Medals for mums. Mums for medals.

mami:

"Sunt asa fericita pentru tine si bucuria ta, pentru realizarea ta, ca numai la tine ma gandesc. Sper ca te odihnesti si visezi frumos la tot ce ti s-a intamplat. Eu sunt coplesita de faptul ca-ncet incet te maturizezi si o faci atat de frumos si responsabil ca nu-mi vine sa cred ca e adevarat. In toata perioada asta despre care de-abia in seara asta mi-ai spus ce s-a intamplat cu tine intr-adevar, eu credeam ca esti ca o pasare...libera...linistita... imi dadeai impresia ca esti chiar o femeie fericita si de-abia acum am realizat din nou cat de complicata si totusi simpla esti...

Ar fi tare bine sa fi mereu ca azi pentru ca e mult mai sanatos pentru tine in primul rand sa-ti exteriorizezi trairile decat sa tragi o cortina mereu si mereu fara sa te arati... sa-ti dai drumul... sa te arati in toata splendoarea sau simplitatea ta, dar oricum sa te arati...

E mare pacat sa stai ascunsa. Numai comorile se ascund si uneori uiti unde le-ai ascuns, precum animalutele oscioarele sau papa bun. Nu te mai ascunde, ti-am spus... viata e una singura, nu avem mai multe. Traieste-o cum iti place, fa ce-ti place, dar fi om asa cum te-am educat... restul vine de la sine. Si o sa te simti mereu nu numai cateodata ca o pasare in zbor spre lumina si spre noi orizonturi. Fa ce trebuie facut ca sa fi mereu ce vrei sa fi si nu altfel.

Te iubesc mult si sper ca viata si bunul Dumnezeu sa-ti aduca ce e mai bun. Asa cum ai grija de tine acum, asa si cel de sus te va ocroti. Te pup si noapte buna... nu uita intotdeauna sa nu-ti fie frica sa recunosti ce-ti trebuie, ce si cat de mult iti doresti ceva... pentru ca numai asa ti se va implini.

Fii tu insuti si daca nu vei uita ca esti printre oameni care le au si ei pe-ale lor, vei reusi sa traiesti frumos si normal... ai contestat amenda de parcare sau nu ai avut cind? Bucura-te de fiecare clipa a tineretii, a vietii tale pe pamint ...pentru ca pe luna nu se stie ce va fi pina la urma si la urma.

Uite de-aia te iubesc...vezi... pentru ca eu vorbesc si tu dormi... bravo tie. Hai pa."

(sent at 00:30, 27.01.2010)

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Nu dormeam, intr-adevar ma ascundeam dupa o perdea, luand notite in banca mea, ca de obicei, de la mama. Ma gandesc ca daca as fi intrerupt-o spunandu-i ca sunt acolo si ca citesc cu ochi ciuliti tot ce-mi zice, poate ca ar fi asteptat un raspuns sau un fel de confirmare dupa fiecare paragraf de intelepciune al ei. Insa cateodata apare nevoia ca pe cei ce ii iubesti sa-i admiri si de la distanta, silentios, invizibil... Sa devii un spectator, un martor, un participant si toate in acelasi timp, pana la caderea cortinei. Eu deja mi-am predat monologul, iar acesta a fost monologul mamei. E bine de stiut ca exista martori si ascultatori fideli, chiar daca uneori nu esti constient de prezenta lor. E nevoie doar sa vrei sa le simti prezenta, mai ales atunci cand iti lipsesc, cand doare un pic. Lipsa unei comori, cum spune mama, sau in cazul ei lipsa (disparitia) frecventa a broscutei testoase care ii tine companie mamei de atatia ani, determina cautarea comorii, dar doar dupa ce micuta Hope (nume dat de mama in ciuda faptului ca testoasa e de fapt mascul) se face nevazuta o buna perioada de timp.

Prima data cand m-am ascuns si eu in seara asta a fost pe o mica scena, dupa vreo trei perdele, una dupa alta, care mai de care mai transparenta sau mai opaca. O simpla iluzie. Dar tot am fost prinsa... si asta doar din cauza ca am fost nevoita sa-mi fac trecerea printr-un al patrulea perete: o perdea care s-a dovedit a fi de o transparenta izbitoare (si nu vorbesc de cea de mai jos).
I guess that sometimes fate makes everything simpler and clearer for us, simpler than any 'complicated splendour' we build ourselves around.

I remember when I was little, playing hide and seek used to scare me; nowadays, I'm always there... waiting, yearning to be found.

It's all over now... It's all past, it can't be changed...

Emily of Emerald Hill.

This would make my mother proud. It happens that I am to play her role, while living out her dream, my dream. I like to think that if she could see it, she would realize that I do actually understand who she is more than she ever tried to believe I could. It would be another stepping stone towards getting rid of several unsettled frustrations. At least, that's what a longing daughter likes to think.

So yeah, this is for you mum... Unlike all the other times before, I'm now lifting more than a finger to help myself.
I'll do it in style, elegance, and with the firm poise of a matriarch, asa cum numai de la tine am invatat.

Old-fashioned Nonyas, you'd say? I think I'll go for emerald femmes fatales instead. Just for the jokes. And for the make-up.

'The longest unzipping of my life'.

I promised I would write about a particular recent experience in my least poetical, least metaphorical, and least euphemistic way possible, something which my dear reader is perhaps not so used to. So here goes, I pledge my troth fools!... at bare length.

Whoever said that the longest journey begins with a single step, not with a turn of the ignition key, I'm afraid, couldn't have been more further away from a practical truth. After all the hype in the news about the dangerous monster of snow that has shook the island, about people freezing to death in their cars and all that blablayaddada, and against what my folks insisted I should do, me-being-me went hand in hand with a stubborn gut squeezing tight, telling me I should buckle up for my heavily anticipated four hour drive. So I hit the evening road like Jill; and it turned out to be the best drive I've had so far since I was given my driving license a couple of years ago. The journey took three hours on the dot (never drove to the same destination for as short a time as this)... roads couldn't have been clearer, half-filled by heavy trucks busking in queues, and far fewer car drivers who drove timidly without reason behind these lonely trucks. Well, with the exception of one, or maybe two if I count myself in.

And if you drive, you'll probably know what I'm talking about. It's that quiet time of the night where you find yourself driving across a motorway either head to head, behind, or in front of another car, both of you sensibly keeping within the 50mph speed limit that is permitted over a lengthy bit of road works. No rush getting anywhere, changing your CD meanwhile, keeping a fair distance between the two of you, easing on the speed when one decides to overtake the other slowly, and so on. Basic driver's etiquette that not all drivers seem to feel comfortable with. However, when one of the drivers is a female and the other one a male, that usually tends to add a different ingredient to the chemistry that is taking shape on the road. It certainly does not level the individuals out, especially if one is driving a shiny snow white Range Rover, polished like a baby's bottom, and the other, well, an old runny family Merc... and ridiculous though it may sound to have these two cars put together, you find yourself competing. Sort of.

So what follows after you become unbound by the 50mph limit is a bit of a daredevil game of catch-me-if-you-can. The unwritten rules were that he would slow down and let me catch up, but only after he would let me have a go at keeping up. And boy, did I not go for it... The handsome Rover would bring it back to steady again, allowing me to leave him behind, while I satiated my appetite on tarmac '...she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of turns sometimes dropping down to 50 miles per hour, only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again. Fast, slow, fast fast slow! Sometime a wide turn, sometimes a quick one... she preferred the tighter ones. The sharp controlled jerks, swinging left to right before driving back to the right, only so she could do it all over again until after enough speed, and enough wind, and more distance than I had been prepared to expect...' [video is the bare shizz.]

And it's all happening like you're on a first date, girl drops a tissue, guy picks it up, guy fires something up, then girl brings her bazooka and spreads conflagration. Except, there never really is a bombshell crashing the party from any of the parties involved. It's all a playful, youthful flirtation (even with death at times, but let's not be tragic) of two gentle folks, I'm a gentle girl, and he most certainly seems to be a gentleman by his way of driving. And you can't beat that. Flashing out, flashing in, fast slow fast fast slow, really you become partners in crime as you both bend the law while perfectly aware of the circumstances. Then you go your way, he goes his way, as it is ever so the case. Nothing complicated, no mumbo jumbo, nothing that you do not wish upon, just a friendly ta-ta wave from one back to the other ~ enough to keep a smile on your face for the rest of the drive. Simplicity at its best. This type of affair is maneuvered by changing gears, speeding up without any sudden intimidating breaking, keeping your steering wheel solid, and your eyes always set on the road, never on each other. Neither of you will ever stop, even if the road takes both of you in two different directions.
And it always does.

Looking back on it, a day hasn't passed without my thinking about how much I wished I would have recorded that whole event, like so many other moments of the past that are worthy of being recorded and kept alive through other means outside your own head. Writing about it shall have to do.

Someone once told me that if you wish to know a person's true character, put him behind a steering wheel and you shall find out. I quite liked what I found, and left, on that snowy night. And on that bombshell, here's a few excerpts from my wonderfully solitary six hour drive in a little bit of snow. Sit back and relax, or else buckle up ;)



And as I was saying...

Hey pretty...
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
Through my world

The end of pidginization.

"It often happens that, to communicate with each other, two or more people use a language in a variety whose grammar and vocabulary are very much reduced in extent and which is native to neither side. Such a language is a pidgin."
How can you teach an old pigeon new tricks? Once you finally gained their trust to make them stop awhile, how long can you keep them still enough to take a quick snapshot that will clearly document the comfortable state you managed to safely bring them in? ...only to see them flying away again in their own mistakes, whilst taking away a solid crumb of you in flight as well.
They never have a destination, except perhaps in winter time when they have a warm yet wooden nest always awaiting on them: a shelter offering an overly estimated comfort for their weak, fine-china bodies. And so, when these faint-hearted bundle of feathers are not on their own, but in homely company, they can stay still for ever, and you can steal as many snapshots of their identities as you wish, enough to build a wonderful feathery album that will keep a truth alive only in pictures.
Fat and content, the pigeon would then fly back to you for more crumbs, intently turning a blind eye on previous portraits of itself from your record. You'd see it modestly posing, even if now the camera lies settled like a rifle cozy in your hands, ready to go off on the pigeon's first deploring coo! Using this instrument will thus keep the gutter bird away from any unnecessary spotlight, while it would pigeonhole it back into an even more unnecessary hiding. A Pavlovian camera on a never-ending timer shall do the trick too.
Note to self: handling with care is now no longer necessary.
'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel--
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.'

A year of snow, a year of plenty.

This year came with snow falling, and it bruised. A Scotsman once said that we build statues out of snow, and weep to see them melt.
I didn't see it coming.


I used to be Snow White, but it drifted.