Melodia asta ma obsedeaza (Sia – My love, a se trece peste faptul ca e din Twilight/Eclipse).

Ma simt iarasi in mijlocul unui vartej, doar ca, de data asta, sunt calma. In ochiul furtunii e liniste si nemiscare.
De fapt, ochiul furtunii sunt eu. Eu voi porni furtuna, o voi aduce la suprafata si in sufletele lor. Si mi-e teama, mi-e al naibii de teama.
E ca in visul ala cu tigrul si ursul care voiau s-o apuce pe M, si eu stateam nemiscata si priveam cum D rastoarna ursul si o apara pe M. Si eram fascinata, si paralizata.
Dar, in acelasi timp, ma separam de mine insami. Ca si cum eu si frica n-am fi fost una, ca si cum nu as fi fost asa terorizata. Dar tot nu ma puteam misca. Si m-am trezit.

Am o datorie si o responsabilitate fata de oamenii care mi-au dat viata. Cumva, trebuie sa-l conving pe tata sa faca un RMN. Cumva, trebuie s-o conving pe mama sa i-l faca.
Nu mi-e greu sa trasez o harta temporala a efectelor… dar nu ma simt 100% pregatita pentru ce ar urma.
Pe de alta parte, ce sens are sa-mi bag capul in nisip? Stiu de pe-acum ca tot la asta se va ajunge. Deci sa iau taurul de coarne si sa pornesc furtuna.

Tata mi-a zis acum 2 zile “Zarurile au fost aruncate”. Din pacate pentru el, zarurile au fost aruncate de mult. Poate de cand era el nenascut si tatal lui lupta in razboi.
Iar mama, mama m-a uimit si mai tare cand si-a derulat viata cu tata, ca “n-a fost atenta la semne” si “parca i s-ar fi facut farmece”, “n-a vazut nimic” si “doar a iubit”; s-a trezit de-abia dupa moartea soacrei ei. Sa fi avut sub nas un ditamai exemplul de iubire conjugala, de-aia care accepta orice, si sa nu-l fi vazut? Totusi, cred ca iubirea mai mult se simte decat se vede. Ori, cum iubesti pe cineva daca nu-i dai atentie, daca incerci mereu sa-l incadrezi in ceea ce crezi ca “trebuie/asa e normal/asa fac si altii”, daca nu accepti?
Tata se simte inselat in adancul lui, ne-iubit, ne-apreciat, ne-dorit. Il roade rau – ca nimeni nu l-a iubit de tot vreodata, nimeni nu l-a acceptat. De-asta a tot cautat iubire si validare, si nu le-a gasit in cele 2 casnicii, si nici in afara lor. De-asta o cauta asa mult pe M, ptr ca M e un copil mic si dulce care nu-i raspunde, iar pe I o respinge, pentru ca I il poate judeca.
Tata le atrage atentia in moduri ciudate – necajindu-le, luandu-le jucariile si tinandu-le unde ele nu ajung; facand-o pe I sa planga si spunandu-i “esti rea, esti urata”, distantand-o de M. si valorizand-o pe M. Nu-i de mirare ca I devine extrem de geloasa pe M in prezenta lui.
Nu-i pot schimba comportamentul tatalui meu. Mi-e atat de cunoscut, incat ajung fara cuvinte cand vad ce se intampla. Eu eram in locul lui I, si in locul lui M era orice copil care ii era lui atunci pe plac, de obicei copilul iubitei lui.
Voi petrece o saptamana cu mama si tata si cu I si M. Va fi o provocare sa nu regresez prea mult, sa nu ma intorc la Alex din trecut, sa nu ma las nici ranita de remarci, nici atrasa in certurile lor, sa nu jignesc pe careva, sa le menajez orgoliile de “crescatori de copii”, dar sa am grija si de emotiile copiilor mei.
Si sa-i convig de necesitatea RMN-ului. Da, va fi o adevarata excursie pe sarma.

***

Am citit Carol Gilligan – Kyra.
Am crezut ca e un roman de dragoste cu o incarcatura psihologica ceva mai mare. Ei bine, e cumva pe dos, e o scriere cu o mare incarcatura psihologica pe fondul dragostei, cu numeroase referinte artistice (muzica, arhitectura, pictura). M-am uitat la Sarutul lui Klimt cu atentie si am inteles altfel. Barbatul incearca sa se elibereze prin tandretea femeii.
Kyra e profesoara de arhitectura in Boston, locuieste cu sora ei Anna, si lucreaza la planurile unui oras atipic. Au trecut 10 ani de cand sotul ei Simon a fost ucis de fratele ei vitreg, ea si Anna au fugit din Cipru, iar parintii lor ramasi in urma au fost probabil ucisi. Il intalneste pe dirijorul si regizorul maghiar Andreas, care-o convinge sa-l ajute cu decorurile pentru Tosca (geniala interpretarea operei). Andreas e bantuit de imaginea sotiei lui, rapita de comunisti. Fiecare admira pasiunea celuilalt pentru munca lor, amintirea pierderii celor dragi ii apropie si intre ei se infiripa ceva. Orice ar fi acel ceva, se rupe brutal cand Andreas decide sa se intoarca in Europa, iar Kyra afla acest lucru de la altcineva. Se simte tradata si abandonata; in cautarea ei de a afla ce e real, isi taie incheietura mainii. Incepe terapie cu Gretta, de-construieste relatia cu Simon, sotul ucis, si cu alte persoane importante, dar ajunge sa puna la indoiala psihoterapia, sau cel putin formatul – ideea de a construi o relatie intre pacient si terapeut, care sa se incheie cand pacientul “se face bine”. Kyra si Andreas se mai intalnesc de cateva ori, dar sunt mereu despartiti de obligatiile lor profesionale. Si totusi nu e acesta sfarsitul.
Carol Gilligan, autoarea, e o profesoara faimoasa, care sustine ca dezvoltarea morala e diferita intre femei si barbati (acum poate pare o idee normala, dar acum 20-30 de ani, era ceva foarte diferit). Cartea ei, “In a different voice” a aparut in 1982 si a influentat masiv studiul diferentelor de gen. (Harvard University Press in March 2012 called “the little book that started a revolution”. cf. Wikipedia).
Kyra nu e o revolutionara, desi ideile ei in privinta arhitecturii si influenta arhitecturii asupra vietii interioare sunt cat se poate de neconventionale. Totusi, Kyra cauta iubire si ceva statornic, e un personaj construit foarte veridic, desi e atat de integra si sincera cu ea insasi. Care e opusul lui “a pierde”? E unul din lucrurile care se repeta in carte. Carte este opusul lui “a pierde”? Este “a gasi” sau “a castiga”?
 

There are so many things unsaid, unseen, un-recognised. As if not admitting something exists would somehow make it dead.

It’s the same trap. Only back then I was a child and had no power. While now I am an adult and just feel powerless.

My father has a terrible disease and denies it. My mother does the same.
He fears he’ll be abandoned. She wants to run away.
Sometimes I get really afraid they might kill each other. And I realize we’re all trapped again.
This is a situation where money could help (pay someone to stay with him all the time – if only he’d accept!), but money wouldn’t change the underlying problem. That they hate each other and yet they are so linked. And they hate it, they hate the link, their dependency.

Which brings me into the equation, since I somehow united them, 33 years ago. Which pissed them off and made me feel guilty so many years.
And the irony is I still unite them, through my kids.

I know this will not end up well. There will be blood and tears and the overwhelming guilt on all sides.
Except now I no longer ask myself “what if I were a boy?”. It wouldn’t have changed anything. Not the unhappiness, not the quarrels, not the money talks and relative talks, not the cheating, not the beatings, not the depressions, not the insults and not the lack of money, or love, or understanding.
Now that I know it wasn’t my gender that caused these things, I feel somehow liberated. It was my conceiving that brought them together and determined their marriage.  That was the starting point of their miserable life together.

I don’t feel guilty anymore. I didn’t ask to be born, they wanted me, they really wanted me. It is not my fault they were so unhappy together. It is not my fault they got to hate each other so much. It’s not my fault about the cheating and the fighting. It’s not my fault they have rejected their themselves and their children.
I will take responsability for their future, but I will no longer accept blame for their past.

From now on, I am free to be a woman.

 

I’ll make them a present – spend time with them and the kids. Some days together, trying to be calm and patient. Who knows how much time they still have?
Miserable lives… with no peace of mind, no peace of soul. Still not wasted. They had us. We are not Nobel prize winners, and failed to complete their contradictory dreams, yet we’re here, not that bad.

My parents will die someday. I lie myself I’m prepared, but I’m not. Even though the parents in my head will always stay there.

I wish them to find peace of mind and hearts. To live the rest of their lives in peace and joy. And may their passing be as easy as possible for them.

 

Soundtrack:

The Unsaid Sotto Silenzio Music by Don Davis
Sia – My Love (Eclipse Soundtrack)/Eclipse Music Video

Geniala melodie!

Einstürzende Neubauten – Total Eclipse Of The Sun

Imi aminteste de foarte multe alte melodii, dar niciuna nu-mi vine clar in minte.

P.S. tambalul e pe cale sa devina instrumentul meu preferat.

 

Inca putin si va incepe furtuna. Iar eu ma intreb, pentru a mia oara, ce inseamna sa fii femeie. Sa porti podoabe in urechi si la gat? Sa te machiezi? Sa ai par lung? Sa-ti schimbi culoarea parului, sa-l buclezi, sa-l intinzi? Sau sa porti rochii, fuste, materiale imprimate? Lenjerie dantelata, jartiere? Sa porti tocuri cui si baretute satinate? Sa ai decolteu, fund rotund, talie subtire? Osatura delicata si picior mic? Sa ai 90-60-90 si sa intorci capul lui George Clooney?
Toate si niciuna.
Sau sa fii femeie inseamna sa nasti? Sa alaptezi? Dar nu, asta e mama, nu femeia.
Toate si niciuna.

Am sani mari, am avut par lung, am purtat tocuri si corset. Am nascut si am alaptat. Si inca nu ma simt femeie. In mintea mea de copil, femeie era Melanie din Pe aripile vantului, femeie era mama lui Scarlett. Dar Scarlett care atzatza barbatii si-i invartea pe degete nu era. Scarlett era puternica si impetuoasa, Scarlett nu tinea cont de sentimente si facea doar ce dorea ea. Ma temeam de Scarlett cum ma tem de reflexia-mi in oglinda.
N-am stiut ca femeile pot fi puternice fara a deveni barbate. Sau ca vulnerabilitatea ori neajutorarea nu inseamna sa astepti ca un barbat sa faca totul. N-am stiut ca o femeie se poate descurca singura, si ramane in continuare femeie.
Imi pare ca toti ne jucam mai intai rolul de oameni, de lucratori in societate. Totusi unii nu uita nicicand carui sex apartin. Ce inseamna sa fii femeie? Ce inseamna sa fii barbat? Ce inseamna sa fii Om?

O fata se simte femeie langa barbatul ei, mi-a spus cineva. Dar sunt femei care se simt femei langa alte purtatoare de cromozomi dubli. Ele n-au nevoie de un barbat ca sa se simta femei, doar de o fiinta care sa le accepte si sa le faca sa se simta acceptate ca femei.

Cred ca asta inseamna sa fii femeie. Indiferent daca ai freza lui Sinead O’Connor sau statura si muschii lui Venus Williams. Daca ai creierul lui Rhea Perlman sau arati precum Ducesa cea Sluta.
A fi femeie inseamna sa te simti bine in pielea ta (de ne-fotomodel, cu celulita sau vergeturi).
A fi femeie inseamna sa te accepti. Si chiar… Sa te iubesti.
Iar cineva care te va accepta, cu adevarat, ca femeie, iti va face cel mai mare cadou. Te va ajuta sa inveti ce inseamna sa fii femeie.

Fiecare zi e o mica particica

A marii batalii

Ce o port zi de zi…

De ce mi-e asa frica? Stiu ca nu as face gestul. Prea mult sange, prea multi oameni in jur, si nu-s genul care sa puna oamenii pe drumuri aiurea.
Dar e nitel inspaimandator sa ma uit la o lama si sa ma gandesc, sa-mi imaginez, sa stiu…

Ma prefac ca nu-mi e teama de moarte, ma prefac ca as putea trece peste orice. Imi imaginez cum as trai mai departe fara, schilodita si rupta, totusi inca in viata.
Dar adevarul e ca mi-e frica. De moarte, de viitor. De ziua de maine. De mine. De cum voi ajunge la 35 de ani. De 40 de ani. De viata pe care o vor avea copiii mei. De cum vor mai trai parintii mei. Si tot asa…

Stiu ca anxiosii traiesc in viitor. Guess what, atacurile de panica erau cauzate de anxietate. Habar n-am sa traiesc in prezent, asta invatam de la copii, si ele nu sunt acum pe langa mine.

Sa regresez, deci, sa impletesc, sa accept si sa-mi accept…
Si sa trec mai departe.

It’s in the blackened bones
Of bridges I have burned
So don’t apologize
I’m losing what I don’t deserve
What I don’t deserve

Read more: Linkin Park – Burning In The Skies Lyrics | MetroLyrics

“Iridescent”

When you were standing in the wake of devastation
When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown
And with the cataclysm raining down
Insides crying, “Save me now!”
You were there, impossibly alone

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go

And in a burst of light that blinded every angel
As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars
You felt the gravity of tempered grace
Falling into empty space
No one there to catch you in their arms

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go

Let it go
Let it go
Let it go
Let it go

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation?
You build up hope, but failure’s all you’ve known
Remember all the sadness and frustration
And let it go. Let it go

Look at me, I’m so close
As I’ll ever be.
I’m not a child, not yet a woman.
I’m still a teenager,
Anxious and lost and uncertain:
how’s life going to be
what will it bring to me
what control do i have over things
how will i be worth remembering…

Take everything from the insideAnd throw it all away

Why the hell am I here?
In this world, in this place, in this body, in this sex.

Been listening to a lot of Linkin Park lately.
Now is Blackout.

What did I choose in life?
– be a tester
– not be a programmer
– have child no 1
– have child no 2, 2 years later
– believe in someone i had never seen
– break-up with my soul-mate
– break-up when someone needed me most
– give birth at home
– breastfeed
– tandem breastfeeding
– go to USA
– leave the Project, the Company
– return on something very different
– go to Therapy
– take my kids daily to a place where they’d be treated with respect
– not to hit my kids consciously
– not to use punishments and rewards
– always show+tell my kids that i love them

———————————-
The cycle repeated
As explosions broke in the sky
All that I needed
Was the one thing I couldn’t find

———————————–
Take me down to the river bend
Take me down to the fighting end
Wash the poison from off my skin
Show me how to be whole again

Fly me up on a silver wing
Past the black where the sirens sing
Warm me up in a nova’s glow
And drop me down to the dream below

‘Cause I’m only a crack in this castle of glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see

Last night, I heard you giggling in your sleep. That’s a precious sound, which I haven’t heard in years.
I wonder where it went – that joy and nonchalance of living that first attracted me in you. In place of them, there’s the “I don’t give a fuck” and the words that make me feel I’m doing everything wrong.
I know I’m guilty for a lot of your attitude. It’s not I’m less than perfect, it’s just that I’m so far away from how I ought to be. Reliable, calm, caring. Sticking to the plan or, at least, having a good reason to change the plan.
And definitely not changing the plan 5 times in 2 minutes.
It’s really hard to live with someone like this.
I mean, it’s really difficult for myself to live inside me.

So yes, I understand where the giggle went, and it saddens and it bitters me.
It was a good dream the one in which I was walking in your shoes. I understand a bit better your perspective. Not once you asked me to be perfect. You do ask me to be consistent. To put limits and enforce them – on myself, on the kids, on other people. To stop being so messy and disorderly in my thoughts and actions. To stop procrastination, ie. to take action instead of spending so much time on planning and “what-ifs” scenarios.
You also ask me to be more reliable and trustworthy and keep my word. Nothing alien so far.

Then why am I not like that? Reliable, consistent, trustworthy. Trustful. Active. Dedicated.

Come to think of it, everyone asks the same things of me. You, my boss, my kids, my parents.
Then why am I not like that? It’s absurd, isn’t it? Why me? and… Why not me? Why wouldn’t I become like that?

I’m definitely better/closer than a while ago. But I’m still not there. So…
Can you still bear with me for a while?

 

“St. Jude”

Another conversation with no destination
Another battle; never won
And each side is a loser
So who cares who fired the gun?

[Pre-Chorus:]
And I’m learning, so I’m leaving
And even though I’m grieving
I’m trying to find the meaning
Let loss reveal it
Let loss reveal it

[Chorus:]
St. Jude, the patron saint of the lost causes
St. Jude, we were lost before she started
St. Jude, we lay in bed as she whipped around us
St. Jude, maybe I’ve always been more comfortable in chaos

And I was on the island and you were there too
But somehow through the storm I couldn’t get to you
St. Jude; somehow she knew
And she came to give her blessing while causing devastation
And I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I just had to mention
Grabbing your attention

Florence and The Machine – St. Jude

(another magnificent couple of Virgo-Scorpio)

Run, run, run, girl, run, run, run, run to whatever.

Just do it. I just gotta find out what.

Linkin Park – New Divide
Linkin Park – Burn it down

 

In my dream, I already was with someone, yet there I was in a shop with a manboy, one I had never kissed or touched; I chose him some underwear (white with colourful ladybugs on them), and there was a flow of trust and strong intimacy between us, not only sparks, but full flow of energy and power and joy and trust.
Then I had walked home where my father was, and I felt completely safe and trusting in his presence. Because of the interaction with the manboy? Whom I had never touched, but was so sure about him, about us 3 (me+my guy+the manboy). I realised I was truly, truly ok being around a man.
Then I woke up and asked myself what was about the manboy, who was short and blonde, but not fragile or delicate. And I realised GRR Martin’s “The Dying of the Light” had gotten in my dream. While the part of my father was brought in by my subconscious.

I now know why my mother was so afraid of men all her life… and she poured that fear inside me.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Yet now we divide our brains and we pretend nothing happened 45 years ago, or 16 years ago. Or never.
Oh, the hypocrisy, the self-telling lies, the cognitive dissonance.
But why did it start?? Why, why, why????
Why do some things start? They might be inherited from an ancestor, but how did the ancestor get to them? Or what? Or does evil really reside in us people? And some curiosities are more evil then others.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

This is another thing that differentiated me as a kid, the interminable “whys”. Getting to the start of everything, and desperately trying to get to the essence, to understand.
And now I see there are things which I DON’T wanna understand, because I do understand them so well.
Never thought I’d say this, but thank God I was born a girl…

_______________________________________________________________________________________

I still wonder about the blonde manboy. That was a familiar face, although I couldn’t find it in the blonde men faces I consciously know. And it definitely was no child of mine.
But… but… that state of trust and power and joy… might I find it with my own baby boy?
Well, yes, I do want a 3rd child. I know it’s against all odds, it’s completely irrational and it’d destroy the remaining pieces of what I have, yet I yearn for it. The 3rd child, that would be for me.
Sanziana
Tudor/David

 

From here.

1. Do I focus on the long term or am I quick to grab the short-term solution when I’m frustrated?
Most of the times I go with the short-term solution when it comes to me. When it comes to children, I don’t give in to sweets temptation (neither as a punishment, nor as a reward).

2. How do I react when things go badly? Do I find it easy or hard to deal with my emotions?
I am overwhelmed and I either shut down or over-react.

3. Do I tend to focus on the worse case scenario? Do I contrast it with the best case or other possible scenarios or do I focus on it alone?
I focus on the worst case, I try to identify immediately what’s the worst that could happen. If I can deal with it, I feel a bit better and start thinking on other scenarios. If I can’t deal with it, I remain stuck.

4. Am I good at initiating action? Or do I tend to procrastinate?
I procrastinate a looooot.

5. How good am I at knowing when my emotions are affecting my thoughts?
When I imagine things, I can stop when the imagination leads me to feel/think unrealistic things about others. Other than that, I’m not good at it.

6. Do I tend to react more to positives or negatives in my life? How strong are my reactions? Am I more likely to act or stay put?
I react to both, usually over-reacting. I rarely act.

7. How often do I second-guess myself?
All the time?

8. Do I seek out support in times of stress or do I go it alone? Is my way of dealing with stress productive or should I find another way to cope?
During stress, I shut down and lose myself in the internet. It’s not productive at all.

9. How good am I at reading situations and what other people are feeling?
I am pretty good at it. I might even be the only one “Reading” and others might not take me seriously.

10. How good am I at identifying my emotions? Can I do so in the moment when my feelings are intense?
I often mistake my feelings/emotions with others or can’t quite point the finger to something. I need some moments of introspection and then I know what I felt – rage, despair and so on, because the emotions still linger.

If I could talk to her, I’d just tell her: YOU are so beautiful! And you don’t need anybody for validation.

It wouldn’t change anything, I know. And I actually can’t change anything. But it’s nice that I believe my past self was, indeed, beautiful. In the midst of pain and despair that she had created, she could still smile through tears and she was beautiful.
Alas, she changed one chocolate box with another, as impossible to reach as the first. And, as tears go in my ears, I know it’s the same and I know it’s different, yet I still need validation. And hugs, many, many hugs, which never come free to me. I always had to earn something. One day, their price might get too big for me to pay. But until that day, nothing’s impossible.
Girl in that mirror of 2008, I wish I’d still know what you did know. Even more than I wish you knew what I know now.
Perhaps-perhaps-perhaps.
It’s not just about getting older…

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