the days that count

day 1. I had a thought: what if I was blind? Could I have ever seen things clearly?

day 2. And I wondered: what if I was deaf? Could I have ever listened to my heart?

day 3. I looked back and asked myself: what if I couldn't  walk? Could I have ever followed my dreams?

day 4. And I stopped for a moment: what if I had no arms? Could I have ever given someone a hand?

all the other days. So I knew I had no excuse. I was ashamed. I looked down. I looked around. I talked to my mum. I walked home that day. I painted my nails red.

ignorance is bliss

Lucian Blaga

---

Vei plânge mult ori vei zâmbi? 

Eu 
nu mă căiesc,
c-am adunat în suflet şi noroi-
dar mă gândesc la tine.
Cu gheare de lumină
o dimineaţă-ţi va ucide-odată visul,
că sufletul mi-aşa curat,
cum gândul tău il vrea,
cum inima iubirii tale-l crede.
Vei plânge mult atunci ori vei ierta?
Vei plânge mult ori vei zâmbi
de razele acelei dimineţi,
în care eu ţi-oi zice fără umbră de căinţă:
"Nu ştii ca numa-n lacuri cu noroi pe fund cresc nuferi?"

mi-era cam dor de dragul de Blaga.

the wedding. the photographs. the one.

Excerpt from a very nice article on weddings:

`As I think back on the hundred-plus weddings I've photographed, I want to emphasize this:
Every wedding is perfect.

I love a good party.
I love a bride in the most elaborate, fancy, princess-y dress you've ever dreamed of.
I love custom chuppahs and embroidered aisle runners and matchy-matchy bridesmaids dresses.
I love to photograph flowers and shoes.

But you know why I REALLY do what I do?

To photograph your parents, who will hold hands and cry on the first row of the chapel. To photograph your sister dancing with that boy she will marry in three years. To photograph those kids who will grow up so, so quickly. To photograph your grandfather, who will pass away next spring. To photograph your first kiss as a married couple, your best friend busting out her signature dance moves, the flower girl asleep under a table, and maybe even your ex looking pretty wistful as he hugs you a little too long in the receiving line.

You already know: your cake will disappear in less than an hour, your flowers will wilt before the ceremony ends, and that uncomfortable tux will go back to the rental place in the morning. But those photos... they're gonna be there forever. You'll have them when your own kids are born, when you have the biggest fight ever with your partner and need to be reminded of how much you really love each other, when your parents pass away and you realize the last time you danced with them was at your wedding...

f you're planning your wedding right now, please just close the magazine. Log out of Pinterest. And look at the person you want to grow old with. Remind yourself of why you're doing this. And really CELEBRATE when that day comes. Don't stress about your shoes or your cake or your flowers. Don't stress about anything. When it's all over, you will be married, and surrounded by the people who know you and love you most in the whole wide world.

I promise: that is the Perfect Wedding.`

I miss you!

we don`t only cry death. we cry loss. we cry change. we cry because we can`t find reasons or because we don`t want to find them. we cry at night or when mornings are the worst, when we`re alone or too many people tell us it`s gonna be fine. we cry the need to smile when we`re not able to. we cry people, thoughts, gestures, photographs, we cry animals, flowers, sun and rain. we cry when we need it the most, until the sun dries them tears off our face. we cry when we can`t hold the tears in anymore, when we need attention, when we stop for a second at the street corner to look at two kids playing catch and all our childhood comes flashing red flags at us. we cry when we really want to scream like crazy. when the world doesn`t stop for our troubles. when despite the odds, we get lucky. we cry the happiness we can`t foresee or believe we don`t deserve. we cry thinking of the last time we saw our grandparents, the last words they said to us, the time we made our mother cry cause we couldn`t just shut up. we cry when we miss the friends we thought will always be friends. when we look back and only see dust or regret. when we don`t recognize our dreams in a sea of little blue droplets of `maybe-s` and `what if-s` and `if only-s`.

but when all the others fade in the light of a new day and in the thin air of a new breath, we cry death, cause it`s the easiest.

I miss you!

traseu

dimineata. mult prea devreme. printre ganduri se strecoara frica de alarma, care iti fura si cele din urma franturi de vise, ca pe niste capete de ata alba culese de pe palton. nu mai adormi, desi iti este somn si capu ti-e plin de tipetele de seara trecuta. dar frica de alarma si sunetul ei e ca vocea doctorului la nastere - impinge, impinge. dar tu nu vrei sa iesi din asternutul cald, e frig afara si oamenii scuipa pe strada si te imping in metrou daca ai un rucsac in spate. 

te ridici pana la urma numarand secundele pana ti se face frig si nu privesti inapoi, e prea riscant. timpul pana iesi din casa se comprima, dai drumul la stiri pentru ca vrei sa auzi vremea, dar nu auzi de fapt nimic. clipele trec si tu proiectezi ziua care abia incepe.

iesi pe usa. ai doua casti in urechi, lumea e mai buna cu pink floyd. oamenii sunt la fel pe strada ta, ai incetat sa ii mai privesti, desi esti curios cum functioneaza, ce gandesc, ce viata are fiecare, unde merg, de unde vin, ce frici nu-i lasa sa adoarma noaptea, ce bucurii ii fac sa planga, de ce s-au imbracat asa, de ce te privesc...

traseul e acelasi. scurt, friguros. dar astazi ceva e diferit. il privesti si el te priveste, dar el e altfel decat tine. nu ii pasa ce crezi sau daca crezi aceleasi lucruri ca si el. are privirea aia umila si modesta pe care nu o vezi decat foarte rar si care iti ramane agatata de retina ca un scaiete enervant. ti-ai dori sa fii si tu asa, caci stii cumva, nu esti sigur cum, ca el a gasit ceva. ceva ce tu inca mai cauti. ceva ce poate ti-ai pierdut deja speranta ca ai sa mai gasesti. el a reusit. esti sigur ca lui nu ii este greu sa se dea jos din pat dimineata.

ce ramane?

camera unui batran. cu geamul mic, ascuns de o perdea de fildes si pervazul gol. inchizi ochii si vezi coji de portocala si felii de gutuie. patul mic, ca pentru un suflet simplu. cuvertura cu trandafiri mari, rosii si mirosul pernelor. undeva in cap mi s-a stins o lumina. vitrina plina de lucrurile pe care le-a primit si pe care le-a tinut mereu langa ea - sa le vada, sa le simta, sa le atinga, comori. o rama mica ce incadreaza diploma pentru cei mai buni bunici (inchid ochii si vad cum radea), un glob colorat din piata san pietro (inchid ochii si vad cum il scuturau degetele brazdate), cateva icoane, nisip de la mare, scoici vesele si o floare de plastic mov pe un soclu mic de portelan. daca mi-ar cadea din maini s-ar face bucati. degetele se plimba pe contururile de lemn vestejit al mobilei vechi cu cheite cu ciucuri verzi si rosii. pe drum intalnesc mileuri mici si aduna un strat pufos de praf gri. ca cerul asta. ca un fum de tigara. ca regretul. e camera unui batran. e mereu la fel, oricat de departe ti-ar merge sufletul, de fiecare data cand te intorci e acolo si e singurul lucru care mai tine in picioare universul tau. lumea ta cu bunici. lumea vesela ce stransese atatea amintiri si din care acum au ramas doua mogaldete de pamant cu flori pe ele si o vitrina de al carei geam ti-e teama sa te atingi, sa nu strici somnul amintirilor. 

Pam-pam!

M-am intors.
Mai tanara, mai efervescenta. Sau nu.
Dar important e ca m-am intors.
Mi s-a facut pofta si chef de scris, mai ales noaptea. Asta dupa ce draga mea Iulia mi-a dat ocazia sa scriu dupa mult timp si mi-a reaprins scanteia (sau ce mai ramasese din ea) de la 19 ani, cand am intrat la jurnalism. pfff..sa zicem :) Asa ca, bine v-am gasit inapoi.

This feels like the beginning of a beautiful re-friendship

Tema de gandire: de ce ma agat mereu de trecut ca o planta enervanta?
Timp de gandire: mi-e somn, nu mai rezist mult 
Bottom-line: nu am chef azi. nici macar de vama veche.

Noapte buna, va pup cu zgomote si entuziasm de revenitoare!