Bucharest, my city

I love this completely upside down world we live in. 

Every day I pass by new wholes on the streets, but net to them, most of the times, there are new buildings rising up, whether for offices or for living. And no one seems to cross their minds that the problem is actually this: we are certainly sinking, the paradox is through the tall buildings we are helping speed up the sinking process. 

And there are also the street borders, constantly renewed, while the green spaces remain untrimmed and the wild plants growing from each old building left for no use. And the parks which are also new released or not cared for. We live in a world of contrasts which we digest daily with its ups and downs. 

Walking is also a challinge, cause we have borders but no pathway. But I love this city, I love it because I can take as many steps as I want without worrying no one is watching. I like it that when I get home, I have some eyes watching over me from an upper floor. I am glad even that a person from above is watching me, otherwise I would feel too close to the sky.

This is my city and I love it as it is. I am glad to have been born in this sand and dust crowded place. I am glad to have learned to beautify it with irony and sarcasm. Otherwise I would have definitely gotten sick... of it...

Woman in Her 30s

I received as a gift this book from a friend of mine when turning 30 and I decided to open it and start reading it once again.

The story is about a father who tries to worn his little girl about mistaking her infatuation with love over an older man, a colonel. The father is fairly concerned with his daughter's  desire to marry him for his position and the impression he makes on the little girl. And in spite of her father's advice she decides to marry him. And the rest of the story should be read to understand what Balzac was trying to say. 

The main idea I got was that in our early years we are looking for models, for men who can be up there on a pedestal and who can guide us in our lives. These are stories very well put together. The guy on the horse was a colonel who has lived most of his life as a career man. Now he was looking for a wife to stay home and wait for him. 

The modern woman I believe is a lot more sophisticated. She wants to have her career and her life to be guided by her rules. It is very hard for the modern woman with a career to make up her mind about who is suitable for her to stand by for the rest of her life. By the time she reaches that point in her career she is self sufficient and he only needs to come in and feel in a soul whole. And he needs to understand that coffee can be made or just drunk, but it doesn't make a difference at the end of the day who made it and who drunk it. It matters that there is someone there in the morning to share the coffee with. And it matters that his arms hold you and tell you "Good night!" at the end of the battle. Somehow, the 30 year old woman now-a-days is the colonel who needs a sure thing when arriving home.

The Weakness of Being Weak

I was kindly asked today what is my purpose in writing. For the right answer I had to take some time to think about it, though I've known it all my life: there is nothing making me feel better than the writing. This is what helps me say things as truthful as I can. With irony and deep analysis I see the world as a better place. All the sad truths most people get angry about, I am now facing with a smile and an ironic thought that it shouldn't be changed or else we wouldn't have anything to laugh about. I turn the disturbing dysfunctional into the strange matter to laugh about and move on, the buffoon of the court. 

And with all your judgemental writings, you don't want to change anything?

said the man with the voice. No, I don't want to change anything. I want to make a point and those who will be willing to listen may change something in time or laugh with me at the moment. 

But this means you are weak and you are not a weak person, continued the man with the voice. 

I am weak, that's why I write about it. I am weak, that's why I never change things, but I rather stand back, as a decent and quiet observer to the useless panic, the crazy yells, the unfair thefts, the disturbing sounds, the indecent approach to the normal life and the rest of our everyday encounters. 

From dusk till dawn, walk your feet in a crazy pace or in a slow move and you will notice a funny story, you will see someone who raises emotion in you. And that someone has a story to tell, has done something wrong and while counting up deeds, you will have to laugh about it, about life, about the world we live in. 

And this I call weak, not strong. And proud to be standing up here on the mountain and chase the stories down the piece of paper, the blank webpage, the empty text message. 

From time to time I get my head in the clouds and forget I am still down here, with the feet deep in the earth. But it helps. It helps a great deal to be the urban anthropologist. 

A good day for thoughts, for chatting, for getting back to writing. 

A good day for a walk down Calea Victoriei, Bucuresti.