Nouă licurici


Ne apropiem cu pași micuți, dar siguri, de un deceniu de la momentul când viețile ni s-au atins pentru prima dată. Sunt mai mult decât convinsă că deja inimile noastre nu mai au nevoie de cuvinte pentru a comunica și, orice lucru ar mai fi de zis, ele îl știu chiar și dacă vorbele nu capătă sunet sau formă scrisă. Deci cu ce aș mai putea umple un, ce-i drept, mic și modest articol care să marcheze acești 9 ani de când viața mea e mai frumoasă și mai plină de sens grație faptului că drumurile ni s-au împletit?

Tot repetându-mi această întrebare, am încercat să-mi las mintea să alerge după inspirație în timp ce ochii mi se desfătau privind la tot felul de imagini drăguțe cu doi dintre preferații noștri. Am întârziat ceva mai mult, totuși, când am dat de cea de mai jos. E simplă, dar văd atât de multe în ea și în noi încât mi se pare extrem de potrivită pentru o ocazie așa specială.

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Fiindcă, chiar și prin bezna distanței, văd licuricii și le simt tremurul, în încăpățânarea lor poate copilărească de a risipi întunericul. Dacă mă apropii, în lumina lor micuță, dar hotărâtă, îți deslușesc chipul, zâmbetul, ochii și îți simt căldura. Putem fi departe, fizic, dar nimic nu ne-ar putea face să fim cu adevărat departe. Nu în acel sens complet, greu și covârșitor al cuvântului.

Îmi pare rău că, atunci când am avut ocazia să fim aproape, nu am făcut-o mai des. Am învățat multe de atunci și îmi recunosc greșelile și neajunsurile. Acum înțeleg ce este cu adevărat important și ce nu. Nu-mi mai amintesc niciun strop din tema la matematică care m-a făcut să mă gândesc prea mult la mine și prea puțin la tine înainte de acel Nijikon la care nu am fost și pe care, până acum, l-am considerat șansa ratată de a merge vreodată împreună la un astfel de eveniment. Însă îmi amintesc mult prea bine reacțiile prostești și cuvintele grele. Din când în când, tot vin să mă bântuie și să îmi fure câteva lacrimi. Nu cred că mi-am cerut vreodată iertare în măsura în care ar fi trebuit.

Dar iată că, totuși, licuricii mă iartă și îmi călăuzesc drumul către o a doua șansă. Nu ai idee câtă bucurie îmi provoacă perspectiva acestui noiembrie. O să fie un 26 august mutat în prag de iarnă, un cadou timpuriu pentru cei 26 de ani ce îi voi împlini la scurt timp după convenție. Nu știu cât de mult îl merit, dar nu am de gând să stric momentul stând cu capul plecat. Am crescut prea mult ca să mai fiu pasivă. Așa că voi avea cel mai activ rol posibil în rescrierea acelei pagini mâzgălite de temeri prea prostești și nesiguranță. Voi avea grijă să fie cel mai frumos Nijikon și voi îneca trecutul nu tocmai plăcut în cele mai frumoase, colorate și vibrante amintiri.

Până atunci, îmi întind cu drag brațele până la tine și te cuprind într-un cald chițăit de „La mulți ani!” ^_^ (Și îți mai ofer, ca bonus, încă una din imaginile delicioase peste care am dat în timp ce îmi fugăream inspirația.)

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Burn up, burn out, but burn the brightest


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Perseid meteor and Milky Way in 2009” by Brocken InagloryOwn work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

Sometimes, memories cannot be captured in pictures. But some of them are so strong that, whenever you reminisce, the feelings they generated are recreated so strongly inside your heart that you get taken back instantly to a perfect replica of those moments – bubbles in time where clocks don’t turn, everything lasts forever, your heart perpetually skips the same beat, your smile never fades, and the glimmer in your eyes reflects incessant excitement. To me, this is the best kind of memories. They’re so complex, meaningful, and intimate – only I know them, only I can relive them.

For a very long time I’ve been yearning to witness the beauty of the Perseid meteors at the beginning of August. But, somehow, every year around that time I always managed to be in places where star-gazing was impossible. This year, however, I’ve been blessed. Not only am I here, in this lovely place, surrounded by such diverse and amazing peers and such inspiring lecturers, but also it happened to be during this period of the month. It happened that there aren’t lights around the large sports fields. It happened that last night, the peak of the meteor shower, the sky wasn’t cloudy. It happened that we had no moon these nights. It happened that the first shooting star I saw was a big, bright one, which almost cut the sky in half, made my heart stop for a moment, took my breath away, and then immediately made me squeak and giggle like a little kid.

The playfulness of the wind. The smell of the trees. The wetness of the grass on the football field. The shouts of joy coming from the other people, making their way through the beats of my music, slipping into my ears. The fierceness of those small fireballs, blazing through the darkness, shining their brightest. I will borrow some of your valor. I will shine my brightest, despite my tininess, despite the shortness of my life in the grand scheme of things. And from now on, whenever I think of Marktoberdorf, it will forever be raining shooting stars over all the other fond memories I’ve made here ^_^

Of splendour and smallness


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I am not weird. Just because I do things differently, doesn’t mean I am weak. Or sad. Or lonely. I’m just not like you are. My soul vibrates differently to the world outside. It still sees it. It still feels it. My God, you have no idea how much my soul can feel. Or how colourful my emotions are. Or how they blend into each other creating subtle, fragile, amazing new nuances that the eyes can’t even begin to perceive.

I love life. I love living it. I love it even more when my path intersects with those of people who possess a certain thirst of living – the mad ones, in the words of a dear friend of mine, inspired by Lewis Carroll’s Wonderland. I just don’t live in the same way that you do. For me, this word has so many different, complex, deep meanings.

If I’m in a place where it’s really dark at night, give me a blanket and nice summer weather.  I’ll lie there for hours – because I rarely get the opportunity to appreciate the night sky in all its splendour. It reminds me of my childhood, of the summers spent at my grandmother’s place. I’ll carry those memories within me forever and, whenever I’ll lie on my back and open my eyes to a star-filled sky, I’ll always go back to being the little kid fascinated both by grandness and tininess.

If it’s a rainy day, give me a windowsill and a good book. A real book, with pages I can touch, smell, flip. I’ll be there all day long, registering the vibration of each word through the tips of my fingers, engraving the story into my mind, and slowly opening windows into my heart to let the emotions pour both inside and outside, intertwining, overflowing.

If I’m in a beautiful spot in the mountains, give me a camera and just leave me there for a day. I’ll fall in love with every gust of wind, with every sensation, with the green, with the blue, with the trees, with the insects, with the dirt. Look at the photos I take and see the world through my eyes. I bet you had no idea you were passing by so many tiny, lovely things. Take a more careful look next time. I’m sure you’ll fall in love as well, irremediably.

Talk to me. Because I can see so deep inside myself, I know my dark and ugly places much too well. I might not deem myself worthy of invading your existence with mine. But if you want me to and you let me know that you do, be prepared. Make me feel safe around you – I will surely open up. I might turn out to be quite a handful, but don’t be discouraged. Let me see the beauty in you. You definitely have it, there’s no doubt about that. And, maybe, remind me that I’m not entirely made out of dark and ugly places.

For you only, my strange bird


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I close the blinds, turn off the lights, and hide under the covers. I close the world, turn off the sounds, and hide under my thoughts. I slowly move my eyes towards the inside. It’s dark, but it’s a different kind of darkness than the one surrounding me.

A soft barrier from the vast outside, a pillow of comfort, a mini-universe where I can be alone, the obscurity around me is something that I created on purpose. I wanted it to be dark. I wanted to show myself that, even though I can’t see, I still know where each wall begins and ends, where every object is, what the route to a specific part of the room is. I love how, even with this unpierceable darkness pouring into my pupils, I can still open my nightstand drawer and easily find whatever I need in there. I’m in control. I know. I don’t have to wander around, hitting walls, or tables, or chairs. I’m fine. They don’t get to hurt me. I know how to avoid the pain.

But now, suspended into this lightless, soundless bubble, I’m attempting to take on the darkness inside myself. I don’t remember the last time I did it. I don’t even know if I ever did it properly. Unlike my neatly organized room, my insides are unpredictable. They make up an intricate maze and, with every breath, with every heartbeat, with every moment dropping gently into the hourglass of time, the maze shifts, and turns, and twists, and bends. I never get to really know its structure. Its walls are made of all these feelings I wish I could avoid. They’re permanently taunting me, mocking me, eating me from the inside.

You’re alone. You’re so far. You’re all the way over here, in this ocean of strangers whom you can barely understand. You have no one. Bad dreams haunt you at night and all you can do is hug a pillow and wait for your body to stop shaking. But the shaking never stops, not here, inside of you. Try to count the centimetres between you and your friends, between you and your family, between you and your boyfriend. How far can you go before your head gets dizzy? How much can you count before you feel engulfed by this distance that seems to continuously stretch as you measure it, becoming never-ending? What are you doing over here? Are you even remotely good at anything you are attempting to do? You read all those papers and books, but how well do you actually understand them? You write all that code, but how good is it anyway? You make so many mistakes while sewing or crafting. You edit worse than an unknowing child messing around. What are you doing? How do you call this “living”?

So, you see, if I try to find my way through the maze, it will come at me with all it’s got – all these muddy thoughts, these stinging questions, these dirty emotions. They break my toes, scrape my knees, bend my back, and crush my arms. Therefore, I never venture inside. I avoid it, but avoiding doesn’t stop it from existing. It’s there, pulsating, a living being inside me that keeps growing.

Today, however, things are different. There is something right in the middle of that big mass of hopelessnes and I need to get to it. I want to touch it, polish it, and tie a pretty ribbon on it. Today I’m not avoiding, nor trying to find a path. I’m going straight through those walls and doing what you taught me to do: not fight, but embrace the pain, the dark, the scars, the dirt, the blood, the… stars. Ultimately, smiles are born from the prettiest and heaviest tears. Light comes from what seem to be the murkiest places. Nothing is really, truly ugly, unless you want to see it that way. And, as hard as it may be to see the beauty inside yourself, it exists. There is no questioning it.

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You are one of the fragile orbs of light that warm up the core of my being. I wouldn’t be this brave if I hadn’t met you. You permanently give me the courage to believe in and pursue that rainbow all of us, the shattered ones, deserve. You help me see the world in such bright and vibrant colours. I fall in love with life every single day simply because you touched my heart ever so gently, but deeply, and made me capable of such intense emotion, passion and drive. I can enjoy the flavour of everything I see, touch, hear, or encounter in any other way because you showed me how to taste them. I can climb out every single time I fall into a dark, abysmal pit because you made me believe that even the most delicate being can be as fierce as it wants to be. You embody all these traits and this always motivates me to be a better, gentler and, at the same time, stronger person.

Thus, I embrace my labyrinth of despair and confusion and I advance, slowly, but steadily. My bones ache under the weight of all this sadness I amassed, but the tears I cry keep me afloat instead of drowning me, while the wings you helped me grow, although bleeding, do their best to lift me out of the holes I sometimes stumble into. In spite of how difficult this whole process is, I keep breathing. I might feel lonely, but I should never think of myself as being truly alone. I might fall, but I should never give up on lifting myself back up. I might make mistakes, but that should never deter me from pursuing what I am passionate about. I might not be good at the things I love, but I will become good precisely because I love them.

And I reach it, I finally reach it. My little, precious orb of warm and glowing light. Our memories, our smiles, our tears, our laughter… they’re all in there, safely kept. I kiss the imperfections away from its surface. I take a red ribbon out of my hair and slowly tie it around it. My hands are hurt and trembling, so the resulting bow is a bit crooked. With the little strength I’ve got left, I extend it to you. My most precious treasure. The best thing I have right now that can serve as a gift. My undying, unending, unwavering friendship.

Oh, Kitty, my Kitty… Happy, fluffy, purring birthday! ^_^

P.S. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to edit something for you this year as well. But I promise to make the idea that I have come to life, while keeping you in my mind and in my heart throughout the whole process. For the time being, I’ll leave you with the song that inspired me:

My wounded wings still beating, you’ve always loved the stranger inside… Me, ugly pretty.