The story of one's love...

I feel like a puppet who's strings got caught up in a painful circle wire from which I can't get freed.

I saw him today. The same self absorbed individual who rather spends his time alone then being with me. Who would have thought I will wait for him. I still hope that he will change. I think of how we met and how I saw a sparkle in his eyes. I named it love, but as I think of it now, I know it was something else. A flickering light playing somewhere in his heart. It must be lost know. Not for me, the hope of seeing it again keeps me steady. Waiting for my story to happen. 

I lived my life being thought about love. My family's love, unlimited. Feeling the warmth of a hug, the sweetness of a kiss, the joy of a laugh. Instead of settling with a realistic sensation of wholeness, I search for breathtaking moments, butterflies in the stomach and unreachable sentiments. The first kiss, the first touch, the firs smile... I can't turn back the time and write the perfect stories. I have to read the ones I have and hope they won't stop at this point.
Who wouldn't have loved to have a warm summer night, with the moon lighting up the trees, a river crossing the soft ground, his hand touching her cheek, his big blue eyes staring in hers and his lips whispering love words. A perfect night of serenity.
The sound of the piano awakes me from my revery. I am still in the same empty room, surrounded by the books through which I live my story, the things that bring smiles to my sorrowed face. Love. Such a big word and yet such a hard feeling to embrace.
Somehow I think of him again. I need a change, but instead of embracing the unknown I continue to look at the damned strings. This is the last time I will be weak. Tomorrow I will stop looking at the phone, praying for it to ring. I will stop seeing his face in everyone and feeling his scent on my pillow.
My bruised wrists bring me back to reality. I am hopeful and weak...

Talking about weird!

Inspiratie si umor. Desi nu duc lipsa de aceste doua calitati in viata de zi cu zi, pe blog se pare ca am atins acel punct in care as vrea sa spun multe, insa nu imi gasesc cuvintele. Sau poate nu mi se mai par potrivite situatiile cu mesajul pe care as vrea sa il transmit. Rutina isi pune amprenta pe viata mea si amuzamentul cu care tratez intamplarile neprevazute nu imi mai pare original sau demn de luat in seama. Asta pana cand incep sa frecventez iar cluburile. 

Clubul este un izvor nesecat de povesti. Mai bune, mai proaste, invaluite in ceata de fum de tigara si amestecate cu aburul alcoolului consumat. Din ce in ce mai multa lume frecventeaza micutul loc pe care il iubeam in urma cu cativa ani. Acum, intr-o incapere 4x4 se ingramadesc vreo 30 de insi in picioare, inca vreo 20 la mese si 15 impreujurul lor, sleiti de perete, lipiti de bar si/sau asteptand pe scari cuminti, pentru ca cine stie, poate mai apuca sa dea din fund si sa bea o bere. Sau poate una din gagicile care fac "show" sunt dispuse sa mearga acasa, caz in care ar marca in stil mare seara. Intr-una din serile in care faceam parte din persoanele sleite pe langa bar (practic dadeam din maini si picioare intr-o incercare esuata de a elibera spatiul in jurul meu, ca sa ma numar printre "gagicile care fac show"!!) a aparut un el. Nu observasem ca purta o conversatie cu prietenii mei si m-am postat langa bar, fix in fata lui. Chiar daca muzica urla in urechile mele, am simtit momentul de liniste pe care l-am cauzat. Ca sa imi cer scuze am vrut sa ma asez in dreapta lui si am reusit sa ma sui pe picioarele respectivului, care la randu-i voia sa iasa din conul de umbra in care l-am impins fara sa vreau. M-am rasucit pe calcaie si m-am postat in fata lui. M-am uitat in ochii lui si cu un zambet jucaus i-am facut semn ca poate sa isi ia locul ocupat fraudulos. Apoi m-am asezat cuminte in dreapta lui. Mi-am ridicat privirea spre el si vazand ca a inceput sa se miste un pic, am facut un pas minuscul spre dreapta si i-am spus "Observ ca te misti atat de bine, incat meriti mai mult loc". Ca raspuns la actiunea mea a ridicat mainile si a mimat un dans nebun. 

Pe masura ce se evapora berea din sticla, si locul parea ca se goleste. Nu exclud posibilitatea ca datul din maini si din picioare sa isi fi facut efectul. Desi imi este al naibii de dor de R&B-ul din cluburile norvegiene, the eighty's music nu este chiar asa rea. Cum necum, intr-un final mai fericit, am ajuns in bratele tipului si usor dar sigur am inceput sa ne unduim pe sunetele lente ale unei piese vechi. Exceptand faptul ca s-a prezentat de vreo 2 ori, si in loc sa retin ca il cheama"Ion" l-am tot numit "Gheorghe", exceptand ca am dansat mai mult pe picioarele lui, decat pe langa el, am ajuns sa ne sarutam.
Ce sa mai, suna a poveste de dragoste sau cel putin al unui one night stand minunat, insa... nu avem parte intotdeauna de ce ne asteptam. Sa ne intoarcem la relatare ... ca si cum s-ar intampla acum.
Ne sarutam noi cu patos, cu foc, cand deodata "Ion" ma opreste si imi spune resemnat "E prea mult pentru mine". Ma impinge usor si de indreapta spre celalalt colt al barului. Sincer, nici daca exploda ceva langa noi, nu cred ca as fi putut sa raman mai socata. Probabil ca un calator in timp, care ar ajunge din anii 40 in 2013 nu ar fi atat de socat de ce se intampla in jurul lui. Ma intorc catre prietenii mei si pentru prima oara in cei 27 de ani ai mei sunt muta de uimire. De-a dreptul fara cuvinte. "Ion" apare iar in peisaj dupa vreo 10 minute, ma ia in brate si ma saruta cald pe frunte. Isi ia geaca si pleaca. Cred ca m-am holbat la usa pe care a iesit vreo juma de ora.
Cine poate sa imi explice ce s-a intamplat? Libidoul meu isi linge ranile si sta ascuns intr-un coltisor asteptand o explicatie valabila!!!

Scared and damaged...

Women are complicated creatures!

Everybody knows that!

Let's face it, we all come with packages from our past, packages that makes us who we are. But we, we tend to become our packages. If somebody screwed us in the past, we start to see a threat in everyone that comes in the future. Since I can't generalize this to every women in the world, let me personalize the thread.

Like most of you, I had my share of drama, but somehow I tend to look for/find/end up surrounded by the same drama. Don't get me wrong, when it comes to life, I live as much as I can, but when it comes to relationships, men-women relationships, I have a thing for dead ends.  As soon as I see a jerk, my inside lids and I literally start drooling like a dog at the thought of something more.

What does this means? Simple. I don't know how to behave when it comes to dating. I am a mess. I stare at the damn phone all day long with the hope that it rings and he's the one that misses me. I know the rule that says that men have to make the first step, but I am not that kind of girl. The waiting part kills me slowly. I stare at the phone all day... until I pick it up, dial the unwanted number and act stupid (probably my dating age is around 10 years old, although these days I think even a 10 year old acts more responsible). My stupid act involves silly laughter, idiotic lines and a slight ironic conversation. And that's how it all starts. A bad start, of course! 

My longest relationship had 5 months, one good and 4 others like hell. I was afraid that it was my stability phobia, now I think it's only my damaged personality. What else could it be? 

A few days ago I read a post on FB where it said that we accept the love we think we deserve. And it's true. But having a poisoned love is better than having nothing. Knowing that once in a while someone needs the warmth of your body is enough to live in a fantasy world. And not having an actual story is better than having a story. When you lose something that wasn't yours in the first place doesn't hurt as much as loosing something that you care about with all your heart... no?

Besides the "not figuring out when its love and when its NOT love" I have another problem... damaged problem... I have no idea when to get involved. I mean, when do you know its time to hold hands? When is it time to walk home alone? When is it right to call at a dreadful hour in the night, without any reason whatsoever? When is it right to go out with him and your friends? When is it time to talk about your fears and hopes? When is it time to get involved???

If you have any answers, please feel free to enlighten me!!!!

What do you want?

What do you want? A question that surrounds your entire world. A question at which you are supposed to have an answer. When it comes to simple things, like chocolate or a bucket of ice cream to take you trough the day, you always know what you want, but when it comes to bigger things, it gets complicated.
As time passes by, the pressure of growing up leans on your shoulder and what you want affects everything. Kids, married life, should become a part of what you want, but what happens if you don't know or if you don't have the pleasure to afford this kind of "wanting".
I know I want to have it easy. I want to be able to drink a glass of wine or eat an entire box of chocolates. I want to drink my coffee in the morning and to have a smile on my face when i go to sleep. I want to be able to grow flowers and have a dog which throws his tail in every side when he sees me. But that isn't enough to be a part of a community.
"Do you want to get married?", "Do you want to have kids?", "Do you want to have a house?"... Questions at which I don't have an answer. I don't want to have those things just because I am supposed to have them. I want to see a mini me running around and making disasters, I want to wake up in the morning and see a smiling face watching me, I want to have a big house and a medium dog making graves into the garden.
Talking about stereotypes. I want what the entire globe wants. To be happy. But I have no freaking idea how to get there. So if by any chance you have a book on how to stop screwing up ur life, I'm buying it!!!

Sistemul de asigurare romanesc : Incredibil... dar adevarat! in Norvegia

Si uite-ma ajunsa in Norvegia. Inca dinainte de plecare stiam ca in 3 saptamani trebuie sa ma prezint la Politie pentru a-mi inregistra actele si cum incerc sa fiu o persoana responsabila, nu eram in a doua saptamana de sedere ca mi-am luat hartogaraia si m-am prezentat la Institutul de Inregistrare al Persoanelor Straine.
Cum nu mai sunt in Kansas, in 30 de minute ma aflu deja in fata unui reprezentant al statului. Trebuie sa mentionez ca acolo te programezi cu o saptamana inainte si ti se comunica ziua si ora la care trebuie sa te prezinti pentru inregistrare. Culmea, cand ajungi acolo, chiar existi pe o lista si in maxim 30 minute se ocupa cineva de tine. Deci se poate!
"Catalina Vasile. Catalina Vasile is here?" o doamna de la birou imi striga numele.
"Yes, I am." ii raspund destul de emotionata, deoarece inca mai traiesc cu impresia ca vorbesc o engleza mediocra.
"My colleague will help you at the second office, in the right" imi spune doamna zambind  si imi arata biroul la care trebuie sa ma indrept.
Un tanar pe la vreo 30 de ani, m-a intampinat cu un zambet larg. Sincer, nu cred sa am vreo amintire din Norvegia care sa nu implice vreun norvegian zambind.Toti parca au intiparit zambetul ala pe fata! Cald si placut.
"Hy, I see you made an appointment for registering in our data base."
"Yes, I have here all the papers I need... I found all the information I needed on your site... So here it is."
"Let's see what we have here" si incepe sa verifice hartiile una cate una.
Pasaportul, actele de la scoala, contractul de chirie, asigurarea de calatorie (mi-am facut si d'asta, pentru ca niciodata nu poti fi sigur) si ... documentul inmanat de la casa de asigurari ce se voia a fi echivalentul cardului european de sanatate.
Incurcat, omul se uita cand la mine, cand la document. Desigur, zambetul nu ii dispare de pe fata (cum reusesc???)
"What is this?"
"Hummm... it's a document that proves I have an European health insurance"
"But... this is not in English" imi raspunde mai incurcat. Daca am fi fost intr-un desen animat, ar fi avut fata gri, un semn mare de exclamare in frunte si acelasi zambet nepieritor.
"Humm... I know. I understand that all you need from this piece of paper is the no from here" si ii arat codul pe care cucoana de la asigurari mi l-a aratat in scarba.
"Ummm.. well... I can't use that no. unless it has some understandable details regarding the owner of the insurance. I mean, you could have written here whatever you would have wanted. I can't understand anything. Don't you have an english translation at least?"
"Well.. the (fucking) lady from the Insurance Institute told me they don't issue documents like this in English. And that you only need this no." ii arat disperata numarul, intr-o ultima incercare de a folosi hartia in scopul pentru care am primit-o.
"I'm sorry. You have to come with a European card or with a legalized paper stating that you have an insurance. Until then I hope you will have a great day."
Cu lacrimi in ochi am parasit cladirea. Cu lacrimi in ochi si ganduri necurate vizavi de idioata care mi-a dat hartia respectiva. Daca ar fi fost in fata mea, as fi dat-o cu capul de birou de cateva ori. Ma rog, nu pe ea. Ca doar cu ce e ea vinovata ca dobitocii iau drept bune documentele scrise in romana, pentru a le prezenta autoritatilor straine? Cu ce?

A story about you : the concert!

There was a time, long ago, when I had a heart. A heart that felt every ray of sunshine, whisper of wind and drops of morning dew, a heart good enough to be given. And then... you came along. 

This is not the story of how I lost my heart, in an already lost battle. This is not a love story, but it's a story about love. True love it is said to come only once in a life time. What happens if it comes in the perfect moment for one, but at a wrong one for the other?

John was walking near me and I could see he was a bit nervous. It wasn't the first time we were going out just the two of us, although every time that happened something was going totally wrong. The last time I ended up in the hospital with a broken leg and I couldn't walk for an entire month. That's behind me now... but I still have to kick his ass because of that. Anyway, it was a tension in the air and for the first time I was really quiet. I was watching the road and even tough I was seeing with the tip of my eye he was gazing at me, I was avoiding an eye contact. We were in the park near the concert and I could hear the noisy crowd and some clogged noises from the music. I finally raised my head and turned towards John. 

He stopped and as he was biting his lower lip. "Why is he that nervous?" I was telling myself.

"Could you give me a light, please? I would like to smoke a cigar here, before we get into the crowd and I have to be careful not to burn anyone. Here I could only burn you and you are a tough one... whiner!" I told him smiling as I reached my cigars.

A shade of smile appeared on his face. I was on the good road. 

"I could offer you a gum, as well" he said with an evil smile on his face. "From my mouth!" and slowly approached his mouth towards mine. 

I don't know why, but every time he acted like that I hated him. Even tough I would always call him a whiner or a loser, cause he was too gentle, I loved that side of him. But each time he was trying to be a bully I felt like kick him in the bolls. 

"You know what, I changed my mind. Let's burn some people at the fucking concert" and I left kicking his shoulder as I passed by him.

I was actually glad that I didn't stay at home. It was crowded and the music was loud. The beer was cheap and the air was fresh, even tough around me people was smoking like hell.
I called my sister and found her in the hell pit that was dancing like crazy and in all the scrimmage I lost John. I wasn't that sad, cause I was still a bit upset with him, but all came to an end when in the middle of the crowd.... I saw you.

Doamna\Domnisoara

Ciudat. 

Azi au venit la usa doua doamne sa imi dea o invitatie la o intalnire religioasa. Dupa ce s-au prezentat, m-au intrebat care mi-e numele. 

"Catalina" le-am raspuns zambind.

"Doamna Catalina..."

"Domnisoara..." si imediat ce aceasta "corectura" mi-a iesit printre buze, am realizat ca am trecut un prag ce nu voiam sa il trec. Daca la 20 de ani mi-ar fi spus cineva "doamna", as fi ridicat superior din sprancene si as fi spus "Exact!", insa acum imi este mai greu sa accept un statut pe care nu il am. Poate anii numerosi in care visam ca la 25 de ani sa fiu maritata isi cer ofranda si atribuirea numelui de "doamna" mi se pare exagerat, avand in vedere ca visele de la 15 ani nu mai coincid cu visele de la 27. 

Oricum, in momentul in care am inlocuit cuvantul "domnisoara" , in minte mi-a aparut o singura memorie ce imi arde retina si ma umple de groaza : profa de franceza din generala, care desi avea o varsta considerabila (sa spunem ca era la apusul vietii sau apogeul intelepciunii) ne corecta de fiecare data cand ii adresam apelativul "doamna". "Sunt domnisoara, nu doamna". Fapt ce mi se parea absurd, avand in vedere ca nu mai arata a domnisoara, sunt sigura ca nici nu mai ... mergea ca o domnisoara si la 60 de ani  nu inteleg ce ar fi atat de dureros sa iti fie adresat numele cu un "doamna" inainte. Pana la urma ar trebui ca de la o varsta sa fii doamna prin simplul fapt ca nu mai vorbesti tare. Sau ca esti retinuta si gandesti destul de mult inainte sa deschizi gura. Sau poate pentru ca nu mai stai cracanata la barul din centrul orasului.

FUCK! Oare ma indrept vertiginos spre o viata de solitudine, in care imi voi asuma rolul de "domnisoara", desi intre noi fie vorba, sunt departe de a fi una?