Back to basics

Știți cum e când ai sclipirea aceea ce îți trage ușor mințile către locul unde ar trebui să fie, să crească și să înflorească? E senzația care îți ridică Eul amorțit din patul blazării și te face să îți dai o palmă peste fața inexpresivă care a uitat să zâmbească.

Tresari și te întrebi buimac unde ai fost până acum. Ce-ai făcut? De ce nu ai făcut? De ce te gândeai departe când răspunsul e chiar în fața ta, în mintea ta, de ceva timp.

Trebuie să te întorci la ceea ce erai odată. Aveai prezență de spirit – mică, timidă, dar era acolo. Aveai idei, trăiri. Creai. Te inspira oricine și orice, dar mai ales acel ceva și acel cineva. Unde-ai fost? Hai, stânga-mprejur și treci înapoi! Înapoi la origini.

Înapoi la artă, la poezie, la texte abstracte cu subînțeles numai de tine știut. Înapoi la muzică, la versuri, la tușe de culoare sau linii monocrome. Înapoi la zâmbete sincere și la priviri curioase. Înapoi la natură, la aer, apă, pământ și foc. Înapoi la sunete, imagini și cuvinte. Înapoi la ceea ce cultivai cândva, nu lăsa lăstarul să se usuce, pentru că o să te usuci și tu – spirit și trup – o dată cu el!

Înapoi la partea întunecată, pentru că numai în întuneric poți vedea lumina. Spatele drept, poziție încrezătoare, curaj. Curaj să spui cine ești, ce ești și ce vrei. Curaj să vrei ceva!

Poate că dacă asculți, vorbești, mângâi un câine, salvezi un urs, plantezi un copac și poate dacă vorbești cu toată sinceritatea, spui adevărul, preferi să te exprimi ca din topor, în metafore, în cuvinte puține, poate așa nu o să obții vreodată un job într-o corporație, în marketing, în comunicare, în orice… dar vei obține și vei păstra ceea ce ai mai de preț și nu-ți poate schimba sau lua nimeni în afară de tine.

Maybe next time

…there will be no such thing as tense and disturbing atmosphere. Maybe next time there will be lights and warmth and happy thoughts.

Maybe the room will be full and there will not be any free places at the table. The conversation will be light, proper and enjoyable. The food will have no time to get cold and all that means alcohol will take the whole day to be finished.

Maybe those sitting at the table will have the most respect for each other, as friends. They will talk in soft voices, whatever is on TV will be set at background volume, a classical concert or a good film.

Maybe there will be no trace of hatred, disrespect, childishness, materialistic thoughts, only peace and acceptance. Everyone will be thankful, everyone will celebrate.

And maybe there will be someone worth it all, someone to whom she can look up, relate to, talk to, laugh and be thankful with, eat and drink with, run to. Someone she can respect and cherish. And someone who can make her forget how whiny, bitchy, ridiculous, annoying, ugly and disgraceful she is. Someone worth the process of self-polishing, killing the frighten immature little girl within and bringing to light that gem lost somewhere in a corner.

But maybe next time.

Mixed emotions

That feeling of something new, yet somehow familiar, which you explore curiously and happily.

That feeling of having one chance in a long time. The plans you make for that one chance. The disappointment of not fulfilling those plans. The faint, shy smile you put on because you are still grateful you had that chance.

That feeling of being warmly welcomed by almost strangers who, at the end of the day, become the people who made you feel most happy. 

The day that starts with a dose of hatred, then washes it with a shower of silliness, and in the evening puts on the warm cloak of peacefulness.

The words you never said. The words you wished you said better and those you regret saying.

The flee from disgust, from wickedness and duplicity to the place you don’t actually belong but feels like home.

The secrets you keep to yourself. The secrets people tell you. The piece of advice that you know you can’t relate to but still give. 

The feeling of being appreciated for being wise, calm, cold and rational, while you know that inside you’re a messed up volcano on the brink of eruption.

Stupid outside, broken inside, hopeful at the core.

The feeling of having so little that you can not help but be grateful for yours and the others’. The feeling of beating the dust out of the others when you see they have it all and they’re still not pleased and ignorant about it.

The feeling of having to cope and deal with being the way you are.

The resignation. The hope. The silence.

Angry

Angry as never before. That kind of anger that consumes, cuts deep and dissolves like acid. Angry at people, angry at the self.

Angry at the people who have it all and take it for granted. At those who are happy in their ignorance and stupidity. At those who are so brainwashed, fixed on only their objectives that they believe supreme and fulfilling, that they are no longer capable to be human; and they’re admired and appreciated for that. At those who have someone to relate to, someone to look up at, someone to shout at, someone to do their tasks and jobs for them, someone to take care of them so they can just be free to rant about how hard life is. At those with the better-than-you attitude that takes them everywhere, opens every door, makes heads bow and confidences break.

Angry at the self-destructing self. Angry at the incapability. Angry at the social-handicap. Angry at the self-loathing and low self-esteem. Angry at the slow pace with which the self catches the rhythm of the crowd. Angry at the freedom claimed but never granted. Angry at the failure from the past and from the future. At the wrong choices made while having big dreams. Angry at having big dreams that have no place in the present or future. Angry at the uselessness and lack of skills. Angry at the face, the body and the mind.

And from anger comes more self-loathing and hatred for anyone and everything. Whatever was good and hopeful is being dissolved.