V-a venit vreodata o dorinta extraterestra, nemaipomenita, waw! de as scrie?!?!?!…si nu a iesit nimic? Sunt atatea idei care ti se aduna in minte incat imaginatia ta ajunge sa arate ca o statie de metrou din Bucuresti la ora 9 dimineata cand toata lumea se grabeste sa ajunga la seriviciu si isi da duhul incercand sa iasa imediat ce doamna mecanica draguta anunta statia dorita. Cu toate acestea, cu cat workaholicii sunt mai nerabdatori sa se inghesuie in fata, cu atat se inghesuie mai tare unii in altii si doamna nu-chiar-atat-de-draguta anunta ca se inchid usile si nu toti reusesc sa ajunga in acea zi inainta sefului. Cam asa sunt si ideile mele in cap. Cu toate ca imi doresc sa scriu, si vaaai dar cate idei pot avea (mai ales noaptea pe la ora 2 cand ar trebui sa visez frumos), cand ma pun de ridic un creion, pix (stilou nu folosesc decat in situatii extreme), tastatura de la laptop..nu mai iese nimic. Parca toti acei oameni grabiti sa ajunga la munca si-au amintit brusc ca este ziua de 1 mai.
Imi amintesc si acum cum imi doream la varsta de 8 ani sa apar in Cartea Recordurilor ca “cea mai tanara scriitoare” (“multumesc” Christopher Paolini pentru Eragon-ul tau si ca ai reusit sa mi-o iei inainte) si cum de fiecare data cand citeam cate o carte ma gandeam: “eh, si eu pot sa am asa idei, nu-i greu,ce e asa de special la replica asta – si eu as fi putut sa ma gandesc la ea daca imi storceam creierii–amandoi creierii). Pe la varsta de 15 ani cand am terminat si primul meu manuscris de 200 de pagini (yey!), dar care a reusit sa fie furat intr-un mod miiinunat, am decis ca nu voi mai scrie niciodata. Dezamagirea a fost prea mare. De aceea m-am apucat de drept si am lasat-o balta cu visul nu tocmai inspirat de a deveni scriitoare. Cu toate astea, recent mi-a fost spus de catre o doamna profesoara de romana foarte indragita de mine sa incerc sa scriu macar cate o pagina pe zi(nu garantez o reusita, sunt destul de lenesa din fire), asa ca voi incerca…macar o pagina la 2 zile, ca sa vedem ce iese. Ma simt bine scriind, imi place senzatia aceea cand aud clickurile tastaturii si imi vad ideile insirate (copil copac ce sunt). Asa ca voi incerca, in numele sfintelor (si nu prea) carti insirate la mine in camera de care nu mai am loc -dar de care nu ma voi opri a achizitionat- sa mai scriu cate ceva. :)
There was a time in my life when I watched my own mother cry
into her pillow as she asked the Gods
what she did wrong in raising me.
From that moment on, I vowed to
never make her cry, again.
Sometimes I still struggle,
sometimes I think that I will always struggle
because I’m learning that the hardest thing
to have to accept
isn’t having people leave,
or trying to mend a broken heart—
it isn’t the cruel remarks— hushed or said so loud,
and it isn’t forgiving others,
it’s forgiving yourself.
That’s the hardest thing—
and I’m still trying.
Did you ever feel the need to write, but can’t find the right words? You see these words flowing out of your mouth, some kind of “matherialish” fiber, almost touchable, but when you want to put them on paper, or internet, they just fly away.
“My wife got sick. She was constantly nervous because of problems at work, personal life, her failures and problems with children.
She has lost 30 pounds and weighed about 90 pounds in her 35 years. She got very skinny, and was constantly crying. She was not a happy woman. She had suffered from continuing headaches, heart pain and jammed nerves in her back and ribs.
She did not sleep well, falling asleep only in the morning and got tired very quickly during the day. Our relationship was on the verge of break up.
Her beauty was leaving her somewhere, she had bags under her eyes, she was poking her head, and stopped taking care of herself. She refused to shoot the films and rejected any role.
I lost hope and thought that we’ll get divorced soon…But then I decided to act on it.
After all I’ve got the most beautiful woman on the earth.
She is the idol of more than half of men and women on earth, and I was the one allowed to fall asleep next to her and to hug her shoulders.
I began to pamper her with flowers, kisses and compliments. I surprised her and pleased her every minute. I gave her lots of gifts and lived just for her. I spoke in public only about her. I incorporated all themes in her direction. I praised her in front of her own and our mutual friends.
You won’t believe it, but she blossomed. She became even better than before. She gained weight, was no longer nervous and she loved me even more than ever. I had no clue that she CAN love that much. And then I realized one thing: The woman is the reflection of her man. If you love her to the point of madness, she will become it.“
– Brad Pitt
I loved your good intentions
I loved your efforts in your kind actions
– your consistency in sweet gestures
– your knowledge of chivalry
I loved your worries, your fears, your failures
I loved your motivation, determination, and
lack of hesitation
I loved your good parts
But I could not love the bad parts
I could not because I did not love you
And that was not the right way to go on
And those should never be reasons to hold on
This is an apology for how long it took
for me to admit
that when you claim to truly love somebody,
you should be able to love all of them.