Lasting happiness… Have you ever wondered what makes happiness last? This question has bloomed in my mind again these days.
Lost in a crowd of strangers I was watching them in the middle of a very nice Christmas party organized by a very generous family. Young people, old people, children, mothers, fathers, some showing off more, some less. Standing in my corner, quiet, like a cat, I have analyzed their gestures, their interests, the likeliness for some to gather and some to not to stand each other. I have listened all evening to really interesting conversations in which some have made me angry with their lack of respect and others have amazed me with their fantastic knowledge and passion.
I find it always fascinating to lose myself in a gathering of people. I don’t find it always necessary to completely open in front of people I don’t know. I cannot explain why, but I tend to join the conversation on selective bases, and it may be that I am looking for a passion and depth in the person I talk to. I know many things, maybe different things, maybe I will never fit in the profile many would expect, maybe most would not be able to even perceive the poetry I have seen in this life.
I was looking at that crowd of people and I tried with my curious mind to read beyond the appearances. One could see the couples that were happy, and opposite the couples that had problems. The care some had for each other and the indifference that thrived in others. Some were there just because they were dying of curiosity. Some had followed their partner just to avoid a scandal. Some because they had to come as neighbors. Some because they are related to the owner of the house. Some because it’s nice to take advantage of a good food or great drinks. Some were strangers with far away roots. Some were people who lived there all their life. Some faces were emotionless. Some were preoccupied with several worries at the same time. Some ready to dance. Some dead tired. Some were there only to say hello and be polite. Some came too late. Some left too early. Some invisible. Some flashy.
In all this puzzle of souls, I wondered though how many have been happy. Genuinely happy. And I think that the only happy ones there were those who didn’t come for the food or drinks or gossip or feeding their ego, but for the privilege of being alive. The happy ones were the ones with joy in their heart. The ones that have sacrificed time and effort to make others happy. The happy ones were the ones that didn’t care about how tall the Christmas tree was or how expensive was the food. The happy ones are the ones that had something to celebrate. The ones that have hope and love in their heart. The ones that have lost many battles but never the war.
When you think you would like to be happy forever the answer is very simple. Get back to your passions, to your blessings, to your hope. No two people are the same. Be proud of who you are. Be proud of being unique in the big crowd. Does it matter that you are not the Beauty Queen or the Super Man in that crowd? No, it definitely doesn’t. Deep inside even they have big sad unspoken problems, they just happen to wear beautiful masks.
True happiness is the celebration of your blessings and of who you really are. 😀
"I love your eyes, my dear Their splendid sparkling fire When suddenly you raise them so To cast a swift embracing glance Like lightning flashing in the sky But there's a charm that is greater still When my love's eyes are lowered When all is fired by passion's kiss And through the downcast lashes I see the dull flame of desire." Dull Flame Of Desire, Fyodor Tyutchev ---------------------------------------------- 600 words, memyselfandela, December 2013
The cold wind entering through the window stroke against her cheek as the cloudy day was coming to an end. As she was finishing her day she looked as always towards the calendar planning into tomorrow, her new day.
At first the numbers printed on the caledar seemed a bit odd, reminding her of something, so her eyes lingered on each number composing the date, as if a thought left in the back of her mind was making efforts to get born and find a voice. And then, in a passing moment slipping her mind, she remembered. It was that day. That day when he promissed to come there for her, for their love. But the day that just finished , that she had almost forgotten, was anything else than she imagined long time ago, and it was absolutely perfect without him.
Now she remembered what used to be a hearbreaking story and the pain that followed, but why the hell did she even care about him? She had no more room in her heart, actually she had thrown that poisoned heart out of her chest long time ago… She did see him coming back one day in regret, but she turned her back, and honestly, why should she have even cared? Did he care about her when he broke his promisses one by one?
The memory was no longer aching her. No, not even like a limb longtime removed from a body, missing limb that would be still generating phantomatic pain. She knew that she gave him all the chances in the world and he failed her in every possible way. He stepped on her heart so many times, just like a heartless selfish bastard. Isn’t it ironic? He used to think he is such a gentleman…
There was nothing in the whole world that could have convinced her that he was anything but a self serving liar and opportunist that knew exactly how to talk and use people and feelings. As a man, he did not respect her, for he fed her with lies. He was hardly there for her, having time for anyone and anything but her, so he was no friend either. Lover he was not, as he was too busy living in an imaginary fantasy, flirting around and talking about love… Tender he was not, as he only dreamed about desires and sex… Faithful he was to nobody but himself… But he was never smart enough to see that the baby girl didn’t need a father in him. She was already mature enough…
No, he did not respect her and maybe he would have loved to train her into a submissive pet that worships him as a master. Maybe he would have loved an object to satisfy his lust and needs while dreaming that he is the perfect man that any woman would have wanted… What a joke… What a douche…
As she remembered she knew that back then she loved the person she thought he was. Yet in reality he was never what she first thought. In the end he was a nightmare.
“You never knew me. You never had me. You were looking for Passion, talking of Passion, bragging with your Passion, but when Passion was sitting in front of you at the same table you didn’t even notice her… You never saw me, nor will you ever again. This was not the first day of love, this is the last day when you touch my thoughts, it’s the day when you leave my memories. If by mistake I left a door ajar, I just closed it. Forever.”
600 words, memyselfandela, 2013
Today was sunny in the morning and got a bit cold and cloudy in the afternoon, but the day was still very nice day for me.
After getting to the city and solving few problems I went to the donation centre. It was the first time when I went there so it took me some time to find the exact location.
The information I had been given was that the church was the donation place for today, so first I entered the church (where was a funeral service for a young woman that unfortunately passed away), then I asked for details and I found out that I only had to cross the street and get inside the church hall where the donation centre was set for the day.
The story of me becoming a donor is a long story. Many years ago, back in Romania, I wanted once to donate blood for a child in desperate need and I was told that I can’t, because I would have been not in good health. I was very upset because my blood group is O negative, a very rare one, and I have heard many people asking for this group of blood for operations, yet because my Romanian family doctor was not fair enough to test my blood properly I have not been able to donate blood.
When I came to UK I have asked for new blood tests and I was absolutely amazed to hear that I am perfectly ok and I can donate. So here I was, after a while of waiting for the appointment day to come, I could finally go there and make one of my dreams come true.
The nurses that took care of the donors were amazing, kind, caring, they have spent time with all of us trying to inform us and get all details about us. The donation itself takes not much at all. After that we have all been offered drinks and cookies and we could rest for as long as we needed before we left the hall.
I must say it was a nice day for me because it was great to see all the people there, people of all ages that gave a bit of themselves just to help someone they don’t even know. I would say, if you have never tried it or never thought of it, just to get some information and try. You never know when one of your own family might need a pint of blood, or maybe even yourself. It’s no stress, it’s no bad feeling, you will not faint nor feel bad, you will just lie on a donation chair for 7-10 minutes and you will not even know when it’s done, it goes that fast. But that pint of blood that you give will be a life saver for someone, or will increase the chances of survival. Or will be used for students that study medicine and that in the future will become doctors and will save lives. However you look at it , it’s still a positive thing.
After going out I have enjoyed very much the little streets and houses and I have even taken few pictures for you to enjoy. I met many children in uniforms coming back from school, people coming back from work and even two cats taking a walk on the alley.
It was a beautiful day today, and I wish you all a beautiful evening.
May your heart be full of light, may your spirit smile, may you be loved and healthy.
Much love to you all.
Sunday evening. Dark outside. Fever in my mind.
Funny how sitting here and writing and imagining and dreaming can feel. I’ve always been a writer, only I’ve never known it. Just like I’ve always been a smoker and I only discovered it much later than others. Pieces of my life, a huge complicated puzzle, are coming back to me out of the blue. I know who I am but still I discover it every single day. But I guess this is valid for all of us, isn’t it?
Just as others use every spare moment to sing, listen to music or paint, I find myself also stealing moments from life just to write and feel, for this is my absolute passion. Of all that I write I will always be in love with poetry, my first true love. But it’s not important what I write, I’m still learning and I always write from the depths of my soul. When life allows me to sit and write, things just gush out of my mind, I just do it, it’s only afterwards that I take time to recline and re-read what I’ve been posting and to think more about it.
As I drink my cup of tea right now, my mind runs free between several posts I’m working on. Sometimes I write in not more then 3 minutes with a lot of passion, sometimes it takes me quite few days to come to the point where I feel that the story closes and makes sense. The only thing that matters for me is to keep on writing, good, bad, long, short, poem, prose, does not matter…
At the end of the day there’s always one fabulous quote shining in my mind:
“if it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don’t do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don’t do it. if you’re doing it for money or fame, don’t do it. if you’re doing it because you want women in your bed, don’t do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don’t do it. if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it, don’t do it. if you’re trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you’re not ready. don’t be like so many writers, don’t be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don’t be dull and boring and pretentious, don’t be consumed with self- love. the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. don’t add to that. don’t do it. unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was.”
Thank you Charles, you are so damn right!!!
The morning sunshine reflecting in the glass walls of the aquarium, water swirling while the pump made a low noise invading the room. Plastic plants in every corner of this water habitat, green plastic plants in bright colours fixed among brown stones. Tiny fish swimming around. A little fish in the colour of peach enjoyed being moved by the water around the pump. He swam slowly, than abandoned himself to the water, than swam again, than slided backwards. Two scalars with majestic shapes gently passed by watching us all with their big shy eyes… One was white with gray stripes, the other one completely gray.
As I quietly sat on my chair I recalled the feeling I had when I was reffered to the Jarvis Screening Center: one million questions blowing my mind , followed by an absolute silence. I closed my eyes, listened to my heartbeat, then decided to look around me.
Other women like me were waiting their turn to see the specialist. I could see all sorts of feelings on their faces. One , very young and nervous, holding her husband’s hand all the time. A second , with an arm in a plaster , helped by an older lady who talked to her in a low voice. A third one with a very sad tired face, black circles under the eyes, slowly drinking from her cup of coffee. The last one , old enough to be my grandmother, her daughter on the right, her son on the left moving around impatiently.
The receptionist welcomed every woman with a friendly peaceful smile on her face. She invited them to have a seat and looked for their details like a genuine proffesionist aware of the imense stress that each woman entering that room was experiencing.
The ladies made themselves a cup of tea or coffee, chose a magazine, read a nespaper, looked outside on the windows. There was a fantastic weight floating in the air, as each one of them waited for an answer that was very likely to change their life for good.
One by one they were called by several specialists, all underwent the same procedures, then came back, had a seat and waited for the result, a waiting time that was more difficult than before.
As my turn finally came, an Iranian doctor with goodness written all over her face greeted me with her calm voice, explained me every procedure, sent me also for all the tests I needed. All the staff, all women, behaved impecably. For a woman coming from an ex-communist country where doctors and nurses have no patience, no time and no empathy, meeting such people was absolutely amazing.
Each lady entered to see the specialist for a second time in order to discuss their diagnosis. Their familiy and friends were waiting in a genuine anguish, and as they come out one could see the feelings flowing on their faces: some returned sad and scared, some radiating and relieved.
I went to talk to the Iranian doctor again and I came out with a feeling unknown to me before. It’s not important what I’ve been told, I only know that whatever time we all have in our life should be used wisely. We live in fear, anger, worries, and we forget that we should make the best of every single day because life is short.
Stepping out of the centre my eyes met the eyes of the old lady. We spoke no word, but in that imense peace she showed me what real strength in this life means:
the quiet humble smile of an angel.