duminică, 13 decembrie 2009

degetul mare

Mai intai au fost incercari timide de a duce mana spre gurita. Miscari stangace de recunoastere, pumni in cap din lipsa de coordonare. Apoi pumnul a nimerit gura si asistam amuzati la sunete de plescaiala. Ne distram pe seama lui, cu cata cazna incerca sa-si bage tot pumnu' in gura si nu-i prea iesea pasenta. nu prea nimerea unghiul. Apoi scotea cate un oftat de multumire cand, plin de saliva pe toata fata, reusea sa-si bage jumate de pumn in gura si tragea cu satz. La inceput am crezut ca-i era foame. Dupa aia am descoperit ca uneori, o face pentru comforting.

Dar de vreo doua zile din tot pumnul a ales doar degetul mare. Si-si mangaie gingiile si trage de el cu sete de parca ii curge lapte si miere. Cum explici unui bebe de doua luni si cateva zile ca degetul e treaba periculoasa? Ca s-ar putea sa ramana stuck with it pana la adanci batranete. Ca-i cresc dintii stramb si va trebui sa poarte aparat.

Daca fratele meu nu ar fi facut o pasiune nemuritoare pentru degetul cel mare de la mana stanga (exact ca fiu-meu) poate m-ar fi amuzat. Dar asa ma tot chinui sa-l fac sa "inteleaga" ca nu e voie, ca e cah si ca poate ar fi mai bine sa o incercam pe suzi. Azi am scos-o din cutie chiar si am sterilizat-o cu tact. Degeaba. cand i-am dat-o a scuipat-o de parca avea pelin. Si chiar daca am tot insistat o dupa amiaza intreaga, o mesteca de parca i-am dat o bucata de soric. In sinea mea, eram foarte mandra ca nu o vrea...dragu' mamii, drag. Dar nici sa ma foloseasca pe post de suzeta ca sa adoarma, nu as vrea.

Cand e foarte suparat pe mine, imi impinge barbia cu mana, doar, doar inteleg din tanguielile lui ca el vrea un pik de suzeteala, dar nu de plastic, nuuuu...de aia adevarata de unde iese si laptic.

vineri, 4 decembrie 2009

2 luni

Piski a implinit ieri 2 luni...pe zi ce trece se face tot mai frumos. Cel putin asa il vad eu, ca doar sunt maica-sa. A crescut, s-a lungit si cand ma uit la pozele lui din primele zile, imi dau seama cat s-a schimbat.

Acum imi doarme pe piept, ca de obicei. Stiu, mi se spune mereu ca nu e bine ce fac, dar nu pot sa ma abtin. E puiul meu scump si orice moment in care pot sta cu el in brate, e o minune.

Mi-au placut mereu copii, dar nici in visele mele cele mai indraznete nu as fi crezut ca pot fi atat de innebunita dupa botul asta de om care uneori urla de-mi sparge timpanele. Prin saptamana a sasea a inceput sa zambeasca voit, iar acum, diminetile sunt o splendoare cand ne intampina cu gurita mare si limba impleticita, cand se lasa dragalit si pupacit si daca are chef, mai sta si la povesti.

Ne face sa radem cand incepe sa se intinda dupa ce a mancat copios sau a dormit una buna, sau cand nu e hotarat daca sa-si inceapa ora de plans pe la 8 seara sau sa mai stea. incepe asa intr-o doara, cu cate o jumate de scancet, neconvingator...sa vada in ce ape ne scaldam. daca nu-l bagam in seama, o ia din ce in ce mai serios pana cand ajunge sa ne surzeasca. Si atunci, opreste-l daca mai poti.

As vrea sa pot opri timpul in loc, sa-l mai am asa mic si nestiutor, al meu si doar al meu, ferit de tot ce e urat si rau in lumea asta. Incerc sa ma bucur de fiecare moment pe care-l petrec alaturi de el pentru ca se duc repede si sunt asa de pretioase.

Uneori ma gandesc cu groaza ca intr-o zi va pleca pe drumul lui si voi asista, poate neputincioasa, la greutatile care-l vor incerca. Si ma doare sufletul de pe acum. Acum abia inteleg cat ii e de greu unui parinte sa-si vada copilul trist, chinuit, in durere.

Incerc sa nu-mi las prea multe monologuri din astea interioare. Nu fac decat sa ma intristeze, cand Piski al meu e inca mic si plangacios si protejat de doi parinti care-l iubesc nespus.

duminică, 1 noiembrie 2009

Patru saptamani de viata

31 Octombrie 2009

Iubitul meu iubit, azi ai implinit 4 saptamani de cand ai venit pe lume. Imi promit mereu ca iti voi scrie mai des gandurile si trairile mele, ca sa-ti umple golurile amintirilor pentru cand vei fi mai mare. Desi au trecut patru saptamani, parca a fost ieri cand Amy(moasa) mi te-a pus in brate si tu oracaiai neconsolat.
Patru saptamani si eu te iubesc din ce in ce mai mult. Ma uit la tine cand dormi si-mi dau lacrimile de fericire ca existi, ca esti al meu si ca esti atat de frumos si de perfect.

In prima saptamana cand te-am adus acasa, te verificam din 2 in 2 minute sa vad daca mai respiri. Seara plangeam cu tine in brate si-l rugam pe D-zeu sa te fereasca de rau, sa nu ma pedepseasca in vreun fel si sa ai tu de suferit. Nasterea a fost dureroasa, dar totul a decurs extraordinar. Imi era si inca mi-e frica uneori sa nu patesti ceva si toata fericirea mea sa se naruie.

Pana cand nu te-ai nascut, nu am putut intelege ce simti cand esti mama. Acum insa, STIU si e minunat. Nu cred ca as putea explica in cuvinte, oricat de mult as incerca.
Si vad cum cresti pe zi ce trece, acum ganguresti mai mult, faci fatzuci dragute cu gurita ta carnoasa, oo-uri si uu-uri, razi in somn si te tot rog sa imi zambesti sic and esti treaz. Dar inca nu esti pregatit.

In fiecare zi te vad cum devii mai puternic, mai alert, cum esti mai atent la lumea din jur. Esti atras de lumea de afara si de ghivecele mele cu flori de la fereastra.
Multe nopti adormi pe pietul meu si ne prinde dimineata asa. Dragul mamii pui, imi doresc sa te cresc frumos, sa fii bun, sa fii tolerant, sa iubesti frumosul si sa fii marinimos.

joi, 24 septembrie 2009

Sometimes, you can't avoid disappointment

I wonder why some people never cease to disappoint you. No matter how hard you try to cut them some slack, truth is, their spiteful words affect you, hurt you and stay with you for a long time. They taint your soul and cloud your day. And while the other doesn't even give a damn ... your mind races endlessly, obsessing over that meaningless word, again and again like a broken record.

And the worst of all...having to hear the gossip through the grape vine, and not being able to fight back.

Truth is, there will always be something people will complain about, and well, many times that may be something you've done. You have to accept that some people always look around to find somebody to blame, to point the finger at, to accuse and complain about out...and that is simply because it is easier than accepting your own faults.

Being less judgemental and putting yourself in the other one's shoes from time to time could be a start to becoming a better person. That is, as long as you think or feel there is something to improve about yourself. As long as you posses the humbleness one needs to see and acknowledge your faults and replace them with more beautiful and noble qualities.

In the end, we all strive to become better, more tolerant. Or at least, we all should aim for this. For some of us, this is the very meaning of our existence, our journey through life. For others, indulging in selfishness, throwing dirt in somebody's face and many times behind their backs, are the very definition of their existence. And they thrive on it.

miercuri, 16 septembrie 2009

Almost over

I am in my last two weeks of pregnancy...Did I enjoy it as much as I could have? Did I speak to my baby as much as I should have? Did I sing to him and made him feel special as much as I would have liked?

There is one thing I know I didn't do enough. And that is to write about my experiences, my feelings, my emotions. I promissed myself I would keep a journal for my baby to read when he gets older. And I feel somehow guilty for not sticking to it, for not seizing the moment. Because every step of our journey was and is precious - from denial, to acceptance and happiness.

During pregnancy things can get tougher, especially when the pregnancy is not expected. And then you have to deal with parents' personality crisis and judgemental remarks such as ... what will the world say?

And then there are the bad days, when you can barely wake up or or when your ankles get so swallen you can hardly walk, or when heartburn makes you cry.

But in the end...you come to realize that nothing really matters. That a small being has been growing inside you from nothing more than a cell. That he had a heartbeat at only 6 weeks and although big as a bean, he had little hands, fingers and even nails.

And you realize all of a sudden that it is trully a miracle...we are always looking for miracles, but somehow fail to see the ones so obivous.

Some struggle and go through great sacrifice to have a baby, while others reject the very idea of having one, even when they find out they would. Strange little world we live in, isn't it?

And coming back to my initial thoughts, I wounder if I complained too much about all the bad parts of the pregnancy instead of being simply happy for what it really means.

Thinking of my baby makes me cry sometimes...tears of happiness and love that probably I will never be able to express in words, no matter how much I would try.

I hope that beyond everything, he feels I love him and that he is welcome in this world with affection and happiness.

marți, 14 iulie 2009

mandrie de viitoare mama

Copilasul nostru s-a intors cu capul in jos, are 1 kilogram si 250g la 29 de saptamani si statea pudic sa-l pozeze doamna doctor. La auzul acestor vesti minunate, mi-a crescut inima in piept si mi s-au umezit ochii, ca si cum bebe ar fi facut nu stiu ce nazdravanie. Intampin fiecare zi cu nerabdarea omului care experimenteaza un miracol, care stie cat este de norocos pentru tot ceea ce se intampla in viata lui si care nu vrea sa piarda nici o clipa din imensa bucurie de a trai.

Peste zi mi se umple sufletul de bucurie la gandul ca in curand il voi strange in brate, il voi mangaia si-l voi privi cum doarme. Mi-l inchipui cum doarme linistit, in timp ce eu nu ma mai satur privindu-l.

Am zile cand nu mai am rabdare, as vrea sa-l vad, sa-l cunosc, sa-l tin in brate si sa-l alint.

duminică, 12 iulie 2009

Acasa e pace

E duminica, e liniste, afara ploua marunt in luna lui cuptor de parca ar fi octombrie. Acasa la ai mei e pace si bine si atat. Nu-mi doresc sa fac nimic mai mult decat ceea ce fac: stau, privesc ploaia, cerul plumburiu, citesc cartea Reginei Maria despre viata ei si-mi simt copilul vioi controbaind pe sub coastele mele, de parca incearca sa-si testeze limitele camarutei.

Asta e concediul meu in aceasta vara si daca as fi intrebata ce altceva as vrea sa fac, as sti sigur ce sa raspund: nimic mai mult din ceea ce fac - citesc, scriu, privesc ploaia si soarele, si cerul si oamenii care trec pe strada.

De obicei ma macina graba, panica aceea ca trec orele si nu am facut nimic, ca trec zilele si anii si se duce viata mea, iar eu parca nici nu ma urnesc. Dar in aceste cateva zile, parca am reusit sa opresc timpul, sa ma suspend undeva intre doua clipe si sa savurez pe indelete placerea de a nu face mare lucru decat de a-ti odihni creierul si sufletul pentru ziua, saptamana, luna ce vine.

Mai am cateva zile si va trebuie sa ma intorc in vartejul vietii londoneze, cu ore lungi la birou, alergat spre casa, pregatiri pentur venirea lui bebe, drumuri pe la consiliu si alte bazaconii. Dar acum e liniste, camera copilariei mele e la fel de primitoare ca intotdeauna, cartile imi zambesc de pe rafturile bibliotecii, iar eu sunt fericita in linistea din jur.

luni, 6 iulie 2009

Melancholy

She got out of bed, as always at 4.30 am. In the dark, she slowly groped about her work dress mended with colourful patches. With shaky hands she tied her apron around the waist. She had to throw it away soon. It looked as ragged as her dress and the thought of her daughter’s disapproving eyes made her giggle. After 20 minutes she was finally ready to get out of the house, but not before picking up her dark brown walking stick propped up against the wall.

She closed the door behind her and tried to straighten her stooping back while groaning with pain. At 84, her dangerously curved figure made her chin almost touch her chest. But despite her fragile frame and severe bone problems, she was still taking care of a whole farmstead.

There was no time for nonsense when she had to milk the cows, release the hens from the coop, feed the dogs and prepare breakfast. She’d hoped her good-for-nothing elder son would give her a hand, but he was still sleeping off the gallons of alcohol he had drunk the night before with that damn neighbour across the street.

The old woman picked up the bucket from the kitchen table and started towards the stables, her tiny frame barely visible in the wide, arid yard. She stopped to rest and looked into the distance at the reddish morning sky. The sun was rising from behind the quiet cemetery hill. Her house was situated on a slope and the entire village was unfolding in front of her eyes. She took a deep breath and felt the strong smell of linden flowers and dew fill her lungs.

Few things had changed in the past 84 years in this archaic God-forsaken place. Only the crosses in the cemetery multiplied while people got older and died. Otherwise, things went on unchanged. She was still cooking on a stove than ran on wood, the roads were still made of dust and river rocks, and the farmers were still working the land with horses and oxen.

In time the village had gotten smaller and smaller. Empty houses collapsed until no more than 15 families were left. Another 10 years and there would be nobody around, she thought to herself with sadness. This 500 year-old village would become a wild place again, with forests and vegetation covering the high hills and the decrepit buildings.

Tenderness and sadness filled her heart at the sight of her blue house with red pelargonium flowers in the windows. When she was gone, nobody would take care of her household. She thought of Peter, her husband, who had died of a brain tumour more than 43 years before. Her small, lively blue eyes welled with tears. She still missed him and lately she wished more and more she was up there on the hill, by his side.

luni, 15 iunie 2009

Aura Urziceanu la Jazz Cafe in Londra

Dupa 20 de ani de absenta de pe scena muzicala londoneza, Aura Urziceanu ne-a incantat sufletele cu un recital extraordinar la Jazz Cafe, Camden Town, in Londra. Pe 16 iunie, d-na Urziceanu a cantat pentru romanii si strainii veniti la faimosul venue londonez. E de prisos orice incercare de a-i descrie sau lauda vocea. Cine nu a apucat s-o auda vreodata cantand live, sa faca bine sa isi dea silinta. Va doresc tuturor sa ajungeti s-o auziti macar o data in viata. Trilurile ei merg direct la suflet, ramai vrajit si-ti doresti sa nu se mai opreasca din cantat.

duminică, 31 mai 2009

our son


22nd May - Today we found out we were going to have a son...when we saw him moving, flipping and turning, capriciously and naughty, our hearts melted. I was looking at his flick-flacks and thought to myself he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

We have his 21 weeks scan up on the bookshelf; sucking away at his thumb, a delicate profile like his mommy, and a strong arm, just like his daddy :). I look at him and realize he is our little miracle, weather we consciously thought it or not when we first found out about his existence.

I don't doubt, it's going to be a huge difference when he comes around, but I trust he has a very good reason for wanting to show up at this point in our lives.

We decided to call him Sasha...

sâmbătă, 18 aprilie 2009

Bitter Sweet Simphony

The wave of warmth in the cab makes me want to close my eyes and let the sleep take me. I am tired, but still wired from the live set I’ve just played. As always after a performance, I feel drained, empty of all feelings and senses. I take Maya's hand and squeeze it. She squeezes back and smiles. She knows I need time to myself after the crazy show tonight.

I smile at the thought of all those people down there in the club screaming, dancing, and freeing themselves through my music. Up there, when the records were spinning and the music pumped in my ears, I felt the abandonment take over me. I gave them my all, my soul; I gave them ME. I played for them with the devouring passion that has built up deep inside of me during all these years of waiting and wanting.

I look out of the window. It’s almost dawn. The lights go out in the narrow streets of London. For maybe the millionth time in the past ten years, I am crossing Tower Bridge, returning home from a club. I still find it beautiful beyond words; my heart aches with pleasure at the sight of this beautiful city, my home, my salvation.

I am a DJ and I love my life. My life is music and everything revolves around it. I smile to myself at the thought of how all this began. What brought me in front of a turntable was not the passion, but the half-numbness of a heavy drug night, one of so many I had spent in clubs wasted, leaning against staircases and bars.

Before DJing, I was making my living dealing drugs. And before that, I had been just a boy, a fugitive from poverty, who’d left his home in Eastern Europe, in hope of a better future. Like Alice in Wonderland, I was mesmerized by dreams of London riches instilled in my childish heart by formidable rumors and stories that fed the neighborhood thirst for gossip.

After leaving home, I lived for a while in the bushes of Torino, a homeless boy crossing the city to a shelter for a weekly shower and a warm meal. The day I turned eighteen I celebrated with half a sandwich found in a garbage bin behind a train station restaurant. I can still feel the foul taste of stale bread I found lying next to the pizza scrapes on the bottom of the bin. I was eating heartedly sitting on the verge of the sidewalk, oblivious to people’s disgusted looks. The streets of Torino were roaming with guys like me, a disgrace to the city and to the civilized world.

After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to cross the Channel, I finally arrived in Dover in a goods train carrying wine cases, still drunk from God knows how many bottles I had emptied to keep myself warm in the freezing November air, and numb the fear of getting caught.

London greeted me with cold rain, an unwelcoming and miserable sight. But I did not care when I felt the cold wind through my thin, worn shirt, or when my friend did not come to pick me up. Instead of a warm, friendly house, I had to share a dirty, dump of a room with other immigrants in King’s Cross. I lied about my age, my nationality, and my reasons for disembarking here. To them I was another underage Eastern European, escaped from an abusive family, getting a free ride through Europe.

I felt the shame of my fabricated past pressing down hard on my shoulders. I had no choice. I had left my home pushed by my family’s inability to cope with mounting debts and my brother’s education fees. Although I was the younger one, I had provided for them and for myself ever since I turned 12. In high school I was “the clothes dealer”, selling expensive items brought by older lads in the neighborhood from their European wanderings. It pained me to see my mother’s guilt every time I paid another bill and I wished I could do more to take that burden away.

After a few days in London, I started working in a car wash, barely scraping by, my hands cracked from the cold December wind. I was eating once a day, sleeping four hours a night. Until one day, when everything changed. I’d heard of guys from my neighborhood striking it lucky in this big, menacing city and I started asking around. I needed to see familiar faces, I was longing even for the scumbags from my past. At first, I started wandering through the dirty council estates in North London, looking for familiar faces. I found a few, some working on the black market, some doing what they knew best: pick pocketing. The stars aligned one night, while we were hanging around at the local pub, stoned and grinning stupid while a fat mama was performing her striptease number.

“Serge, my man, what happened to you? You’re a sack of bones, kid,” I heard a voice from afar. I turned around confused and landed my eyes on Gigi, my childhood friend. If I wasn’t so fucked up, I would have tried to give him a big hug. Instead I smiled as openly as I could. He lifted my right elbow as if to demonstrate the state I was in. “Man, we need to get you on your feet. I am going to take care of you. Come work for me.”

“Man, what are you on about?” I replied, looking at his warm winter coat with eager longing.

“Meet me in front of Camden Town tube station tomorrow night at 11, and I promise I’ll turn things around for you in no time”.

That night, Gigi took me to Camden Palace. It was Saturday. The city was awake, lights everywhere. I smelt happiness in the air, caressing my skin and making me feel like one of the others, perfectly blending in. Gigi gave me a bag of coloured pills to stash inside my underwear and we queued patiently in front of the club. I was a nervous rack, but euphoric at the same time, looking around at the colorful, frantic crowd waiting to get in. That night, on Christmas Eve, my career as a drug dealer began.

I started making money, tonnes of money! I was reassuring my parents’ suspicions by lying about doing triple, even quadruple shifts as a waiter in a famous restaurant where rich people dined. I was eighteen and already smitten with my new life. Who wouldn’t have been? My days were a continuous party, my nights, and endless string of drug cocktails and wild fantasies.

And so almost three years passed. The euphoric state from the beginning slowly soured. I was starting to feel empty, my life, a monotonous, vicious party. I had drugs everyday, everywhere. Girls, just a phone call away; money to buy anything my obtuse mind desired. And yet, I felt the smell of nothingness in my nostrils, intoxicating me day by day.

But then, something beautiful happened, something amazing and out of this world. It felt instant, because when it came, it stroke like lightening and never left: it was the music. Everything changed, everything became so new again. My anticipation of a good mashed up night changed into the anticipation of the clean, crystal sound of music running through my veins, while I was down there, in the middle of the frenzied crowd, listening to DJs play as if just for me in the London clubs.

When I found music, I felt I found myself again. And I still feel this even now, after ten years, as strong as I felt it in those first days when I welcomed it into my life.

I feel the cab stop and Maya touch my hand.

“We’re home. Let’s go,” she tells me in a quiet voice.

“I was half dreaming about the past,” I whispered while paying the cab driver.
Those days of going without sleep, from party to party, from house to house, making friends who were looking for the next high are long gone. I used to see my life as a train rushing to its destination while I struggled to hop on. Instead I did nothing. I was numb and clueless.

Music saved me from the person I was desperately trying to become against all my convictions. In that complete daze, I felt it flowing through my veins like hot lava. Ironically, those nights in clubs selling K, X and snow brought me closer to what I am today. The confusion and the tearing depressions, the days without hope and sun gave way to happiness and love, to music, to rhythm, to life.

After sobering up from years of addiction and confusion, music became my one and only drug. In clubs I used to stay glued for hours to the DJ booth, mesmerized by their skills, just as a young boy stricken by David Copperfield’s magical powers.
That time seems so far away now, almost in another life. But Maya is the living proof that it did happen. Just like a ritual, before I lie down, I caress my decks, brush my hand over the vinyls, and let the grooves fill my soul with happiness.
Bitter sweet symphony…

luni, 13 aprilie 2009

Getting to know the real me...

During the last coaching session, my coach asked me to think about a few answers to these questions:
1)What do you think you believe in?
2) What do you know you believe in?
3) What do you think your parents think about you?


Now, I thought that it would be easy-peesy to answer all these questions, but turns out, I am at a loss of words. nevertheless, i am trying to o my best, because once and for all I would really like to get some answers from within.

question number 1: I think I believe in God's punishment when I am doing something against his will, when I am not following the rules of the church and when I am being deaf to my mother's warnings. I am scared that not doing the right thing according to the Orthodox church laws will only bring me sorrow, problems and ailments. at the same time, I think I believe that not listening to my parents brings nothing good, that their suffering will turn against me. i think i should believe in "believe without doubt", that i should pray more and try to stick to the rules.

question number 2: I know I believe in the greater good, in life on other planets and reincarnation. although this is considered to be a great sin, I think we come back over and over again as different beings to right the wrongs of the past. i think we are timeless, immortal and that we have this great chance of doing the things right in each life we get. I know my baby was meant to come into this world now and that having him/her is no accident. I know I believe that we are all beings of the light, that right and wrong are only concepts invented by our minds to stop us from growing, evolving into spiritual beings. I believe that not being married will not affect my baby's life in any way and that my sins will not affect his future. i believe i should fear less God's punishment, since God is not mean and does not punish. I believe that our own actions and thoughts make our lives difficult or easy. I believe we can achieve anything by dreaming and believing it can happen. i believe i should be less fearful and judgmental and that what others think is not necessarily the truth. I believe that Jesus Christ was a man of his time, with brothers and sisters, a revolutionary and a wise man.

question number 3: I think my parents love me, but they think I am somehow lost, I have lost my way from the Church's God. At least this is what my mother thinks. They both are somehow proud of what I have become, but they will never show it. They think I give too much importance to the outer world, the physical/material things, and too little to the spiritual ones - meaning the Orthodox church's rules. My mother thinks I should read more books written by priests and saints, because sometimes I talk like a heretic. She thinks I should pray more and think more about the punishment from God and shame of the people. She thinks she brought me up good, but my rebellious nature makes me believe in all of devil's works - reincarnation, etc. My parents think that the way i choose to live my life is not according to what the right thing should be and therefore, we continuously clash when I am not playing according to their rules. Sometimes they are right in assuming I am making a mistake by choosing one thing over the other, but it is not enough for them to give me a piece of advise. especially my mom takes it as a personal affront when I am not doing things the way she wants. at the same time, she only believes I am purposely doing this to hurt her. she lives through me and my decisions are daggers in her heart. i know she only wants what is best for me, but i think this is wrong and she should let go.

this is it, in a nutshell...who is wrong or right is not important, as there is only truth and lie in this world. and above all there is LOVE.

sâmbătă, 28 martie 2009

Bebe

Pe 4 februarie, viata mea a luat o turnura neasteptata, care atunci mi s-a parut sfarsitul lumii, dar care se dovedeste a fi ceva nemaipomenit pe zi ce trece. Pe 4 februarie am aflat ca voi fi mama. Inca suna ciudat, nebunesc si putin artificial gandidu-ma ca cea care va deveni mama sunt EU. Nu verisoara mea sau prietena mea cea mai buna, sau vecina. Pentru toate m-am bucurat la fel de mult si de sincer. Cand a venit vorba de mine, am fost socata. Imi planuisem sa am copil peste vreo 2-3 ani, termen pe care il tot vehiculez de vreo 4, dar ma simteam total nepregatita. Inca sunt terorizata la gandul ca nu ma voi descurca, ca poate nu voi avea ce sa-l invat. Temerile imi trec repede cand simt cate o fluturare in stomac si ma gandesc ca lucrurule se intampla de obicei cu un scop si ca nimic nu e intamplator.

E un lucru fantastic sa stii ca incet si sigur o fiinta creste in tine. Si apoi vin framantarile, oare e sanatos? oare se dezvolta bine, oare mananc ce-i trebuie?

Fiecare dimineata incepe cu gandul la el, pentru ca am o presimtire ca va fi baiat. si mi-l imaginez mic si dragut in patutul lui. Uneori nu stiu ce sa-mi imaginez, nu stiu ce sa simt. Desi am avut grija de copii altora timp de 2 ani, ma intreb daca o sa stiu ce are nevoie al meu.

Am primit deja primul cadou...un tricou haios cu un buddha musical. De fiecare data cand ma uit la el, ma induiosez si multumesc pentru ceva atat de minunat ce va aparea in viata noastra.

duminică, 25 ianuarie 2009

The beginning

This is the saddest story I have ever heard. And I’ve had my fair share of dramas in the ten years as a journalist in London. I am looking at David’s shaking hands, trying to find the right thing to say. There’s nothing. Here I am standing in front of this broken man, a man who chose me to tell his story to the world. His grey eyes are empty and sunken deep into his skull. He looks diminished, almost a puppet under the worn dark blue covers. There is nothing between us, but a heavy silence pressing hard against my chest.

‘Say something,’ I urge myself, looking around the spartan-furnished room, as if help would come from the small corner brown table, or maybe from somewhere underneath it. But what is there to tell a man who saw his loved ones die? What can you tell a man who witnessed his twelve-year old daughter being raped and burned alive? How can you comfort a man whose toddler son and wife had their limbs cut off while he was watching helpless strapped to a pillar?

For the hundredth time, I open my mouth and try to speak. To comfort him and give him reassurance that his story won’t die, buried among the pages of a tabloid paper, as it happens with most of its kind today. But the words won’t come out. I gasp for air, I try to speak again. After a while, I give up. I just sit there, next to his bed, patting his hand and waiting and wondering at how fast a man who had it all lost everything to fate.

My head is spinning with thoughts without rhyme or reason. They come galloping like white ghosts, one after the other. Thoughts of blood and death from another lifetime, of the smell of burned flash and desperate screams of pain and agony.

I look at the brown file on the steel night stand. There, between the covers are pictures of his assassinated family. Sheila, his wife, has a bullet wound in the middle of her forehead. His daughter, Amy, her hair burned and jaw broken. And Daniel stares sadly into nothingness…

vineri, 16 ianuarie 2009

An ending

I was holding his body, feeling the life slip out of him. I knew he was finally at peace. ‘Can you hear them Lara? They are calling me. They are…,’ David’s face was twisted in a broken smile. He reached out with a trembling hand, somewhere towards the horizons as if caressing a beloved face.

‘I can see them, Lara. Oh, they are so beautiful. Sheila, my beautiful Sheila…’

Tears were running down my cheeks, staining his face. But he didn’t feel them. He was already far, far from me. I wanted to tell him to hang on, but I knew his time had come. He had stuck around enough to see his children’s murderers behind bars. For a while I tricked myself into believing that maybe, just maybe, life would come back into his steel-grey eyes.

For all these months spent besides him, I had come to know David well and cherish his presence like a child cherishes the memory of his first snow. His tragedy helped me face my own demons, my own painful past. Unlike my own, his family’s murderers had been found and brought to trial. But being part of David’s journey to salvation brought back my inner peace.

Looking down at his face, my stomach churned at the thought of losing him. Now he was looking into my eyes smiling. The first smile I’d ever seen on his face. He touched my cheek and wiped away my tears. ‘Don’t cry baby girl. Go on, be happy. I’ll be watching over you from up there, just like you’ve been doing all this time for me.’

I felt his body stiffen. He breathed in one more time and whispered ,‘You are beautiful’.

I grasped for air to block the tears from choking me. I smiled and held him closer. Lying there, on the cold ground, I whispered words of comfort and witnessed the night end. Overhead, without any fuss stars were going out.