Coldest Day Of The Year

Yap, here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the Moment I’ve been anxiously awaiting for some time now… well, the actual moment will never be known for certain (note to parents: pay attention, damn it! what else have you got to do?!?)… My mum had been swearing for ages it was around 8 in the morning, until we discovered the Lost Notebook containing critically important data, among which the Actual Time of My Coming.

Somewhere around 10 a.m. sharp, if you must know.
My mum was safely asleep, as the Nice Mr. Doctor cut her tummy up, and pulled me out.

They say birth is a very traumatic experience (for the Baby! hello!!); so you just try to imagine what it must have been like for me…

I must have been swimming around, in my nice, comfy, warm puddle, minding my own business, making air-bubbles out of my ... err… special bubble-machine, when …
Wham! Bam!
Cold, rubber hands jerking me out! Out! Into the BIG COLD NASTY world.
Damn it!
My temper – now do you understand?!?

Do you suppose they pinched me or something? Did they pinch you? No? So… why did you scream? Weeeelll, I mean… You knew what was happening… you probably packed your bags and were ready to go when the Big Wave carried you down-stream gently…

Me… I wasn’t prepared, man! I didn’t know! I was still dealing with some New Year’s Eve hangover… I wasn’t ready! I needed more time!
What do you mean ‘for what’?
To prepare. To plan things out. You can’t expect me to undertake a whole new LIFE and improvise, can you?

Welll, anyways… what’s done, it’s done. There was nobody there to protect My Interests, you see. Mum was overwhelmed by the huge tummy and restrained to bed, and they must’ve put her to sleep before she could say anything. Poor thing. I guess it was better for her as she must’ve been scared to death. (having something alive growing inside of you … c’mon! haven’t you seen Alien?!? Did it seem like fun to you??)


Anyways… it was very cold that day - January the 5th is in fact known as the coldest day of the year – which is probably why I’m always cold. (it took me a while, but I've got it all figured out). The city was covered in snow, and unexpectedly, on the morning I was born, the sun shined brightly, as it did all day long. Or so the legend goes.

I can imagine the Good Mr. Doctor waking up that morning, seeing the colorful sun-rise on his way to work and saying to himself: “Today – is a good day – for science!!”


Despite my attempts to teach them any better, the White Ladies squeezed me into these white sheets, like I was a darn cocoon. Very uncomfortable, as I’m sure you all remember (well, if anything, you must remember that! You couldn’t move your legs or anything, and that thing was getting in between my bums…). Rather disconcerting, my tiny body was only able to sustain a bit of a fight, and my scientific and detailed explanations sounded more like raging baby-crying. Of course they lied to my poor parents and told them that I was ‘very quiet’ and ‘slept all day, like a baby’… I guess they didn’t know any better.


All in all, after a couple of nice meals (mum made my milk just the way I wanted it, not too cold, not too warm) and some nice massage around my … private parts, I was satisfied with their attempts to make amends, and I accepted what seemed to be their sincere apologies. There’s no point in holding the grudge for a rough start, is there?


The sun was shining, the snow sparkled in what seemed like millions of shiny diamonds, I felt nice and warm, and this darn world seemed like it was going to be a nice place afterall. So I decided to give it a chance.



Oh, a man they called ‘dad’ showed up like a couple of days later; he must’ve felt kinda guilty about missing the whole thing so he brought along this black box that made tiny copies of me and my mum, to remind him of that day. My mum keeps one of those in a frame, by the mirror, in out living room. She missed the whole thing too, I guess.

Come to think of it - I was by myself, with a bunch of strangers helping me out. That must've set the tone for the years to come.

Don’t know exactly what that was, but it seemed like an electric current going from mum to dad, like they had some sort of special connection. When one smiled, the other smiled too, instantly, like they were wired together. Good thing, too. I wouldn’t have recognized him otherwise. He felt like a complete stranger to me. I even tried to tell them that I wasn’t comfortable around him – but they seemed rather happy about my fussing about: ‘look, honey, she’s happy to see you!’ (Gosh, grown-ups are such losers sometimes!)

Dad? Oh, he had been miles away to a land they call China. Yeah. Big Business or something. Very important. World-saving enterprise. Power-puff Girls didn’t pick up the red-phone, so he HAD to go. Can’t say ‘no’ to saving the world, can you?

Well, I know that his one and (as it turned out) only child was about to be born, BUT…as a man, being there for the actual birth is overrated, really. The woman’s doing all the work, the kid is but a ball of tissue and … errr … blood… can’t even tell it’s human or not… chances are you’ll either faint (terribly embarrassing) or stay in the hallway anyway. So, if it’s either China (and saving the world, don’t forget!) or the off-white, hospital hallway… My dad was too smart for his own good; very responsible, too. He HAD to go. I understand.


You know, he turned out to be a welcome addition to my life. If it was for my mum alone, I would’ve never learnt anything. Everytime I reached for something, she screamed “no, pumpkin, don’t touch that!”; but he was cool about it. He let me play with his … arrr.. tools, and then, when I managed to take apart the tape-recorder into like a thousand pieces, while my mum was screaming in despair, he was smiling calmly – don’t know what the *uck he was so calm about. We never managed to put them all back IN afterwards…

But he was a lot of fun… we laughed a lot together, and he taught me many things. They say I get my cranky sense of humor from him. I couldn’t say. By the time I was old enough to understand his jokes, he was gone.

Yeah. Big Business or something. Very important. World-saving enterprise. Power-puff Girls didn’t pick up the red-phone again, so he HAD to go. Can’t say ‘no’ to saving the world, can you? I understand.


So, anyways… looks like there’ll be snow for my birthday, and my dad is missing it again. Hope there’ll be sun-shine too! I’m probably going to be busy the next couple of days (that’s code name for hiding in the darkest corner, crying in the pillow, feeling sorry for myself) and I wanted to share my memories with you all. It’s been 29 years…

Yeah, I remember everything – just like I’ve told you.



P.S. Should you forget to or deem as unimportant to say 'happy birthday' to me, all hell will brake lose and you'll be very, very sorry!

la munca, bah!! (doar ca sa ma dau mare si sa "share")

adica yours trully invata sa manareasca chestii pe calculator - (i.e. sa editeze filme)

povestea:

prin septembrie, nashii mei m-au plimbat nitel prin jud brasov (cred). uite'asa am trecut pe langa falnica cetate a rasnovului - si am urcat ca cica mie-mi plac cetatile (si sabiile, si super-eroii... aveam o prietena care avea o sabie veche (si un samovar urias de argint); mi se parea foarte cool; dar eram teenager si mi se pareau multe chestii cool; nu ca acuma... :-P madalinei, georgianei, si altor necredinciosi).

tot ce e de vazut, am filmat io (cu o camera foto! sa n-aud complaints despre calitatea video/sunet, blah-blah-blah). sunt si niste poze - la poze. e si o taxa de intrare (parca 100 000 roli), care-ti cumpara dreptul sa vezi de aproape zidurile de piatra si pe interior (sic!)
ce nu pot sa va arat (ca costa prea mult o poza si io sunt cost-efficient) e curtea interioara - plina de 'relicve'/obiecte 'istorice': o caruta, niste vase mari, o gradina...

"si cam ce e de vazut?" o intreb pe tanti de la intrare... 'cum ce? zice ea... "cetatea!"
'ok, ok', ma inrosesc io ca un turist ignorant ce eram, 'ce anume?'... "pai mai sunt niste camere cu niste sulite d'alea de piatra vechi, niste coridoare, si cam atat" ...
aham...

(adica mereti voi daca sunteti mai smecheri si explicati-mi si mie de ce am urcat tot muntele ala? carute am mai vazut io... ok, ok! privelistea e nice. vezi si poze. si rasuna tare frumos barbieru' pe toata valea... rasuna frumos, ca 'tare' am muncit io sa-l fac sa sune... me=out)

Let's See If You Believe In Me

( I really Do Believe In You! )

“I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, because I'm not myself, you see”

Surreal moment no1.

My 26 year old married +children girlfriends [gf for short], at a party, about some girl they know. Let’s call her ‘Ana’, for demonstration purposes. [notice: actual words were not kept in my records. I made these up, keeping their original meaning].

‘she’s like… old… she’s what? 30?!? What’s wrong with her? She definitely has to lose the attitude, lower those standards! Where is she going to find a man like that?’ If she keeps this up, she’ll end up alone. Who’s gonna marry her in her late 30's? It’s already like too late to have a child!’

I’m waiting nervously for a wink in my direction: Alright, then: go-on. Hit me! I’m ready. old’ .... I’m only 28 for Chris’s sake! What do you ppl want from me?!?

Later.
One gf remembers her dentist: a gorgeous, smart, funny, intelligent, 30-something man, looking for a serious relationship.
Great! Cool. Just what I’m interested in. What a coincidence: me too!
Another gf: hey, we should help. Put him in touch with someone. Who? Who could it be?
I’m like: what a wonderful idea! here I am! Awfully nice of you! Pick me! Pick me!
The other:

Oh, I know! let’s help poor ‘Ana’! I could arrange something later this week…

Later that week.
I pull the pin from the grenade. I ask another gf: wtf?!?
She’s like:

what do you mean? Of course we didn’t think of you. I never thought of you that way…You don’t really want another man in your life, do you?!?

Surreal moment no2.
late evening, this guy from down the street finally finds the courage to stop me:

where r you coming from? School?
I don't see how…
What r u like – 26?
So what if …
listen here!I have a great job! Maybe not much, but I’m administrator at this firm.
Small firm, only 20 ppl or so. But I make good money.
I could take good care of you!
I would go to work and make money. You’d stay home and mind the children.
Cook too – can you cook?
I don’t mind if you can’t! my mum could help us.
You just make sure that the kids are all cleaned-up and do their homework.
I’ll do the shopping, take out the trash. I’ll take care of everything!
You won’t miss a thing! I’ll make you happy!
What do you say? Look at you!
you’re such a beautiful woman, and you’re throwing your life away - doing what?
Reading? Going to school? What do you need all that school for?!?
what can those books give you that I can't?
What do you say? Marry me!
Forget that crap about school and books! I’m not so bad, am I?!?

Surreal moment no3.
Clubbing with a male-friend. Late night

I don’t get it!!! All those nice guys staring at you all night, and not one of them came to talk to you. Only the creeps did. What do you do to them?

Surreal moment no4.
My closest g-friend , one evening:

I can’t imagine why you're still alone!
You’re like… perfect!
If I were a man, I’d definitely want you!

Surreal moment no5.
My mum, when I arrive home:

Your mother-in-law must love you!
I’ve just finished the cooking.
Shall I bring you something to eat?

Surreal moment no6.
Some guy from my neighborhood, I meet every two weeks:

God! I just can’t believe that you and alex are not together anymore!
That was like two years ago, you know… He has a girfriend and everything.
When are you two getting back together? You just gotta… I can’t imagine the two of you separately.

Eu te-am facut, eu te omor!

pic de monicazozo

Ma agat de ‘el’ din incapatanare; din orgoliu; dintr-un instinct de conservare dezorientat. Imi protejez investitia, si reduc riscurile pe viitor in acelasi timp. E aproape perfect. Daca’as fi in stare sa ma multumesc cu asta…



Mi-a fost atat de greu sa-l asimilez in intimitatea gandurilor si sentimentelor mele, sa inregistrez toate lucrurile care-l definesc sub senzatia de ‘familiar’, ‘cunoscut’, ‘friendly’, ‘frumos’, ‘bine’, ‘el’.


La inceput de tot a fost doar senzatia vaga, generala, difuza, care anula tot restul lumii, creand un fel de vid in jurul lui. Eu insami dispaream instantaneu – ramaneam un martor mut, incremenit. Senzatia aia de beatitudine, de inimaginabil de frumos, de sublim, ma cuprindea numai ‘dupa’ – cand ma indepartam, cand ‘el’ era departe – ca si cum distanta ii micsora intensitatea si le permitea simturilor mele sa-l inregistreze, sa-l sintetizeze, sa-l numeasca.


Uneori ma trezeam privindu-l buimaca, de parca doar ce m-as fi materializat brusc, la dorinta lui. Si-l priveam neputiincioasa sa-i alin furia sau dezamagirea – pentru ca eram cu adevarat incapabila sa ma regasesc.


La inceput corpul lui imi era strain. Recunosteam cu bucurie crampeie ale vechilor iubiri, si priveam cu suspiciune restul. Apropierea lui imi era incomoda – pt ca imi cerea raspunsuri pe care nu le aveam, la intrebari pe care inca nu le pusesem.

Mi-a luat luni intregi sa imblanzesc fiecare gand, fiecare senzatie, sa incorporez in mine imaginea lui. Luni intregi pana cand i-am descoperit si am invatat sa-i iubesc si mainile (atat de similare cu ale mele), si umerii rotunzi si moi, si urechile, si ochii cu gene intoarse, si picioarele, si burta, si fundul, pana cand am ajuns sa le recunosc pe toate ca fiind parte din ‘el’.

L-am invatat pe de rost si mi l-am apropiat zi-de-zi, bucata cu bucata, pana in ziua cand am putut sa-l privesc drept, fara frica, stiind ca l-as fi recunoscut oricum, orice’as fi vazut.


Ma agat de ideea de el: din incapatanare, din orgoliu, din economie. Atata munca: degeaba. Un efort inutil, ridicol. Din spatele ratiunilor care m-au tinut departe de el, senzatia aia difuza, de spledoare, de la inceput – a amutit. E covarsitoare senzatia de sila – o greata imensa, absurda, care ma invaluie, care-mi rasuna in urechi mieros, insinuant, cu vocea lui; imi strange stomacul; ma apleaca: umila, invinsa, redundanta.

Mi-e sila sa o iau de la capat. Mi-e sila sa raman aici. Mi-e sila de faptul ca ‘el’ e singura constanta din viata mea, singurul lucru pentru care lupt sa ramana acelasi – tot restul, le schimb iar, si iar.



Non-existenta lui mi-e comfortabila, calduta, imi intretine anxietatile, depresiile, revoltele, imi alina plictiselile si insomniile. Adevaratele lui saruturi nepricepute, stangace, golite de intimitate, de pasiune, de implicare, de 'el', inca ma haituiesc. Amintirea lor ma asigura ca, daca i-as permite sa existe cu adevarat, l-as ucide. In cel mai bun caz, l-as topi in amorteala dupa-amiezilor de duminica, in graba cafelelor de dimineata, in normalitatea sexului cotidian.


Ma agat de ideea de el ca sa-l tin la distanta pe un altul: tactil, bagacios, impertinent. Altul care cere mai mult, care (daca l-as lasa) mi-ar umple si viata, nu doar gandurile, care imi pretinde sa-l privesc in ochi si sa-l las sa se uite in adancul sufletului meu.


N-a murit in mine speranta. Doar a preluat chipul lui - pentru o vreme; chipul care o sa-mi re-devina, incet-incet, indiferent.

It’s deja-vu all over again!

Here we go again. One more scratch on the wall. One more candle to burn out. One more year to end. What have I got to say for myself?

I did this for the past two years. I stated a notebook: each year gets one page to speak for itself. Back then, in 2004, I was pretty sure that was going to be the end of me. The second half of that year felt like the whole world was out to get me.

I lost pretty much everything I had: my faith - in God, in myself, my own feelings, and my own judgment, in the people I trusted and loved. Things stopped making sense, everything I dared to do ended in complete failure (plus a lot of pain for seasoning); nothing worked.

Everything I was crushed in front of my eyes: my relationship, my health, my friends, my school, work, my whole damn future. The fact that what I took for my new chance at real-love turned out to be a cheap trick, and the man I thought I could trust and love, turned out to be a lying, deceiving jerk was just one of those things.

One evening, in November, I remember it vividly because I cried for hours, topped it all. A routine checkup turning into one doctor telling me I was just fine, another doctor telling me that not only was I not perfect, but I actually had some genetical flaw that would a) make life a living hell for me, gradually or b) could be dealt with, by years of treatment and a very costly and painful operation, which afterwards would assure me a life of a real-life robocop (with steel-plates and screws in my skull). Lucky me - I had come to the one doctor who would've dared to perform it (him, I liked: quietly and calmy watching me brake into pieces). What was my choice, they asked?

So I did what only a very sensible, practical, down-to-earth woman like myself does: I called my ex and cried my heart out, for hours. I’ve always said he’s an angel. He sure earned his wings that night. And the jerk? He ‘hated’ me for missing his promotion announcement at work that evening; yet I couldn’t help smile when he let me 'have it'. He was right afterall: had I been there, it’d been in my best interest.

And that was my lowest, so far. I lost a lot of weight; I cried a lot of tears; yet here I stand, in front of you. A bit older, and maybe a little bitter (an acquired taste, for sure); lonely sometimes, happy occasionally. I don’t feel any stronger now than I did before. I doubt myself now even more than I doubt others.
I lost my innocence that year. I lost my dreams.

I’m not going to tell you now that real friends, people who really, honestly care and love you, will be there for you when you’re down; that when so-called friends lie, cheat and betray you, they do you a favor by showing you their real feelings; that the ones you’re left with after hard-times, are the ones that matter; that when a door closes, another one opens; or that doctors sometimes play god, and don’t know when to stop; and all problems have solutions, however imperfect, you just gotta find your own. You know all these, don’t you?

I’m telling you something else, something very useful in hard times: write down the good things that happen to you.
To remind you that, despite what you might think in a moment of despair, you’ve been better. And in the long run, even the bad things make sense – however strange that may seem. And the good and the bad alternate, as you walk towards the end of the line.
Oh, the bad things – you’ll remember those. Don’t worry. And you’ll be telling your friends about them, and they’ll remember it too.
Write the good things down cos you’ll forget.

Looking back now, over what I’ve written, I know that all those things – however painful, they helped made me who I am today.

If you asked me what I did with my life, I’d say “nothing” – cos there’s nothing that I’m particularly proud of. So many ridiculous mistakes shame me. Going back, I would make them again (be it in a different form, but still make them). I failed at the things that matter the most to me – my relationships. I gained no greater control over my emotions, nor am I any wiser with the years. I still have no idea what’s the point to it all, or what the hell I am to do with my life.
But all-in-all, you know… despite all the odds, I guess "I" turned out all right. I could've made myself a better life, and I sure as hell could’ve been a better person, but…oh, well! I’ll give myself a brake for the holidays. If only to impress Santa. I plan to ask him a huuuge favor...
Cheers!


P.S. Why do you think we celebrate endings?

The Secret Ingredient

.......................................................

Martha: I swear to GOD George, if you even existed, I'd divorce you.

......................................................

George: Martha, in my mind you're buried in cement right up to the neck. No, up to the nose, it's much quieter.

.......................................................

Martha: I disgust me.
You know, there's only been one man in my whole life who's ever made me happy. Do you know that?

[pause] George, my husband... George, who is out somewhere there in the dark, who is good to me - whom I revile,
who can keep learning the games we play as quickly as I can change them.
Who can make me happy and I do not wish to be happy…
…Yes, I do wish to be happy…
"George and Martha": Sad, sad, sad.
…Whom I will not forgive for having come to rest;
for having seen me and having said: yes, this will do.
.......................................................

George: I'm very impressed.
Martha: You're damn right.
George: I said I was impressed. I'm beside myself with jealousy. What do you want me to do, throw up?

.......................................................

George: Well, you make me throw up.
Martha: That's different.

.......................................................

Martha: [derogatorily, to George] Hey, swamp! Hey swampy!
George: Yes, Martha? Can I get you something?
Martha: Ah, well, sure. You can, um, light my cigarette, if you're of a mind to.
George: No. There are limits.
I mean, a man can put up with only so much without he descends a rung or two on the old evolutionary ladder, which is up your line.
Now, I will hold your hand when it's dark and you're afraid of the boogeyman and I will tote your gin bottles out after midnight so no one can see but I will not light your cigarette. And that, as they say, is that.
.......................................................

Martha: I looked at you tonight and you weren't there...

.......................................................

George: You're a monster - You are.
Martha: I'm loud and I'm vulgar, and I wear the pants in the house because somebody's got to, but I am not a monster. I'm not.

.......................................................

Martha: Is that a threat George, huh?
George: It's a threat, Martha.
Martha: You're gonna get it, baby.
George: Be careful Martha. I'll rip you to pieces.
Martha: You're not man enough. You haven't the guts.
George: Total war.
Martha: Total.

Quotes from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)