forgotten diary

Oare e rau sa-ti fie frica de propriu tau destin, de viitor? Intotdeauna m-am intrebat daca lumea inca te judeca ceea ce este destul de comun in zilele noastre si adevaraul este ca inca traim intr-o lume in care lumea te condamna pentru greselile facute sau pentru acele decizii luate pe care ei le considera gresite. Chiar merita efortul de ati urmari visul toate consecintele ce s-ar putea sa apara dupa? Oare cat de mult as fi in stare sa lupt pentru ceea ce vreau?

De ce imi este frica de visele mele si de ceea ce as fi in stare sa realizez? Poate ca nu mi-e frica de mine; poate ca imi este frica de restul, de persoanele din jur, de ceea ce o sa creada…

Stiu ca pot sa fac orice imi doresc, ca ma duce mintea; as putea face si o inginerie daca imi pun in minte lucrul acesta, dar daca pentru mine cel mai important ar fi sa am timpul necesar sa desenez. Atunci as fi intradevar fericita. Oare e parte din “following your dream” sa suporti crizele tuturor cand vine vorba de ce vrei tu insuti de la viata? De ce oare drumul vietii trebuie sa iti puna piedici? Oare merita efortu sau sunt doar vise de care ar trebui sa uit si sa incep sa ma dedic la orice altceva, sa caut o alternativa mult mai realista?

Mi-ar placea sa pot sa nu ma mai gandesc atata la consecinte, sincer mi se pare mult prea dificila situatia. Poate ca ar fi mai bine sa nu va viata ca pe o problema matematica in care doar o solutie este posibila si considerata corecta; poate ca ar trebui sa vad viata ca pe un desen in care tot ceea ce conteaza e sentimentul final care iti lasa acel proces creativ, in care te poti linisti, te poti indeparta de cruzimea celorlati, te poti cunoaste pe tine insuti, etc. Dar totusi mi-e teama de reactile celor din jur, nu vreau sa fiu judecata gresit si nici nu vreau sa dezamagesc. In acelasi timp, vreau sa fiu eu insumi, vreau sa continui sa desenez, vreau sa clipesc si sa-mi vad atarnate tablourile pe pereti.

Stiu ca sunt singura vinovata, pentru ca gandesc prea mult, reflexionez fiecare miscare… asta sunt eu si ar trebui sa invat sa ma accept asa cum sunt. Deocamdata sper sa fac ceea ce e bine pentru viitorul meu, sper ca pana la urma sa pot sa zic clar ca asta e ceea ce vreau si cum vreau sa-mi castig viata. Sper ca nu va fi tarziu atunci…

21/03/2010

marco hietala - nightwish

tuomas holopainen - nightwish

amy lee portrait - evanescence

kat von d portrait

copila nimanui

Traia intre carti citite ce apartin trecutului, cuvinte adorate, cuvinte uitate, scrise pe peretii murdari cu sangele regretelor. Traia din cuvintele cartilor care o faceau sa viseze din nou. Citind uita de cat de inutila credea ca este viata ei, cartile ii dadeau inapoi iluzia unei vieti netraite. De atata timp, avea o inima ce parea pietrificata, fara sentimente si plina de regrete. Inima-i era atat de trista – a uitat de mult sa zambeasca. II era asa de frica de visele ei, stia ca putea sa faca ce vroia, avea libertate, doar ca ii era frica de judecada unei lumi crude. Era inspaimantata sa faca acel pas si de ceilalti. Se simtea prinsa ca o prada intr-o panza de paianjen asteptandu-si soarta dificil de schimbat. Iar paianjenul venea din ce in ce mai aproape de ea, iar ea asteapta… Se spune ca asteptarea e lucrul cel mai urat din viata, dar ea credea ca era singurul lucru care l-ar putea face in acel moment. Stia ca are doua optiuni, doua drumuri care le-ar putea urma si vroia sa amane cat mai mult momentul unei decizii inevitabile. Dar a ales sa-si astepte destinul ca bata la usa vietii ei, a ales sa decida in ultimul moment, privind nepasatoare cum acel paianjen ii lua viata incetul cu incetul.

Cartile ii redadeau clipele uitate in sertarul amintirilor, amagirilor si ale viselor pierdute. Nimic nu-i putea sta in cale, deoarece se regasea in acele personaje si traia alaturi de ele momente din viata lor. In acele momente se simtea plina, pentru ca traia iubirile si regretele lor; acelea de care ea n-a putut avea niciodata parte. Asa a descoperit iubirea chiar daca niciodata n-a avut pe cineva caruia sa-i demonstreze. Nu s-a putut simti libera zburand pe cerul insetat de sangele apusului si nici n-a putut sa simta gustul durerii sau al respingerii. Viata a fost egoista cu ea si nu i-a daruit iurirea, iar ea stia ce este sa iubesti numai din carti; destinul a lasat-o ca pe un inger gol cu aripile frante la marginea unei prapastii. Jos, marea ii striga numele, o chema la ea. Sus, cerul o vroia din rasputeri. Minutele treceau si lupta din sufletul ei era din ce in ce mai salbatica. Incheierea unei etape din viata ei era aproape – acum totul depindea de ea. Trebuia sa renasca din cenusa inainte ca nisipul din clepsidra sa se termine, iar destinul sa decida in locul ei.

O pasiona imortalitatea. De fapt era mai mult ca o pasiune – era o obsesie ce era mult prea dificil de scos din mintea ei fermecata. Vedea in fiecare fotografie, carte, tablou sau orice alt obiect sau forma de a exprima arta un model de imortalitate, o posibilitate de a deveni imortal, de a trai vesnic intr-o lume care de mult a uitat ce este iluzia sau speranta. Vroia sa fie eterna chiar daca de mult cineva i-a distrus visul ce ii garantiza existenta vampirilor. Vroia sa zboare sa vada lumea cu proprii ei ochi deoarece stia ca putea sa schimbe ceva. vroia multe dar nu stia de unde si cu ce sa inceapa. Intotdeauna astepta ultimul moment chiar daca avea planuri – chiar mult prea multe. Avea planuri care o impiedicau sa traiasca, planuri si vise, planuri ce nu vedeau lumina. Erau vise placute inainte de a adormi, ganduri ce isi luau zborul in cateva secunde, imagini decolorate in picturi pierdute; o creativitate ce nu indraznea sa iasa la suprafata.

Se intreba de ce oare timpul a schimbat-o, de ce a devenit asa timida si de ce nu mai credea in ea? Era nesigura de ea insasi, pierduta in trecut, un text cu puncte suspensive ce lasau o continuitate indefinita. Isi dorea sa inceapa povestea din nou, dar nu stia cum.

feelings...:-??

was she or only me?

She wanted to be the canvas and write down all her memories to edge her story in lines and shading, in music and dragons, in voices and different stories. She wanted to be the drawings of her own experiences. She wanted herself to be a piece of art and to create on others artworks. That was her dream but nobody listened to her. They thought she was insane and that she’d never go on. They judged her because of what she believed in.

She was scared like always during her life. She thought nobody will listen to her, but she didn’t want to give in. she had to decide if she’d sink or swim. Will everything be worth?

I hope she’ll find her own way in life; I hope she’ll create her own path and she’ll rewrite history. I only ask her to believe in herself and not to worry about other people’s opinions – she’s the one who has to do what she likes whether that is or isn’t according to what others approve.

Carry on, blackbird; don’t let your dreams fade. Don’t ever give in, my angel soul…

written on 08/03/2010

The Apartheid

There were a lot of proofs of racism and torture in the course of History. It seems that humanity looks for a daily doze of cruelty. Is there a reason for it? Maybe it is our human nature or maybe we created this because we want to feel as if we are better than others. But there is no doubt people have been cruel to each other since the beginning of times.

Steve Biko was man who risked his life for all the things he believed in and fought for all black people’s freedom in South Africa. Furthermore, it is a story about what cruelty can make out of people and how sometimes human beings are treated. In the same way, there may be other stories about some heroes. Some of these have happy endings and some of them have not.

South Africa was a country that, for decades, was run by a minority of white people. In fact, apartheid was the political system which was laid on by them and it was a period when violence, poverty, lack of human rights, and dignity ran the country. In this desolate outlook, a lot of people might have died in the attempt of struggling for the equality between black and white people and for their liberty.

Every type of political system has different effects on people due to the fact that it influences our mentality. Entire black families had to move to rural zones in poor houses and some black women who worked for white families couldn’t see their own children. Moreover, black and white weren’t allowed to socialize and mixed marriages were forbidden. However, children were the most affected ones because they were exposed to a lot of violence in townships and they had to study in overcrowded schools.

Taking everything into account, almost every nation passed through a dark period during its history like, for instance, the Inquisition, Second World War, repressive dictatorships, current wars or even the Apartheid policy in South Africa. These were mordant periods when political, economical, religious and racial discrimination were more important then the fact that we all are human beings. That’s why we should understand what the circumstances were and learn from all these stories to follow our dreams no matter what the price is.

Angel of broken wings...

She was looking to the empty and white canvas, without knowing what to paint… In that small room full of easels and forgot paintings. These were the only ones that tried to brighten up her bittersweet studio which was part of her entire life. Faded photographs from her days of happiness and fame were hanging on the grey walls. However, the enormous windows were the open door to nature, but now they don’t mean anything. Black curtains cover them and only a small beam of light can enter the room.

It was a rainy autumn morning. The rain was banging heavily into the window. She doesn’t mind. The monotonous gray clouds and the trees with no leafs were so obvious in her life lately. The funeral echoes of Handel’s songs resonate in her mind. She can’t sleep and she hasn’t eaten for ages.

She’s sitting in her corner, singing herself to sleep. Besides, she’s feeling as a violin without its strings. The old guitar stays in front of her – no one wants to play it anymore. She’s feeling the anger she never felt before. She wants to scream, to wake up from this horrible nightmare. But she can’t do it. She can’t even cry – there are no tears left. He took them all. He took everything she got. He only left there his guitar.

He’s not there anymore with her – she has to accept it although she can’t. The memories are chasing her. She still feels his breath on her neck, his smooth whispers, his kisses, his arms around her... She can even see flashes of the candles. She still remembers those days they were together, those days nobody could separate them and nothing bad could happen. Those were moments of bliss…

Now she’s alone with the pieces of a broken heart in her hands. She’s staying there wrapped in the darkness of the shadows he left, in the illusion of the past they’ve been through together. She can’t blank out his voice ringing in her head, the wonderful words he said when he left. He will never know how hard it is for her to get over it. No, he will never know he hurt her lovely and pure soul.

The winter is falling over her. Doubts kill her quietly and she can’t move. She’s frozen with all the pictures torn on the icy floor. She became what she didn’t want to be –the slave of her own memories, a rag doll in the hands of nobody. ‘Why? What happened to your soul, darling? When did you lose it? Why did you listen to him? Where is your passion for art left? He took everything from you. He took your love, all your memories, your life and even your art, the thing you always loved and now he’s gone. How could you let him do that to you, angel of broken wings? How?’

The moon is now on the clear sky. The trees in front of the studio are covered with snow. She remembered how happy she was when she was younger, she remembered Christmas, the presents, the family she had forgotten and her friends. ‘How could he change me so much’, she thought.
Then, she tried to get up and walk easily towards the window. She pulled out the curtains. The moonlight caressed her hair and her pale face. She began crying, but now she was crying of happiness. She was feeling at least free.
The canvas was still on the same place but even though she missed painting a lot, she didn’t do it. She looked through her studio window, sat in her armchair and admired the scenery. Finally, she fell asleep.