"Here is my secret. It is very simple: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.."- Antoine de Saint Exupéry




essential readings flow over the sky
in scattered light feathers of transparency,
souls of angels dancing in abstract patterns of joy,
leaving behind the dull gray led of stormy clouds.

take the sun for a heart
to fill you with the rhythm of light,
overflowing the limits of your human syncope
and the chasms of your mind.

I am there, dissolving in the blue,
setting and rising, silent ray following the sempiternal shine,
eroding heart growing again to be human
remembering that I was once meant to be born free.


90 words, Adela Galasiu, 2016

Photo: Adela Galasiu


Don’t be scared of life, of the cold anonymous world.
Cut the wires that feed your fears.

Live today as if it would be the last day left on the face of Earth
Even if everything may crumble around you.

Don’t listen to your clutched fists
Don’t hear the bad words flying around you.

Don’t hide from your dark side.
You have yourself and your gentle thought rising above your eyebrows.

Join your heart for a ride deep inside yourself,
Turn your arms towards who you really are and embrace your soul.

When you will be your own friend
You will never feel empty again in your silent corner of the loner.

111 words, Memyselfandela, November 2013

Photos: Pinterest




Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy having written.

My silences breed stories.

I translate my dreams and memories, though I often write for others

making their voice sound good.

At the end of each day, I re-visit my thoughts,

straining them, planting them, feeding them.

When I was a child, I believed anything was possible.

I’m now growing that seed in a flowerpot.


63 words, Adela Galasiu 2016

Photo: http://littlecottonrabbits.typepad.co.uk/



I find myself often writing
with a trembling finger on the sand:
mortal finger on eternal sand.

the wind corrects my flaws
adding them to the infinite spiral that has
once recorded all His absolute wisdom.

at the end of time
every grain will be accounted for
while recreating another unique pattern in time.


54 words, Adela Galasiu, 2016

Photo: graceinchrist.org, Robert Gray

John’s Day



It was a kind reminder of a Saint’s day
moved too soon in the life after life
where flowers never wither, and rivers are always fresh,
and the human heart is forever coherent.

John has not killed any dreadful dragons
still, in a humble sacrifice
he has blessed others and has made possible the glory
of the true Life.

I have found these faint memories
in the depths of an imaginary drawer
with fields of gold tenderly waving in the wind
like the breath of my father on his birthday.

Dedicated to my father, John, born on St. John’s day, June 24th.

90 words, Adela Galasiu, 2016

Photo: Photobuket


Wearing your heart on your sleeve is considered by many a sign of stupidity.

I personally believe it’s a sign of honesty, courage and real strength.

People’s attitude reflects their own inner value.


33 words, memyselfandela, 2015

Photo: Heart, Adela Galasiu, 2015



Photo: Silence, Adela Galasiu, August 2015


Motto: “If you’re going to try, go all the way. Otherwise, don’t even start…
It’s the only good fight there is.”  Charles Bukowski



Today is a gift. I am grateful to be here, feeling alive. I breathe in. I listen to a ring-dove singing in the tree next to me. I take in the air, the light, the smell of yesterday’s rain. Bumblebees come out sleepy trying to make up for the food they could not collect yesterday, hovering over lavender bushes and peppermint flowers that wave gently in the breeze. God smiles over us. The sun shines through the branches of the chestnut tree, my flowers bloom in the garden, their colours vibrating live a song in my eyes. Maybe they are, just like me, a part of God’s dream. Or maybe they are just a form of different frequency than the one of my soul. Maybe they are just strings that God plays with , like one plays a harp. It all makes sense, even though often my mind cannot even grasp the beauty of it all.

I drink a glass of water and contemplate life, like I do every once in a while, like we probably all do. Some people think that knowing that time is precious can make you lead a better life. What would I tell you if this would be my last day?

I’d say I’ve lost many things in this life, and sometimes it has felt like I’ve lost it all. Friends, time, love, children, relatives, sometimes even my mind. I’ve eaten too much or nothing for days. I’ve eaten my own bitterness and I drank the poison of my own ink-black thoughts. I’ve been freezing in train stations and on park benches thinking of why certain things happened in my life, feeling sorry for myself. I thought I was sometimes carrying too much luggage, but I think that was more the burden of my own life. Yet I have found out later that many of those things I’ve never really had, that they were never meant for me.

I have seen derision. And it was not the one coming from strangers that has hurt the most, but the one seen in the eyes of people I have helped out of their own ditch and considered friends. They say in my language that “the ones you don’t let die, will not let you live”. It was painful to find out what character some people really had. it has been gutting at times. Now it does not hurt any more, I have come to terms with all my experience. I have become older and hopefully wiser. I have learned not to regret things and I am mostly good at it, even though I can still catch myself doing it sometimes. I’ve often done my best and I know now that what people give is certainly what people will receive later in life.

Isolation? It is not a monkey thing. It feels sweet. It is not for everybody, I know it can be torture for others. But solitude is my gift. After all the pain induced by many things coming from the outside, my isolation meant discovering myself and finding peace, listening to my own soul tuning in with the one of the universe. And that is bliss.

Rejection? Yes, I felt plenty of that. I was one of those people that can feel like outsiders. Until I realised that I would have never belonged in certain circles of people or in the toxic environment that comes with them. So actually this was not a rejection, it was a discovery. It took me years to see that God had better plans for me , that He was opening me the right doors while I was trying like a stubborn child to open the wrong ones, again and again.

This is my path and you all have your own. Life is a journey. Some people learn from it, others get to the end of it not understanding anything, feeling bitter and angry. It may not be easy to walk on your own path, but it’s your quest. It all depends on how much you want it. And if you want it truly it will be better than anything you have ever imagined. It will equal conquering all your fears, it will mean finding your true self and facing God at the same time. Your days may be hard, but your heart will flame with the fire of all the passion you have in you. It will not be life that breaks you, but it will be you riding your own life.

I am only a tiny soul in an immense ocean of souls. All different, yet all the same. When I think of this I imagine a sky full of stars. The universe is immense, but we all have our own space, our own inner light and our own trajectory. I am trying to grasp what this life experience is all about, maybe just like you all. I’ve seen a lot and I still know almost nothing. But one of the few things I know now is that we should not be afraid, we should not let worry dry out our soul. Life is joy and we should experience the joy of being alive, the experience of our soul having a material body and interacting with others.

There’s no path, make your own. Be bold, be strong, be yourself. Try it, go all the way, it’s the best thing of all.


900 words, memyselandela, August 2015

Photo: Lavender, Adela Galasiu, August 2015

Yes / Da , Octavian Paler


“Yes, It isn’t always wise to say
that the muses get silent among weapons..
My words are here and I hold them
as you would hold a spear.
Mother, forgive me, I couldn’t otherwise.
I know you’ve been quiet all life
and I should have , maybe, done the same
but out of our silence
a scream had to gush oneday
and here it is, filling up my mouth with hope and tears
and with a sunny sadness
that is mine, I’m not sure,
mine or my grave’s. But
this has almost
no more importance at all.”

Octavian Paler, Poems



“Da, nu e întotdeauna o înţelepciune să spui
că muzele tac între arme.
Cuvintele mele sunt aici şi le strâng
ca pe o lance.
Mamă, iartă-mă, nu puteam altfel.
Ştiu, tu ai tăcut toată viaţa
şi ar fi trebuit şi eu să fac, poate, la fel,
dar trebuia odată ca din tăcerea noastră
să ţâşnească un strigăt
şi, iată-l, îmi umple gura de speranţă şi lacrimi
şi de o tristeţe însorită
ce-mi aparţine, nu mai ştiu,
mie sau mormântului meu. Dar
aceasta aproape nu mai are
nicio importanţă. “

Octavian Paler, Poeme

Translation: Adela Galasiu

Photo: Photobucket

Water lily / Nufar

The beauty in God’s dream
slowly blooms, petal by petal,
watched quietly by the whole being
in a breath of silent bliss.


Frumusetea din visul lui Dumnezeu
Infloreste incet, petala cu petala,
privita tacut de o intreaga faptura
intr-o rasuflare de beatitudine fara zgomot.


22 words / 22 de cuvinte , Memyselfandela – Adela Galasiu, August 2015

Photo: Memyselfandela – Adela Galasiu, August 2015

Soul / Suflet


The soul levitates above the ground
longing dreamy to
move its roots into heaven.

The matter’s consistency
stridently burdens the light
reflected by the heart.

Some say we cannot stop the moment
yet I still believe that we can
trap it within the soul’s walls.


Sufletul leviteaza deasupra pamantului
tanjind visator sa
isi mute radacinile in cer.

Consistenta materiei
ingreuneaza in mod strident lumina
reflectata de inima.

Unii spun ca nu avem posibilitatea sa oprim clipa
si totusi eu inca mai cred ca o putem
tine prinsa intre peretii sufletului.


45 words / 45 de cuvinte, memyselfandela – Adela Galasiu, August, 2015

Photos: Adela Galasiu, Wild Strawberries/ Fragi


Breathe this clear air

Put your foot down into reality

Feel life running within your heart.


There is no future

And the past means almost nothing

All you have is this magic moment.


30 words, Memyselfandela, July 2015

Photo: Instagram http://ift.tt/1JtHHqw

What’s Your Version?

The “Three Little Pigs” is a fairy tale that has become very popular in our culture. It was originally written in England, the earliest credited story version being written by James Orchard Halliwell in 1849. The story appeared in a book titled “Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales.” It is not known if Halliwell, who later used the name Halliwell-Phillipps, created the story himself or has simply passed it down from his previous generations.

Halliwell was credited by Joseph Jacobs when he adapted the story for a book titled “English Fairy Tales.” Jacobs made changes to appeal to a younger audience. In the original story, the “Big Bad Wolf” was boiled in a pot and eaten by the three pigs. Rather than end the fairy tale in such a horrible manner, Jacobs adapted the tale, so that the “Big Bad Wolf” came down the chimney and burned his tail. In the Disney interpretation, the wolf lands in a pot of boiling turpentine, but runs away in pain through the chimney.

The basic story of “The Three Little Pigs” is a tale of three little pigs who each builds a home. The first one takes little time in building the home out of straw and spends the rest of his time playing and relaxing. The second little pig builds a home out of sticks, which takes a bit longer, but he too values relaxation time. The third little pig chooses to build a home out of bricks, which requires a great deal of time and effort. He values more taking the time to build a home properly over relaxation and recreation. When the big bad wolf comes to the homes, only the third pig’s house stands up to the pressure applied by the wolf.

The moral lesson learned from “The Three Little Pigs” is that hard work and dedication pay off. This idea that taking the time to perform a task the right way has been widely adopted by many teachers and parents of children for generations. It has became extremely popular in the United States with Walt Disney’s adaption of the tale.

Here you can find Disney’s adaptation:

In 1933, Walt Disney released an eight-minute animated film of the “Three Little Pigs.” According to the Encyclopedia of Disney Animated Shorts, this short film has inspired many Americans through the Great Depression. Just as the three little pigs were able to overcome adversity through hard work, many Americans believed that their hard work would eventually lead them out of the Great Depression.

But starting from the Disney version of the story, the cinematography has continued to adapt, and it is really interesting to see how the story has been changed in time, in different moments in time and according to different trends, into:

a musical version

a reality version

an unhappy ending version

or an Italian Mafia style version.

The story has , like all fairy tales, a seed of truth hidden deep inside. And it can also mean something completely different to different people. The moral of the story nevertheless inspired generations to work hard for success, with the hope that one day the hard work will lead to success and happiness.

Yet, no matter how you look at the story and whichever your favourite version may be, enjoy it.🙂


Memyselfandela, July 2015

Videos: Youtube


An old very faithful churchman used to end the liturgy with a prayer saying:

” Lord , please put Thy finger into the chest of the unsaved and bring them back on the right track “.
After many years the man was asked again to end up the liturgy  with the same prayer.

He said:  ‘God please put … ” and stopped.

After several embarrassing moments he only ended with  “Amen.”
Asked later why he did not finish his prayer as usual, the old man said:
I had a vision. And God told me: “YOU are my finger!” “

IMG_1325Translation: memyselfandela, 2009

I am a bridge / Sunt un pod , by Adrian Paunescu

I am a bridge over the river,

Towards you, always

Supported by nothing

Only on my soul.

This heartless river

Will smash me  into pieces,

I understand my condition,

But you also have to understand it.

I am a bridge over the river,

On my sad pillars,

Towards you always

But you do not exist.

You do not understand that it’s hard for me,

That I’m cold and it is ugly

That I am heavy and fixed

I am a bridge and that is all.

Where I get to go

I am forced to remain

Whether it smells like iron

Whether it smells like hay.

And at once I understand

That I am sad  in vain

On my sad pillars

I embrace myself and shiver

You feel what I feel,

More seriously, moreover,

Your permanent crying

I take from you and listen to it.

And I seem to give echo

And resonate in another way,

Stepped over by feet

Like a man, like a bridge.

I am a bridge over the river,

I am a bridge over the walking,

How many winds have written me

How many rains have deleted me.

But you’re not on the shore,

But you’re not with them

But you do not crush me,

You hold me and you drink me.

I am an elevated  bridge

Over an uncomfortable river

I am a bridge, you’re a river,

Are you a river, I am a bridge.


Sunt un pod peste rau,

Catre tine mereu,

Pe nimic sprijinit,

Doar pe sufletul meu.

Acest rau nemilos

Ma va sparge-n bucati,

Starea mea o-nteleg,

Dar si tu seama da-ti.

Sunt un pod peste rau,

Pe pilonii mei tristi,

Catre tine mereu,

Insa tu nu existi.

Nu-ntelegi ca mi-e greu,

Ca mi-e frig si urat,

Sunt greoi si sunt fix,

Sunt un pod si atat.

Unde-apuc sa ma duc

Sunt silit sa raman

Ca miroase a fier,

Ca miroase a fan.

Si deodata-nteleg

Ca sunt trist in zadar,

Pe pilonii mei tristi

Ma cuprind si tresar.

Tu simti tot ce simt eu,

Ba mai grav, ba mai mult,

Plansul tau permanent

Il preiau si il ascult.

Si dau parca ecou

Si vibrez in alt mod,

In picioare calcat

Ca un om, ca un pod.

Sunt un pod peste riu,

Sunt un pod peste mers,

Cate vanturi m-au scris,

Cate ploi m-au tot sters.

Dar tu nu esti pe mal,

Dar tu nu esti cu ei,

Dar tu nu ma strivesti,

Tu ma tii si ma bei.

Sunt un pod ridicat

Peste-un rau incomod,

Sunt un pod, esti un rau,

Esti un rau, sunt un pod.

Adrian Paunescu, Romanian Poet

Translation: Adela Galasiu, 2010

Eyes / Ochi

In a far away land there is a city with hundreds of wise houses. Each house has a roof, a soul and an attic with two windows. Eyes scrutinize the birds that get back to their nests late at night, the grannies that bake homemade bread, the blatant children playing outside, the flowers raising their heads in the sun, the cats that purr in hidden corners, the dogs hiding their precious bones, the women that dream of the return of their husbands and the husbands dreaming of other women.

Every day opens a new color, a new hope, ends a life and begins others. Every evening sends to sleep all the rippled memories of the day, all the children and cats and birds and wives and husbands. Some of the grannies will sleep longer, other babies will get born out of the dreams of past nights. Some of the flowers will grow seeds, others will bloom, the stars will seem to rotate on the sky awaiting the rays of the same sun that has opened the eyes of all the children and women and cats and husbands and grannies and birds.

When morning comes the smell of coffee invades the streets. It fills up the sky and the staircases of all houses. As eyes open life vibrates, noises clash in the air, birds sing again, cats lick meticulously their paws and wash their furs with slow movements on the edge of wide open windows, dogs inspect every corner of their territory, children moan instead of waking up, wives pack lunch for their husbands, husbands go to work hoping that the day will be better that the other days. And even though life seems the same, it is always different.
In the city where houses have eyes life can still flow in unexpected patterns. ochi2Houses have eyes in Sibiu, Romania.


Intr-o tara indepartata exista un oras cu sute de case intelepte. Fiecare casa are un acoperis, un suflet si un pod cu doua ferestre. Ochi privesc cu mare atentie pasarile care se intorc la cuiburile lor noaptea, bunicile care coc paine de casa, copiii galagiosi care se joaca pe afara, florile care isi ridica frumosul cap in soare, pisicile care torc in colturi ascunse, cainii care isi ascund mult iubitele oase, femeile care viseaza cu ochii deschisi la intoarcerea barbatilor lor si barbatii care viseaza la cu totul alte femei.

Fiecare zi deschide o noua culoare, o noua speranta, sfarseste o noua viata si incepe altele. Fiecare seara trimite la culcare toate amintirile ondulate ale zilei, toti copiii si toate pisicile si toate pasarile si toate nevestele si toti barbatii. Unele bunici vor dormi mai mult, alti copii se vor naste din visele noptilor care au trecut. Unele flori vor face seminte, altele vor inflori, stelele vor parea ca se rotesc pe cer asteptand razele aceluiasi soare care a deschis ochii tuturor copiiilor si femeilor si pisicilor si barbatilor si bunicilor si pasarilor.

Cand vine dimineata aroma de cafea napadeste toate strazile. Umple cerul si casele scarilor. In timp ce ochii se deschid, viata vibreaza, zgomote se ciocnesc in aer, pasari canta din nou, pisici isi ling meticulos labele si isi spala blana cu miscari foarte tacticoase pe marginea ferestrelor larg deschise, caini inspecteaza fiecare colt al teritoriului lor, copii gem in loc sa se trezeasca, neveste impacheteaza pranzul pentru barbatii lor, barbati merg la lucru sperand ca ziua va fi mai buna decat alte zile. Si desi viata pare la fel, este mai totdeauna diferita.

In orasul in care casele au ochi viata poate inca sa se scurga in tipare cu totul neasteptate.

Casele au ochi in Sibiu, Romania.


300 words / 300 de cuvinte,

Story and Translation / Poveste si Traducere : memyselfandela / Adela Galasiu October 2013 / July 2015

Photo- Photobucket

Dinu Lipatti – Sonata for the good man / Sonata pentru omul bun

A tribute to Dinu Lipatti, “Greatest pianist after Frédéric Chopin”( as Yehudi Menuhin said).

Tribut lui Dinu Lipatti, “cel mai mare pianist după Frédéric Chopin” (dupa cum a spus Yehudi Menuhin).

“Lipatti- Sonata for the good man” is a sensible portrait of the composer, pianist and teacher Dinu Constantin Lipatti. The documentary brings to light , from the still rich TVR(Romanian Television) Archive, anthological interviews with Florica Musicescu, Nadia Boulanger,  the two biographers of Lipatti, Grigore Bărgăuanu and Dragoş Tănăsescu, and Menuhin.
You are watching a documentary signed by Ruxandra Ţuchel.

„Lipatti- Sonată pentru omul bun” creionează un portret emoţionat al celui care a fost compozitorul pianistul şi pedagogul Dinu Constantin Lipatti. Documentarul aduce la lumină, din Arhiva încă bogată a TVR, interviuri antologice cu Florica Musicescu, cu Nadia Boulanger, cu cei doi biografi ai lui Lipatti, Grigore Bărgăuanu şi Dragoş Tănăsescu, cu Menuhin. Urmăriţi un documentar semnat Ruxandra Ţuchel


memyselfandela, © Adela Galasiu, 2015

Video source: Youtube.

Heart / Inima / Coeur / Herz

The Heart is

Nothing but a bunch

Of feelings.


Inima nu e altceva

Decat un buchet

De sentimente.


Le coeur n’est rien

Qu’un bouquet

De sentiments.


Das Herz ist

Nichts als ein Strauß

Der Gefühle.

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9 words, English, Romanian, French, German – Memyselfandela/ Adela Galasiu, July 2015

Music: Dinu Lipatti playing Chopin Barcarolle for piano in F sharp major op 60 B 158, Youtube

Photos: Photobucket


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romantic and bohemian
like a poem

mine and nobodies
of sad heart and wondering thought

brilliant and wrapped in gold cover
like the smile of a lover

city of tear and reverie
beautiful Paris


romantic si boem
ca un poem

al meu si al nimanui
de inima trista si gand haihui

stralucitor si poleit
ca zambetul unui iubit

oras de lacrima si vis
frumos Paris


romantique et boheme
comme un poeme

a moi et a toute personne
de coeur triste et pensee qui etonne

brilliant et toute dore
comme la sourire d’un bien aime

ville de larme et reverie
toute belle Paris


Poem in Romanian, English, French , memyselfandela / Adela Galasiu, July 2015

Photos: imagessource


“Je marche dans tes rues / I walk on your streets / Merg pe strazile tale
Qui me marchent sur les pieds / Which in turn step on my feet / Care imi merg pe talpi
Je bois dans tes cafés / I drink in your cafes / Beau in cafenelele tale

Je traîne dans tes métros / I hang around in your metros / Imi pierd vremea in metrourile tale
Tes trottoirs m’aiment un peu trop / Your sidewalks love me a bit too much / Trotuarele tale ma iubesc un pic prea mult
Je rêve dans tes bistrots / I dream in your bistros / Visez in bistrourile tale

Je m’assoie sur tes bancs / I sit down on your benches / Ma asez pe bancile tale
Je regarde tes monuments / I look at your monuments / Iti privesc monumentele
Je trinque à la santé de tes amants / I raise a toast to the health of your lovers / Toastez pentru sanatatea amantilor tai

Je laisse couler ta Seine / I let your Seine flow / Las Senna sa curga
Sous tes ponts, ta rengaine / Under your bridges, your tune / Sub podurile tale, melodia ta
Toujours après la peine / Always after the sorrows / Totdeauna dupa necazuri

Je pleure dans tes taxis / I cry in your taxis / Plang in taxiurile tale
Quand tu brilles sous la pluie / When you shine under the rain / Cand tu stralucesti sub ploaie
Ce que t’es belle en pleine nuit / How beautiful you are, in the middle of the night / Cat de frumos esti in plina noapte

Je pisse dans tes caniveaux / I take a piss in your gutters / Urinez in rigolele tale
C’est de la faute a Hugo / It’s all (Victor) Hugo’s fault / E vina lui (Victor) Hugo
Et je picolle en argot / And I get drunk in jargon / Si ma imbat in jargon

Je dors dans tes hôtels / I sleep in your hotels / Dorm in hotelurile tale
J’adore ta tour Eiffel / I adore your Eiffel Tower / Iti ador turnul Eiffel
Au moins elle, elle est fidèle / It, at least, is faithful / Cel putin el e credincios

Quand je te quitte un peu loin / When I leave you a little later / Cand te parasesc un pic departe
Tu ressembles au chagrin / You look just like sadness / Pari a fi doar tristete
Ça me fait un mal de chien / It hurts me so freaking much / Sufar ca un caine

Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much? / Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux / Paris, whatever you want / Paris, paris, orice vrei
Boulevard des bouleverses / Boulevard of distress / Bulevard al suferintei
Paris tu m’as renversé / Paris, you knocked me off my feet / Paris, m-ai daramat
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit

Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much?/ Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux/ Paris, whatever you want / Paris, orice vrei
Paris, Paris, tenu / Paris, Paris , once had / Paris, Paris, avut
Paris, Paris, perdu / Paris, Paris, lost / Paris , Paris, pierdut
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit
Sur ton pavé / On your pavement/ Pe pavajul tau

Je me réveille dans tes bras / I wake up in your arms / Ma trezesc in bratele tale
Sur tes quais y’a de la joie / On your docks, there is joy / Pe docurile tale e bucurie
Et des loups dans tes bois / And in your woods, there are wolves / Si in padurile tale lupi

Je me glisse dans tes cinés / I slip into your cinemas / Ma strecor in cinematografele tale
Je me perds dans ton quartier / I get lost in your neighbourhood / Ma pierd in cartierul tau
Je m’y retrouverai jamais / I will never manage to find my way there / Nu-mi voi gasi calea niciodata acolo

Je nage au fil de tes gares / I swim in the course of your train stations / Inot pe cursul statiilor tale de tren
Et mon regarde s’égare / And my gaze wanders / Si privirea mea rataceste
Je vois passer des cafards sur tes bars / I see cockroaches moving about on your bars / Vad trecand gandaci pe barurile tale

Je m’accroche aux réverbères / I hang on to the lampposts / Ma agat de felinare
Tes pigeons manquent pas d’air / Your pigeons have some nerve / Porumbeii tai au tupeu
Et moi de quoi j’ai l’air? / And me, what do I look like? / Si eu, eu cum arat?

Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much? / Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux / Paris, whatever you want / Paris, paris, orice vrei
Boulevard des bouleverses / Boulevard of distress / Bulevard al suferintei
Paris tu m’as renversé / Paris, you knocked me off my feet / Paris, m-ai daramat
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit

Paris, Paris, combien? / Paris, Paris, how much?/ Paris, Paris, cat de mult?
Paris tout ce que tu veux/ Paris, whatever you want / Paris, orice vrei
Paris, Paris, tenu / Paris, Paris , once had / Paris, Paris, avut
Paris, Paris, perdu / Paris, Paris, lost / Paris , Paris, pierdut
Paris tu m’as laissé / Paris, you left me / Paris, m-ai parasit
Sur ton pavé / On your pavement/ Pe pavajul tau

Je marche dans tes rues / I walk on your streets / Merg pe strazile tale
Qui me marchent sur les pieds / Which in turn step on my feet / Care imi merg pe talpi
Je bois dans tes cafés / I drink in your cafes / Beau in cafenelele tale

Je traîne dans tes métros / I hang around in your metros / Imi pierd vremea in metrourile tale
Tes trottoirs m’aiment un peu trop / Your sidewalks love me a bit too much / Trotuarele tale ma iubesc un pic prea mult
Je rêve dans tes bistrots / I dream in your bistros / Visez in bistrourile tale ”

Souad Massi & Marc Lavoine – Paris

Lyrics Translation : French- English – Romanian – Adela Galasiu July 2015


Motto: “We are cut, we are fallen.
We are become part of that unfeeling universe that sleeps
when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie asleep.” /

” Suntem secerati, suntem cazuti. Am devenit parte a
acelui univers lipsit de simturi care doarme cand suntem cel mai activi
si mocneste ca jarul cand ne intindem in somn.”

Virginia Woolf, The Waves/ Virginia Woolf, Valurile



I am lost like a stone
Submerged in the depths
Of this endless reality
In which our thoughts sometimes touch.

They come and go
Sometimes tormented like an agony
Sometimes calm like a madman
Marooned on an island of thousand silences.

Don’t keep me in your pocket forever,
Throw me far away,
Just enjoy the moment of
My passing ripples through your existence.


Sunt pierdut ca o piatra
Scufundata in adancurile
Acestei realitati fara sfarsit
In care gandurile noastre uneori se ating.

Ele vin si pleaca
Uneori chinuite ca o agonie
Alteori calme precum un nebun
Naufragiat pe o insula a miilor de taceri.

Nu ma tine in buzunarul tau pentru totdeauna
Arunca-ma in departare,
Bucura-te doar de momentul
Trecatoarelor mele unde prin existenta ta.


memyselfandela/ Adela Galasiu, 63 words, 2014

Photo: Photobucket.

At Night

At night
She holds you
In her warm embrace
Quiet companion
You’ve got her
Under your skin.


Poem: memyselfandela, © Adela Galasiu 2013

Image: http://womeninadvertisements.blogspot.co.uk



I’m nobody, who are you?
Yes, nobody, no face, no style, no fashion
far away from the fun and the bursts of joy.

I’m nobody, yes, yet
the fact that my heart is not full of myself
leaves all this space free for you.


memyselfandela, Adela Galasiu 2013

Photo: Photobucket

I have learned.We have time – Octavian Paler

“We have time for everything.
Time to sleep, time to run to the right and to the left,
time to regret that we made mistakes and time to make mistakes again,
time to judge others and to absolve ourselves,
we have time to read and to write,
to correct what we wrote, to regret what we wrote,
we have time to make plans and time not to respect them,
We have time to make illusions for ourselves and to stir in the ashes later.
we have time for ambitions and sicknesses,
time to blame the destiny and the details,
We have time to watch the clouds, the advertising or some accident,
we have time to banish our doubts,
to delay the answers,
to break a dream and then reinvent it,
we have time to make friends, to lose friends,
we have time to receive lessons and forget afterwards,
we have time to receive gifts and not to understand them.
We have time for everything.
There is no time for just a bit of tenderness.
when we are about to do this we die.
I’ve learned some things in my life that I share with you!!
I’ve learned that you cannot make someone love you
All you can do is to be a loved person.
the rest … depends on the others.
I’ve learned that as much as I care
others might not care.
I’ve learned that it takes years to earn trust
and just a few seconds to lose it
I’ve learned that it does not matter WHAT you have in your life
but WHO you have.
I’ve learned that your charm is useful for about 15 minutes to manage in life
Afterwards, you should better know something.
I’ve learned that it is not good to compare yourself with what others do better
but compare yourself with what you can do
I’ve learned that it does not matter what happens to people
but it matters what I can do to solve it
I’ve learned that no matter how you cut it
everything has two sides
I’ve learned that you should separate from your loved ones with warm words
It might be the last time you see them
I’ve learned that you can still continue for a long time after saying you cannot continue anymore
I’ve learned that heroes are those who do what they have to do,
when they have to do it
regardless the consequences
I’ve learned that there are people who love
But do not know how to show it
I’ve learned that when I am upset I have the RIGHT to be upset
But not the right to be bad
I’ve learned that real friendship continues to exist despite the distance
And this is true also for real love
I’ve learned that if someone does not love you like you want them to
It does not mean that they do not love you with all their heart.
I’ve learned that no matter how good of a friend someone is for you
that person will hurt you every now and then
and that you have to forgive him.
I’ve learned that it is not enough to be forgiven by others
Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I’ve learned that no matter how much you suffer,
The world will not stop for your pain.
I’ve learned that the past and the circumstances might have an influence on your personality
but that YOU are responsible for what you become
I’ve learned that if two people have an argument it does not mean that they do not love each other
But the fact that they do not argue does not prove that they love each other.
I’ve learned that sometimes you have to put on the first place the person, not the facts
I’ve learned that two people can look at the same thing
and can see something totally different
I’ve learned that regardless the consequences
those who are honest with themselves go further in life
I’ve learned that life can be changed in a few hours
by people who do not even know you.
I’ve learned that even when you think there is nothing more you can give
when a friend calls you, you will find the strength to help him.
I’ve learned that writing
just like talking
can ease the pains of the soul
I’ve learned that those whom you love the most
are taken away from you too soon …
I’ve learned that it is too difficult to realise
where to draw the line between being friendly, not hurting people and supporting your oppinions
I’ve learned to love
to be loved.”
“Avem timp pentru toate.
Sa dormim, sa alergam in dreapta si-n stanga,
sa regretam c-am gresit si sa gresim din nou,
sa-i judecam pe altii si sa ne absolvim pe noi insine,
avem timp sa citim si sa scriem,
sa corectam ce-am scris, sa regretam ce-am scris,
avem timp sa facem proiecte si sa nu le respectam,
avem timp sa ne facem iluzii si sa rascolim prin cenusa lor mai tarziu.
Avem timp pentru ambitii si boli,
sa invinovatim destinul si amanuntele,
avem timp sa privim norii, reclamele sau un accident oarecare,
avem timp sa ne-alungam intrebarile,
sa amanam raspunsurile,
avem timp sa sfaramam un vis si sa-l reinventam,
avem timp sa ne facem prieteni, sa-i pierdem,
avem timp sa primim lectii si sa le uitam dupa-aceea,
avem timp sa primim daruri si sa nu le-ntelegem.
Avem timp pentru toate.
Nu e timp doar pentru putina tandrete.
Cand sa facem si asta murim.
Am invatat unele lucruri in viata pe care vi le impartasesc si voua!!
Am invatat ca nu poti face pe cineva sa te iubeasca
Tot ce poti face este sa fii o persoana iubita.
Restul … depinde de ceilalti.
Am invatat ca oricat mi-ar pasa mie
Altora s-ar putea sa nu le pase.
Am invatat ca dureaza ani sa castigi incredere
Si ca doar in cateva secunde poti sa o pierzi
Am invatat ca nu conteaza CE ai in viata
Ci PE CINE ai.
Am invatat ca te descurci si ti-e de folos farmecul cca 15 minute
Dupa aceea, insa, ar fi bine sa stii ceva.
Am invatat ca nu trebuie sa te compari cu ceea ce pot altii mai bine sa faca
Ci cu ceea ce poti tu sa faci
Am invatat ca nu conteaza ce li se intampla oamenilor
Ci conteaza ceea ce pot eu sa fac pentru a rezolva
Am invatat ca oricum ai taia
Orice lucru are doua fete
Am invatat ca trebuie sa te desparti de cei dragi cu cuvinte calde
S-ar putea sa fie ultima oara cand ii vezi
Am invatat ca poti continua inca mult timp
Dupa ce ai spus ca nu mai poti
Am invatat ca eroi sunt cei care fac ce trebuie,
cand trebuie
Indiferent de consecinte
Am invatat ca sunt oameni care te iubesc
Dar nu stiu s-o arate
Am invatat ca atunci cand sunt suparat am DREPTUL sa fiu suparat
Dar nu am dreptul sa fiu si rau
Am invatat ca prietenia adevarata continua sa existe chiar si la distanta
Iar asta este valabil si pentru iubirea adevarata
Am invatat ca, daca cineva nu te iubeste cum ai vrea tu
Nu inseamna ca nu te iubeste din tot sufletul.
Am invatat ca indiferent cat de bun iti este un prieten
Oricum te va rani din cand in cand
Iar tu trebuie sa-l ierti pentru asta.
Am invatat ca nu este intotdeauna de ajuns sa fi iertat de altii
Cateodata trebuie sa inveti sa te ierti pe tine insuti
Am invatat ca indiferent cat de mult suferi,
Lumea nu se va opri in loc pentru durerea ta.
Am invatat ca trecutul si circumstantele ti-ar putea influenta personalitatea
Dar ca TU esti responsabil pentru ceea ce devii
Am invatat ca, daca doi oameni se cearta, nu inseamna ca nu se iubesc
Si nici faptul ca nu se cearta nu dovedeste ca se iubesc.
Am invatat ca uneori trebuie sa pui persoana pe primul loc
Si nu faptele sale
Am invatat ca doi oameni pot privi acelasi lucru
Si pot vedea ceva total diferit
Am invatat ca indiferent de consecinte
Cei care sunt cinstiti cu ei insisi ajung mai departe in viata
Am invatat ca viata iti poate fi schimbata in cateva ore
De catre oameni care nici nu te cunosc.
Am invatat ca si atunci cand crezi ca nu mai ai nimic de dat
Cand te striga un prieten vei gasi puterea de a-l ajuta.
Am invatat ca scrisul
Ca si vorbitul
Poate linisti durerile sufletesti
Am invatat ca oamenii la care tii cel mai mult
Iti sunt luati prea repede …
Am invatat ca este prea greu sa-ti dai seama
Unde sa tragi linie intre a fi amabil, a nu rani
oamenii si a-ti sustine parerile.
Am invatat sa iubesc
Ca sa pot sa fiu iubit.”
OCTAVIAN PALER, Romanian writer
Translation: Adela Galasiu, 2009
Photography: Adela Galasiu, July 2016, Isle of Wight, UK

cynical love

Love…  the “climb any mountain, ford any stream” love… the shouting in undying passion for his love kind of love… that sweet and sticky kind of love…

Why was this significant? Well, he was a love-hater just merely half a year ago. He was that person who would roll the eyes at someone like him now, and just say: “Get over it already!!!”.

In fact, he did. He definitely said that very loud to real people in public. Worse yet, he said it to some of his closest friends. His utter disdain for public displays of affection was both ferocious and adamant. Romance felt like a construct rather than an extension of emotional expression. Love seemed like an obligation, a constant game of one-upmanship where the stakes just get higher. Love. What the hell is love, anyway? It’s just a word.

What was it, you might wonder, that turned him into such a bitter curmudgeon at such a (relatively) young age? Same old story, I guess – he’d been in a good number of relationships, many of which left him so heartbroken it was hard to pick himself off the floor. After a particularly bad year, it was enough. He removed his heart from his sleeve and tossed it. It just wasn’t worth it.

Sure, since then he had other rendezvous. He even said the big “L” again, though it was more calculated, measured, and guarded. Love was something that could be rationalized. Marriage was something that could be brokered. Everything occurred in its due course, was controlled, and was expected.

Everything… except this.

He was in a rather deep denial over how badly the last relationship had hurt him and proclaimed, nearly the next day after the breakup, that he didn’t give a damn and that he was over it. The breakup, while not his idea, was just the due course of the relationship. Though he had plotted it differently, he rationalized it would have ended eventually, and she had been gracious enough to do him a favor. His love and him, they connected then, while he was stoically broken and when he still thought he knew all the answers. He dismissed her, back then, since he would need to grieve for the prescribed time (mathematically, it is half the time you were with someone, but he figured that he should be good in about six months, give or take). He told her that it wasn’t going to go anywhere. He saw other people. He even ended it with her. It just wasn’t in his logical and methodical equations. He explained to himself the significance of the break. Over those many heartbreaks, he realized that using “let’s break up” as fighting ammo just isn’t cool. To combat this, he’s implemented the “a break is a break” rule, meaning that if she breaks up with him (or vice-versa), then there was a damned good reason to do it. No looking back. A break is permanent.

So, when he ended it with her, he really had no intention of ever seeing her again. Ever. But something odd had happened. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. But there was so much fear. So much fear that something would go wrong. Well, he called “fear” “reality.” After all, she was German. He was American. She – here for just a few more months. He had a job here in Chicago, with no potential to transfer elsewhere. Where the hell can a relationship with limited time go? To the short-term-no-commitments bin, and that’s where he tried to keep it.

Maybe she found him at just the right time in his personal quest of self-exploration. Maybe they were so compatible that everything was just what love is supposed to be. Maybe, just maybe, there is no explanation, because that’s what love is, something irrational that just kind of happens. Whatever it was, it was as though his heart melted – literally. He hates such cheesy metaphors; he would apologize for all those cynics out there – don’t forget, he was you!). It was as though he’d put his heart in a cryogenic freezer and then took it out, just in time to be warmed by this beautiful and amazing woman.

Regardless of what it was, he couldn’t stay away from her for long. He invited her to the L Stop launch party, where he had convinced himself it would just be a hook-up. At Thanksgiving, he specifically skipped out on plans elsewhere to cook her a traditional meal, convincing himself that it was just that he was showing her a true American T-day. No, there wasn’t a possibility that he actually liked the girl. What’s done is done. No looking back.

Something, though… something was different. He felt his pulse quicken. “Breathe, breathe, get it under control,” he thought. Her perfume lingered in his car after she left and his pulse raced. His thoughts wandered off to her during the day. His heart beat uncontrolled within his chest, it felt like anxiety. But it felt so much better than anxiety. Damn? What the hell was going on with him?

Fortunately, though, he was too intoxicated with her to think straight. He had blurted out things like, “Why don’t you come over (again) tonight” before he could think them through. His poor roommate had to listen to “Why the hell do I like her?” over and over again while he picked at the teeny tiniest minuscule faults wherever he could manage to imagine them. This eventually morphed to, “Why can’t I STOP liking her” and eventually an all-out, “Oh GOD, I think I’m in LOVE with her”.

All the reasoning in the world couldn’t rationalize this away. In fact, despite their separate nationalities, there was no legitimate reason holding them apart. He could always move to Germany; she could move here, she had an in-demand job that could always warrant her work visa, maybe no marriage needed. She was smart, funny, gentle, and crazy hot – what the hell was there not to love?

Well, after leaving behind his own hangups, and letting it just all unfold with no plan…it turned out there was nothing not to love. Was it…was it that he was just too scared to try love again? Scared? Him? But, it turns out he was. He kept thinking that this wonderfully amazing woman would just walk out of his life (and really, he had given her plenty of reasons to).

But he let it all go and decided to put it all on the line. Instead, with a shaky voice, while they snuggled on the couch, he leaned over to her ear. Just as much because he was scared he’d mess it up in German  as he was scared to say it out loud, he whispered:

“Ich liebe dich”.

1100 words, Adela Galasiu 2012

Photo: Photobucket



Luna Amara – Rosu Aprins / The Bitter Moon – Burning Red

“N-ai cum sa lasi cum sa uiti / You can’t leave, you can’t forget
Totul in noapte / Everything in the night
Oricat ti-ar parea de usor / No matter how easy it may seem
Stinge o stea – si ramai pe sub pleoape / Burn out a star – and remain under the eyelids
Stinge si luna amara cu un nor / Also burn out the bitter moon with a cloud

Rosu aprins – coloreaza-mi tacerea / Bright red – colour my silence
Rosu aprins – pe un suras ce s-a stins / Burning red – on a smile that has died
Rosu aprins – sa-mi ascunda durerea / Burning red – to cover my pain
In noapte ma pierd – cu noaptea te iert / in the night I lose myself – with the night I forgive you

Te ascund intre coaste ce dor / I hide you between hurting ribs
Cu luna amara / With the bitter moon
Cand tot ce-mi doresc e rosu aprins / When everything I long for is burning red
Nu vreau sa te pierd in lumea de-afara / I don’t want to lose you in the outside world
Ramai neschimbata – rosu nestins! / Remain unchanged – unextinguished red!”

Luna Amara, Romanian Rock Band

Translation: memyselfandela, 2012

the mess

can’t live like this
yet we insanely do it
we hate each other
though completely in love
cannot connect but
we are one

lose me in the morning
I’ll win you in the evening
oh what an incongruence
such a fight
what a fine mess

Memyselfandela, 2012

remains of the day

days have passed with a crazy velocity… most of the friends that she managed to make in the year have left. she finally unpacked her suitcases, cleaned the whole apartment, disappointed that all changes so quickly… fortunately she was not left completely alone. there still was someone for the next three weeks, someone to drink coffee with and a companion for concerts….

… concerts.. yes, all those concerts… yesterday glass and smith. there was strike again, she had to walk again, she walked the distance between four subway stations in the heat of the ending day, suffocating heat, thinking to take a taxi to return after the concert because the area was creepy… she arrived two hours too early, there were only ten peaple ahead of her(including a sixty years old lady with short hair , blue and white strands and the biggest tattoos that she has ever seen… on the right leg a huge violet grape, on the right foot the tattoo was so abstract that it seemed impossible to realize what it was meant to represent…)

this time the concert was at odeon, in the smallest of the two amphitheatres… about 1000 people but clearly the most  various public she had ever seen attending a concert… with curious eyes she explored the faces and dresses and people and made herself an idea about the everything… sitting in the second row, she was very close to the stage, next to two girls that were smiling and talking about their sexy fifty years old literature teacher sitting in the first row…the guy was looking like one of the teachers of philip roth….

and it all begun well and ended wrong… patti smith is the perfect voice for ginsberg’s poems and it would have been just marvellous if she would not have started talking on her own, expressing her own ideas… at the end a big group of vintage enthusiasts run in front of the stage bothering everybody … they have started screaming happily “people have the power” raising their fists and  militating as if right that very moment they were about to start a new revolution….

but of course, this disappointment did not spoil the rest of the concert for her. she adored philip glass from the first moment, thinking that he deserves a title of nobility like “Sir”… she adored him from the moment he said in a very elegant french that he was about to play… by metamorphosis two she was already holding her breath since she could only hear the piano and the crickets….

conclusion: she should better read ginsberg on her own, and she deffinitely must see philip glass one more time, in one of his concerts alone… and if cohen and glass (and ginsberg) all met in the buddhist ideas, there must be a reason. she alone was convinced she is not compatible with that inner peace for which the western people find no words, but she would have loved at least once to try it…

when she returned she found no taxi… among thousands of curses said in her mind in the honour of the greatness of the French nation and her strikes, after ten minutes of fast walking , she noticed with de corner of her eye the pencil tower from part-dieu, exactly in the opposite direction that she was supposed to follow to get back home… she returned , passed again in front of the same arab merchant sleeping on his chair… she and her lovely 70s dress that she wore especially for ginsberg… maybe if she would not have wore this dress it would not have all ended in this hippie apocalypse…

she arrived home cursing the country she declared one of idiots and the idiots that strike all the time and also herself, the greatest idiot, for not being capable, not even at her age, to learn how to ride the bicycle.

memyselfandela, 2012

fragile poems / poeme fragile

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fragile poems grow

written by old nature’s hand

roses are blooming


poeme fragile crescand

scrise de vechea mana a naturii

trandafiri inflorind

Memyselfandela, 2012

To survive you must be the strongest… / Ca sa supravietuiesti trebuie sa fii cel mai puternic…

….. or the smartest??? /…. sau cel mai inteligent???

in blue

losing myself

in blue eyes

which plunge

the very essence of me

to unfathomable depths

of azure

hurled to highest stratosphere

a human rocket

launched by penetrating gaze

of cobalt light sky

surrendering to

blue eyes

where dark lashes dart

flit – soar – dance

as birds above white capped waves                    

on twin sapphire seas


memyselfandela, 2012

Photo: Photobucket

cynical love


Love…  the “climb any mountain, ford any stream” love… the shouting in undying passion for his love kind of love… that sweet and sticky kind of love…

Why was this significant? Well, he was a love-hater just merely half a year ago. He was that person who would roll the eyes at someone like him now, and just say: “Get over it already!!!”.

In fact, he did. He definitely said that very loud to real people in public. Worse yet, he said it to some of his closest friends. His utter disdain for public displays of affection was both ferocious and adamant. Romance felt like a construct rather than an extension of emotional expression. Love seemed like an obligation, a constant game of one-upmanship where the stakes just get higher. Love. What the hell is love, anyway? It’s just a word.

What was it, you might wonder, that turned him…

View original post 998 more words


silver rivers flow
unbeknown to humanity
till the end of time

at the end of the world
turbines stand still.
silence covers it all

the light punctures
the solid darkness.
minutes to sunset


silence with turbines adela galasiu 1

33 words, Poem and Photography: Adela Galasiu, 2016