White-pink flowers

Graceful Living

2011-04-27T12:04:00.004+03:00

The things that made me are so dear.

The things that made me I want near.

The things I want, they run so deep.

And so I walk instead of sleep.

The things that made me are the sun

The parents, roofs and games of one

The games in twos and fives and tens

The games of childhood, games of dens.

The only things we'll have are here

The things we want when skies are clear

Are things we never wanna face

And keep our shields always in grace

Strange memories

2010-12-03T03:08:00.007+03:00

I couldn’t have been more than 6 years old. My grandmother and I were in the backyard on a cold autumn afternoon. It was foggy and our chained dog was enthusiastically wagging its tail around her arthritic leg joints as she dragged them into the garage. In the old dark room, smell of moist wood and dog hair, she fetched some large nails and a hammer. I followed her onto the patio where she nailed a piece of wood to something else, I can’t quite remember what. I was puzzled and amazed and asked her why she knew how to do that. “Men are the ones who do that. Where did you learn?” She had been divorced from my grandfather for a little less than 6 years. She smiled, walked away and as I was following her, she said, as if speaking to no one in particular - “Need teaches you”.

She always had a very lively nature and an innocent, almost unprovoked smile, like a child's, whenever she did mundane things. She’d sing as she was preparing our food and warming up the pigs’ winter broth. She’d cut up garden salad and mix it with mais flower for the ducks and change blankets on top of a box where a hen was hatching her eggs and my grandmother would sing in a low and prolongued voice. They were songs I never recognized, except for the Christmas carols I’d join in on. She’d talk to our animals and I’d love my time just following her around, like a 2 week old duckling.

You must know

2010-12-03T01:05:00.002+03:00

... how when you grow up people are always telling you that you’re weird for doing this and weird for doing that. You realize it and you tone it down. You watch others. You learn. You don’t wipe your nose with your sleeve. You don’t just get up from the table as soon as you’re done. You don’t hold the fork in your right hand. You definitely don’t listen to the vast majority of your natural instincts.

But when you grow up, people tend to stop telling you what not to do and start waiting for you to be unusual. Being regular is alright, but being special...

So I was pretty messed up considering all my life I’ve felt like the outsider.

Of course you go through phases and you visit some places where people appreciate your weirdness more than in others. And sometimes it’s absolutely splendid to showcase your weirdness. Take being kind. I don’t know if I had too many bible lessons or my grandmother was too much of a grandmother, but I remember often being the sucker who just wanted things to be fair. Fair to the bone, fair to the last drop, fair to the last rule of the game.

When I was about 8, I had a fight with the 2 other girls I would often play with after school. We had decided on game rules for chasing each other around and, as far as I can remember, they had broken those rules. I remember I took it so hard that I immediately left, went to the other side of the playground and started making little crosses. Little Jesus crosses, from small twigs and long grass files instead of string. Some minutes later, when the girls joined me, I lectured them, almost crying, gasping from despair and pure outrage. I remember speaking while looking at my hands as they were working and I can see it so clearly now how my eyes became watery and I had to stop. I just wanted them to understand that the principle had been violated. I was lecturing them in the most passionate of ways about the necessity of being fair. And then I handed each of them one of the crosses and I didn’t keep one for myself.

I don’t think I’m kind. Not in the way in which most people think kindness is meant. I don’t feel the need to help those who fuck up. I don’t want to work more for someone who didn’t do their job. And I don’t wanna forgive someone who drunk drove into a pole. Of course I’d help someone on a hospital bed, but not more than an average homo sapiens would.

When you see an old lady on the street, in such places as crowded and uncaring, nasty old Bucharest, and she’s begging or selling unspectacular flowers for close to nothing, you want to help. But it’s not kindness that makes you want to help her. Don’t flatter yourself, as I am not flattering myself. It’s a sense of fairness that drives us. If you think that’s kindness, you’re probably compensating for some other shitty thing you did that day.

Wednesday at 15:50

2010-09-29T16:43:00.003+03:00

I am leading the best of all possible lives that I can imagine. And I say this first and foremost because my imagination cannot comprehend the other possibilities.

But nonetheless, my windows have curtains, my walls remind me of old times and my floors are carpeted. My living is easy and my loved ones are close.

In the end I don't think I needed God because I was afraid. I need him because I don't know who else to be grateful to.

Picture This

2010-09-23T00:55:00.002+03:00

Eight rats are kept in a cage for 2 days with no food. On the third day of their imprisonment, the cage is placed on a table next to full plates of corn, bread, salami, chicken and whatever else rats eat. On the fourth day, the 8 rats are placed in a maze, from the exits of which food emanates a delicious scent. The rats race each other in the beginning. Later they choose different paths, in small groups or alone. They bounce back into each other as one discovers a dead end and another continues down a successful path. As they approach the exit, paths become narrower and tighter. The rats show little compassion for one another. They push and bite each other’s tails, dying to get there faster. A few have found the exit and the food. They feast and eat as much as their brain can conceive of as enough. And 5 minutes later it’s over. No more hunger, no more craving, no more wanting. No need for anything and no sense of purpose other than the realization of normalcy. The rat race ends.

A little purposeless you might think? We, humans, surely have better things to worry about. Food is a non-issue in Holland, is it not? That may be, but ambition and status are not and it’s fairly acceptable to assume they never will be. They’re urges, which emerge as genetically as we are social animals at the end of the day. Yes, the desire for more and better than the other guy’s are strong. They’re as basic as food in as far as their primary source is concerned. You’re born and then you want it.

Look, I’m not asking for a lot. I’m not asking for you to care about the endangered dolphin species, the Kibera slum kids in Nairobi and the diminishing source of petroleum. You can if you want to, but humanitarian thoughts are destined for the few. No one’s expecting you to be an individual worthy of a categorical imperative-type thought. Seriously, follow the rules you’re given if that is all that you can see. If they’ve been given to you, it’s clear that someone lived long enough by them so as to ensure survival.

But what I am asking is that you not be an asshole. However normal, natural and expected it may be to want to climb higher up a hierarchy, don’t make a zero-sum game out of a constructive process. Cheating on work, blaming others, lying for your image – when there is nothing at stake but a grade! What will you do when you’re handling millions, jobs and a reputation? It’s strange to think of your life as a rat race.

New Places - Same Stubborn Principles

2010-09-02T21:38:00.004+03:00

What is it about new places and new people that makes you want to hold your laptop in your lap, in the dark, in September, with the windows wide open? And listen to Oasis while praying that you can shed a tear or two. And that's exactly how much comes out.

Because if it came out you could stop it. If the tears came rushing out, you'd know it'd be like a storm after a dry dry season. Necessary. But when they don't, you can do no more than hold them on the tips of your eyes, right on the surface. They're just sitting there, eager to tease you. Then again, maybe you're teasing yourself.

It's a funny thing about new places. You finally get to see your reflection in others, new people who do not know your image. These are people who truly see only your surface and they judge. What's even worse, you judge. And you come to a strange conclusion - that against all reason and any form of instinctual survival, you might love ideas more than you love your own life.

Now this doesn't need to come as a surprise. A serious existentialist crisis, followed by a prompt and ferm health scare, does kind of induce that notion. But what really does it is when you realize that playing cards at 22 is no different than playing cards at 6. I still didn't care about winning or losing, but I was there to make sure the rules were respected. It's the principle that counts for me, you know? It does now and it did even before I knew what the word meant.

I don't know where this fetish for ideas comes from. Maybe it's subtly suggested to us earlier that since we can't trust people, we certainly can't trust the predictability of their behaviors and in this sea of uncertaintly, we must make decisions anyway. So we believe. In what? In pretty random notions to be honest.

About Loving Yourself

2009-07-12T19:47:00.004+03:00

Why are gypsies still exhibiting subculture behavior centuries after they stopped being slaves? And why are Romanians seen by others and by themselves as inferior?

In that multitude of factors used as an explanation, I'm going to explore just one. I believe people are comfortable feeling inferior.

Seriously. First of all, we all think in dichotomies - you're either inferior or superior to something. Romanians can't be superior to Germans, can they? They must be inferior.

Second, it's easier. It's much much easier to think of yourself as inferior. It's ridiculously easier. Because you don't have the responsibility of thinking about your next step. By saying "we Romanians are backward and it will take us 50 years to reach the West", we already know where we're going and what we have to do. Just get where they are. That means cleaner streets, less corruption, better education, more of a free market and the all-encompassing ever-present notion of "civilization". I'm not even gonna start on what a retarded self-inflicted eurocentric notion that is.

But in short, the way it goes is this. So some guys in Europe decided they wanted more than what they already had. And they did a lot of immoral and inhuman things and managed to get other lands. Nothing of which was unheard of. And like all conquering cultures, they created a system of beliefs under which it was all justified - eurocentrism. See 'the white man's burden', the forceful spread of Christianity and other such fallacies meant to make it all moral. Anyway, their success lies in the fact that they got others to believe in their intrinsic superiority too. Among which poor old confused Romanians, who will nowadays state blindly that their culture is shit by comparison, that their people are utter shit by comparison and the most delightful aspect of them all - they'll even use eurocentric notions when doing it! (read notions created by the West to express and explain their own superior nature) Yes, my friends, that is how much history has fucked with my people. Read history to which my people contributed, of course.

So ok, we're conditioned to think we're inferior and we like to do it, somewhere deep down. So who's to blame? That's the logical next question, right?

Not really. See, the logical answer to it is - blame ourselves, the Romanians, cause we suck. And there's that circular reasoning. We suck deeply because... ... because we suck deeply. Stop it! I know fallacies are not taught in Romanian education, but seriously, just stop it. If you're gonna say you want to get out of your current situation, then don't blame yourself as a first step (because of the aforementioned pointlessness of it).

But if you don't really want to change anything, cease in saying you do. If you're constantly criticizing those around you for not being "civilized", you, my friend, are full of it. If you took about the time it took me to write this post to actually think about what you're constantly preaching, you wouldn't use that word ever again.

A lot of people are content being non-Western. See the Italians - hell, they're as far from the Protestant ethic as you can get in this hemisphere. But you don't hear them denigrating each other for not being Dutch or German.

If you're gonna live in your own culture and enjoy the joys of it, might as well have the backbone to recognize some of its merits. If you're not gonna live in it, fine, leave. I did and I have very few regrets. But again, have the backbone to not denigrate it using seemingly self-explanatorial notions such as "uncivilized".

Word.

The Purpose of Goddamn Meaning

2009-07-08T11:15:00.001+03:00

I wonder if it’s the way we grow up, if it’s pure instinct or if its something else, but I’ve always had a certain fascination with married couples. The ones that get along. And have a family. And a house. And a life they built together. I mean people that depend on one another, that had the guts to rely on each other, on that one other person you share a life and a destiny with. Because you chose to. And because you have to after one point.

Most of my family is like that. Mostly because most of my family is poor. There’s that 10% that made it to vice-mayor and company executive. But the rest are factory workers. Used to be farmers, but then communism fucked all that up. And killed one of them. Cancer got the rest. And the ones left now are awesome people, who work in factories, keep a neat home, have children who grow to have settled, tranquil lives (if they haven’t immigrated to have a similar life in Italy). And they all share their destinies with someone. Who also becomes intricately woven into the tapestry of our family. Scary, huh?

Actually, come to think about it, I haven’t always been fascinated with this. It just feels like forever. That is ever since the couple that I was a part of broke up, I’ve felt I’m missing something, to become a fair member of that society I just described. Melodramatic, ain’t it?

In a funny way, I have the same fascination with belonging somewhere. An actual physical place with people who behave and think in a certain way. Being a product of such a community, of ONE community. That’s just adorable to me. I guess I’ve always longed for that somewhere. Funnier still is the fact that I never realized I longed for that until someone told me that I didn’t have it. Funny how that goes.

And don’t get me wrong, I do have roots. I’m just not attached to them anymore. And I mean those roots are wonderful, they’re family ties and friendship ties and happy memories and all that. But they’re not me right now. So in the constantly changing entity that is.. everything in the world, myself included, if you break that bond with roots and former identities, what is it exactly that you’re supposed to be? Some intrinsic gathering of features that develop randomly depending on where you are?

What a desolate bummer.

I guess many think of identity as… no, actually I have no idea what others think of identity as. If you’ve lived in one place, you clearly think you’re bound identity-wise to it. But what about the rest of you? Can you just come to terms with changing locations, people, cultures, ways of thinking that easily? Even worse, I knoooow that people are people everywhere and that it shouldn’t matter, but we’re a fucked up type of animal.

Really. Have you ever sat on a tram in the middle of the day, looking out at all sorts of weird constructions and looking back at the people in the tram and seeing just how sad, unhappy, pissed off or momentarily happy they are? Didn’t you think “what a fucked up species we are."? Building stuff that we think we want for like a second, then running after the next thing we think we want, overruling millennia of wisdom FROM OUR OWN RACE because we think pretty big windows are awesome and ‘fancy’. A concept we invented ourselves by the way and which mean “I’ll vaguely smile now and think nothing of it in about a month”. It’s pointless. And I swear I’m not saying all this because I’m a failed teenager or a soon-to-be-failed nihilist or whatever other stereotype people desperately try to inflict upon them so they can create an identity and feel that they belong to something. I’m not. I tried to ignore the daunting thought of “pointlessness” for about a year now. It just seems like the more time passes, the more people I meet, things I experiment, bla bla, the more goddamn pointless it all is.

So *puppy eyes*, tell me please, what is the purpose of meaning?

Desperate attempt at being meaningful

2009-04-26T13:51:00.000+03:00

Have you ever been confronted with a situation in which you are astounded by the seriousness of it all? Have you ever thought “Jesus, calm down, take it easy”. Basically a situation where you didn’t really understand why someone was taking something so much more seriously than you?

Ok, I’ll admit it, it was rhetorical. But still, have you ever wondered why it is exactly that some people take an organization for example more seriously than others? A basic human organization from, a committee, an NGO, a sorority, a fraternity, a company, a family… a community. Civic involvement. Lord, the amount of jokes cracked about that. Alright, so what makes people place so much value on an organization of people?

Why do we write election statements and try to find the raison-d’etre of a fucking sorority? It’s a bunch of girls being pretty and drinking rose. That’s all it is. I kid you not. Honest, there’s absolutely nothing more to it. But yet one would try to find meaning and place a high value of on it. And this seems to be happening all the time. “What make you happy and why?” – “I’m a lawyer, and it makes me happy to excel at it. But lawyers do have a true purpose, their purpose is to be better and smarter and more socially able to than their opponents”. No, you idiot. That’s an instrument. Your skills are instruments, middle-men between you, the person who lacks meaning in their own existence, and a goal you’re trying to reach.

My point is: why the are we trying to make instruments a purpose in themselves? Why not just call the end goal the roasted turkey and call a fork what it is: a piece of metal to cut it with. Handling the damn fork is not a purpose in itself, it’s a tool.

This is freaking why you have so many workaholics and gazillions of different types and forms of organizations taking their internal rules and procedures so seriously. Management is not a purpose in itself. It’s a motherfucking tool. Learn that. Management serves the purpose of the company. Management does not exist spontaneously and no one would ever think of it if they didn’t have an actual end that they needed to get to.

So my advice is stop trying to artificially find meaning in stuff that is unimportant! Figure out what is truly meaningful to you, have the guts to face yourself, instead of ignoring your cowardly ‘rationality’ in constructing a mental frame in which your profession is justified to be your life.

The Saddest Thing - For Non-Philosophy Majors

2008-11-19T22:11:00.004+03:00

The saddest thing I have ever realized (over and over and over) is that kindness will never be hip.

It will never be mainstream, it will never be free of charge. Even the word itself has a pompous connotation. Most importantly, the sheer act of making someone else happy, will never be enjoyed by more than a handful of people at the same time in one particular hemisphere. Not in the true sense anyway.
Ghandi stand-up comedy, movies and quotes may be enjoyed. Quotes mostly. I love the average university student quoting “be the change you want to see in the world” in every major presentation, paper and motivation letter. I love all the teachers and businessmen giving away just a few hours or just a few cents to “help the world become better”. I love all the vaguely comprehensive and powerfully positive words such as “better”. I mostly love all the people kidding themselves they are a friend.

Few care. And why would we. Really now, we’ve got all the skills to perfectly demonstrate that we do. Minimize effort, maximize outcome, right? We’ve got this awesome command of the international language of human rights, free speech, free economy, free thought, free enterprise and general ‘betterness’. And we’ve got the university degree to prove it.

It’s not even about us on our small campus in a small city of a small country of a small continent. It’s actually irrelevant where you look - national, international, small, huge, middle-sized communities – culture is mostly pointless in this matter. It’s not about whether you value symmetric suburbs or lose morals, it’s not about sanctifying naked actresses over devout conservatives, blatant corruption over covered corruption or rakia over wine. It’s that the vast majority of people value many wonderfully diverse feelings that never have anything to do with kindness. And how strongly people stand by those values.

You may call them sacred, you may call them normal. If you’re very bored, you may call them “cool”. And you simulate kindness and no one could ever possibly suspect you of even for a single second having a clear thought or even the slightest glimpse of an intention of doing harm. Not for one second, never. Few things could make a person sadder than seeing it in a friend.

Fewer things could make anyone happier than having been the cause of an honest smile.

But then, the less the former hurts, the less one enjoys the latter and the more cynically greedy and jealous you become.

I suppose the greatest thing I keep realizing in my life is that I’m enough of a social idiot to spend time thinking and talking and writing about this.

90 posts! - Romanian Chronicles

2008-07-19T00:20:00.002+03:00

So here I am. Fresh into my first month in the Romanian wilderness. Rather Southern and Transylvanian wildernesses. In any case, quite the trip.
However, I find myself completely unable to write about it. It's the kind of "too much has happened"-situation, where the effect in itself is enough to fill up any man's attention span for a week. Ok, a day. But it's still not bad.

Things I don't like about Romanians and have had a hard time adapting to in the first 2 weeks:
1. They don't look you straight in the eye when they speak to you. It makes you feel like you're part of the scenery and they're actually speaking to themselves. Seriously, not cool.

2. They get intimidated and will tell you so if you continuously look them in eye when in a conversation.

3. Will all invariably ask the same questions. Regardless of the accent, I will find myself having to say "No, I did not bring any pot back home. Because I want to go back there in two months. Yes, I've smoked it. Yes, you do feel different. Yes, I like it there. No, I don't have the time to fully explain what it is that I'm studying. Also won't explain what meeting I just had. Because it takes too fucking long."

4. Will again invariably end up asking "Si altfel ce mai faci?" or something of the sort, unless you are actual friends prior to the conversation. ("So how else are you?")

5. Again, unless friends prior to the conversation, will have one of the two reactions when hearing you study in Holland: "you - God. me - not worthy" or "I am completely ignoring the fact that we have nothing to talk about because we have nothing in common so I am going to ask 'Si altfel ce mai faci?' or something of the sort".

6. Too many girls wear excessive make-up, dress as if sex toys on heals and expect to be taken seriously.

7. Guys are completely comfortable staring at your breasts for a good couple of minutes. No, you may not ask them not to. Because it would in no way have a positive effect. Because it's like asking Dutch guys not to wear hair gel. Social faux-pas.

8. Many conversations end up in discussing attributes of cars owned by neighbours.

9. Meeting someone new in Transylvanian cities generally implies being ignored at least for the first 10 minutes. If you prove yourself worthy, you may perhaps be allowed to enter a terribly interesting conversation regarding the above-mentioned cars owned by neighbours.

10. Why do people refuse to look you in the eye for a full damn sentence?

Things I've missed about Romania:

1. Family.

2. Friends.

3. Being able to understand all the subtleties of the language spoken around you.

4. Some kinds of cheese.

... Yup, that's about it.

Hooray, I'm home!

Stop staring at me!

2008-06-24T04:40:00.007+03:00

Cred ca inteleg de ce nimeni nu a scris pana acum o carte majora despre diferentele dintre Romania si tarile vestice, o carte care sa surprinda aspecte din diferite domenii, de la psihologie la lingvistica si economie. Nu au facut-o fiindca e inutil.

Majoritatea studentilor romani plecati in afara isi pun intrebarile astea. Spun majoritatea fiindca nu toti au interese inter-culturale si nu toti sunt meditativi din fire. De fapt mai degraba spun "majoritatea" pentru a lasa o portita de scapare. Inca nu am intalnit nici un student roman plecat care sa nu fi ajuns la concluzii pe aceasta tema.

De ce ar fi inutila o asemenea carte deci?
Pai dupa o saptamana esti socat. Dupa o luna esti ceva mai putin socat. Dupa cateva luni incepi sa compari mai lucid. Dupa un semestru crezi ca reusesti sa compari chiar lucid. In curand incepi sa formulezi concluzii. Ajungi la anumite raspunsuri, dar apar noi intrebari. Raspunsurile se schimba in timp. Dar tot e bine ca ti-ai pus intrebarile in loc sa te intorci cu doar "bambina" si "ragazza" inserate in vocabular.
Dupa un semestru jumate intelegi "lumea vestica" foarte bine. O intelegi atat de bine incat realizezi ca nu poti generaliza in predictabilitate nici macar de la om la om, cu atat mai putin de la tara la tara invecinata, aproape deloc intre Italia si Anglia, chiar deloc intre Olanda si SUA. Si ce e cel mai tragic e ca totul se schimba.

Acum daca tot ai ajuns pana aici - ai gandit si rasgandit probleme, ai comparat, ai transat si-ai aplicat diferite perspective culturale - ar fi cea mai mare prostie sa scrii o carte pe care-o termini in "Nu exista nici o concluzie pe care o pot admite drept nici macar propria-mi sincera opinie."

Pe cuvant, uneori ma simt exact ca o maimuta in gradina zoologica. Stii ca existi, stii ca trebuie sa mananci, stii ca trebuie sa fii social pentru a te putea intr-un final reproduce, dar de ce se chiombesc astia la tine zilnic n-ai nici cea mai vaga idee.

A vinde pui sau a nu te vinde pe tine?

2008-06-11T15:59:00.004+03:00

Un articol pe hotnews.ro prezinta povestea lui Adrian Buzatu, un student roman de 25 de ani. Pana acum a vazut o buna particica din lume. A studiat si lucrat in Franta, Canada si Japonia cel putin. Mai era un loc, dar articolul a fost prea haotic in relatare. In orice caz, visul liceanului roman. In mod evident, a plecat sa studieze fizica, in urma participarii la (nu stim daca si a castigarii) olimpiadele nationale de fizica. Natural. Fiindca pentru liceenii romani doar fizica, matematica si cu indulgenta chimia au vreo relevanta adevarata. Doar ele pot masura picurii de scanteie de inteligenta pe care un student roman obisnuit o poate avea.
Nota - ironizez o mentalitate, nu o persoana. Ar fi trebuit sa fie evident, dar de dragul sus-numitei sclipiri am ajuns la un compromis.

Articolul perpetueaza o imagine a studentului roman plecat in afara pe cat de idolatrizata, pe atat de lipsita de relevanta pentru 90% din cititori.

Simt ca ar trebui sa insist asupra unor aspecte:
1. Olimpicii la sus-numitele fatidice trei materii de stiinta nu sunt singurii care au vreo sansa reala de a pleca din tara pentru studiu. Ei reprezinta o categorie admirabila, insa foarte restransa din totalul celor plecati.
2. De ce? Fiindca spre deosebire de Romania, alte tari prezinta sisteme educationala trecute de faza anilor '70. Inteligenta sociala conteaza. Ea pune totul in miscare. Sigur ca e important sa stii cum se creaza un cip de calculator sau cum se calculeaza integrala necesara determinarii unei traiectorii (Sofia, opreste-ma) a unei masini in testare. Insa e la fel de important sa iei sau sa influentezi decizia construirii masini in primul rand. Sau de angajare a cercetatorilor. Sau de punere pe piata a produsului. Sau de convingere a oricui in legatura cu orice decizie. De a gandi critic (dincolo de manualele incomprehensibile de a 11a pentru comunicare) si in ansamblu. Mereu vor exista oameni care lucreaza in detaliu si oameni care lucreaza pentru cei care aleg sa vada doar detaliile.

Bottom line: poti pleca si ai sanse mari sa o faci aplicand pentru programe variate, de la drept international la actorie.

3. Bursele nu se "ofera". Nimeni nu-ti va bate la usa cu un cec la Stanford fiindca "esti bun". N-o sa petreaca nici un profesor de la Haga nopti albe cautand prin foile tale matricole performante sclipitoare. Inteleg de ce romanul are mentalitatea pasiva. Decenii nu a fost legal sa o aiba activa. Insa haideti fratilor, a trecut ceva vreme. Daca iti doresti ceva, te ridici din scaunul comfortabil al ironiei si satirei la adresa nenorocirii de sistem romanesc si deschizi o pagina web (whoa!) cu adevarat utila. Cauta topul universitatilor din lume. Ia-le la rand si vezi ce-ti face cu ochiul. Apoi vezi care ofera bursa, daca ai nevoie. Apoi inchide pagina de web. Nu, nu, serios, inchide-o. Si deschide Word. Scrie un CV, o scrisoare de motivare si cere altora sa scrie una de recomandare. Pune in plic sau apasa "send" (mai nou se face se aplica online direct) si acum poti deschide Yahoo Messenger. In nici un caz nu sustin plecarea tuturor celor care pot, insa nici misticismul "stiudiului in afara" nu e tocmai benefic. Se poate. Si o decizie cu care poti trai e una luata in cunostinta de cauza.

4. In sfarsit, titlul postului. Adrian Buzatu a vandut pui dupa ore pentru a se intretine in timpul facultatii. A vandut pui, dom'le. Mai ca n-a lmaturat strazi. " Ce face nevoie din tine, vezi? D-aia nu plec io de unde mi-i bine. ".
As vrea sa condamn pe aceasta cale atitudinea sugerata mai sus. As dori de asemenea sa trag romanul mandru cu 3 euro in cont de pe tronul imaginar al "demnitatii" inspre realitatea capitalismului. Munca nu e o corvoada inutila sub demnitatea lui Nea Gica. Desi poate parea asa.

O amica plecata si ea la universitate in vestul Europei mi-a marturisit de curand blocajul mental pe care l-a intampinat atunci cand un prieten (fara nevoi financiare neintampinate) a invitat-o sa stranga pahare de plastic impreuna la un festival pentru cei cativa euro primiti in schimbul lor, banii revenindu-i ei. Blocaj mental major in care imaginile parintilor si prietenilor dezamagiti au aparut instantaneu.

Sa nu fiu acuzata de ipocrizie: Vineri l-am cunoscut pe CFO-ul Unilever. Sambata mi-am pus boneta de brood meisje pe cap si am taiat paine intr-o brutarie. Duminica am discutat din punct de vedere sociologic problema coruptiei si a pesimismului in Romania cu o profesoara din Amsterdam. Ieri am primit din nou felicitari pentru pozitia de presedinta a unei fundatii.

Lasati balta preconceptiile "demnitatii" voastre intre a manca seminte la televizor si a bea bere la pet intr-un apartament care sta sa cada prin Dristor si a munci temporar pentru bani putini, dar cu adevarat respectabili.

Romanian Culture

2008-05-23T15:07:00.005+03:00

As more and more fellow Romanians from our glorious capital have begun shouting, please allow me an attempt to answer the mind-boggling question "Why are Romanians unable to be Western?"

I do believe the question has an answer as simple as it is mostly foregone by the mathematical brains of my generation: culture. You see, whenever reaching this peak of wisdom, ordinary Ioan proceeds to either give up on the discussion in favor of Palinca (or Jack in some urban establishments) or commit the ultimate fallacy and bravely pointing a finger while screaming at the top of his lungs "You damn Pussy!".

Such an answer as 'culture' is for the weak, you see, for the unable. It is no match for the Romanian's brave spirit, capable of change, so vividly portrayed in expensive cars and crowded malls in overcrowded Bucharest. What a wearer of the typical D&G king-sized silver belt is not aware of however, is culture's tricky part. You may be fooled into believing that culture is that which we can observe, i.e. crappy communist apartments blessed with huge screen TV's and a Porche and a life-time of mortgage payments. But oh, perhaps you might think culture is that which can be seen as an honest farmer's (well rather a peasant's) torn conscience between the drinking spot and the church, as a basic order of life. But maybe also culture is in fact our Moldavian easter eggs, our Transylvanian spring ritual, our Southern... apparent economic prosperity. You may honestly agree that these are all cultural elements of Romanians.

If you do, then you will agree that culture in itself is nothing more than a collection of fun objects, delightful stories and non-western mind frames. Is this what is to keep Romanians from being Normal? From being Civilized? From being The Way That People Should Be? (well except for the very poor countries that we fiddle with on a regular basis. we still need to exploit them to keep capitalism going. shhh. shhh.)

My dear friends, as my experience and study has brought me here, this is my honest answer:

Culture may be seen as a collection of elements which may blend so nicely together, but one must not mistake the visible effects of a cultural mind frame with the essence. Yes, culture is fluid. Anyone past 30 can tell you that nowadays. But culture is not the expensive and traditional easter eggs on a table in a luxurious suite. In this case, culture was that mind frame which was reflected centuries ago in the patterns and shapes of the geometry on that egg. Culture is one's longing to be traditional in this superficial way.
As a conclusion to all of this, culture is more logically and productively seen as that what is beneath the effects.

Alright, nothing new here you may assume. Romanians - lazy, shallow and inconsistent. And something else. ... not paying attention.

Westerners may be modest and civilized. But these in themselves are not essence, they are effects. Historically, they were just as barbaric in their habits as the rest of the world, even more so than the Chinese and the Indian people throughout centuries. Many scholars bluntly state that Western-Europeans' and consequently North-Americans' 'civilized' ways were nothing more than a catch-up with the Orient's ways at first and then a means of distancing themselves from the 'barbaric' ways of the conquered. Furthermore, westerners splurged. They indulged themselves in all luxuries possible, they were beyond immoral in their colonialism and, to this day, racist. But indeed, they were something Romanians never were: aggressive, as a natural consequence of greed.

We have heard so many times that "Romania is lagging behind. 50 years, 100 years, 200 cultural years". This only implies that there is one Right way for culture to evolve. But culture in itself is nothing more than an accumulation of events, over time, many of them caused by circumstances.

So then, why are Westerners different now? Considering the cause-effect mind frame that is innate to all of us, we can only answer that in historical terms for as far as we can trace it. Westerners had their day of aggressiveness, accompanied by extremely favorable circumstances (gun powder, disease, immorality); they had their chance to splurge away and create a deeply-rooted euro-centric view of the world and now, for varied reasons, only a small fraction of which are WW2 and the 'Protestant Ethic' (Weber so as not to plagiarize even here), they have resorted to accumulating money as a means of social validity. Just as the Italians and Romanians show their social standing by displaying expensive cars, the 'true' Westerners that Romanians unknowingly idolize (Dutch, Belgian, English, Scandinavian) display relative modesty. That again is a consequence of Calvinism being imprinted into culture.

If we were to truly answer why one culture is different than another, we would have to go back to Africa and the separation of the first tribe. Then see how the environment and the events influenced their way of thinking. How exactly it is that the first tribe led to the nations we now observe is by no means pointless, but intrinsically unattainable.

My answer: attempt to understand one's own culture to the furthest degree possible. Go beyond communism, go beyond just one science, go beyond Romania in comparisons and leave no preconception untouched. Even if it seems impossible or pointless, even if you are to arrive at roughly your starting point, it is a journey worthwhile. In its absence, the guilt and self-loathing of not being Western will do everything but help.

Si pana la urma noi suntem fraierii care isi autoimpun euro-centrismul.

Latin spirit

2008-05-13T01:38:00.003+03:00

2 more days. Just 2 more. I can do it. I can make it. God damn, it feels like forever.
If you can't rant on your own blog, where can you?

In any case, lately I've been thinking quite a lot about the 'Eastern-European' label. It's not a fetish, rather I've been forced to. I don't know what it is about spring, but within a week I've been asked "how does it feel to be an Eastern-European?" three times.

And then it dawned on me! I've never in my entire life thought of myself or anyone that I knew as an Eastern-European. For some reason, that term was never employed when referring to Romanians inside Romania. Which is the most curious little thing. The Balkan countries are. Poland is. Even Hungary!
But no, Romanians are Latin. Yes, we are Latin people. We speak a Latin language expressed in a Slavic way and behave like Latin-Americans most of the time. Yes, we are Latin. Latinos even. Thus, of Western descent and innately superior to those crude and corrupt Slavs and plain strange Hungarians (huo, Mongolians!).

So then I turned to my few sources of Romanian happenings in Romania. Online newspapers, blogs and instant messaging with friends. And all I get back is this image of "man, this country SUCKS. I wish I could just magically leave it!". Everyone I know complains about it every time I speak to them. The traffic is horrendous, the police is retarded, the system is corrupt, education nothing more than a joke. I check back with memory - yup, quite consistent indeed.

So then.. how is it exactly that we are not Eastern Europeans? Why is it that we would rather identify ourselves as a nation referencing events that occurred over two millennia ago than with a culture that hits you in the face every single day?

I wanna

2008-04-14T23:23:00.006+03:00

For a few days...

I wanna lose my head.

I wanna forget I'm me.

I wanna forget I have deadlines.

I wanna forget I'm responsible.

I wanna not be considerate.

I wanna not write emails.

I wanna not worry.

I wanna not remember.

I wanna chill.

I wanna drink wine and eat home-made cheesecake.

I wanna only smoke shag.

I wanna only think about him.

I wanna look at the sky for hours.

I wanna go riding in the woods.

I wanna go jogging at sunset every day.

I wanna enjoy the campus ducks in the morning with a cup of coffee.

I wanna sit in the sun.

I wanna discard everything.

I wanna be completely happy.

Pun Intended

2008-04-02T18:26:00.001+03:00

"The N Word" takes on a whole new meaning in Germany. Sec.

O sa mor singura?

2008-03-30T00:17:00.004+03:00

E o intrebare in mintea tuturor la un anumit moment, respectiv in anumite momente, depinzand de nesiguranta fiecaruia, dar totusi este de neignorat: Ce ne face atractivi?

Ce face o femeie frumoasa?
Ce face un barbat atragator?
Cum ies in evidenta?
Imi afisez bucle mari si rebele sau imi dovedesc rafinamentul prin par intins?
Arat incredere in mine prin tocuri inalte si elegante sau Converse si un tricou misto?
Ar trebui sa fac din prima contact vizual prelungit? O sa ma creada doritoare si disperata sau interesata si sigura pe mine?
Nu vreau sa par rigida, dar nici sa fac primul pas. Desi primul pas poate fi sexy. Si daca nu zambesc cand imi zambeste? Ar trebui sa zambesc mai mult. Oare zambesc prea mult?

Nu poti gasi nicaieri reteta pentru cel cu care te vei potrivi. O strategie este sa determini ceea ce iti doresti, sa anticipezi ce si-ar dori un asemenea om si sa te comporti ca atare.

Un exemplu: Imi doresc sa fie increzator in sine, ambitios, cu respect pentru femei, dar nu protector. Imi doresc sa ii pot cere ajutorul, dar nu vreau sa mi-l ofere fara sa i-l cer. Nu vreau sa considere femeile menite pentru a fi ingrijite si protejate si nu vreau sa se astepte sa nu mai ies in oras cu prietenii mei de sex masculin. Imi doresc sa se bucure cu toata inima de compromisurile pe care le fac pentru el, dar sa nu mi le ceara. Vreau sa ajunga sa ma cunoasca indeajuns de bine incat sa imi poata face o supriza de care sa ma bucur si vreau sa ajunga sa se deschida in fata mea.

Pe o reteta de tipul asta, poti anticipa ce anume nu ti-ai dori: Sa nu ma strige 'pisi' sau 'papusa'. Sa nu ma alinte in public. Sa nu ma trateze ca pe un copil nestiutor si incapabil. Sa nu se comporte arogant cand suntem in masina lui noua. Sa nu se ofere sa ma duca la cina pentru ca apoi sa pretinda ca ii datorez ceva. Sa nu simta nevoia saruturilor sau atingerilor cand iesim cu prieteni pentru a-i face sa se simta prost. Sa nu aiba un zambet superior si tamp cand ii spun opinia mea despre evolutia euro-centrismului si sa nu rada cu pofta cand ii recunosc ambitiile mele. Sa nu cumva sa ma intrebe de ce lumea mai citeste inca.

In consecinta, pentru a-l atrage, nu ma voi imbraca la ceai ca si cum as merge la o petrecere trance. Nu voi purta fuste roz si stramte, nu ma voi machia excesiv, nu voi vorbi strident, nu ma voi pisici si nu imi voi limita discutiile la show-uri TV.

Toate bune si logice. Suna bine. E un plan rezonabil. S-ar zice. Dar e un mic semn de intrebare in legatura cu primul pas din ecuatie: poti baga mana in foc ca asta e ceea ce iti doresti?
Poti spune cu siguranta ca o atitudine protectoare, izvorata din sentimente puternice, nu ti se va parea dulce la un moment dat? De asemenea, daca ambitia si succesul lui, in timp, nu mai lasa loc apropierii dintre voi? Daca gasesti omul perfect, barbatul cu care te potrivesti, fara nici o indoiala, cel cu care te vezi atat pe munte la vara, cat si la nunta peste 5 ani... si apoi il cunosti pe El?

Sincer vorbind, cu riscul de a va strica urmatoarea intalnire si a va deprima, noi habar nu avem ce ne dorim 'cu adevarat'. Fiindca nu exista dorinte supreme, care sa ne exprime intreaga fire, intregul caracter. Chiar si acesta e in continua schimbare. Iar perceptia noastra nu e decat o imagine distorsionata, vazuta prin sticla colorata si neuniforma a variabilei .
A gasi persoana potrivita pentru tine, in haosul probabilitatilor dinamice, e nu doar greu de crezut, dar profund ingreunat si de importanta colosala pe care o dam detaliilor si impresiilor. As zice primei impresii, dar nu indraznesc.
In contextul asta, notiunea de 'suflet pereche' pare de-a dreptul ridicola. Si totusi, in cel mai determinist univers, o potrivire de tip barbat-femeie, sot-sotie, prieten-prietena, iubit-iubita -si toate in acelasi timp - ce altceva poate fi decat dovada existentei sacrului (Dumnezeu, Destin, Design Inteligent, dupa gust).
Reality check: asa ceva nu se intampla niciodata. Relatiile fericite sunt cele la care se lucreaza si la care se depune efort. Se limiteaza voluntar optiunile individuale si se accepta defectele. Asta le face mai valoroase in ochii mei.

Nu stiu daca o sa mor singura sau nu. Depinde. Cine stie daca imi voi dori sau nu.

Exercise for the mind

2008-03-17T18:28:00.006+03:00

I think we all know that we're small. We all know we're petty and insignificant. We know that we know nothing, that we will never in our short, normal lives be able to grasp anything that holds true value. No matter how gullible we play, I believe that we all know our lives will not mean anything. Not truly. It is my strong conviction that we are perfectly aware from the day we are born that we will not change the course of the universe, but rather that we are meant to simply integrate into the course of it.

Of course, we've trained ourselves to ignore all of this.
The fact of the matter is, in order for us to do all the meaningless shit we do every single day, we have to be deeply self-deluded into thinking that it matters. This might just be the most emo-sounding, apparent Fight Club-plagiarism I have ever written. And indeed, it is beyond words to explain how deeply I understand the phrase "It does not matter".

Our delusion at time peaks. It peaks in attempting to 'leave something behind', something that inconceivably will last through time and will make a difference to the world. Such a narrow definition for such a powerful word.
Ahh, art. The fantasy. Art is to the world what to me is the exact particular shape of the leaf cut by the red ant on the shore of the Amazon at point 10,453 km, on a rainy autumn's day in May, at 3:45 and 52 seconds. I do not know and I do not care. I don't give a shit. And you don't either.

The importance of absolutely everything is equal to zero.

None.

Nule.

No-thing. Nothing. Take a note of that. NO - THING. Vain.

And yet. What can be more beautiful in the world for the human mind to grasp than... the futility of its efforts. As we've had the misfortune of wondering, tell me then. What can bring more peace to a soul than intuiting and accepting nothingness.

What can be more serene and valuable than a death with meaning?

A meaning that you yourself can grasp. A meaning that does not arise from thought-up make-belief premises that bare no proof, no test, no evidence and no honest or true conviction from anyone. But a meaning that is as evident as water is to fish; in need of no advocate or reason, aided by no priest or madman, forced upon no creature. It is the meaning which can bare no name. It is personal to the extent that expressing it is describing the color red.
It is despair beyond recovery and, at the same time, hope without a taint of blood.

It is in each of us, should we care to wipe the dust of social and moral righteousness off the humble chest of simple truths.

It is not an end, nor a beginning. It just is.

De ce unii cred ca sunt masochista

2008-03-11T02:05:00.005+03:00

... sau de ce eu ma bucur ca am trecut prin experienta nefericita a scolii romanesti si mi-au fost varate in cap atatea lucruri inutile.

Unde am crescut eu era expresia repetata obsesiv de profesori ca justificare era 'sa poti purta o conversatie inteligenta cand o sa ai ocazia'. Problema e ca discutiile pe teme de cultura generala, din experienta mea in Romania, fie se intampla la cateva beri pe o terasa si de obicei lipseste vreo structura sau vreun 'point' care sa fie urmarit pentru mai mult de cateva fraze, derivand eventual in filozofie, fie sunt cu un profesor foarte pasionat de materia lui care in mod ciudat ti-e si simpatic, dar fara sa aiba vreo finalitate practica.

Personal savurez la maxim o discutie si in special o gluma care se bazeaza pe cultura ta anterioara, de tipul "I'm trying to play a battle game online, but opponent isn't responding." - "Is he Swiss?"

Insa eu am avut dificultati in a le gasi in abundenta pe meleagurile noastre. Departe de mine ideea ca nu ar fi cu cine. Nu simt nevoia sa dezvolt aici. In schimb cred ca nu exista cultura acestora propriu-zisa. Sunt fie asociate cu scoala, si deci 'naspa', fie sunt intr-adevar legate de domenii specifice (glume intre doctori, intre manageri, intre advertisers etc.)

In primul rand, cultura generala e mereu asociata cu sentimente de genul celor descrise aici, de fortare la scoala si implicit de inutilitate. Daca e sa porti o discutie pe teme intelectuale de obicei te mandresti cu faptul ca nu le-ai invatat de la profi (ci pe Discovery sau in carti 'marfa rau, pe care evident ca nu le avem la scoala'), si o faci in modul cel mai informal posibil tocmai pentru a-ti sublinia opozitia fata de tot ce e academic si deci tocit.
Al doilea motiv e fiindca lipseste aproape cu desavarsire clasa sociala care isi permite la 20 de ani sa stea in puf material in timp ce vorbeste despre Locke si Machiavelli la un cocktail dupa o prelegere la facultate. Calitatii invatamantului i se adauga 'inutilitatea generala' din opinia studentului, astfel incat o discutie de 2 ore dupa un curs, pe tema respectivului cursului e rara. Mai mult, cu greu gasesti o persoana motivata si in acelasi timp instarita (si deci care nu are griji mai mari decat 'filozofeli') la 20 de ani, cu o mentalitate care sa-i permita bucuria unei astfel de discutii (vezi marea clasa a nouveau-riches de dupa revolutie, a caror ascensiune nu are nimic in comun cu educatia sau cultura). Si daca prin noroc gasesti un asemenea specimen, da-i o companie pe masura...

Random fact of the day

2008-03-09T23:13:00.002+03:00

Suicide is a criminal offense in many legislative frameworks across the world. The reason behind this is often deemed to be paternalism, meaning that it's the state's way of protecting you from yourself. By discouraging you. From killing yourself.

You should be discouraged by a law stating that if you fail to kill yourself, you go to jail.

I don't know about you, but I would look for an extra-tall building just to extra-'stick it to the man'.

Ce te costa?

2008-03-07T19:33:00.003+03:00

O educatie in Olanda - 1500 de euro in tuition fees + variabil in living expenses.
Admiterea la o universitate din Olanda - milioane de neuroni morti de stres.
Adaptarea la un nou mediu academic - nopti de munca asidua.
Adaptarea la un nou mediu social - nemaiintelegerea unor glume de acasa.
Abonament telefonic avantajos - 10 euro.
Bilet de autobuz - 1.70 euro.
Auzirea melodiei Parazitilor (zi pu-lala. zi pu-lalalalalalala) in mijlocul campusului intr-o vineri dupa-masa fara oripilare publica generala - priceless.

1 Martie pe alte meleaguri

2008-03-01T22:24:00.009+03:00

Nu cred ca mai e nevoie sa zic cat de importante devin dintr-o data toate chestiile pur romanesti care nu te interesau prea mult odata ce ajungi pe alte meleaguri. E un cliseu, e normalitate, e o palma subtila data de cunostinte care rad cand le spui.
Azi-noapte pe la 12 primesc un mesaj pe Facebook care ma invita la un brunch doar al romanilor Sambata dimineata la 11. Yay! Macar o sa simt un strop de 'romanism' de 1 Martie. Si inca dimineata! Ma culc fericita si asistata de cele doua pahare de vin rose de la bar.

Ma trezesc la 10 dimineata ca o curajoasa ce ma aflu si purced spre cantina. Ma lovesc de un vant demn de Marea Nordului. Imi zboara palaria, ma impiedic de o piatra si imi lacrimeaza ochii de parca as fi venit de la inmormantare. Ajung, imping usile grele si ma reped la baie sa imi revin.
La 11:05 nu era nimeni in fata cantinei. La 11:15 incepusem sa ma deprim uitandu-ma la cum zboara pungi si biciclete pe afara. Urasc sa astept. Nu, chiar urasc sa astept. Urasc sa astept dimineata. Urasc sa astept dimineata cand sunt invitata de altcineva. URASC sa astept de 1 Martie.
La 11:20 vad venind un roman din cei 11 asteptati.
"Neata, Ioana."
"Buna. Ce facem?"
"Intram?"
"Mda..."
"Ah, la multi ani."
"Mersi."
"Astia nu au martisoare."
"Da. ... Stiu."

La 11:40 mai apare o romanca. Ne imparte cate un snur de martisor si bem o cafea fara cofeina. La 12 fara 5 vin bulgaroaicele. Ma imbratiseaza una dintre ele si imi leaga o sfoara de martisor (ca ale noastre, doar mai groase) de mana si imi spune ca acum imi leaga fericirea si norocul.

Fast forward 5 ore, ma aflu la o cafea adevarata cu o prietena olandeza foarte interesata de traditiile noastre 'pagane' si de asemenea incantata de minunatia de hornar de plastic bagat frumos intr-o casuta alba, cu sforicele albe si rosii plutind inauntru. Discutam despre sistemul de invatamant olandez, despre a vizita Bruxelles, despre cafea si despre ONG-uri.
Ce placut.

Povestea asta nu are nici o morala. There is no actual point that you missed. E doar o pagina de jurnal pentru prieteni si pentru cei interesati de cum arata o zi de Martisor departe de tara Martisorului.
Ma apuc sa recitesc Huliganii.

Edit: Feel free to leave an impression.

La ordinea zilei

2008-02-22T22:05:00.004+03:00

Este un grup pe facebook cu o lista de cerinte pe care le indeplinesti cand studiezi la UCU. Una dintre ele suna asa: "You know you're studying at UC when... you never realized there are so many people smarter than you". Urmatoarea cerinta spune "You know you're studying at UC when... you never realized there are so many people dumber than you". Ultima mi s-a confirmat azi.

Eram la cursul de drept si discutam cazul The Crown vs. Dudley and Stevenson. In acest caz cei doi il mancasera pe un al treilea cetatean al Imperiului Britanic, in timp ce erau pe o pluta in mijlocul oceanului, fiind infometati. In mijlocul discutiei o domnisoara draguta, de felul ei, ridica mana in mijlocul sedintei si spune consternata "But who's to say that Dudley's and Stevenson's lives are more important than the Crown's?". Te provoc, raspunde intrebarii.

In alta ordine de idei, s-a intamplat incredibilul azi. La pranz, la masa internationala, doua romance converseaza cu lumea. La un moment dat incep sa vorbeasca una cu alta. Dupa cateva minute de discutie se intorc amandoua spre bulgaroaicele de la masa si realizeaza ca vorbisera una cu alta in engleza timp de cateva minute bune fara sa isi dea seama ca impart mai mult de o limba comuna.

Gotta love foreign schooling. If I won't be able to speak proper Romanian in the summer, I'm suing them.

Multiculturalism

2008-02-21T16:55:00.005+03:00

Intr-un final glorios am dat de un articol in presa romaneasca care sa prezinte o bucatica de realitate. Realitate, acel concept greu de prins din blocurile galagioase si murdare din sud, in aceeasi masura ca din masini luxoase cu soferi badarani. In fine, o gura de aer curat. Nu mi se pare real, dupa cati bucuresteni au incercat sa ma convinga de cat de oprimata eram atunci cand locuiam in Ardeal. E greu de explicat cum aproape orice ardelean rade spontan la afirmatia "Te simti oprimat in comunitatea ta?". E o stare de fapt pe care o accepta oricine se naste intr-o societate cu mai mult de doua etnii.

Parerile tarancelor din articol sunt poate cea mai relevanta parte. E ca si cum mi-as fi auzit toate rudele vorbind, de la bunica din zona sasilor la matusi din zona ungurilor la fini din Cluj. Hai sa fim seriosi.

Quote:
“Dar cine sint eu?”, se intreaba Zsoldos Gyorgy, ”parintii mei or fost unul german, unul maghiar si bunica romanca. Eu ce-s? Al cui sint? Ca daca vor sa se separe unii de altii, eu unde ma duc? In sat sint patru biserici: romana, catolica, reformata si capela pentru martori. Ce facem? Daca vreau sa aprind lumanari pentru stramosi trebuie sa trec pe la toate bisericile! "

Nu exista romani, unguri sau sasi in Ardeal decat dupa limba si uneori(!) cultura. O voi cita pe matusa mea de la Dej cu ceea ce mi-a spus dupa un ras copios la intrebarea mea "Noi suntem romani de-a binelea?". Mi-a raspuns "Ioana, nu sint romani pe-aici. Tata lumea-i corcita. "

Cum as putea sa-i urasc pe unguri?
Sa fim seriosi, neintelegeri intre oameni vor exista intotdeauna indiferent de etnia lor. In cel mai rau caz poate fi folosita drept scuza, dar niciodata drept motiv. In plus, pretextele politice nu merg la tara.

Insight into a Friday night

2008-02-16T14:52:00.007+03:00

Aseara, la o petrecere pe jumatate goala, in campus, ma intalnesc cu un tip pe care n-as fi crezut sa-l vad band vodca vreodata. Am avut doua cursuri cu el pana acum si intotdeauna, fara exceptie, vine la ora pregatit, cu mapa si cu notitele la zi, cu articolele citite, chit ca e 8 dimineata (ora considerata devreme pentru rasfatatii de noi de la UC). Oricum, il vad venind spre mine zambitor si imi cere un foc. Se cuvine sa schimbam cateva vorbe, mai ales la cat de bine se simtea. Daca e un sacrilegiu in campus, e acela de a strica buna dispozitie cuiva intr-o vineri seara. Asadar, purced spre a-l intreba zambind:
- You smoke?!
- No, just pot and at parties.
- What?
- Pot!
- Oh, ok.
- And at parties!
- You know, I don't see you at parties that much.
- Nah, I enjoy chilling with friends more. (in traducere directa, prefera sa fumeze iarba cu prietenii pe canapele in sufragerie decat sa mearga la petreceri)
- Yeah, I know what you mean.
- Do you wanna smoke up? (pentru neinitiati, to smoke up = a fuma iarba)
- Thanks, I don't smoke pot.
- Oh, okay.
- I need another drink, spun eu cu intentia de a explica motivul pentru care ma indepartez.
- Me too actually, spune venind si el spre bar. (Vorba vine - bar - e masa cu multa multa bautura si in jurul careia se formeaza o balta de alcool in jurul orei 2 a.m. Dar noua ne place sa dam denumiri pompoase - e o chestie UC. Spre exemplu, pentru petrecerea de vinerea viitoare, intitulata Eeastern European Party, ne-am adunat organizatorii sa discutam situatia alcoolului, asa ca intalnirea a fost marcata printr-un sms prin care se anunta Eastern European Party Alcohol Committee Meeting Friday at 7 p.m. Mai ca oricine s-ar prezenta, nu? Revenind...)
- I wouldn't have thought you smoked anything, to be honest.
- Really? Why's that?
- I don't know, you seem so organized, I presumed you don't like losing control.
- Well, if something makes you feel good, just do it. Don't think about it too much. If you like it, it's good for you. (Eu fac ochii cat cepele. E ca si cum as fi auzit ca nimeni n-a gandit de fapt nici un program de sofware, ci totul s-a intamplat cand un cimpanzeu a fost lasat intr-o camera cu o tastatura. )
- But, you know, smoking does kill you. Zambeste, se uita la mine fix si fara a lua vreo pauza de gandire zice :
- Life kills you.

Politically Correct O laie

2008-02-11T23:17:00.000+03:00

Revin la pasiunea mea pentru vocabular si legatura cu valorile culturale.
Sa mai zici ca romanii nu sunt "rasisti".

Jidan - termen peiorativ pentru 'evreu'.
Jidanie - termen peiorativ pentru 'animal'. Daca ar fi sa incep sa explic problema acestei similitudini probabil as purcede spre a spune ca, in ciuda posibilitatii existentei unei coincidente, inclin spre neincredere in afirmatia anterioara si concluzionez prin afirmatia : sa fim seriosi. Cuvantul implica scarba.

Halal - termen ce desemneaza ceea ce e permis in Islam. Foarte des e folosit pentru a identifica mancarurile acceptabile.
Halal (in romana) - pentru a cita inca un clasic - "Tu-ti dai seama ca inseamna rahat?"
Exemplificare: Halal cina, a fost naspa.

Dar ce bine stam noi la nivel european :)).

Good perfume comes in small bottles

2008-02-07T01:56:00.001+03:00

Why is it that every time I try to write about a certain place, I end up focusing on why Romania is, well, nothing like that certain place?
I recently saw Sex, Drugs and Democracy. Just like good perfumes, Dutch values are as subtle as they are pleasant. Not violent. Not loud. They don't shout to be heard.
I've been meaning to write about my admiration for this country for quite some time, but I was waiting for the right time and the right pretext. I have yet to find the right words.

It's really quite difficult to explain how living in such a liberal, yet extremely organized environment changes your perception. I have never been a homophobe, I've always stood against discrimination and all of it mainly in theory. See, in Romania it's easy to say you abide by all those politically correct statements like "We should all have the same opportunities". But you are not really doing that. This is not to say you are doing the opposite, but the specific culture and the standard of fixed normality forces unconscious acceptance of double standards, hypocrisy, discrimination, evading the truth and postponing action. It might sound a bit harsh, but I reserve the right to criticize the country dearest to me.

When I went back on winter break I found myself in a bit of a puzzle. Should I laugh at jokes about women? They've never offended me before. I knew I could learn how to change a tire and drive a car sensibly. Should I go on saying "it's their own damn fault" about gypsies? After all, it is the way in which everyone around me thought. What about prostitutes and women in short skirts relying on sugar daddies? What the fuck about blatant corruption?
All of a sudden, free from exams and intense "I miss my home!!" feelings, question started coming at me out of nowhere. I'd never asked them before. I couldn't believe that either.

Aah, but the beginning. I can still remember it crystal clear. January, Bucharest, snowy, warm and scented rooms. Soft music in the background, lounging on sofas, drinking cocktails and talking to newly introduced people. Very relaxing. Ultimately comfortable. And then he says "It's okay that you don't know much about cell phones. You're a girl."

Why was I shocked by something like that? It's a pretty acceptable remark for a chilled party in Bucharest, especially as it was meant as a joke.
A year ago that would have been borderline between normal and a challenge. You know, it's quite easy to be extraordinary in Romania, don't you think? You've so many stereotypes to defy. An intelligent and witty young woman in Bucharest finds a strong contrast pretty much everywhere, from bimbo secretaries in her office to gypsy flower girls to idle housewives. So why shouldn't there be a stereotype? It's that much more fun to break it.

But in that moment, holding a glass of Bailey's and hearing something of the likes of which I had not heard in months, it wasn't fun anymore. At all. It was actually very dry.

Funnily, I did not have such a culture shock coming here as I did going back. Holland just kind of sneaks up on you. You don't notice it because it's not brutal. You're not forced to do anything and nothing is forced on you. The actual freedom is what I found to be confusing. You are in most ways free to do whatever you want about your present and your future. If you want them, you can find opportunities. Black men, white men, colored, chinese, mexican, indian, moroccan. It's all good. Pot is not a tabu. As bullshit as that sounds, it actually, for the life of me, isn't. I could go on for a while. But the paradise isn't for free.
More is expected of you, very true. Much more. No more hiding behind stereotypes, no more falling back on general intellectual idleness, no more shrugging off a disagreement, no more lack of responsibility for opinions. It's the real deal. I do agree with those who say that an overly authoritarian state turns responsible citizens into children. A whole lot of Romanians are kids at heart. Sure, it's sounds cool and makes for good poetry and a spicy, absurd, sarcastic and absolutely delicious sense of humor, but... no. Just no.

Romania, I love you, baby, but this isn't working out. You need to stop being so needy. Get off your ass and stop being such a baby about it.

(For me all of this coincided with the end of my adolescence and starting school at a pretty awesome university. Interferences with that may be observed.)

66th post!

2008-02-05T22:41:00.000+03:00

Some celebrate their first, some the 100th, some the end. I celebrate an interesting number :)
Si din seria "sunt intr-o dispozitie prea buna pentru lumea in care traiesc" vine urmatorul link si cititul pentru drept maine. Enjoy!

Perle de UC

2008-02-02T21:27:00.000+03:00

In acest rai al vorbirii in romana fara ca cei din jur sa ne inteleaga, ne petreceam noi doua o dupa-masa studiind la olandeza cu un american. Din motive bine intemeiate, o intreb despre acest domn in timp ce el s-a ridicat sa-si ia apa:
- Auzi, tipul e gay?
- Poate. E posibil.
- Dar a sunat asa de homofob.
- Da, stiu.
- Poate e genul care.. uh. nu a iesit inca din closet.

Ghost of feelings past

2008-01-26T17:59:00.000+03:00

I'm leaving tomorrow. Again. Few things remind me of my last departure. No deja-vu. So, earlier today I was looking at old posts and came across this draft that never got published, marked September 11th 2007. My early impressions. Many things have changed since then, too.

"That's strange. It seems like the logical outcome, yet it's still amazing. I just didn't see it coming. What do you think it's like when cultural differences come down to very hidden personal things or, at best (or worst), stereotypes come true. When you meet someone from Uganda and swear they're American. And someone from Santa Monica and swear they're from the deepest jungles of Africa? And when you ultimately realise that your own nationality, culture and habits don't matter that much. That even your life goals are mostly common to everyone around you? When skin colour is no longer a matter of 'wow, this conversation should be interesting'. The differences aren't actually emphasized here. They're diminished. We now share a common language. We obey the same rules. We look up to the same people and party in the same place and eventually the same way. Our lives are almost identical regarding events, life conditions, schedules and activities. What do you call it when you find yourself holding the door for a guy? Stunned. What do you call it when you don't find it normal for a guy to hold the door for you? A new beginning."

Too sad

2008-01-21T00:14:00.000+03:00

I really feel like crying. Is this really all it adds up to in the end?

Photo source: http://www.cartieriancului.go.ro/

Ce capsuna mea!

2008-01-20T12:08:00.000+03:00

Azi mi-am indreptat atentia involuntar spre un videoclip difuzat la TV. E vorba de Loredana-Made in Romanie.

Am avut un mini-soc din care mi-am revenit in 5 secunde. Dupa ce-am asimilat, am trecut la incercare de intelegere, dar m-am lovit de-o perdeluta viu colorata. Inca incerc sa imi dau seama care e intentia si scopul melodiei.

Sa fie un efort de a da sens cuvantului "roman", incluzand, pe buna dreptate, in intelesul cuvantului diversitatea caracteristica tarii, dar punand totusi accent pe valori caracteristice doar acelor membri mai putin demni de admiratie? Deci sa fi fost 'pe bune'? Scop onorabil? Nu-l gasesc.
Sa fie o intentie de satirizare a acestor valori printr-o generalizare? Cu ce intentie? Difuzat la ProTv, ziua in amiaza mare, cu siguranta va pricepe Badea Vasile subtilitatea intentiei. Mai degraba i-a vini sa ias-ashe pan-afar', sa-i futa una tiganului de nu s-a videa.
A treia si ultima ipoteza, cea a unei incercari disperate de a-si largi publicul? (Incercare disperata sau nu, a functionat pentru alde Adria si Unirea in reclamele lor.) Ce s-o fi gandit? Suntem romani, nu putem canta manele. Am cantat populare in trecut, ce dracu. Si totusi, atata potential! In consecinta, observam un comportament de tipul -Hai sa ne imbracam noi, albi ca varu', in haine de tigani si sa dam putin din piept, zambim larg si tamp, miscam funduletul, ne poleim dintii cu aur pentru cateva ore si pretindem ca reprezentam autenticitatea rroma.

Care sa fie raspunsul?

Sa analizam versurile; muzica nu e de ajutor fiind un hibrid nereusit.
Melodia incepe relativ onorabil cu urmatoarele:
"ce misto ar fi pe bune
sa fim respectati in lume
esti roman in romania
dar tigan in italia
eurodemocratiaaaaaa
nu'i chiar asa"
O dorinta de inteles. Probabil daca as pleca in Italia si m-as lovi de prejudecati nerezonabile mi-as dori acelasi lucru.
Dar apoi vine explicatia, cantata intr-o veselie:
"ali-iali breee am plecat sa fac un ban,ban
dar mau expulzat inapoi la saraiman-man
capsunele,capsunele am cules un an-an
si-am cules si protofele
sa mai fac un ban-ban"
Si totusi, arzatoarea oftica persista:
"cand se aduna tot romanu'
nu-l imprasti nici cu tunu'
si mai vine si tiganu'
se oftica europeanu'"

Mi-as dori sa pot cita un clasic (daca tot o dam pe clisee): Acu' si cu p***-n c**, si cu sufletu-n rai?!

Sigur ca nu am o perspectiva nepartinitoare. Sigur ca n-am habar despre ce se cere si ce se plateste in muzica si televiziunea romaneasca in ultimul timp. Cu siguranta sunt mai putin informata despre potentialul financiar stors de la capsunari (Impotriva carora chiar nu am sentimente negative. E onorabil sa muncesti orice, cat timp o faci corect). E o certitudine - eu nu va trebui sa ascult melodia asta prin taxiuri si in pauzele publicitare. Nici nu vreau sa stric bucuria altora de a asculta o melodie, nici nu ma revolt fiindca sunt romanca si impartasesc o nationalitate cu "tiganu' care fura buzunaru' la italianu' ". Pur si simplu mi-as dori sa ne dam noi insine alta definitie decat ne dau italienii si spaniolii din clasa de jos. Pur si simplu m-a intristat.

N.B. Cand am spus autenticitatea rroma nu incercam sa fiu ironica. Cultura nu inseamna numai literatura, muzica si dans clasic. Totodata, nu e nevoie ca un popor sa fie de tip aboriginal sau trib african pentru a i se scuza lipsa acestora. Copilaria mea e presarata cu imaginea barbatilor inalti, robusti, cu palarii mari si negre, mergand pe drum de tara in carute cu fete si femei in haine viu colorate. Stiti voi, acele lucruri transformate in cliseu desavarsit de emisiuni precum Inima de tigan.

Pleasant conversation

2008-01-15T19:55:00.000+03:00

Cu o cafea si un Business Weekly in fata, in Galleron ieri, imi conving un prieten bun sa faca o pauza de la invatat. In 10 minute ajunge gafaind, avand in mana o punguta de Fornetti cu mure (?!) - ce s-au mai schimbat aromele de cand am plecat. Trec cateva zeci de minute fericite. El fiind in pre-sesiune, eu in stare intelectual-letagica de cateva saptamani, subiectul cel mai potrivit ni s-a parut sistemul care a facut toate acestea posibile - facultatea. Sub influenta stresului si a perspectivei de a invata cateva sute de pagini intr-un numar mult mai modest de zile, imi explica lipsa de similitudine dintre cursurile sale:

- La unele am proiecte, la altele de citit o groaza, dezbateri, prezentari...
- Aha... spun sorbind cafea.
- Si ca sa mai vezi diferenta dintre prosti.. aa, profi ! Profi !

Most people would call that a Freudian slip. Of course we do not. It was just pleasant conversation. And while he pleaded with me not to write a post about this, I typed it in my phone as a reminder and consented not to.

Putin mai intepator

2008-01-08T02:02:00.000+03:00

Raspuns acestui post, din 6 Ianuarie 2007, pe tema "ce anume nu merge in sistemul roman de invatamant?":

Cred ca primul si cel mai important pas este ca profesorii, dar in special studentii sa se ia mult mai in serios. Stiu ca e destula aroganta in mediul academic, de ambele parti, dar e aroganta gratuita. Ceea ce am observat ca lipseste cu desavarsire in sistemul de invatamant romanesc e lipsa constiintei ca ceea ce faci chiar conteaza. Profesorii incep acest cerc vicios, de acord. Totusi, vorbind din experienta, un profesor caruia ii pasa de fiecare ora/curs/seminar in parte e desconsiderat pe ideea "cu o floare nu se face primvara" si "ce conteaza? diploma tot n-o sa valoreze nimic".

Ceea ce vreau sa spun e ca daca studentii s-ar lua pe sine mai in serios si nu si-ar permite sa isi piarda sute de ore din viata intr-un mod complet inutil, atunci profesorii ar lua o alta atitudinea. In afara Romaniei, la universitati bune, profesorii au emotii cand se afla in fata clasei. Dupa o vreme ajung sa-ti marturiseasca faptul ca le e teama sa nu spuna ceva stupid sau evident, aflandu-se in fata unor minti care ii judeca si ii vor admira sau respinge. Cert e ca nu vor ramane indiferenti. E vorba de timpul si viitorul lor, ce mama dracu. Mai mult, daca nu se ridica la nivelul asteptarilor , este dat afara. De ce? Fiindca studentilor chiar LE PASA. Cei aflati in asociatiile care mediaza cu profesorii isi iau treaba in serios si beneficiaza de sprijinul celorlalti. Daca ar fi sa despicam firul in patru, multi ridica problema "exista oricum un numar foarte limitat de profesori decenti in Romania, si aceia deja ocupa functii in universitati". Fals. Perspectiva mobilitatii in domeniul acesta si al lucrului cu studenti interesati ar atrage multi alti studenti care peste cativa ani ar vrea sa devina profesori excelenti, in loc de a deveni contabili, notari sau ingineri mediocri. Nu e destul de rapid? Aduceti romani plecati! Exista un puhoi care ar sari la sansa de a schimba ceva in viitorul tarii lor intr-un mod eficient. Solutii se pot gasi. Sa fie cine sa le gaseasca. Sa fie cine sa roteasca acea prima rotita.

Pana la urma, studentul roman sta pe spate, intrebandu-se indignat de ce nu se schimba generatia veche pentru ca poate, si doar in conditii favorabile, sa isi revizuiasca si el atitudinea putin. Generatiei vechi nu-i convine schimbarea si e invinuita sus si tare de catre studenti? Eh, majoritatii triste din generatia noua le convine mult mai mult sa nu se schimbe nimic. Chiar sa fie putin mai mult miserupism. Pe cat posibil. Cat sa nu deranjam pe nimeni, sa nu incomodam. Sa fim invizibili.
Care e problema in invatamantul romanesc? Nu se scutura mai nimeni de trista "capul plecat sabia nu taie" si eterna "Las-o ba' ca merge-asa". Inca.

Cu luare aminte

2008-01-03T19:07:00.000+03:00

E una dintre expresiile care imi amintesc de copilarie. Niciodata nu am inteles-o cu adevarat.
In ciuda sensului propriu-zis de "tine minte ce se intampla aici", mereu am fost de parere ca inseamna mai mult. Nu e posibil sa se doreasca doar activarea instantanee a memoriei folosind o expresie atat de voit demna, mereu era vorba despre o reamintire a statutului tau inferior - cel de copil. Ma enerva la culme.

O intalneam in circumstante marcate de ambiguitate oricum, de exemplu sfaturile unor matusi indepartate si usor iritante.
Imi amintesc ca o auzeam si la scoala. Invatatoarea sau profesoara de religie, probabil ambele. Cert e totusi faptul ca insotea in general invataturi care aveau un substrat insinuant. Intai iti insinua mister apoi te plesnea peste fata in dulcele stil comunist cu un "Fii cuminte, taci, nu raspunde inapoi si, pentru Dumnezeu, ia aminte. "

Cand mi se spunea sa stau cuminte in banca sau pe scaun se adauga "cu luare-aminte!". Asa, de efect. Nu inteleg, cum nu intelegeam nici atunci. Trebuia sa patrund misterul conversatiei de masa? Exista ceva ascuns, mistic cu lectia de mate?

In acelasi fel erau descrise faptele unor oameni buni si smeriti, care faceau totul "cu luare-aminte". De la figurile biblice pasive, anumite sfinte care indurau greutati tacit si cuminte, la copiii pe cat de perfecti, pe atat de imaginari, care sufereau aparent de hipo-activitate cronica si deci erau pe gustul parintilor - toti cei supposedly superiori tie "luau aminte".
Mie ambiguitatea acestor cuvinte mi se pare direct legata de presupunerea ca nu exista nici cea mai mica sansa sa intelegi ceea ce se petrece.

Am dat si io, ca tot omu', search pe Google dupa "luare aminte" si mi s-a afisat o pagina de rezultate cu continut religios. O fi fost poate fiindca sugerau de asemenea vechea "crede si nu cerceta"?

Later edit: De ce ma intreb si dezvolt pe tema unor asemenea chestiuni aparent irelevante pentru marile probleme ale societatii? Fiindca mi se pare fascinant felul in care limbajul reflecta valori inradacinate atat de adanc incat probabil nu le-ai constientiza vreodata. Un alt exemplu este cel al sintaxei des utilizate in romana pentru a pune o intrebare - inceperea cu o negatie ("Nu vrei sa iesi in oras?" sau "Nu-i asa ca ma iubesti?"). Dar pe acesta urmeaza sa-l dezolt in alt post.

New Year's Resolution

2007-12-31T01:12:00.000+03:00

I've never really felt that on the 31st of december, something old ends and something new begins. Come to think of it, it has all been one long year for me. Which is why I'm not a big fan of New Year's resolutions in particular. I've made resolutions in the middle of July in broad daylight and kept to them.

However, I do have a resolution to make right now and the timing happens to coincide with everyone else's. For once.
So here goes.
My New Year's resolution is to emotionally keep up with events. In a sense, be more decisive.

Happy New Year to everyone!
With that, only one thing left.

Geronimo!

Smug thinking

2007-12-30T20:49:00.000+03:00

Up until a few hours ago I could have sworn that my life changed because I made it change. I was the one who moved to another country. I was the one who left my friends and family. I was the one who ended things. I was responsible for their need to look elsewhere for a substitute. It was me, it was all about me.
But today I realized that -brace yourselves- things change. On their own, independently, no help needed. Sure, I could go and be a determinist about it. To be honest, I don't want to because that's a sad world for my (smug) taste- a world in which you cannot influence anything ever. Still, I can't help but question whether I really changed anything, whether I was an active factor at all.

My self-developed mind frame would say it's irrelevant to the situation. Just deal with it and move on. Life is not static, especially one like mine, which has always been and probably will be quite dinamic for a long time. But this is just one of those moments when you're so subtly shocked, it makes your brain step into a bubble gum and just stare at its shoe, contemplating how to remove itself from this silly unexpected predicament. Of course, shoes can be changed and the problem forgotten easily. But then what would be the point of having a brain in the first place?
Ever happen to you? Ever wonder whether you really stepped into it or whether it was inevitable for the order of the universe that you step into it? Primitive philosophy, I know. We can think about it, applaud ourselves for it and be proud. In the end, the actual problem fades behind a foggy curtain of "I have better things to do with my time. I'm too good for this." But the conclusion remains - it really is just all about us.

So can you blame me for hoping and wishing I could undo what I believe to have actively done all by myself?

Playful

2007-12-19T00:23:00.000+03:00

Well now that I'm home and have extremely little to worry about and stress over, I have shifted my attention to funnier and less ground-breaking mind-contorting serious meditative thoughts. Hence, enjoy my latest discovery: "Breathing Commercial"

Home

2007-12-14T15:37:00.000+03:00

Home... I'm going home. I'm not quite sure what that means, but that's what I've been hearing around me lately, so there must be something to it... "yeeeaaah, I'm going hoome!! Isn't that great?" - "We're going home, Ioana!!"- "duuude, you're coming home in a few days!!" - so yeah, I guess I'm going home.

Home is such an overrated notion, isn't it? - That one place that you.. i don't really know, that you *something* in. That one place where you (place random action here)...
- where you were born? where you grew up? where you have Christmas? where you did *whatever* for the first time? where you have Remmi pieces stuck in the doorknobs from when you were 5?

I don't really have all that. I've moved around more than 90% of all Romanians. And before coming here I thought it was abnormal. I thought it meant not having part of your identity. I genuinely believed there was something wrong with me for not having slept in the same room for more than 3 years.
But there isn't. There really isn't. I get to choose my home. And my home is essentially, well, people. People close to me, who make it so. The bonds are stronger and you appreciate them quite a bit more. I can make a home out of any place. Just give me a pot of good tea, soft seats and good company.

Crossroads

2007-12-07T21:38:00.000+03:00

Too beautiful of a metaphor to not be seen. Enjoy.

Ho-ho-ho

2007-12-05T15:40:00.000+03:00

Nu vine mosu' anul asta -
Nu mai vine de-acu...

Mortii mamii lui.

I could not help it, I just could not...

2007-12-04T02:41:00.000+03:00

I've been pondering Romania's situation and the people's mentality for quite some time now and although I haven't been able to come up with one conclusive answer, I couldn't help but literally laugh out loud, for the second time no less, at this brilliantly written piece of.. 'blogareala' :

"What a scoop for Jurnalul National this morning: Toffifee chocolate toffee-coated hazelnuts are sugary!

Professor Gheorghe Mencinicopschi, director of the Institutului de Cercetari Alimentare (Institute of Dietary Research) is quoted by Jurnalul National's top dietary correspondent as declaring - in his best medical opinion - that Toffifee (which describes itself as 'A Hazelnut in caramel with creamy nougat and chocolate') contains 'high quantities of sugar, glucose and syrup.' Apparently, it is not recommended for diabetics or the overweight.

Well I never.

Another great day for Romanian journalism. Tomorrow's big story? 'Pope admits fondness for Catholicism' perhaps?"

Here you can find the entire account of this (former?) British expat in Bucharest, a city which I'm sure managed a perfectly bittersweet and plain strange impression on him. It surely did on me.

Bikes in Holland #2

2007-11-25T20:42:00.001+03:00

Atarnand pe exteriorul balustradei unui pod peste Oudegracht (canal) in Utrecht...

Macar e legata, da?
Sa nu cumva s-o fure cineva...

Personal

2007-11-14T22:21:00.001+03:00

These photos made me miss my home. My home-home, my real home, my roots.. my childhood, myself.
Enjoy.

Peak view through my window

2007-11-13T01:23:00.000+03:00

Viata de student

2007-11-09T20:47:00.000+03:00

Friday afternoon 18:45 conversation with a friend:

Me: dude, i slept!
Him: u lucky
Him: sleeping is the new sex
Me: i know!

It's a wet world

2007-11-08T20:43:00.000+03:00

Email from the landlord :
"
Dear students,

The Netherlands are expecting a storm with wind forces exceeding the 9 Beaufort. During my walk around I have seen many bathroom windows open on the Kromhoutweg. Please close these windows. "

Ma intreb care va fi urmatorul anunt. Sa fie cumva
"Dear students,
We are expecting a rise in sea levels in the next few weeks. We encourage you to flee The Netherlands or be drowned to the last one of you."

Pe buna dreptate scria un ascultator BBC in legatura cu inaltimea excesiva a olandezilor. Spunea ca se datoreaza geneticii predictive. Va intrebati ce e? E genetica prezicatoare de nivel ridicat al marii, respectiv de Olanda sub ape. Nu ca nu m-as afla in acest moment sub nivelul marii oricum.

Eh, sa speram ca mai rezista tarisoara inca 2 ani jumate. Nu de alta, dar as prefera sa-mi termin studiile in acest orasel vechi cu acest campus vesnic ud. Care mi-e si cam drag.

Sa vezi si sa nu crezi - admiration #2

2007-11-01T21:22:00.000+03:00

I've craved this for about 4 years.
It's not that I had given up hope, it's just that I had accepted the situation and decided there is nothing to hope for, really. And it's not that I did this consciously or in an angry manner. It's just that I thought I was beyond the stage where this kind of thing would impress me.
But I'm not. And it does. And the world just got a lot brighter.
"Ioana, may I have a word?" - "Of course." - "I've been asked to recommend a student for the annual academic publication here. I was thinking of you. Would you be interested?"

Heh.
They were wrong. You can expect better. Much better. And they just got a whole lot sadder - petty little self-deluded creatures. Who's they? The bright academic minds of "the best high school in Romania". Funny, I thought I was over that, too.

Sa vezi si sa nu crezi - admiration

2007-10-16T12:45:00.000+03:00

(Gara Amsterdam Centraal)

Mereu mi s-a parut interesanta treaba asta cu admiratul. Chiar admirat pana la creare de axioma-mit (e de neatins pentru mine, dar faptul ca e extraordinar e un adevar general valabil care nu are nevoie de o demonstratie. Asa cam ca profele de chimie din liceu. Stiti cum sunt? Eh, fix opusul! ). Copilarind in poate cea mai confuza perioada din istoria recenta pentru Romania din punct de vedere al restructurarii valorilor individuale (oamenii mari le restructurau, eu le faceam mamaliga), mi-am creat o cantitate impresionanta de axiome-mit. America e cea mai... - cum traduci 'best'? Fie, cea mai buna tara din lume. La scoala pana intr-a 4a am invatat ca romanii sunt cei mai curajosi, buni, uniti si neinfricati. Dar se batea cap in cap cu impresia generala ca romanii sunt fundamental inferiori Vestului. Imi placea sa cant 'Desteapta-te romane' in fiecare dimineata la scoala si 'Hora Unirii' de cate ori aveam ocazia la muzica. Cand am primit o cartulie despre 1 Decembrie si faptele extraordinare de care au dat dovada taranii, orasenii si toata natia noastra am avut o revelatia si am pastrat-o la loc de cinste. Adica pe pervaz, langa singura floare de care am avut grija vreodata.

Si-apoi am iesit de sub invatatoare. Incet, incet, nu stiu exact cand, am inceput sa fiu de acord cu opinia generala. Nu eram eu destul de 'interdisciplinara' (eh, m-a invatat UCU ceva) ca sa analizez situatia. Nu aveam pe cine sa conving. Nu imi impartasea nimeni opinia. Si ete s-au mai format o droaie de axiome-mit.

Cand am iesit prima data din Romania si am oprit in zona de duty-free am respirat alt aer. Cand m-am plimbat prin Salzburg la 13 ani am crezut ca vad oameni de acum 500 de ani calcand pe pietrele de la picioarele mele. Cand am dat de Germania, tot cu acel creier necopt, am crezut ca e paradisul. In special sub influenta discutiilor din jurul meu. 'E curat, e civilizat.'

Vezi cuvantul asta - civilizat. Cum ar putea sa nu denote opozitie clara intre superior definitiv si inferior la prea multe mile marine ca sa se poata numara.

Si am ajuns sa am 17 ani. Si am pasit afara din LAX si ma asteptam sa respir din nou un alt aer. Dar nu aerul de Europa, ala nu mai era un mit demult. Dar cel de America. America, in toata splendoarea ei. Cu oamenii ei bravi si liberi. Cu valori corecte (ca in 7th Heaven, deh), cu egalitate pentru toti si sanse pentru cei multi.

Trag geanta dupa mine pana la taxi. O ia soferul, o baga in portbagaj. Vizavi se construieste ceva. Ma urc in taxi pe bancheta din spate. Inchid usa dupa mine.

Dar.. uh.. de ce? Pai.. Stai!! Unde-i? Frate, unde-i?! Unde mama dracu e aerul diferit? De ce nu m-a lovit nimic? Am aterizat in majesticul Los Angeles si cerul inca nu s-a prabusit pe mine! Afara e doar cald si autostrada plina. Taximetristul vorbeste prost engleza. Of. Uite inca una, s-a dus inca una. Sa vezi si sa nu crezi, pe cuvant.

Dar am ajuns ieri si in Amsterdam. Curios, de data asta nu s-a mai daramat nimic. Dar s-a construit o admiratie ceva mai reala.

Admiratie chiar si pentru Romania. Saraca, trebuie sa-i fie spatele sange de la cate biciuri a indurat din '89 pana acum. Dar calm, putin calm. Nu mai dureaza mult.

Pai daca-i romaneasca, romaneasca sa fie...

2007-10-03T14:55:00.000+03:00

Mass message from former highschool colleague :

"Those of you who've taken your degree in computer science back in highschool come pick it up tomorrow personally from the school." - a degree for an exam taken over 5 months ago. Pick it up personally. Personally. Tomorrow only. In ROMANIA.

Sure, I'll just hop on my bike and pedal 40 hours straight for a degree I didn't want in the first place. Not to mention how terribly useful it is. 'Computer operator'. Quite useful indeed. Not that it's understood everywhere else that such a qualification is a prerequisite for freaking highschool!

I wonder what they'll do if I don't pick it up personally within 48 hours. Burn it? Toss it away? Use it for wrapping bagels?

"Sa se spele cu ea pe cap".. for all I care.

White-pink-why?

2007-10-01T01:22:00.000+03:00

Maybe it's finally time to explain what they are. Why white-pink flowers?
Well because I like metaphors. Because they're art. Because just as art translates reality into an artist's work, metaphors translate a simple, boring, stereotypic notion into.. whatever one wants, basically.

So why white-pink flowers again?

Because they're all the kindness in the world, tainted with just a little bit of pragmatism.

They're for all the naive and idealist children in the world. Children who will say their prayers at night, who will smile from their hearts when others do, who will spend their 50 cents on silly Christmas presents for their family. They are children who make a pledge to be better and pray every evening reminding God that they are trying. And that even though they forgot today, they will not tomorrow. And then they try even more. They hope intensely and they dream in all the bright colours of the world. They love.
Easy pray.

It's also for all the goodness and the kindness and the immense self-giving white flowers in blue old old eyes.

It's for all those white flowers that got tainted. As long as they're not blood red, we're all safe.

No Comment Whatsoever

2007-09-30T20:48:00.000+03:00

Truisme

2007-09-28T00:56:00.000+03:00

Si lipsa de somn si nervi si treaba de facut si-alerg si-alerg si-alerg si-ajung si urc in autobuz. In sfarsit, aer cald si scaun moale. Si ajung la gara. Fugim pana la autogara si gata. Serenity now. Am ajuns mai repede, in 5 minute ajunge autocarul din Romania cu pachetul meu. Whoohoo, haina groasa de iarna si miere de la bunica.
Si trec 5 minute si nu vine. Fast forward - trec 30 de minute si nu vine. Si imi ingheata spatele deja obosit peste masura. Si imi suiera nenorocitu de vant de Olanda si ma dor urechile. Imi pun gluga pe cap si mai astept. Si incepem sa vorbim despre chestii aleatorii. Si ma intreb daca asta-i locul. Trec 20 de minute, sun la agentie si "tiiiiiiiiiiiiii-iiiiiiiii-tiiiiiiiiiiiii-eehhhhhhhhhhh". Mi-a intrat faxul. Sun la agentie in Romania - idem. Intru in bomba de langa sa imi iau ceva de baut, ies afara si e mai frig decat inainte. "Mai am de facut un assignment pe maine la ora 8!! Ce mama dracu'!!". Dupa o vreme renuntam si ne hotaram sa plecam, dar nu inainte de a intreba :
- Bogdan, ai un servetel?
- Nu. N-am. Ai ghinion.
Well NO SHIT.

Intram iar in gara. Cochetam cu gandul de a merge pana la Amsterdam in noaptea asta. Neah, sunt prea obosita si nu e nimic deschis la ora asta in afara de bordeluri.
Coboram din gara si in departare ce sa fie. E autobuzul nostru pana aproape de campus. "Fugi, Ioana?" - "Mda." Si-alergam si-alergam si-alergam si ajungem iar pe scaunele moi. Si spune "Ah, l-am prins. Ai noroc azi. Cu autobuzele... adica macar 2 din 3." - "AArrrgh".

Gotta love Holland

2007-09-26T15:19:00.000+03:00

Discussion with a Dutch friend :

- Also incredible how women here in very tight and short skirts can just cycle away. You can see everything! But they dont seem to have a problem with it.
- Umm, it's not nice to look.
- So its normal for them to show it but its impolite to look? Not stare, im saying look.
- Well, looking is allowed, I think. But staring will get you a direct verbal assault, thanks to our dutch frankness.
- So its normal for them to cycle like that?
- Yes.

Well no one opens doors for me here, but at least I can do other rewarding things.

Sunny Saturday Morning

2007-09-24T22:26:00.000+03:00

Dupa o vineri noaptea atipica, in care cheful campusului a fost in unitatea mea, ma strecor printre scaune intoarse, prize stricate si 'cadouri' pe jos in fata usii mele de la cei fara rezistenta la ambrozia studentului din Utrecht - berea. Cad in pat si se face negru. Si dupa cateva mii si mii de ani se face din nou lumina. E 12 fara 5 minute. Fuck, am pierdut brunch-ul. Ma duc jos - inutil. Frigideru urla dupa mancare mai rau ca mine.
Deci, ca orice rezident respectabil al Olandei ma urc pe bicicleta si ma duc la Albertheijn - un fel de supermarket cu pretentii de Carrefour. Adun cumparaturi care ar putea hrani o familie de 5 timp de vreo luna si le insir cu groaza pe banda minuscula de la casa. Casiera imi zice ceva in olandeza si pentru a mia oara spun "Sorry, I don't speak Dutch.." - "Do you have a bonus card?" - "No, I don't." - "Where are you from?" - "Romania." - "Oh, see, I could tell you're from the East!" - "Really?" - "Yes, of course." - "How.. is it obvious?" - "Well yes, your face and your expression. You just look eastern. There's no way you're from The Netherlands".

Heh. Ca sa vezi. Ce perspicace. Sunt curioasa de ce mi-a vorbit olandeza in primul rand.

Zic multumesc pentru noul bonus card si ies cu cele 5 plase. Va fi interesant sa le atasez pe toate de bicicleta. Si sa merg cu 2 km pe ora.

La iesire acelasi black homeless person - vanzator de ziare/cersetor. Imi ofera iar un ziar in olandeza, iar ii spun ca "Sorry, I don't speak Dutch.". In momente ca alea mi-as fi dorit sa stiu sa spun asta in olandeza, sa nu fi crezut ca il injur in ceva limba de peste ocean. Si exact atunci s-a intamplat chestia cea mai tipica olandeza. Cersetorul cu haine murdare, barba nerasa de 2 luni si fara 2 lei in buzunar imi spune "Oh, okay. No problem. Have a nice day!" - in engleza.

Only in Holland.

Home blues

2007-09-22T22:14:00.000+03:00

All the leaves are brown

And the sky is grey

California dreamin'

On such a winter's day

To realize.

2007-09-16T23:24:00.000+03:00

To change one's identity. Now there's a task for the brave.

And when it's the only option, when external causes make it so, then it's a task for the... I don't really know. The sane?

DE CE.

2007-09-16T14:30:00.001+03:00

De ce da muzica tare EXACT cand vreau sa dorm, fix in momentul in care ma pun la birou sa scriu si tocmai cand am febra si vreau sa zac in pat fara sa ma calce bocanci grei de reggae pe creier.

Grr. Fucking grr.

Silly me.

2007-09-13T02:43:00.000+03:00

And I travelled all the way to The Netherlands?! I could have just stayed home! The bike lanes there are just as cool. Dammit, if only I had known sooner.

Photo source: Bukres Blog - http://bukresh.blogspot.com/

Un peu de nostalgie

2007-09-07T16:20:00.001+03:00

M-am saturat de engleza. Daca am inceput blogul in engleza pentru a mi-o exersa, se pare ca acum e mai productiv sa exersez romana.

Si incep sa cred ca e adevarat ce se spune si ce puteam jura acum o luna ca nu mi se va intampla in vecii vecilor, mai mult din mandrie si ego decat orice altceva. Departe de Romania devii patriot.

Ca dovada, ies de la cursuri la 10:45 si vreau sa trec prin unitul romanilor. Deschid poarta inchisorii si sun la usa unitului. Imi deschide un olandez (blond, cu ochi albastri si cu ghiozdan in spate, gata de plecare). Intreb daca baietii romani sunt acasa, imi zice sa incerc usa. Nu sunt. Evident, nimeni nu e compatibil la program cu mine vinerea.

Dau sa plec si observ ca el nu plecase. Ma intreaba daca avem o familie unita de romani aici. Ii spun ca nu neaparat, dar ca.. poate e adevarat.. devii patriot departe de casa. Daca nu patriot, macar nostalgic.

Se aseaza pe scari si ma intreaba daca urasc Olanda. Nu, nici vorba, mie chiar imi place aici.

Tribute

2007-09-05T15:58:00.000+03:00

Intre cer si pamant.

... to what is, to what was, to what could have been, to what can be.

Dangerous as it is, better than never to have been at all.

I wish the plane would land sooner. In a big metropolis with cold faces, fast pace and you.

In love with Holland

2007-09-03T18:31:00.000+03:00

I l-l-love it here. How can you not love it?

Professor: Ethics is not morals. Ethics is kind of like porn. Tickles me in a slightly different way.

Where did everyone go?

2007-09-03T02:23:00.000+03:00

Everyone's going somewhere. Where and why is too much to answer. But the will and the means are there. See, right up there.

It's official.

2007-08-31T13:31:00.000+03:00

Well today I became an official rezident of the Kingdom of The Netherlands. No going back now.

Hello. My name is Gerlinde and I can't speak English - Hi, Gerlinde.

2007-08-15T23:04:00.000+03:00

OK, so I got over myself after the post from yesterday.

I'm staying with an aunt in Germany at the moment and heading out for UCU on Sunday. But while I'm here, I decided to do a little sightseeing and shopping. Why would I decide to shop in a small town like Boblingen, instead of going to Stuttgart, a few km away? Because I don't have a personal car. Or the skills to drive one.
So this morning I head happily to the bus station. It was sunny, there was no litter on the ground. There was a marked path for bicycles, which especially made me feel good to see. People were minding their own business, in a non-smelly way. And I didn't even have to hold my small backpack under my armpit to protect it!
I waited for about 20 minutes in an empty bus stop thinking "great! maybe I'll get to sit down on the bus!". Well of course the bus was equally empty. There was me, the driver and a guy with headphones. Big headphones. In a big bus. You get the picture.

However, the point of starting this post was to express my frustration as to the fact that in spending 7 hours of my life in the commercial centre of Boblingen, I have only found ONE English-speaking person. And I don't mean I excluded everyone who couldn't explain what the origin of the Bretzel is. I mean I excluded everyone who didn't know what 'restroom', 'bathroom' and 'exit' mean. I am not joking. Also, I didn't approach anyone over the age of 25.
How is this possible?
Bit of a riddle to me, but in a country where you have to seriously search, I mean really invest resources into finding a movie that isn't dubbed in German, I suppose it shouldn't be that big of a surprise. However remarkable I think this country is, and I do... being 20, well fed, well dressed and reasonably well educated, living in a leading western country and not being able to answer "How are you?" ( - "Fine.") is just more than I was prepared for.

But thumbs-up for the beautiful church in Stuttgart (took the photo yesterday).

A world without Romania

2007-07-05T16:54:00.001+03:00

I just couldn't help it.
I do love the most of it, except for the 'we have the best women on earth' part, that I can't really agree with.

Halt! Deserted town ahead!

2007-05-21T19:08:00.000+03:00

I'm taking a leave of absence until the beginning of July, I expect. The all mighty BAC is approaching. Help!

The white canvas

2007-05-18T23:29:00.000+03:00

Ah, la pureté ! La vérité! L'absolu!

A white rose, an innocent smile, a brand new day, a clean slate and a white canvas. Great stuff. We all seem to love purity.

Why are people generally so fascinated by innocence and untainted things?

Case and point : relationships.

Is it a form of high aspiration? A lot of guys want their wife to have been a virgin. At heart, if not body. Most won't admit to it, but let's face it. Even if you're a girl, you don't want your guy to have had several long-term relationships before you came along. It spoils all the fun. He might still be comparing you to his ex. He might have some kind of hidden trauma that you'll only find out about 2 years into your marriage. And the worst fear of all : he's handsome, charming, spoils you and seems to be your dream man... but what if he's out for revenge on the female specie because of some twisted lady he met before you? These are all things that you don't necessarily think about when you hook up with someone, but we've all asked such questions at some point.

And still it's just not fair. What about the helpful experience of a former relationship? All that wisdom! What about not making the same beginner-like mistakes? And what about wine that's better with time?!

They just don't seem to matter as much, do they?...

'The U.S. and A'

2007-05-07T18:35:00.000+03:00

First photo on US soil. Some hint, huh?
And that's a library. I kid not. (UCLA)

Seen some big stars' stars.

Damn! And we only missed the Oscars by a bit! :))

So we went capitalist...

Bit of fun in the sun.

Not nervous... nope.. just unable to swallow or breathe. Oh come on! What gave me away?

Nope, definitely not nervous. The humongous screen doesn't frighten me at all.

Window shopping is a lot of fun. Santa Monica Promenade

Nightfall near Santa Monica Pier

Bye bye now!

No turbulence, just awe.

Ungodly beautiful dawn over the Pacific.

Gotta love plane food.

Well it was fun while it lasted. Bit disappointed in the people and amazed at the amount of useless junk Americans buy. But a great experience nonetheless.

(July 2006)

Guns don't kill people. People kill people.

2007-05-04T20:55:00.000+03:00

So communism doesn't dehumanize people. People dehumanize people.

What do those two examples have in common?

Well first of all they both started out as good intentions. Guns are meant to protect their owners. One gun per family should do it. The patriarch has it and will shoot any thief and rapist that tries to break into his house and harm his family. Fair enough.
Then communism started out as a means of making the very poor less poor. Bear with me, I'm talking theory here. It was generally meant to create a happy, pleasant, care-free society. It did the trick, for a few decades and for the large majority of people.

But, of course, both of them got out of hand because of the risks involved in giving so much power to... undeserving people, really. I don't see how you can expect the vast majority of untrained citizens to be responsible with guns. Translation : any moron can just up and shoot you. He has that kind of power. That's pretty scary if you ask me. When you think of what communism degenerated into, it's pretty much the same thing. The power of decision was given to individuals that were generally not prepared to deal with it, but that just happened to agree with the theory of the regime. Or, in worse cases, that just wanted a quick rise and would do anything to anyone.
And thus, two little mistakes developed into two major disasters.

The point of the above parallel was that it's not the invention of the gun or Marx's fault that things went bad.

So why the hell is everyone in Romania continuously blaming communism for everything that's wrong in this country? Sure, the circumstances weren't ideal for the blooming of such values as equality, generosity and civilized behaviour. But it was all a question of choice. And I'll give you the perfect example : the Transylvanian society was affected to a far lesser extent than the one in Bucharest and the Southern parts. I won't comment on the reasons to not offend anyone, but the fact remains. How did that happen if 'there was no choice in the matter'? There is always a choice and people choose whether to make it or not.

I'm so sick of constantly hearing the urban ultra-trendy uber-cool blaming the past for every nasty behaviour they encounter. Not to mention the fact that not taking any responsibility by the older generation is seriously dangerous at this point. First of all, it results in saying "yeah, so this is it. I can't do anything to fix the past, so that means I can't do anything to change things in the present". No, you can't, but you can change them for the future, you ignorant bastard. Starting by not throwing garbage on the streets, not pushing your way into a bus, not shouting curses everywhere and ultimately NOT referring to your country as Rromania (land of gypsies) or to the people as uncivilized. It's so infuriating seeing how no one will do anything, yet everyone expect things to change over night.

If you don't like it here, leave. If you won't leave, but still don't like it, then fucking take responsibility for your actions, stop worshiping western countries, do something to change things and start referring to yourself as what you really are : a Romanian.

Requiem for a culture

2007-05-04T17:08:00.000+03:00

Miorita

"Near a low foothill
At Heaven’s doorsill,
Where the trail’s descending
To the plain and ending,
Here three shepherds keep
Their three flocks of sheep,
One, Moldavian,
One, Transylvanian
And one, Vrancean.
Now, the Vrancean
And the Transylvanian
In their thoughts, conniving,
Have laid plans, contriving
At the close of day
To ambush and slay
The Moldavian;
He, the wealthier one,
Had more flocks to keep,
Handsome, long-horned sheep,
Horses, trained and sound,
And the fiercest hounds.
One small ewe-lamb, though,
Dappled gray as tow,
While three full days passed
Bleated loud and fast;
Would not touch the grass.
”Ewe-lamb, dapple-gray,
Muzzled black and gray,
While three full days passed
You bleat loud and fast;
Don’t you like this grass?
Are you too sick to eat,
Little lamb so sweet?”
”Oh my master dear,
Drive the flock out near
That field, dark to view,
Where the grass grows new,
Where there’s shade for you.
”Master, master dear,
Call a large hound near,
A fierce one and fearless,
Strong, loyal and peerless.
The Transylvanian
And the Vrancean
When the daylight’s through
Mean to murder you.”
”Lamb, my little ewe,
If this omen’s true,
If I’m doomed to death
On this tract of heath,
Tell the Vrancean
And Transylvanian
To let my bones lie
Somewhere here close by,
By the sheepfold here
So my flocks are near,
Back of my hut’s grounds
So I’ll hear my hounds.
Tell them what I say:
There, beside me lay
One small pipe of beech

Whith its soft, sweet speech,
One small pipe of bone
Whit its loving tone,
One of elderwood,
Fiery-tongued and good.
Then the winds that blow
Would play on them so
All my listening sheep
Would draw near and weep
Tears, no blood so deep.
How I met my death,
Tell them not a breath;
Say I could not tarry,
I have gone to marry
A princess – my bride
Is the whole world’s pride.
At my wedding, tell
How a bright star fell,
Sun and moon came down
To hold my bridal crown,
Firs and maple trees
Were my guests; my priests
Were the mountains high;
Fiddlers, birds that fly,
All birds of the sky;
Torchlights, stars on high.
But if you see there,
Should you meet somewhere,
My old mother, little,
With her white wool girdle,
Eyes with their tears flowing,
Over the plains going,
Asking one and all,
Saying to them all,
’Who has ever known,
Who has seen my own
Shepherd fine to see,
Slim as a willow tree,
With his dear face, bright
As the milk-foam, white,
His small moustache, right
As the young wheat’s ear,
With his hair so dear,
Like plumes of the crow
Little eyes that glow
Like the ripe black sloe?’
Ewe-lamb, small and pretty,
For her sake have pity,
Let it just be said
I have gone to wed
A princess most noble
There on Heaven’s doorsill.
To that mother, old,
Let it not be told
That a star fell, bright,
For my bridal night;
Firs and maple trees
Were my guests, priests
Were the mountains high;
Fiddlers, birds that fly,
All birds of the sky;
Torchlights, stars on high.”

If you didn't read that, you're more than forgiven. I only know a handful of people who know what it stands for, anyway.

Busy. DND. Permanently

2007-04-30T20:33:00.000+03:00

'Hey! What's up?' - 'Busy.'
--------------------------
'Still busy? Come on' - 'yeah. it sucks. gotta go.'
---------------------------
'I'm so busy. Gotta finish that one tonight, the other thing by Wednesday and ultimately get around to working more than should be expected of any 18 y.o.'

2007 seniors in high school, in Romania, will pretty much know where I'm coming from. I won't comment anymore on that particular topic seeing as this year is an exception that overrides all laws of common sense or decency and that for some reason only students can seemingly understand.
But maybe I'm subjective.

In any case, I got some very interesting feedback on the 'Let's talk contrasts' post and after some consideration I've come to agree with Filmfritz, who later shared the conclusion drawn on his forum regarding mediocrity. Mediocrity does not equal balance. One cannot use the term balance when referring to mediocrity. Mediocre people are, indeed, the ones that have never experienced the extremes, have had no desire to do so nor do they have it regarding the future. Near or distant.

Balance, on the other hand, implies a person's full knowledge regarding their decision. It means that they've tried or at least come close to both extremes and have made a conscious decision regarding their present or future.

Also, being a workaholic is in no way a decision. Most (keep in mind, not all) of those who do become such sad individuals have had a slow, but steady rise. They've been encouraged to aim higher and higher. And the material rewards were plentiful. So yeah, what moron would stop at this point? I guess you only start to realize that something's wrong with the picture when you have a vacation. No more friends to call or bars where the bartender has the slightest idea who you are. And, of course, the crucial moment when you realize your relationship is no more. It just vanished. Poof. Nothing went wrong and nothing went right. The phone calls just stopped and you didn't even notice. You stopped hearing the phone ring a long time ago. But you didn't even notice that either.

Well that, my friends, is what I call sad. Not taking time off to watch a ball game or refusing to be no.1 for the sake of a hot date and certainly not turning your paper in late because you went to visit your grandmother.

However silly these examples are, I'd rather be willingly silly than obliviously sad.

Sun... flowers

2007-04-29T11:33:00.000+03:00

Well things are looking up. It's spring and I've quit some of my addictive and energy-consuming habits. Who ever said that the time for resolutions is January 1st?

Oh well.

2007-04-25T14:47:00.000+03:00

Mistakes. Guilt. Annoyance. Banging head against wall. Attempting to hurt the wall. Ending up hurting the head. Wanting to find an excuse. Begging for a good excuse to come to mind. None. Whatsoever. Begging for a gunshot to the chest. None. Nothing. All the worst things in life, rolled up into one. Wish I could smoke it and that would be the end of it.

I hate guilt. And being mad at one's self. That's the worst thing. Nothing is actually worse than blaming yourself and knowing that you're right.

For the most unsuspected things even. The ones that seem to matter the least, yet do the most. Not realizing, not thinking, not judging, too much judging, ignoring, not prioritizing. Key ingredients for a guilty lunch, guilty encounter, guilty day, guilty hell.
Oh well.

Let's talk contrasts

2007-04-23T21:20:00.000+03:00

I believe most of you agree that balance is one of the most important aspects of life. It's present in almost every human and animal activity, whether it's on a conscious level or not. Mostly not.
We die so that others can have a chance to live, we are born because there is such a thing as male and female. The world is built on contrasts. Now this isn't something new, no doubt about it. I believe we've all heard of the Yin-Yang philosophy a few times. Or at least worn a necklace with the round-shaped symbol. But do we really understand the concept? And what's more, do we fully agree with it?
Understanding it isn't that hard. You can't be happy unless you've experienced sadness, you can't think of something as beautiful unless you've seen something ugly. Our brain works on a level where we compare everything we see and experience with something we've seen and experienced before. No matter how wrong that is in some cases (xenophobes, for example). Keep in mind I'm referring to actual thinking here, not primary, genetic instincts.
OK. With that out of the way, my question is this : what about progress? Sure, balance and tranquility is nice, it's what we're all supposedly looking for all the time. But are we really?
No human progress or so-called progress in some cases was ever built on balance. It always meant pushing one side more than the other. For scientific discoveries, it meant giving up on religion, on social status and sometimes on your own life. For the religiously and spiritually successful people it meant only trusting one side of their personality and giving up on many things that made sense scientifically. What about on a micro level? We can't ever have both personal and professional lives that are exceptional in every way. Or both spiritual and material wealth (ok, those cases are very rare and usually imply an unusual status to begin with). Or both a good figure and a shitload of endorphins all the time. Even biological evolution itself depends on going beyond the limits and the status quo, developing one extra feature that others don't have and that will lead to your specie's survival. You know, I could go on forever. But the point is that everything out of the ordinary, everything exceptional and that leads to any kind of progress, whether it's on a personal or global or universal level, implies breaking the balance. But there's the big 'but' that comes with it.

So then what's the conclusion? Does well-being come from balance or from progress?

Or is it ultimately balancing THOSE two?
No matter how I look at it, it's always a circular chain of questions...

Poetry wasn't written for the critics

2007-04-19T14:21:00.000+03:00

... the same way life doesn't exist for the sake of rules.

Flowes don't smell so that we can catalog the aroma. A child doesn't smile at us so that we can label him as young. The sun doesn't shine so that we can study the color palet and eyes aren't beautiful for identification purposes.

Parents' love wasn't born so that a family can be the nucleus of society and friendship between two dying patients is not a socially strategic move.

So why do we insist on spoiling it?

Great expectations

2007-04-17T18:35:00.000+03:00

The greatest things in life come at the worst time possible, have you ever noticed that?

Alanis Morissette has a great way of putting it :

"An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery and died the next day
It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
Isn't it ironic ... don't you think

It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just can't take
Who would've thought ... it figures

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids good-bye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
'Well isn't this nice...'
And isn't it ironic ... don't you think

It's a traffic jam when you're already late
It's a no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic... don't you think
A little too ironic... and yeah I really do think... "

The car you've dreamt about your entire adolescence - you get to have when you're 25 and way too busy to actually enjoy it.
The inspiration you desperately need when in a creativity exam - you get at 3am two weeks later.
Getting into the dream-university overseas - it happens 6 months before your actually get to go there.
Meeting someone you're hugely attracted to and would have mad sex with - happens 5 years into a serious relationship with someone else.
Finally coming across a true friend - happens after you've dealt with countless not-so-true friends and your trust in all people is "through the roof".
Realizing the great family you have - only after you've left them and went to face the real world.

And a classic, personal favourite of mine... Realizing that being a kid rocks - AFTER you grow up.

The only thing that I can actually get whenever I want is probably ice cream.

I've heard a lot of people say that the worst thing that can happen to you is getting what you really want. These words usually come from people who are terribly frustrated. Ever notice that, too? This is said to be faith's way of protecting you from yourself. There have been countless philosophies and religions saying you shouldn't even want anything at all, either because you're not gonna get it or because you're not gonna be satisfied with it.

How about we just get what we want, when we want it, FOR ONCE.

Eh, providence?

Oh hail, air!

2007-04-03T22:32:00.000+03:00

Celebration of certainties

2007-04-01T23:22:00.000+03:00

Some people find their happiness right away. Never did understand how that works. They meet someone in high school, get married in college, have kids after university and move to the countryside after retirement. How can they do that? How can they not wonder at all at 21? And even worse, how are they so sure they’re not missing out on anything? The counter attack would be saying you can never know what you’re missing out on at any given time. True. But when do you stop looking? And most importantly why?

Some people search the globe for that subtle sign that says ‘joyful bliss 2 lovers ahead’. They travel from city to city, country to country, eventually continent to continent and possibly to the moon, if they can wait a decade or so. But something bugs me about this, too. Because the more places you see, people you meet, jobs your change, religions you experiment and cultures you think you know, the more it becomes obvious that the possibilities are endless. Truly endless. So why in the world stop?

It’s said that asking yourself such questions is a sign of maturity, preoccupation for the future, desire for knowledge and a sure path to finding out what you really want.
Ok, I’ve asked them.

Now what?

Milestones

2007-03-27T14:36:00.000+03:00

(Utrecht, The Netherlands)

Ok, the title might have been a bit too much, but on a microlevel my life will be turned upside down starting August 20th 2007. Among the million questions constantly popping into my head, that those close to me have to endure with bravery every day, one was "Just how different will I be when I'm finished exploring The Netherlands?". Well, of course, I turned to the last big change in my life, which happened about two and a half years ago : moving to Bucharest.

On my first vacantion I visited my hometown and the strangest feeling I ever experienced was thinking "I'm riding the same bus, I'm seeing the same buildings, talking to the same people. I love them all. But I don't identify with any of them anymore". Just like before, I'm not fully aware of the fact that I'm leaving. To me, it's out there, in some distant universe, with different rules and customs and ways of thinking and means of transportation!(yes, im going to have to learn how to ride a bike). Utrecht is nice. The photos look great. The weather is definitely not hot. The people are famous for being open-minded, yet polite. Will I come to be a replica of that? Will I come to think I'm a little bit a part of Utrecht and, even worse, a little bit of it is mine? And will my parents recognise the same me when I come home?

Will I ever come back to Romania?

I suppose most people go through this kind of thing, even if their university is in a different city, not a different country. I suppose it could be worse, like moving accross the Atlantic. I suppose I'm thinking too much.

First love

2007-03-23T20:47:00.000+03:00

The city of Cluj-Napoca, my hometown. It's located in the Upper West part of the country.

Moved away when I was 16.

*Photographs copyright by Mihai Keller

Love

2007-03-23T19:46:00.000+03:00

Bucharest:"gray, dreary, sad. Or was that just me?" (Sex and the city)

A close-up on Romania's capital, the newest 1 million+ city of the EU.

Photos from the heart of town - Magheru Boulevard

Money

2007-03-18T22:05:00.000+03:00

It seems to be the most common thought of the ordinary person, so why not start with that.

As I, myself, am an ordinary person, I would like to begin by stating that money is important. No, no, money is important. Regardless of any noble and selfless comment that instantly popped into your head, please take a deep breath. And please think of all the wonderfully noble and selfless things you could have done, had you possessed this modern-day miracle-maker. If you already possess it, then I need not plead my case.

Money does make the world go round. It's a cliche and it's old. I know. However, it deserves its fair share of recognition.
Now of course you can be an idealist, you can live your life in the world of "Good" and only mention this topic as a critique to the weak-hearted slaves of the capitalist world. Go Ahead. I freaking dare you. And you can make your sick grandmother swallow ideas for medicines and feed the 40 pounds well-nourished 15 year olds of Africa thoughts each time they spit out blood, courtesy of their life-long ulcer. All this while billionaires spend their billions on highly important and vital assets. Like fish's black reproductive cells (yes, caviar).

Don't you just hate it when good intentions remain good intentions?

First thing on the list

2007-03-18T21:58:00.000+03:00

I have no ars poeticae. There is no definition of my website, my train of thought, my past or my aspirations. Almost all are constantly changing. I cannot be described in a post and I will not attempt to post a "trailer" or a "preview" of what lays ahead. While all of this may seem very blaze and passive-aggressive, this blog is not an excuse for ranting. You'll just have to take my word for it.