o întâlnesc pe Ligia cea de azi prin fiecare rememorare- voluntară sau involuntară. Unele amintiri sunt vii, limpezi, trăite parcă ieri, pe când altele sunt ireale, file desprinse dintr-o carte citită sau răsfoită cu mult timp în urmă. Ajungem astfel să fim personaje ale cărții pe care o scriem la trecerea fiecărei zi.  

Plouă. Sorbesc o gură de cafea și o voce îmi spune că ar trebui să mă opresc din aberat. O altă voce îmi șoptește însă că e totul ok. Zâmbesc la gândul că până și gândurile mele ar vrea să fie în două locuri (direcții diferite) în același timp și reduc totul la tăcere. Poate că mâine soarele va străluci și atunci mă voi lăsa iar alintată de razele lui delicate.

Joc Culoare Timp

Zilele se scurg, nu, nu, fug unele după altele într-un joc pe care încerc mereu să-l înțeleg, dar, asemenea unui copil ce găsește regulile jocului prea complicate, mă retrag pe margine și observ.

Unele zile sunt calde. Se conturează în nuanțe suave de roz. Altele sunt gri. Am mai scris despre gri și despre cum aș dori să-l pot transforma mereu într-o culoare, orice culoare. Alte zile sunt pur și simplu de un albastru crud, dureros de rece. 

De pe margine, unde m-au împins regulile prea complicate ale unui joc ce se presupunea simplu, observ că oamenii trăiesc ca și cum ar avea timp. Ca și cum ar avea eternitatea în degetul mic, ca și cum nimic nu i-ar putea opri sau nimic nu li s-ar putea întâmpla. Aș vrea să zâmbesc, dar pur și simplu nu pot. Jocul acesta e prea trist, căci duce spre moarte. Oamenii aceștia sunt prea triști. Și doare că nici măcar nu conștientizează că pierd mereu ceea ce deja nu au: timp! 

Și, pentru că am devenit copilul ce stă pe margine și nu înțelege regulile unui joc devenit mult prea complicat și mult prea puțin distractiv, ca să nu spun dureros, m-am întrebat: de ce lasă oamenii visele să plece? Și observ că jocul e din ce în ce mai dureros. Culoarea pălește și vraja se destramă. De pe margine, câteva lacrimi cad tăcute. Cum ar fi dacă aș putea rescrie regulile jocului? Aș crea un joc simplu, fără complicații inutile, multă distracție și categoric armonie. Culorile ar străluci sub lumina delicată a soarelui și nimeni nu ar mai sta pe margine.

Ce te face să zâmbești?

O leapsă (din nou de la Capricornk, știe ea ce știe!) despre 6 lucruri care te fac să zâmbești și la care trebuie să postezi regulile. Iată-le:

 

1. Link back to the person who tagged you

2. Post these rules on your blog

3. Share 6 things that put a smile on your face

4. Pass the tag along six other fabulous blogs

5. Let the tagged people know by leaving a comment on their blogs

 

Șase lucruri care mă fac să zâmbesc: 

1. Razele soarelui și adierea delicată a vântului într-o zi de primăvară sau toamnă.

2. Prezența unei persoane dragi.

3. Zâmbetul inocent al unui copil. 

4. Amintirea persoanei iubite, îmi conturează uneori, involuntar, un zâmbet larg pe față – spre surprinderea celor care mă văd, păsind, mereu grăbită, singură, cu ochii plini de lumină și fața dominată de zâmbet.

5. Anumite priviri!

6. O scrisoare, un e-mail, un sms, un bilet, un telefon sau orice alt semn de viață trimis/ lăsat de cineva drag.