The freezing water hits your skin each and every single morning. Turbulence is injected into your blunt state of mind. The unease and pain make room for numbness as you cool down. You gasp for air as you point the water jet towards your body one last time. You are alive.

Remember. Rage. Infer.

Complain about the respect you are not getting from them. Make sure you scream out loud, and then prepare your argument; hope they crumble. They have been like this forever; you know they will not change. You can only wait. You cannot remove yourself yet. Do your homework. Replay the scenario in your head, figure out what happened. Make sure you cover everything. Play your game. Say what you feel. Will they understand? Be patient.

A heart of gold

Late at night, I always look for that corner. It is the one that makes my heart feel warm. It is the niche where I am always reminded I am not the only one who feels the way I feel. Have I found such home? Can there be one such abode? I hear back from so many people who love me … they inspire me to build everything by myself.

I try to savor the feeling, be it happiness or grief. I want my routine permeated by sentiments, because regardless of their nature, they make me feel alive. My strive for identity is showing results – I invariably smile when someone classifies me. Is it because I feel someone paid attention? Is it because no matter what they say, I will go my way? Is it both?

I see myself capable of all emotions, from agony to love. I faithfully and honestly express them … here. This is why I feel the place I am looking for is no other than this page. Here, I see myself as I was. Here, I see what I have become. Here, the process of being is time-dependent. Here, the process of being makes my soul feel warm.


A bottle of whiskey

And a new set of lies.

Time flies, and the distant past seems like yesterday. I have a lot on my plate, and I am desperately looking for some time to be myself. I paradoxically love what I am doing … but … sometimes, too much is too much. I am forced to abide, and work on.

Because I have so little time, I see myself putting feeling into everything I do – doing the dishes, walking home, or simulating some random thermodynamic process. I am slowly but surely mixing my emotions and my actions, because I am forced to; my life outside my studies is not getting the time, ergo, the attention it deserves. I do not know what the final outcome will be – but I can tell you that for now, I am loving the ride.

Getting so little sleep makes weeks turn into long, never-ending days. I was walking by the Hilton five minutes ago, with my father – no, wait, that was last Saturday. What have I accomplished in the interim? Could I have done more? Have I grokked everything yet? I am only an egg…

I am not letting the first woman back into my life. The second one left.  The third…there will not be a third one for now. Closing your eyes and moving forward is sometimes tricky. The perfect combination of fatigue, introspection and insanity is needed. I’ll do my best, baby.


The games we play

You spent a lot of time with yourself beforehand, constructing your argument and tempering yourself. You do not want to come too weak or too strong. You want your point to be clear and concise, but not cruel.  You want to be as impartial as you can be. You manage to be composed and polite.  You tell them what you think happened. You tell them what you plan on doing.

Then you see how far they go to cover up their dishonorable ways. They criticize you and throw new hypotheses at you. They make sure the world they create turns you away from what they did. They cling onto a trait of your character, and assert its faultiness. They claim something is wrong with you and only you, and everything is in your head. With a lump in their throat, they interrupt you when you speak your mind. You know they want this to end. You know it’s hard for them, and you know it is hurting them. You know they hope for deliverance. But they got themselves into this situation.

And then you smile and feel relieved, you feel better, because you spoke your mind. Your actions led to someone feeling bad. You know they are themselves responsible for what they did.

We all are.


You are in limbo because you are not in control. You need someone to tell you what to do. You can be that person, too.  You are a poor soul, and not more. You wait. You have no lust for life. You let inertia take over…but for how long?

For me, being in limbo is easier each time. I know myself now. I know when I am hurting. I know how to take care of myself.


A twist in the flavor

A mere drop of wine can conjure in me the feeling of being close to someone very dear.

I associate her being with the taste. Each twist in the flavor reminds me of something about her. I feel injected with the feeling of communion. Sharing the wine is a growing-closer. As is love.

I shift focus onto introspection. I open my doors of perception. I become a human being whose main ambition is to feel. I do not need anything else. I am able to find abyssal depth in my experience. I can spend hours exploring, contrasting, being.

Such experiences make life worthwhile. My soul has someone close-by, an intimate friend. All daily conundrums  are wide asunder. There is no fear.

There is only love.

Tilting at windmills

I have to become important again. It’s time I stopped taking care of others, to my own detriment. The circumstances are always against me. The one to blame for this whole thing is far, far away, and out of my life, for good. I’ve changed my world, and I can change myself even more by giving everyone around me as much freedom as I can. But the more I leave some of my own dear feelings in limbo, the worse I feel. Maybe I should slip away, and leave those feelings behind. Maybe I should learn to give myself the freedom I give others. Maybe it’s time I stop tilting at windmills, be they mine or others’. Maybe it’s time I take better care of myself.

It’s all about me.

Static pressure

And stop.

The passing of time makes distances grow larger. I sometimes think my homeland is too far away to reach, too far away for me to grasp. That land and its people have become a living dream, where everything comes to life when I decide to pay it a visit.

My friends seem to be nothing but ghosts. From a thousand kilometers away, I cannot verify their existence. I cannot see whether they are alive or dead. I sometimes feel I share my deepest emotions with images that vanish and then reappear into my life.

It is confusing, because the soul does not want this sort of change. The soul is intrinsically afraid of solitude. The soul wants to be around solid figures, monuments, because monuments will always be there when he needs them. The soul wants eternity, because it needs to be reassured it will be loved forever. Otherwise, the soul becomes afraid.

I am always afraid when I leave. I feel I will never go back. I feel I will be alone. My soul is afraid.



Part two of my Romanian adventure. And here we go:

No sleep, taxi, join, wait, train, loud pitzi, can’t sleep, tame the pitzi, photos from train, miss two buses because of silly cash machines, get there, full, pitch up the tent, two beers, sleep, wake up, cold, dress, see friends, give advice, laugh, eat cream cheese and salami, go back, do nothing, walk, drink, talk, 8 hours of sleep, wake up, play guitar, talk, eat, swim, get hard nipples, cut yourself, freeze, wash, share soap, get warm, sleep in tent, more pictures, talk, eat, talk, take pictures, meet another vlad, discuss awesomeness, share a beer, share schnaps, talk, try to sleep, no warmth, wake up, bags, walk, taxi, funny policeman, cold six hour train ride, home, wash, eat, bags, alina, adi, eat again, talk in the park, taxi, airport, exit row seat, sleep, Vienna.

Joie de vivre.


And sometimes your life goes a mile a minute.

Wine with pretty girl on Wednesday (kissed her, she didn’t slap me), bags, three hours of sleep, airport, check in, loud americans, awesome flight, vortex generators on wing, 100 pages, bus and tram, grandma, meatballs, taxi, minibus, hometown, other grandma, minibus, old friend, kebabs and eclairs, 1 liter of milk, old friends, 1 liter of beer, taxi, five hours of sleep, guitar, omelette, buy guitar picks, tea with friend, walking around with other friend, excellent pizza, bags for seaside, old friend, walk, kebab, taxi, pick up bags, go to other friend, beer…and no sleep for me tonight!

This was the recap of the first two days of my epic five-day Romanian escapade.

It’s three thirty in the morning, and I’m loving every femtosecond of my life. Here’s to you, my friends.