Text din obligatie / A text because I have to

Mi-am luat un angajament fata de mine, in primul rand (incerc sa ma catar iar pe prima pozitie in clasamentul prioritatilor mele, e cam greu, dupa tot praful care s-a asternut in anii astia) sa scriu cate ceva in fiecare zi. Terapie, sa-i zicem, sau nevoie primordiana de a ma simti, intr-un fel, utila.

Azi n-am ce scrie, iar versurile pe care am zis ca o sa le citez sunt mult prea transparente pentru ce as avea de zis, asadar o sa imi rod gandurile in liniste si o sa astept sa se potoleasca si sa-mi dea pace, sau, daca nu, macar sa se aseze regulamentar intr-o ordine mai transparenta, pe care sa o pot analiza si transpune in practica.

Lumea se invarte fara mine. Ei, nu ca nu stiam, dar era placut sentimentul ala ca as fi, macar pentru unii, centrul universului. Ei bine, nu-s, si, in caz ca isi mai face cineva iluzii de acest gen, trag un semnal de trezire: niciunul nu suntem centrul niciunui univers! Si nici cei pe care ii alegem ca centru al universului nostru nu sunt deloc asa, fie ca nu-si doresc, fie ca dispar, fie ca se schimba. Ori, un centru ar trebui sa fie unic si stabil.

A dat soarele, probabil ca natura incepe usor sa isi iasa din amorteala. A trebuit sa se faca dupa-amiaza sa-l observ. O sa ma rup de tot ceea ce nu ma tine captiva si sa ma fortez sa admir privelistea, sa traiesc momentul, sa tac si sa uit.

Revin maine, cu aceleasi ineptii, scrise intr-o alta forma, mai mult sau mai putin patetica.

***

I made a commitment to myself, first of all (I'm trying to climb back to the top of my priority list, it's a bit hard, after all the dust that has settled over the years) to write something every day. Therapy, let's call it, or a primal need to feel somehow useful.

Today I have nothing to write, and the lines I said I'd quote are far too transparent for what I'd have to say, so I'll gnaw on my thoughts in silence and wait for them to subside and give me peace, or, if not, at least to settle into a more transparent order that I can analyze and put into practice.

The world is spinning without me. Well, not that I didn't know it, but it was nice that feeling that I was, at least for some, the center of the universe. Well, I'm not, and in case anyone else is under such illusions, I'm sounding a wake-up call: none of us are the centre of any universe! Nor are those we choose as the centre of our universe at all, either unwilling, disappearing or changing. Or, a centre should be unique and stable.

The sun rises, nature is probably slowly starting to break out of its numbness. I had to make it afternoon to notice it. I'm going to break away from everything that doesn't hold me captive and force myself to admire the view, live in the moment, shut up and forget.

I'll be back tomorrow, with the same nonsense, written in a different, more or less pathetic form.

Exista posibilitati care se poate si posibilitati care nu se poate / There are possible possibilities and also impossible possibilities

O sa ma apuc de scris un roman prost, bazat pe viata pe care n-am trait-o, pe experientele pe care nu le-am avut, pe toate "what if-urile" din viata mea, poate, citindu-l ulterior, voi simti ca am trait mai intens. Cu putin noroc, va fi ecranizat de o echipa de actori cu viitor stralucit, intr-o limba de origine latina, iar casnicele vor potopi pamantul cu lacrimi uitandu-se in fiecare dupa-amiaza, cu o lingura de lemn in mana dreapta si stergandu-si secretiile nazale pe sortul de bucatarie. Si isi vor jura ca isi schimba viata, si vor uita pana la urmatoarea telenovela.

Sau, o sa incep, in sfarsit, sa fac bine in lume, sa imi aduc contributia, activa, la orice. Mi-am dorit mereu, insa mereu am avut cate o piedica, bine plasata, chiar de catre mine, in calea fericirii. Si astfel, voi deveni peste noapte salvatoarea planetei...

Sau, o sa ma imbrac chiar eu cu sortul de bucatarie, sa ma plasez strategic langa aragaz si sa incep sa invat ce n-am stiut niciodata: sa gatesc! Mirosul de ceapa calita imi va deveni cel mai bun prieten, va inlocui toate aromele din borcanelele multicolore pe care le tin aruncate prin toata casa. Si mama va fi mandra, ca ce gospodina este fie-sa!

Sau, o sa invat peste noapte tot ce e de stiut despre un blog, si intr-o luna o sa rup toate topurile, indrugand cretinatati pe o foaie de hartie virtuala. In zilele fara inspiratie, voi copia idei din versuri si voi cita din romanul inceput in primul paragraf.

Sau, sau, sau...

DAR!

***

I'm going to start writing a bad novel, based on the life I didn't live, the experiences I didn't have, all the what ifs in my life, maybe, reading it afterwards, I'll feel like I lived more intensely. With any luck, it will be screened by a team of actors with bright futures, in a language of Latin origin, and the housewives will be choking the earth with tears as they watch it every afternoon, with a wooden spoon in their right hand and wiping their nasal secretions on the kitchen apron. And they'll swear they're changing their lives, and they'll forget until the next soap opera.

Or, I'll finally start doing good in the world, making my contribution, actively, to everything. I've always wanted to, but I've always had a well-placed, self-placed obstacle to happiness. And so, overnight, I become the savior of the planet...

Or, I'll dress myself in the kitchen apron, place myself strategically by the stove and start learning what I never knew: how to cook! The smell of the onion will become my best friend, it will replace all the aromas in the multicolored jars I keep lying around the house. And my mother will be proud, what a housewife daughter she has!

Or, I'll learn everything there is to know about blogging overnight, and in a month I'll be tearing up all the charts, writing nonsense on a virtual sheet of paper. On uninspired days, I'll copy ideas from the lyrics and quote from the novel I started in the first paragraph.

Or, or, or, or...

BUT!

Traiesc! / I am alive!

Iti dai seama ca esti in viata dimineata, cand vezi soarele mijind printre nori si colorand cerul in rosu-porticaliu, pe fata ti se asterne un zambet palid si apoi iti trece prin minte exact chestia asta: traiesc, si ti se face instant pielea ca de gaina... 

Realizezi ca traiesti cand, in drum spre munca, iti trec prin cap zeci de idei pe care ai vrea sa le scrii pe blog, dar care, apoi, mor subit, in lipsa de timp. 

Traiesti cand tragi in piept aerul de munte si te lasi invins de linistea care invaluie peisajul alb: brazii sunt albi, aleea e alba, muntii sunt albi... 

Iti amintesti ca traiesti cand te suna mama, sa te intrebe, invariabil, daca ai mancat sau daca ai ajuns cu bine acasa. 

Iti amintesti ca traiesti mult prea rar, comparativ cu datile in care simti ca mori, pentru ca iti permiti sa mori, in fiecare zi cate un pic, pana la final, cand o sa uiti senzatia aia minunata cand rasaritul iti mangaie pleoapele!

***

You realise you are alive in the morning, when you see the sun peeking through the clouds and colouring the sky in red-orange, you get a pale smile on your face and then this exact thing crosses your mind: I am alive, and you instantly get goose bumps... 

You realise you're alive when, on your way to work, dozens of ideas come into your head that you'd like to blog about, but then suddenly die for lack of time. 

You live when you breathe in the mountain air and let yourself be overcome by the silence that envelops the white landscape: the trees are white, the alley is white, the mountains are white... 

You remember that you are alive when your mother calls you, invariably to ask if you have eaten or if you have arrived home safely. 

You remember that you live far too seldom, compared to the days when you feel you are dying, because you allow yourself to die, every day a little, until the end, when you forget that wonderful feeling when the sunrise caresses your eyelids!

"Strainul din oglinda" / "The stranger in the mirror"

Eram clasa a saptea, cred, cand circula pe ascuns, printre banci, cartea asta, din seria generica “Sandra Brown”. O citeam cu nesat, lacomi dupa scenele de amor necenzurate. In cateva zile citeam pe rand cartea din scoarta in scoarta, mai repede decat efectuam orice alta lectura cu caracter obligatoriu. Nu-mi amintesc un rand din carte, din actiune, nici macar din scenele deocheate descrise in amanunt. Imi amintesc insa titlul, e metafora care la vremea aia nu insemna mai nimic, insa zilele astea e asa de puternica si de rezonatoare. 

Ne schimbam, de la o generatie la alta, de la un an la altul, de pe o zi pe alta… Schimbarea, ca mecanism natural de adaptare a fiintei umane la noile conditii, ca mijloc de aparare de factorii externi din ce in ce mai agresivi, ne trasforma usor pe toti in gandaci de bucatarie, campioni in domeniul adaptabilitatii. 

Si ma gasesc tarandu-ma prin viata, un gandac de bucatarie schiop, pentru ca ceva din mine nu s-a adaptat. Am invelisul tare, lucios, o aripa ascunde smechereste membrul beteag, ultima urma a ceea ce era odata. Ma recunosc inca in oglinda. Imaginea e mai palida, culorile mai mate, amestecate intre ele, dar sunt acolo, nu m-am transformat, inca, intr-o straina. Inca un an in care timpul sa stea in loc, si nu mai promit nimic…

***

I was in seventh grade, I think, when this book, from the generic "Sandra Brown" series, was secretly circulating among the desks. We read it ravenously, greedy for the uncensored love scenes. In a few days we were reading the book from cover to cover, faster than we did any other required reading. I don't remember a line of the book, of the action, not even the dirty scenes described in detail. But I do remember the title, it's a metaphor that at the time meant nothing, but these days is so powerful and resonant. 

We change, from one generation to the next, from one year to the next, from one day to the next... Change, as a natural mechanism of adaptation of the human being to new conditions, as a means of defence against increasingly aggressive external factors, easily turns us all into cockoaches, champions in the field of adaptability. 

And I find myself crawling through life, a limping cockroach, because something in me hasn't adapted. I have hard, shiny shells, a wing clumsily hiding my drunken limb, the last vestige of what once was. I still recognize myself in the mirror. The image is paler, the colours duller, blended together, but I am there, I have not yet become a stranger. One more year of time standing still, and no more promises...

S-a sinucis o anonima... / A stranger killed herself...

Am invatat in scoli, la rand, despre momentele subiectului epic, in literatura, cu aplicabilitate in viata, sau invers, mai degraba. Orice naratiune sau viata ar trebui, teoretic vorbind, sa aiba expozitiune, intriga, desfasurarea actiunii, punct culminant si deznodamant. O incercare reusita, pentru o vreme, de a universaliza si uniformiza povesti.

Toti caram in spate o poveste, de la nastere pana la ultima suflare suntem un roman in devenire, un bestseller pe care prea putini au rabdarea sa-l citeaca si sa-l interpreteze, o opera epica traita cu indrazneala de a nu respecta, de cele mai multe ori, "momentele subiectului". Pentru ca intriga se lasa mult asteptata, expozitiunea se confunda cu desfasurarea actiunii iar despre punctul culminant si deznodamantrul sosit uneori prea devreme, ce sa mai vorbim...

"S-a sinucis Madalina Manole" suna altfel decat "S-a sinucis un anonim", cum scria Minulescu. Sau suna absolut identic, dar suntem prea superficiali sa ne dam seama. O femeie, urcata pe un podium de unde deznodamantul povestii ei a rupt cate ceva in toate sufletele care au varsat cel putin o lacrima ascultand "Suflet gol".

Azi povestea se sfarseste, fara ca sensul gestului extrem sa fie vreodata clar pentru cineva. In lacomia noastra de a devora viata lor, a celor care refuza sa mai fie anonimi, aveam pretentia de a intelege, de a diseca un suflet si de a ne droga cu durerea din el. Suntem parca dezamagiti ca nu a aparut nimic murdar, noroi cu care sa aruncam in memoria ei. Si tragem azi cortina peste tot, odata cu prima lopata de tarana asternuta pe sicriul ei alb, prea imaculat ca sa faca deliciul publicului.

Nu, nu am fost fan, nu ma pot bate cu pumnii in piept ca am stiut ceva depre viata ei cat timp si-a purtat povestea printre noi. Ii fredonam refrenele din inertie, ii admiram vocea incredibila si feminitatea demna pe care o afisa in public, si-atat. Poate de-asta moartea ei este, pentru mine, o drama la fel de mare ca moartea unui anonim, nepatata de cinismele lumii mondene.

Odihneste-te in pace, suflet trist, nu gol, ci prea plin de simtaminte ca sa fii inteleasa de o lume nebuna!

***

We learned in schools, one after the other, about the epic subject moments, in literature, with applicability in life, or vice versa, rather. Any narrative or life should, theoretically speaking, have exposition, plot, unfolding action, climax and denouement. A successful attempt, for a while, to universalize and standardize stories.

We all carry a story, from birth to last breath we are a novel in the making, a bestseller that too few have the patience to read and interpret, an epic work lived with the audacity to disregard, more often than not, the "moments of the story". Because the plot is left long overdue, the exposition is confused with the unfolding of the action and the climax and denouement sometimes arrives too soon, what to speak of...

"Madalina Manole committed suicide" sounds different than "An anonymous person committed suicide", as Minulescu wrote. Or it sounds absolutely identical, but we're too shallow to notice. A woman, standing on a podium where the outcome of her story broke something in all the souls who shed at least one tear listening to "Empthy soul".

Today the story ends, without the meaning of the extreme gesture ever being clear to anyone. In our greed to devour their lives, of those who refuse to be anonymous anymore, we had the pretense of understanding, of dissecting a soul and getting high on the pain in it. We are seemingly disappointed that nothing dirty, nothing muddy has emerged to throw at her memory. And we draw the curtain over everything today, with the first shovelful of tarana laid on her white coffin, too immaculate to delight the public.

No, I wasn't a fan, I can't pretend that I knew anything about her life while she carried her story among us. I hummed her choruses out of inertia, admired her incredible voice and the dignified femininity she displayed in public, and that was it. Maybe that's why her death is, for me, as much a drama as the death of an anonymous person, untouched by the cynicism of the mundane world.

Rest in peace, sad soul, not empty, but too full of feeling to be understood by a mad world!

Erase and rewind

De-ar fi asa de simplu... Punct, si de la capat, cu forte noi, cu credinta ca totul va fi bine si frumos, cu increderea nestirbita in propria persoana si in cei din jur. De-ar fi asa de simplu, probabil ca am trai o mie de ani fericiti si nestingheriti, nu am mai albi nicioadata si nu ne-am lupta cu ridurile din jurul ochilor. De-ar fi asa de usor, ne-am ierta erorile si pripirile de moment, convinsi fiind ca totul o sa fie bine, intr-un final, mai devreme sau mai tarziu. Dar viata nu e asa de simpla, invatam asta an de an, cu fiecare esec, pierdere sau dezamagire pe care le incasam fara drept de replica.

Din fiecare experienta traita ar trebui sa invatam cate ceva, din greselile noastre sau din greselile altora. As vrea sa-mi dau seama si de data asta care e lectia, ce trebuia facut altfel, cum am fi putut opri drobul de sare sa se pravaleasca la vale. Poate e nevoie de ceva mai multa vreme, sa acopere totul cu putina uitare si cu transparenta, ca sa putem deschide ochii mai luminati. Deocamdata totul e incetosat si fara noima. Incerc sa ma bucur ca uite, si de data asta, am picat in picioare, insa nimic nu mai e la fel.

La fiecare sfarsit de an ne dorim "un an nou mai bun", ducandu-ne singuri cu vorba ca o sa fie bine, sau, in mod ideal, "mai bine". Pentru ca tocmai am pus capat unui capitol important, in care am investit poate mai mult decat eram in stare sa o fac, de aici si dezamagirea enorma, imi doresc ca noul an sa-mi aduca energia unui nou inceput si puterea de-a uita ce-a fost, de-a intelege ce se intampla in jur si ambitia de a demonstra, a cata oara, ca pot. Si, Doamne, daca nu e prea mult, fara dezamagiri anul asta...

Punct. Si de la capat, in 2010.

La multi ani!

***

If only it were that simple... Period, and from the beginning, with new strengths, with the belief that everything will be fine and beautiful, with unwavering trust in yourself and in those around you. If only it were that simple, we'd probably live a thousand years happily ever after, we'd never go white again and we wouldn't struggle with wrinkles around our eyes. If only it were that easy, we'd forgive ourselves our mistakes and momentary hastiness, convinced that everything will be all right, eventually, sooner or later. But life isn't that simple, we learn that year after year, with every failure, loss or disappointment we take without right of reply.

We should learn something from every experience, from our mistakes or from the mistakes of others. I would like to figure out this time what the lesson is, what should have been done differently, how we could have stopped the salt drip from going downhill. Maybe it needs a little more time, to cover it all with a little forgetfulness and transparency, so that we can open our eyes a little brighter. For now everything is still and meaningless. I'm trying to be glad that look, and this time, I've fallen on my feet, but nothing is the same.

At the end of every year we wish for "a better new year", taking it upon ourselves to say it will be good, or ideally "better". Because I have just ended an important chapter, in which I have invested perhaps more than I was able to, hence the enormous disappointment, I wish that the new year will bring me the energy of a new beginning and the strength to forget what has been, to understand what is going on around me and the ambition to prove, for the umpteenth time, that I can. And, God, if it's not too much, no disappointments this year....

Period. And from the top, in 2010.

Happy New Year!

Limba noastra-i o comoara, in adancuri infundata/ Our language is a tresure berried deep

E infundata de cineva, adica, de noi, de duiumul de ineptii de pe internet, de oamenii de comunicare cu prea mare dorinta de a se adapta "noilor tendinte din PR". Pe mormantul proaspat mai arunca din cand in cand cate un pumn de tarana neagra niste stimati academicieni care mai lanseaza cate o varianta de DOOM, sa ne invete pe noi, idiotii care ne straduim sa fim cat mai literati cu putinta, sa scriem analfabeticeste.

Tin postul asta in mine de la ultima editie a PR Week (care n-a fost asa cu multa vreme in urma, sa fie vreo luna). Il tin in mine din lipsa de timp, insa nu vreau sa uit sau sa o las treaba asta netaxata. E vorba despre o idee care mi-a facut parul maciuca la simpla enuntare. In cadrul elogiului adus epocii web 2.0 (sau x.0, cat mai e ea), s-a lansat ideea ca viitorul limbii romane este internetul...

Sincer, nu cred ca majoritatea celor din sala au fost la fel de ofuscati ca mine la ideea asta. Poate sunt de vina Facultatea de Litere, si Theodor Hristea, si doamna profesoara Dindelegan, care mi-au bagat in cap cu forta ideea ca trebuie sa vorbesc si sa scriu corect. Drept pentru care sunt unul dintre cei care scriu cu mare reticenta acum niciunul impreunat si pe care ii doare sufletul de doua ori cand scriu odata.

Refuz cu indarjire sa devin analfabeta. Fac alergie cand vad de asemenea scris impreunat, ma doare creierul cand citesc sânt scris asa, cu î din a! Dragilor, stimabililor, colegilor de breasla, va rog eu frumos, desfundati limba noastra din adancuri, ca se duce de rapa, si meseria noastra, odata cu ea (scris impreunat)!

***

It's being berried by someone, that is, by us, by the plethora of nonsense on the internet, by communication people with an over-eagerness to adapt to "new PR trends". On the fresh grave they occasionally throw a fistful of black dust by some esteemed academics who throw a DOOM version, to teach us, the idiots who strive to be as literate as possible, to write illiterately.

I've been holding this post in my head since the last PR Week (which wasn't that long ago, make that a month or so). I keep it in me due to lack of time, but I don't want to forget or leave it untaxed. It's about an idea that made my hair stand on end at the mere mention of it. As part of the eulogy to the web 2.0 (or x.0, whatever it is) era, the idea has been floated that the future of the Romanian language is the internet...

Honestly, I don't think most people in the room were as offended as I was at the idea. Maybe it's the Faculty of Letters, and Theodor Hristea, and Mrs. Dindelegan, who forcefully put into my head the idea that I must speak and write correctly. That's why I am one of those who write with great reluctance now, "niciunul" together, and whose soul hurts twice when I write "odata".

I stubbornly refuse to become illiterate. I get allergy when I see "de asemene" written together, my brain hurts when I read "sant" written like that, with î in a! My dear, esteemed, fellow members of our profession, I ask you kindly, unclog our language from its depths, for it is going down the drain, and our profession, along with it!