The Nth post that I write these days. After the #Colectiv tragedy, after my own little tragicomedies.
Everything seems so pointless. I’m tired, nervously tired. My body would run, my body has to stay still. My mind…

Hello, can you hear me? 7 years younger me…
I’m in California dreaming about who we used to be
When we were younger and free
I’ve forgotten how it felt before the world fell at our feet
It’s no secret that the both of us
Are running out of time
There’s such a difference between us
And a million miles

Hello from the outside
At least I can say that I’ve tried
To tell you I’m sorry for breaking your heart
But it don’t matter, it clearly doesn’t tear you apart

Adele – Hello
Naughty Boy – Runnin’ (Lose It All) ft. BeyoncĂ©, Arrow Benjamin
Years and Years – Take shelter
Florence and the Machine – Delilah

if i lose myself, i lose it all
that’s what the words say
i know that – i don’t know anything, anymore
little hands and little feet
keep me awake and alive and aware
the rest is pain.

i don’t believe you
and i don’t trust you anymore.
but it’s hello from the outside
how can i get back there inside?

i chose to trust you to trust myself.
such a long time ago.
i feel i don’t breathe enough.
not with you, not with them.
alone is more peaceful.
and i’m always alone, surrendered by people.

the place where i wanna be most is home.
and home is the place where i’d run away from.

cineva cu care sa fugi de acasa era numele cartii.
niciodata n-am avut pe cineva cu care sa fug de-acasa.
si nu am vrut sa fug de acasa. nu am vrut.
si nici acum, nu sunt in stare sa fug de acasa.
pentru ca stiu ca oriunde m-as duce,
tot in mine m-as trezi. cu inima rupta in 3.

si atunci…
if i lose myself, i lose it all.
i lost myself so many times, and yet i am here, everytime.
i don’t lose myself well enough :))

i am not a hunter or a huntress. i am a prey. running from place to place, waiting to be captured to be relieved.

Inca 11 zile de 31. Tata a fost diagnosticat cu depresie mixta si va avea reteta de la psihiatru.
Am ~100 cm in talie si o durere crunta de mijloc.
Oscilez intre “e minunat sa ai copii” si “de ce am facut copii?”.
Nu (mai) am teluri. Nici vise. Mai incerc sa-mi imaginez viata fara copii&co, dar sunt prea obosita si adorm. Adorm si ma trezesc de la miscarile M-ei, care evident ca nu adormise. Dar io visez in continuare sa mai am un copil. Si da, as vrea ca al 3-lea sa fie baiat, sa vad si cu un baiat cum e.

Ascult melodii melancolice, nu ma gandesc la nemurirea sufletului, ci la imbatranire si cum as putea evita sa ajung in papucii lui tata. Da, sunt pe jumate in ei (mai ales ca el oricum poarta nr. mic). Ce fac mai departe?
Ce schimbare aleg eu sa fac? Acum, azi, maine?
Sau doar o sa stau sa ma plang si sa ma transform intr-o victima?
Da, poate am fost un copil supra-dotat. Dar nu mai sunt copil. Sunt un adult super-mediocru.
Nu tin ca odraslele mele sa fie geniale. Partea buna e ca niciuna nu pare a fi :D deci sa nu ma stresez.

Daca tata se duce si eu raman tot ce sunt acum, asta e. Va fi in puterea mea sa schimb ceva sau nu. Sa raman automatist esuat sau sa fac altceva. Ce pisici, am 32, nu vreau sa ajung si la 40 de ani sa ma plang ca “dar am patit multe cand eram copil”.

Pana acolo… Theta sa fie! Si Balada ptr Adeline

2008 vs 2015.
Similar thoughts and feelings.
Sick relatives, state of depression, overweight, lack of intimacy, 2 kittens that wouldn’t let me sleep.
So what did I do 7 years if I’m in a similar position?
I haven’t learnt my lessons, I ran away and got into the same situation. Just changed people, projects, lives. But not myself and my attitude. That’s what I did.
Same situation. But deeper shit. Relatives are sicker and more important, more weight, kittens that I can’t give away (and I’d never give them away!), and I can’t run.
Nope, I can’t run.


It kills me the idea that my father never told me he’s proud of me for becoming an engineer, an automation engineer or whatever that is.
In some ways, his memory is dead, so he won’t even remember a lot of things. And when he dies, I’m gonna be stuck here in this position. Why did I do it?
It’s stupid to try to please people. It was never about me, it was always about them. And it’s not my fault they didn’t understand their lesson.
It is my fault that I don’t understand my lesson. It will my fault if I pass it down to my kids.

Btw, it’s a trans-generational lesson for my mother’s family: It’s ok to be a woman.
And also for my father’s family: It’s ok to have girls.

All the women from my mother’s family wanted to have been born men. While people from my father’s family wanted boys, to keep the name.

It’s one of the most important lessons to pass down to my daughters: It’s ok that you were born girls. It’s ok.

1. Mi-e asa usor sa le spun copiilor ca-i iubesc. Dar e atat de greu sa le-o spun parintilor mei.
2. Am auzit de foarte multe ori “te iubesc” de la copiii mei, si foarte rar de la parinti. Nu-mi amintesc ca tata sa mi-o fi zis-o vreodata.
3. Tata nu mi-a zis niciodata ca ar fi mandru de mine sau multumit de mine. Totusi, cred ca i-am dat mai multe ocazii decat fratii mei.
4. Desigur, cu exceptia faptului ca m-am nascut fara putza, ceea ce, din pacate, a influentat tot restul.
5. Tata nu mi-a zis niciodata ca se bucura ca am facut copii (adica, implicit, are nepoate), dar cred ca asta l-a bucurat cel mai mult la mine.
6. Tata a avut un organism extraordinar de robust si de rezistent. Un om sanatos n-ar fi rezistat la o asa alimentatie dezechilibrata, udata cu mult alcool, totusi organismul lui s-a tinut bine.
7. Tata nu are Alzheimer. Dar are memoria de scurta durata facuta praf. Si pusee de agresivitate. Adica se comporta ca un bolnav de Alzheimer, dar nu are boala.
8. Amintirile vechi ale tatei sunt intacte. Poate recita strofe din Eminescu, isi aminteste lucruri petrecute acum zeci de ani. Dar nu stie daca a mancat mai devreme sau daca i s-a facut injectia cu insulina.
9. Ma intreb daca tata isi aminteste de Ea. Si daca da, ce-si aminteste.
10. Mama spune ca va avea ea grija de tata, pentru ca sigur tata nu va vrea sa se interneze undeva. Dar mama nu are nici timpul, nici rabdarea.
11. Cata ironia sortii daca mama va face Alzheimer in loc de tata…
12. Ca intotdeauna, ma voi trezi in fata a 2 alegeri. Sa dau bani pe o educatie buna pentru copiii mei sau sa dau bani ptr o ingrijire buna pentru parintii mei?
13. Saturn a iesit din Scorpion si din casa mea a IV-a, si totusi, pare ca greul adevarat de-abia va incepe…
14. Ca sa nu fie 13. Mie imi place 13, dar tata e uneori superstitios. Ptr o persoana “religioasa”, e destul de superstitios.
15. Daca tata se va bine incat sa fie cum era inainte, se vor intoarce la vechile certuri… Macar sa se faca el bine.

I did it. I called my mother and talked a bit to her, she was helping my dad to eat. I asked her to tell him I love him, she passed the phone, so I told him “I love you, father, and get well”. He said something I didn’t understand, while she was pushing him to say “I love you” back, which annoyed me, but I didn’t care, at least I told him and I know he understood it.
She said “We love you too”, and I said I loved them as well, then she hang up and I cried some more, and now we’re better. For a couple of hours…

Last Sunday night I dreamt a lot. Some particular scene stayed with me. We were in a house, me and several relatives. I was washing glasses when my mother came, I heard rumours, she had been hit by my father in the face, near the left eye. I bursted with anger, I took the crystal glass I was washing and smashed it against the floor. Pieces flew all over the rug.
And I started shouting at my father, really loud “Why?? Whyyy would you do that???”. I was coming so angry towards him, that he started walking backwards. I touched his chest aggressively (somewhat pushing him), then I realized what I was doing (that he’d never forgive me if I’d push him, for him it would be like hitting him). So I stopped pushing and rather touched more lightly (almost caressing), and my voice toned down. My attitude changed to furious, but empathetic and careful. Then I blacked out. When I recovered, relatives were talking in a soft voice, almost whispering (they were Indian relatives?) and my father was lying in a bed, definitely feeling down. Afterwards, I was picking up the pieces pf the broken glass. My mother seemed unaffected.

Sunday evening or Monday morning, my father had a cerebral attack. More serious than the other one which was around this Easter. He got to the hospital on Tuesday evening. RMN showed he doesn’t have Alzheimer, but he had around 10 cerebral attacks until now. His memory is so affected because he literally has holes in his brain. At the moment, he’s like a 5-year old child. When my mother told him he couldn’t drive anymore, he started crying. It was one of the last things he had over my mother, it was a symbol of his manhood.
The doctor who told me about his RMN stated how important it is for him to be sheltered somewhere, or he won’t recover.
I have 3 weeks to find a place and some doctors.


This means giving away the hope of my daughter(s) going to a private school. We won’t have enough money for an asylum and private schools. Not to mention moving to a larger place.
Well, I knew this day would come, didn’t I? I didn’t know it would come so soon and… in this manner.
When I talked to my father today, I could barely understand his words. He seemed so tired and confused. As the conversation ended, I told him to take care. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I couldn’t. I never told him that. I don’t remember him telling it to me, either. So I couldn’t say the words. And now I feel them in my throat and it’s hard to breathe.

Why did you do this to yourself, father? Why did you drink 2,5 litres of beer in 4 hours, knowing very well you had diabetes? Why didn’t you take pills and do the injections? Why didn’t you eat the food that mother left you? All these years you pretended you didn’t have anything and tried to destroy yourself, to take revenge… on who? Yourself? Mother? Us? Over that woman who betrayed you?

Something is gone and I can’t fix it, I can’t do anything about it, I can’t even cry over it.

But I love you, father, I do. With all your flaws. I tried to understand you. I’m sorry I couldn’t forgive you. But I love you.

No rest for the wicked like me. Lykke Li – No rest for the wicked

Marillion – Happiness is the road (HD – with Lyrics)
from the double studio album “Happiness is the road” released in 2008.

Lyrics : Hogarth

The greatest blessing that we have
Is the dawn of each new day
A chance to finish what we started
And made a mess of yesterday
As day comes out of night
A chance to get it right
A chance to start again
A chance to get it right

The people here
Full of love and comfortable in themselves
Not scared to let go
No fear round here

I met this man
In Utrecht Netherlands
He was a doctor of the body and the soul
He said to me:
Man, there’s a book you have to read.
I feel your pain. It makes me cry
But these tears are yours – not mine.

You’re focussing on all of your bad yesterdays
The worry lines are getting deeper every day
And deep inside you
No surprise – there’s a crisis!
You might have been to blame
But you can’t go on this way
Must I watch and pray?

While you torture yourself with what’s behind ya
Torture yourself with what awaits ya
Draggin’ that guilt and regret inside ya
Anxious of the goals that always evade ya

Your mind will find a way to be unkind to you somehow
But all we really have is happening to us right now


And each baby
A human sunrise
And each baby
A human sunrise
A human sunrise

Look around you
Feel your soul inside you
Look inside you
Feel the life course through you
The life that’s giving in every thing that’s living
The plants and the trees
The birds and the bees
And apes like you and me


You’re a slave to your mind
But you are not your mind
You are not your pain
Say it again
You are not your pain
Say it again
You are not your pain

Happiness ain’t at the end of the road
Happiness ain’t at the end of the road
Happiness IS the road
The road

In noaptea aceea, a aparut o falie ingusta. 1 mm in latime, dar adanca pana la temelia relatiei. Ceva doar simtit pana atunci a iesit violent din subconstient si s-a cristalizat in gand. Iar gandul a produs falia. Falia care ar putea fi umpluta asa usor. Sau ar putea creste si mai mult, de la 1 mm la 2, la 1 cm si mai departe, si uite-asa se departeaza oamenii.
Incet, incet, cu fiecare mm neacoperit de lucrurile care i-ar aduce impreuna.

Michael Nyman – The heart asks pleasure first

N-as fi ajuns sa scriu postarea asta daca nu era un comentariu.

1. Cursurile Lamaze din Romania implica multe informatii despre nastere si ingrijirea copilului, si cateva exercitii de respiratie. Cursul de 4 sau 6 sedinte nu e ca in filmele americane, cu gravide pe minge sau soti care le intind de maini. Nu ar fi fost nimic periculos ptr copil sa invat sa respir. M-ar fi ajutat tare mult la spital, as fi scapat de toate impunsaturile si vorbele personalului medical deranjat de tipetele mele.
2. La nastere, eu nu eram in pericol. Copilul nu era in pericol. Dar nu nasteam pe cat de repede si-ar fi dorit ele, cele 10 persoane din sala cu mine. Una ma apasa pe burta, 2 ma apasau pe maini, una ma apasa pe cap sa nu mai incerc sa ma ridic si eu muream de durere de spate. De atata “bine”, am ramas fara contractii. Stii cum se ajunge la cezariana in multe spitale? Personalul medical pune femeia pe masa ginecologica si-i spune “Impinge”. Eventual ii baga si niste substanta in vena, ptr contractii. Cum noi nu suntem niste roboti care sa livreze pachetul in 2-5-10 minute, se ajunge la panica. De la panica pot disparea contractiile. Sau colul nu se mai dilata. Sau copilul nu mai inainteaza.
In natura, femelele se retrag undeva ptr a naste si nasterea e intrerupta in caz de pericol. Suntem mamifere, iar creierasul nostru reactioneaza ca la mamifere. Insa noi mergem la spital, unde nimeni nu-ti asculta instinctele si nici nu te lasa sa le asculti. E o sala de nasteri, o banda rulanta de fetusi deveniti bebelusi in urma expluzarii. De unde atata omenie? De unde atata timp? Cand vin altele, si altele, si altele, si nu e suficient personal, si nu sunt suficiente sali, sau paturi, sau instrmente chirurgicale…
3. Cand ii spui cuiva care tipa in chinurile facerii “cand te-ai f%$%$, ti-a placut, acum de ce tipi?”, aia e oricum, dar nu omenie. Sunt convinsa ca persoanele alea s-ar purta la fel si in cel mai modern spital din cea mai civilizata tara.
Iar daca s-ar purta asa in SUA, posibil sa fie date in judecata – ma indoiesc ca ar invata ceva din asta, poate doar sa-si tina gura pe moment.

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”?

Blog Stats

  • 152,826 hits


November 2015
« Oct    
wordpress counter

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 47 other followers