Cafea si tigara / Coffee and a cigarette

Pe plaja bolovanoasa erau aruncate corturi la intamplare, cearsafuri sifonate de vant si iubire, o palarie de soare cu esarfa colorata, umbrele roz, verzi si violete, sticle de vin golite si aruncate aiurea. Si tu... cu ochii limpezi, cu stralucirea din par, linistea din glas, puterea din brate.

Sursa foto

Pe buza de jos, rosie de soare, uscata de vant, ti se oprise un strop de apa sarata. M-am apropiat si l-am sarutat scurt, cu pofta, si gustul a ramas cu mine toata ziua.

Si pielea mea mirosea a cafea, iar mana ta mirosea a tigara. 

Si povesteai cu frenezie, te ascultam cu ochii mari, imi stapaneam o lacrima de fericire, de dorinta, de prostie. Iar tie un ochi iti plangea si celalalt iti radea.

In toate cestile mele e o farama din iluzia unei zile perfecte, pe o plaja populata, dar pustie, cu o mare linistita, nisip murdar, piele arsa de soare, ziua in care pielea mea miroasea a tigara iar mana ta mirosea a cafea!

***

On the boulder-strewn beach were haphazardly thrown tents, sheets soaked by wind and love, a sun hat with a colorful scarf, pink, green and purple umbrellas, empty wine bottles tossed haphazardly. And you... with clear eyes, the glow in your hair, the quiet in your voice, the strength in your arms.

On your bottom lip, red from the sun, dry from the wind, a drop of salt water had stopped. I moved closer and kissed it briefly, hungrily, and the taste stayed with me all day.

And my skin smelled of coffee, and your hand smelled of cigarettes. 

And you talked frantically, I listened wide-eyed, I held back a tear of happiness, of longing, of stupidity. And you had one eye crying and the other laughing.

In all my cups there's a trace of the illusion of a perfect day, on a populated but deserted beach, with a calm sea, dirty sand, sunburnt skin, a day when my skin smelled of cigarettes and your hand smelled of coffee!

Cer senin pana la destinatie / Clear sky till the end

Huruitul motoarelor ma tine jumatate treaza, jumatate aruncata intr-o mare de nelinisti si intrebari. Pe geam vad din cand in cand cate un norisor pe care incerc sa il ignor in impertinenta lui de a fi asa de usor si lipsit de griji.

Nu pot sa nu ma intreb daca vin sau daca plec, daca destinatia e mai departe sau mai aproape de... ce?

Sursa foto

Jocul de sah a inceput. Tineretea a avut un debut mai lent, adesea am crezut ca o sa piarda meciul,
miscarile ii erau haotice, lipsa ei de strategie ma facea sa imi pierd mintile. A inceput cu pionii, pe care i-a pierdut, pe rand, chiar daca, prizonieri asa cum erau, nu erau ridati si le-ai fi dat o alta varsta. Apoi, dupa primele acorduri, piesele de sah au capatat viata lor, tineretea statea deoparte si, ingamfata cum o stiam, privea spectacolul cu un ranjet pe figura. Sah!

Mi-am prins o agrafa in suflet, de culoare aprinsa, doar-doar va antrena in jocul ei si restul.  Neamaiavand oglinda, am sters masca si am defilat goala pe strazi, printre oameni. Am devenit parte din spectacol. Am uitat sa dorm si sa ma plang si mi-am reamintit sa traiesc, cu sufletul mare.

Si mi-a placut, mi-a placut la nebunie! Pentru ca unele lucruri trebuie facute la timpul lor, iar altele, trebuie facute pur si simplu!

***

The roar of the engines keeps me half awake, half immersed in a sea of anxieties and questions. Out of the window I occasionally see a little cloud that I try to ignore in its impertinence of being so easy and carefree.

I can't help wondering if I'm coming or going, if the destination is further or closer to... what?

The chess game has begun. Youth had a slower start, I often thought it was going to lose the game, its moves were chaotic, its lack of strategy made me lose my mind. It started with pawns, which it lost, one by one, even though, prisoners as they were, they weren't wrinkled and you would have given them a different age. Then, after the first chords, the chess pieces took on a life of their own, the youth stood aside and, naive as I knew it, watched the show with a frown on her face. Chess!

I caught a staple in my heart, brightly coloured, hoping maybe it will encourage the rest of us in the game.  Not having a mirror, I wiped off the mask and paraded naked through the streets, among the people. I became part of the show. I forgot to sleep and cry and reminded myself to live, with a big heart.

And I loved it, I loved it! Because some things have to be done in their own time, and some things just have to be done!

Inimi frante/ Broken hearts

Problema cea mai mare cand vorbim de inimi frante nu e durerea nimicitoare, care te face sa iti doresti sa iti scoti inlauntrul la lumina, sa il speli, peticesti, usuci si sa-l indesi sifonat inapoi. Durerea trece, e parte din viata si cumva stim cu totii ca e normal sa apara din cand in cand. Problema cea mai mare este ca o inima franta devine parte din tine, te urmareste peste tot, iar senzatia aia, de franjuri de carne sfasiata, sangeranda, care se zbat in vant, creeaza dependenta, o placere bolnava, amara, astfel incat cei care au ajuns, la un moment dat al vietii, sa fie posesorii unei astfel de inimi, nu vor mai fi aceiasi niciodata.

E culmea cum o maladie asa de veche si de hidoasa e la fel de actuala si ataca la fel de violent, in timp ce ne concentram mai mult pe gasirea de leacuri eficiente contra intepaturilor de tantari.

O inima franta te face brusc matur, te trezeste din visare, te palmuieste ca ai fost naiv, te obliga sa vezi uratul din lume si sa accepti uratul din sufletul propriu. Si cand, intr-un final, sangerarea s-a oprit, cicatricea e atat de hidoasa incat te intrebi daca vreodata cineva isi va mai putea dori sa iubeasca aceeasi inima, pentru ca apoi sa o calce in picioare.

***

The biggest problem when we talk about broken hearts is not the wrenching pain that makes you want to pull your insides out into the light, wash, patch, dry and wring them out. Pain passes, it's part of life and somehow we all know that it's normal to occur from time to time. The bigger problem is that a broken heart becomes part of you, it follows you everywhere, and that feeling, of torn, bleeding, flesh flailing in the wind, is addictive, a sick, bitter pleasure, so that those who have come, at some point in life, to be the possessor of such a heart, will never be the same again.

It's funny how such an old and hideous disease is just as current and attacks just as violently, while we concentrate more on finding effective cures for mosquito bites.

A broken heart makes you suddenly mature, wakes you from your reverie, slaps you for being naive, forces you to see the ugliness in the world and accept the ugliness in your own soul. And when, finally, the bleeding has stopped, the scar is so hideous that you wonder if anyone will ever want to love the same heart again, only to trample it underfoot. 

Citat / Quote

M-am apucat iar de citit, o pasiune mult neglijata, din cauze multiple, mai mult sau mai putin inventate. Si, cum sunt loiala, fidela si rutiniera, caracteristici care pana acum nu mi-au prins chiar bine, dar, asta e... am pus mana pe o carte de Pascal Bruckner, mi-a placut, si m-am decis instant sa ii citesc toata opera. Am cumparat 11 bucati carti scrise de susnumitul autor, deocamdata sunt in plina lectura al celui de-al patrulea exemplar, pana acum, nici urma de dezamagire.

Din cand in cand, in pauzele de citire, imi revine in minte cate un pasaj, metafora, poveste, fragment care ma marcheaza si ma urmareste. Ultimul paragraf de acest fel imi permit sa il citez mai jos. Citit ieri, in autobuz:

"Bantuit intotdeauna de dezintegrare, m-am nascut batran, secatuit de parca as apartine unei rase sfarsite. Am acum 38 de ani, insa par de 50. Adapostesc in mine un cadavru care ma roade si creste pe seama mea. Mi-ar fi placut, inca din adolescenta, sa cumpar de la vreun negustor transe de timp ca sa franez uzura. Cenusiul mi s-a asternut pe chip inca din leagan si nu m-a parasit de atunci". (Pascal Bruckner - "Hotii de frumusete", o carte recomandata chiar si pentru cei care nu apreciaza stilul aproape porno :) abordat de scriitorul francez).

***

I took up reading again, a long-neglected passion, for many reasons, more or less invented. And, as I am loyal, faithful and a routine lover, characteristics that so far haven't suited me very well, but, that's it... I got my hands on a book by Pascal Bruckner, liked it, and instantly decided to read his whole work. I bought 11 books written by the aforementioned author, so far I'm in the middle of reading the fourth copy, so far, no sign of disappointment.

From time to time, in the breaks of reading, a passage, a metaphor, a story, a fragment that marks me and follows me comes back in my mind. The last such paragraph I take the liberty of quoting below. Read yesterday, on the bus:

"Always haunted by disintegration, I was born old, drained as if I belonged to a finite race. I am now 38, but I look 50. I harbour within me a corpse that gnaws and grows at my expense. I would have liked, since I was a teenager, to buy from some merchant time tranches to brake the wear and tear. The ashes have been on my face since the cradle and have not left me since." (Pascal Bruckner - "The Thieves of Beauty", a book recommended even for those who do not appreciate the almost pornographic style :) approached by the French writer).

Scene din alt film / Scenes from a different movie

Imi propusesem sa scriu despre concertul Judas Priest, cu grandoare si spectacolul pe care le-a adus, despre mainile intinse in aer si pletele scuturate ritmic, despre decibeli, lumina si culoare. In cap insa mi se zbat alte ganduri, alte senzatii si alte idei. O sa scriu despre timp si despre felul in care se scurge el, mai repede peste unii si mai greu peste ceilalti. Un bilet m-a condus inapoi in timp, in vremea cand eram si eu, ca si ei, acum, rebela si nebuna. Am vazut in jur poate cei mai frumosi oameni, asta pentru ca gusturile nu se schimba niciodata. Am simtit ca pentru mine anii astia, care au trecut din liceu pana acum, mi-au pus pe umeri mult mai multe decat lor, cei din jurul meu, care nu-si tradeaza nici pentru o secunda varsta. Poate ca sunt mai trecuti prin viata decat mine, dar au ramas cumva ancorati acolo, in vremurile bune si lipsite de griji. Ma uit parca cu stupoare in jur, si nu-i mai inteleg. Afara sunt peste 35 de grade, si ei poarta bocanci si negru, atat de mult negru... Ma simt rupta din alt film, parca nu imi am locul aici, nu mai sunt de-a lor. Si imi amintesc doar vag cum am fost odata, cand bocancii faceau parte din uniforma, chiar si pe plaja. Si ma trezesc muncita de ganduri atat de stupide, incat imi vine sa plang, de superficialitatea mea si de imposibilitatea de a trai momentul. Viata e o eterna ocazie de a face alegeri. Pe unele le faci cu ochii inchisi, fara a reliza macar impactul lor asupra vietii. Am ales ce sunt acum, ma simt bine in pielea mea, chiar pot spune ca de multe ori sunt fericita (pentru ca superlativele nu sunt realiste). Si totusi, nu pot sa nu ma intreb daca nu cumva m-ar fi caracterizat mai mult uniforma de rocker rebel, decat tinuta office.

***

I had set out to write about the Judas Priest concert, with the grandeur and spectacle it brought, about hands in the air and rhythmically shaking hair, about decibels, light and colour. But other thoughts, other sensations and other ideas are swirling in my head. I will write about time and the way it flows, faster over some and harder over others. A note took me back in time, to the time when I was, like them, now, rebellious and crazy. I saw perhaps the most beautiful people around, that's because tastes never change. I felt that for me, these years that have passed from high school to now, have put so much more on my shoulders than theirs, those around me, who don't betray their age for a second. They may be further along in life than I am, but they're still somehow anchored there, in the good, carefree times. I look around in amazement, and I don't understand them anymore. It's over 35 degrees outside, and they're wearing boots and black, so much black... I feel like I'm out of another movie, like I don't belong here, I'm not one of them anymore. And I only vaguely remember how I once was, when boots were part of the uniform, even on the beach. And I wake up exhausted by thoughts so stupid, I feel like crying, my shallowness and my inability to live in the moment. Life is an eternal opportunity to make choices. Some you make blindfolded, without even rereading their impact on your life. I chose what I am now, I feel good about myself, I can even say that I'm often happy (because superlatives are not realistic). And yet, I can't help but wonder if my rebel rocker uniform might have characterized me more than my office attire.