This post is about a fear. The kangaroo put it very clearly into one of his posts: I saw, for the first time, how scared I am of dying, and of other people dying, and how this fear has prevented me from doing all sorts of things"
Although I would like to disagree, and pat him on the shoulder and say that fear of death is a feeling we all experience sometimes (or all times), moreover, that being so much in love with life makes you even more scared of parting with it, I know very well that would have been lying to myself and being blind to my own feelings.
Fact is, I am scared of dying. And maybe even more, I am scared of losing. So scared, that the absence of a beloved, when I know he/she is driving or flying or doing anything else that could generate a terrible accident, I feel lame and anxious, degenerating sometimes into a stressed caller and writer, asking the beloved how they feel or whether they are all right.
It wasn't always so. Back in the days where I hadn't experienced the sudden, unfair death of a dear one and the devastating impact it has on the ones who are left behind, I just dreamed away in an "it couldn't happen to ME" feeling-secure-thing. But experiencing a midnight-call and the sole option it leaves you (live will never be the same), makes something break within yourself.
No matter how balanced and introspective you are, no matter how well you can cure yourself by communication and analysis, there are things in life that you cannot find any explanations for. And those things will tear you apart.
We all deal with death as good as we can. Some of us ignore it ("While I'm here, death is not, and when death will be here, I will be gone, so why worry?"), some make fun ("I intend to live forever or die trying"), some experience blank fear and some try to face it ("While the physical death destroys you, the psychological meaning of death might just rescue you").
I perfectly understand fearing death, it's the big unknown that we all have to face.
But there's one thing I will never agree with: fear of life. As ceasing to take risks and to fight for our happiness, just because it might end in disappointment and grieve is even worse than dying after all.
So, my dear kangaroo, thumbs up for your self-awareness and introspection. But don't take your fears as something that was given to you and that is final. For death is just another border to be crossed. And maybe, just maybe, there is something beyond. As there certainly is something beyond our fears - the real life we have all been talking about.
Showing posts with label A post just for myself. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A post just for myself. Show all posts
Monday, November 17, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Remember M.A.S.H.?
It was maybe the best sitcom I have ever seen. The hopelessness that perspires from behind all the fun and the jokes rocked me down to my deepest fears and feelings.
Today, as I am somehow waiting to be touched as deep again,I cannot help but wonder if only despair, and never happiness is able to move us.
It would be sad,indeed, to only resonate for the misery of others, and not for their joy.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Rock
I remember splitting people up in "people with balls" and "people without balls", indifferent of their genre.
That changed.
Now people are either "rockable" or "un-rockable".
Needless to say I'm waiting to be rocked down to my bones again...
^_^
That changed.
Now people are either "rockable" or "un-rockable".
Needless to say I'm waiting to be rocked down to my bones again...
^_^
Monday, October 13, 2008
Very oppinionated today
Although I never liked the baroque art, always finding it a little too much, one thing i must confess.
I love the music.
Albinoni
Pachelbel
Bach
Vivaldi
Unlike the much too dramatic and opulent architecture and paintings, there's a feeling of tranquility emerging from the soft violins and organs of the baroque, which can put some tumultuous soul at peace, just as if the sacred and the profane mixed up to grant some sense to the irrationalities of our lives.
I love the music.
Albinoni
Pachelbel
Bach
Vivaldi
Unlike the much too dramatic and opulent architecture and paintings, there's a feeling of tranquility emerging from the soft violins and organs of the baroque, which can put some tumultuous soul at peace, just as if the sacred and the profane mixed up to grant some sense to the irrationalities of our lives.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Having the power to change the world
One of the great excuses of today's society is that change doesn't begin with one single person. That we are helpless towards the tempests of time and whatever we do will not cure the world of darkness.
So changing one's habits and disposition will not matter much, as we all are part of this big wheel turning indifferent to our own ways and wishes.
Uh...lame excuse for laziness...
Something strange and beautiful happened to me the other day. An incentive for losing that sarcasm that living in the City and being oh-so-bon-ton sometimes teaches you.
After making visits to doctors something sadly regular and feeling like no matter how I would sane on one side, I would break on another, I received a call on one evening. On my cell phone. Pretty late in the evening. Made the duck roar with dis-contempt.
Person: Hello, I'm Mrs. X, the doctor you visited last week. I would shortly like to tell you that your investigations came out well, I picked them up for you, and analyzed them. You have nothing to worry about.
Bob: Huh? Thank you very much, it's so nice of you to call. Can I pick them up sometimes next week?
Person (*Mrs X): Come over when you have the time, they are safe with me. I would also like to ask you whether the medication worked on you and how you are feeling.
Bob (slowly sliding from the chair in sheer astonishment): Yes, thank you, I really DO feel better. Also many thanks for prescribing me all those other investigations (n.n. prescription means that you don't have to pay for them). I really really feel better, the medicine you prescribed really helped...uhm....many thanks for the call....that's so extremely nice of you....
Mrs X: Oh, that's no problem. Please do keep taking in that medicine for about two months, it should cure the problem. And do not hesitate to call whenever you have problems.
Bob: Uhm...thank you very much....many thanx...that's so nice...
Goodbye-goodbye.
The lady doctor made my day in a way I guess she'll never know. It's nice to see that people actually care, beyond any professional obligations and patterns. I was speechless a while after we phoned, not knowing what to believe. Then a beautiful warmth filled my body and I thought to myself: "Well, while you are still in "danger" of being called in the evening by a stranger who cares, the world is worth smiling at every single day."
So I did. I do.
^_^
So changing one's habits and disposition will not matter much, as we all are part of this big wheel turning indifferent to our own ways and wishes.
Uh...lame excuse for laziness...
Something strange and beautiful happened to me the other day. An incentive for losing that sarcasm that living in the City and being oh-so-bon-ton sometimes teaches you.
After making visits to doctors something sadly regular and feeling like no matter how I would sane on one side, I would break on another, I received a call on one evening. On my cell phone. Pretty late in the evening. Made the duck roar with dis-contempt.
Person: Hello, I'm Mrs. X, the doctor you visited last week. I would shortly like to tell you that your investigations came out well, I picked them up for you, and analyzed them. You have nothing to worry about.
Bob: Huh? Thank you very much, it's so nice of you to call. Can I pick them up sometimes next week?
Person (*Mrs X): Come over when you have the time, they are safe with me. I would also like to ask you whether the medication worked on you and how you are feeling.
Bob (slowly sliding from the chair in sheer astonishment): Yes, thank you, I really DO feel better. Also many thanks for prescribing me all those other investigations (n.n. prescription means that you don't have to pay for them). I really really feel better, the medicine you prescribed really helped...uhm....many thanks for the call....that's so extremely nice of you....
Mrs X: Oh, that's no problem. Please do keep taking in that medicine for about two months, it should cure the problem. And do not hesitate to call whenever you have problems.
Bob: Uhm...thank you very much....many thanx...that's so nice...
Goodbye-goodbye.
The lady doctor made my day in a way I guess she'll never know. It's nice to see that people actually care, beyond any professional obligations and patterns. I was speechless a while after we phoned, not knowing what to believe. Then a beautiful warmth filled my body and I thought to myself: "Well, while you are still in "danger" of being called in the evening by a stranger who cares, the world is worth smiling at every single day."
So I did. I do.
^_^
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Events
"Strange as it seems, no amount of learning can cure stupidity, and higher education positively fortifies it. "
Stephen Vizinczey
Stephen Vizinczey
Monday, October 06, 2008
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Edge
I remember some time ago a very popular discussion subject was "would you rather know the truth or be lied to beautifully?"
Back then, most of the people I know answered that they would rather know the truth (chick excepted, she's into beautiful lies). I myself answered that I would like to be lied to, even for the sake of keeping the impression of a sane world.
That gave me closure and I concluded that most of the people want to face the truth and only dreamy, idealistic persons like me and the chick preferred poetry to facts.
However, recent events taught me that the real question is not of the passive receiving of facts or truth, but that of the sharing.
"Would you rather lie beautifully or tell the truth?"
In matters of life and death, is it sane to tell the truth after all? When telling a very dear one that his grandfather was dieing, that little hope remained and all we can depend on was his own strength and will to live, he hated me so fiercely for disclosing that to him, that I remained feeling small and mean and senseless. Out of pure desire to help a man prepare for what could come, to have closure and know how to act and react, to maybe go see his grandfather one last time before he went, to know where he stands and what to expect, I hurt him so bad that he almost blamed me for what was going on.
And suddenly felt a little older and wiser, learning that it was the other way around: I would rather tell and know the truth, be it hurtful or not, while the sane people around me....
It was a sad day.
Back then, most of the people I know answered that they would rather know the truth (chick excepted, she's into beautiful lies). I myself answered that I would like to be lied to, even for the sake of keeping the impression of a sane world.
That gave me closure and I concluded that most of the people want to face the truth and only dreamy, idealistic persons like me and the chick preferred poetry to facts.
However, recent events taught me that the real question is not of the passive receiving of facts or truth, but that of the sharing.
"Would you rather lie beautifully or tell the truth?"
In matters of life and death, is it sane to tell the truth after all? When telling a very dear one that his grandfather was dieing, that little hope remained and all we can depend on was his own strength and will to live, he hated me so fiercely for disclosing that to him, that I remained feeling small and mean and senseless. Out of pure desire to help a man prepare for what could come, to have closure and know how to act and react, to maybe go see his grandfather one last time before he went, to know where he stands and what to expect, I hurt him so bad that he almost blamed me for what was going on.
And suddenly felt a little older and wiser, learning that it was the other way around: I would rather tell and know the truth, be it hurtful or not, while the sane people around me....
It was a sad day.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Quote of the day
"During the Samuel Johnson days they had big men enjoying small talk; today we have small men enjoying big talk."
Fred Allen
Fred Allen
Friday, September 12, 2008
Smile
"I remember when you were sitting opposite myself and looking over the laptop at me. You were little miss sunshine, having every morning a big big smile on your face."
Strangely and sadly, I had forgotten it. Mostly the part with the smiling.
Strangely and sadly, I had forgotten it. Mostly the part with the smiling.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Distant readings
Some relationships are doomed to never happen. Like when you meet at work, for instance, and working together requires a certain kind of distance, and you don't dare to show weakness or think pink around the other person.
But there is always some kind of distant revealing, which keeps you save and somewhat anonymous, but also lets the others have a glance at your deeper, inner self.
That's why I'm happy that of my former colleagues have started (or revealed that they always have been) blogging. Reading her, her or his blog leaves me feeling like I have known them forever and, no matter what will come, this could be going on.
What makes me even happier in all this is not only that they write, but that they write good and surprisingly beautiful, and that I came to read their posts not only out of interest and the desire to keep in touch, but out of sheer pleasure of reading and of getting in touch with their thoughts and ideas.
Very impressive: this and this.
And, out of topic but dedicated to the chick and her demons, this.
PS. If I ever wrote a nonsense book about my life, it would have deep green covers and a golden title. As I sometimes feel so old, that I guess I should write my book in gothic characters.
How would you picture your life-book-cover?
But there is always some kind of distant revealing, which keeps you save and somewhat anonymous, but also lets the others have a glance at your deeper, inner self.
That's why I'm happy that of my former colleagues have started (or revealed that they always have been) blogging. Reading her, her or his blog leaves me feeling like I have known them forever and, no matter what will come, this could be going on.
What makes me even happier in all this is not only that they write, but that they write good and surprisingly beautiful, and that I came to read their posts not only out of interest and the desire to keep in touch, but out of sheer pleasure of reading and of getting in touch with their thoughts and ideas.
Very impressive: this and this.
And, out of topic but dedicated to the chick and her demons, this.
PS. If I ever wrote a nonsense book about my life, it would have deep green covers and a golden title. As I sometimes feel so old, that I guess I should write my book in gothic characters.
How would you picture your life-book-cover?
Monday, September 08, 2008
Little things
I miss
...having a late night conversation about literature and philosophy with a dear friend*
...not having to be comforted or comfort someone, but living in a sane world
...being able to find happiness in little things
...sitting on the couch opposite my dad and talking world politics and conspiratorial theories through, while listening to some old record and drinking coffee
...having a glass of dry red wine in a smoky pub with squirrel while planning to take over the world
...being able to laugh at myself when I slip and fall, and not feeling the pain
...being smiled at back when I smile
...walking in the park with the turtle and discussing our weird movie preferences
...not having to worry so much for the ones I love
...not feeling like Atlas holding the world on his shoulders
...blowing soap bubbles in the park next to some chick I love
...a good night sleep
...reading a life-changing book
...myself sometimes
UPDATE: walking in the park with the turtler and discussing - CHECK
having a late night conversation about a good book - CHECK
HERO OF THE DAY: The turtle, for being frightingly sincere with me - even with things I don't ever enjoy. And for helping me to a better understanding.
...having a late night conversation about literature and philosophy with a dear friend*
...not having to be comforted or comfort someone, but living in a sane world
...being able to find happiness in little things
...sitting on the couch opposite my dad and talking world politics and conspiratorial theories through, while listening to some old record and drinking coffee
...having a glass of dry red wine in a smoky pub with squirrel while planning to take over the world
...being able to laugh at myself when I slip and fall, and not feeling the pain
...being smiled at back when I smile
...walking in the park with the turtle and discussing our weird movie preferences
...not having to worry so much for the ones I love
...not feeling like Atlas holding the world on his shoulders
...blowing soap bubbles in the park next to some chick I love
...a good night sleep
...reading a life-changing book
...myself sometimes
UPDATE: walking in the park with the turtler and discussing - CHECK
having a late night conversation about a good book - CHECK
HERO OF THE DAY: The turtle, for being frightingly sincere with me - even with things I don't ever enjoy. And for helping me to a better understanding.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Judge and jury
Judgmental chain of the week:
The eagle judged the duck for being too nice, and his mother for being too old-fashioned. The duck's mother judged the eagle for being too young and careless with the real existence problems, and some friend for being a religious fanatic and calling his mother a whore (because she dyes her hair). The guy judges his parents for not accepting the "only right religion". The parents judge their friends for letting them down when they had problems with their over religious son. The friends judge the eagle's mother for being too nice with her son. The eagle's mother judges the ducks mom, for not accepting people as they are.
I judge the duck's sister, for not being able to say NO. I myself am judged by my boss, for not wearing the right clothes at work.
Among a whole lot of meaningless bull, there's one thing the pussycat said that arose some questions in my mind: who are you to judge?
No-one. I am no-one to judge, for if one thing is true, is that neither of us is perfect.
And if we all stop there for a second and watch the judgmental chain, it's for little meaningless things that we judge, and not for life-altering, world-changing differences.
In this prospect, I dedicate this post to open-mindedness and invite myself to lose the arrogance that sometimes, in stressful moments, catches up with me.
HERO OF THE DAY: The duck, for being the only non-judgmental pet i know.
The eagle judged the duck for being too nice, and his mother for being too old-fashioned. The duck's mother judged the eagle for being too young and careless with the real existence problems, and some friend for being a religious fanatic and calling his mother a whore (because she dyes her hair). The guy judges his parents for not accepting the "only right religion". The parents judge their friends for letting them down when they had problems with their over religious son. The friends judge the eagle's mother for being too nice with her son. The eagle's mother judges the ducks mom, for not accepting people as they are.
I judge the duck's sister, for not being able to say NO. I myself am judged by my boss, for not wearing the right clothes at work.
Among a whole lot of meaningless bull, there's one thing the pussycat said that arose some questions in my mind: who are you to judge?
No-one. I am no-one to judge, for if one thing is true, is that neither of us is perfect.
And if we all stop there for a second and watch the judgmental chain, it's for little meaningless things that we judge, and not for life-altering, world-changing differences.
In this prospect, I dedicate this post to open-mindedness and invite myself to lose the arrogance that sometimes, in stressful moments, catches up with me.
HERO OF THE DAY: The duck, for being the only non-judgmental pet i know.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Mad post
Sometimes I can't help but thinking that the most depressive people are the ones who get obsessively bored with their lives.
So I know this girl, let's call her the pussy-cat. The pussycat has never had a real job in her entire life, although she's almost 27 now. She still lives with her parents and, although not being without some kind of intelligence and beauty, she has neither a boyfriend nor any close friends.
She isn't interested with anything that happens outside her narrow little universe*, has no clue about human relationshipping and keeps obsessing about her sad little life and the fact that fate was so deeply unfair with her, as she has nothing that could make her feel accomplished and attractive to others.
Here's where I have to say - that's true. My dear, life is no passive item that goes by unacknowledged, nor any beforehand established chain of events that will happen no matter what your actions are or are not. I think the power to change lies with ourselves, and weeping about our sad little existence will not lead to major changes, nor to any kind of alteration in our relationships.
So if you feel unattractive and unloved and lonely beyond the usual ups and downs that pass us all in the course of our lives - it's probably true and that's who you are.
Now if you expect mercy and pity from my part - it will not come. For I don't see how myself showing pity could ever help you get along with your oh-so-miserable existence. Moreover, don't expect me to be your friend out of pity - as I never was a mercy-fuck to anybody and don't intend to start with it at this old age.
I never had any understanding for whiners, as I have been meeting real misery and suffering during the years and that doesn't ever match up with weeping. So if you want me to help you solve your problem, or listen to you - I will, gladly. However long it takes, if at the end I can see you getting on your feet and taking charge of your life again, I will be there for you.
But if the mere intention of your weeping is me mercy-fucking you (physically or intellectually), you're barking up the wrong tree. I never was extraordinary merciful and never pitied out of pure desire to come over as a "good" person. Moreover, I don't think that my role as a friend or listener is to feel sorry for you, but to make you see beyond your own (subjective) point of view and don't get stuck on preconceived ideas.
I guess that doesn't make me a desirable person after all, but I really hope that for my special few it makes me a better friend.
*Quotation from the pussycat, when some guy told her he went to Afghanistan: "So did you go there on vacation? How was it?"
So I know this girl, let's call her the pussy-cat. The pussycat has never had a real job in her entire life, although she's almost 27 now. She still lives with her parents and, although not being without some kind of intelligence and beauty, she has neither a boyfriend nor any close friends.
She isn't interested with anything that happens outside her narrow little universe*, has no clue about human relationshipping and keeps obsessing about her sad little life and the fact that fate was so deeply unfair with her, as she has nothing that could make her feel accomplished and attractive to others.
Here's where I have to say - that's true. My dear, life is no passive item that goes by unacknowledged, nor any beforehand established chain of events that will happen no matter what your actions are or are not. I think the power to change lies with ourselves, and weeping about our sad little existence will not lead to major changes, nor to any kind of alteration in our relationships.
So if you feel unattractive and unloved and lonely beyond the usual ups and downs that pass us all in the course of our lives - it's probably true and that's who you are.
Now if you expect mercy and pity from my part - it will not come. For I don't see how myself showing pity could ever help you get along with your oh-so-miserable existence. Moreover, don't expect me to be your friend out of pity - as I never was a mercy-fuck to anybody and don't intend to start with it at this old age.
I never had any understanding for whiners, as I have been meeting real misery and suffering during the years and that doesn't ever match up with weeping. So if you want me to help you solve your problem, or listen to you - I will, gladly. However long it takes, if at the end I can see you getting on your feet and taking charge of your life again, I will be there for you.
But if the mere intention of your weeping is me mercy-fucking you (physically or intellectually), you're barking up the wrong tree. I never was extraordinary merciful and never pitied out of pure desire to come over as a "good" person. Moreover, I don't think that my role as a friend or listener is to feel sorry for you, but to make you see beyond your own (subjective) point of view and don't get stuck on preconceived ideas.
I guess that doesn't make me a desirable person after all, but I really hope that for my special few it makes me a better friend.
*Quotation from the pussycat, when some guy told her he went to Afghanistan: "So did you go there on vacation? How was it?"
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Baby, talk is cheap
I wonder: if he is so beautiful and lovable, and she is so gorgeous and absolutely adorable, and if I love them both so much, why can't they love each other?
It's a pity when souls pass each other not knowing that they could be so happy together.
Gum bubbles, what do I know?
It's a pity when souls pass each other not knowing that they could be so happy together.
Gum bubbles, what do I know?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Azi
Zice Lilia: "Bucureştiul i un mare sat."
În altă ordine de idei, răzbunarea cocalarilor relodid: azi mi-au subtilizat telefonul din rucsac. Era un Samsung SGH-G600 şi îl iubeam. Odihnească-se în pace.
În altă ordine de idei, răzbunarea cocalarilor relodid: azi mi-au subtilizat telefonul din rucsac. Era un Samsung SGH-G600 şi îl iubeam. Odihnească-se în pace.
Friday, May 09, 2008
Lamulţiani. Mie
Urare standard pentru ziua de naştere, în conformitate cu ISO 9XXX:
"Lamulţiani, noroc, fericire, sănătate şi tot ce-ţi doreşti tu."
De ziua mea, sunt la servici. Deci prima (şi cea mai modestă, chiar realizabilă*) dorinţă de ziua mea nu s-a îndeplinit. În schimb, am făcut scurt circuit la buze de atît ţucat (corporaţie mare, veştile circulă repede), pot să port tricoul "dude....it's my friday" la birou şi să supun unii oameni la oarecare şantaj pisihologic (adică ochi umezi+"dar e ziua meaaaaaaa") - ceea ce evident nu voi face (mwahahaaaa).
Bilanţul anului trecut:
nu am evoluat ca personalitate deloc (partea bună - nu m-am schimbat in rău),
m-am apucat (serios si cu pasiune) de bloggerit,
început vreo 3 sporturi diferite,
lăsat baltă 3 sporturi diferite,
citit vreo patruj' de cărţi,
văzut cinj' de filme (dintre care douăjcinci în reluare),
jucat f.e.a.r. zece minute (apogeul relaţiei cu duck),
dormit in gară in veneţia,
nişte prieteni noi (*hug),
nişte îndrăgosteli (două mai mari şi nişte mai mici - *hug si vouă),
vise noi de măreţie (vedem noi la anul)
etîcî.
*Ce nu e realizabil la "să ningă 2 metri jumate de zăpadă şi să nu pot ieşi din casă - în mai"? Sau "să mă sune şeful meu să-mi zică să îmi iau liber de ziua mea?".
....
Eu mi-aş pune banii pe aia cu ninsoarea.
LE: Best birthday. Ever.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Iaca: Annushka!
If I had the choice, I would live my life moving from one hotel to another, changing between different homes and not leaving any marks.
When you leave a hotel, the staff is so eager to eradicate any trace of you being there, that it's like you had never existed at all. Every room is sanitized and arranged in order to make place for another, who will feel like home here for some days and then be expelled himself.
I always liked this feeling of passing. Being in one place (in one soul?) for a short time, and then moving on for another, not leaving any marks but being part of its beautiful history. I have lived in some souls like that and I will always remember them dearly.
But fact is, now it's time to move on.
When you leave a hotel, the staff is so eager to eradicate any trace of you being there, that it's like you had never existed at all. Every room is sanitized and arranged in order to make place for another, who will feel like home here for some days and then be expelled himself.
I always liked this feeling of passing. Being in one place (in one soul?) for a short time, and then moving on for another, not leaving any marks but being part of its beautiful history. I have lived in some souls like that and I will always remember them dearly.
But fact is, now it's time to move on.
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