Saturday, August 27, 2016


     I found myself - not infrequently - in the eagerness to write and the impossibility to find the right words to describe the sensation of euphoria that I have been feeling lately. After analyzing certain things, I have noticed that the inner life of some people „coagulates” not very late, but mine started to flourish at 18. However, I could not be more grateful for reaching the age when many neglected it and I am embraced by an electric eclecticism of thoughts that not only wakes me up, but it makes me want more.

     People, places, gestures. All have acquired a different meaning for me, maybe I led them to paroxysm, but I am not sorry for that. This exacerbation gets more delightful as I discover more things – while living at maximum intensity the present ones.

Friday, August 19, 2016

Love, Bucharest

     How much had I come to detest this town after less than half a year after I moved there (Quick hint: I moved alone to Bucharest in September 2014) Nearly two years after that moment full of hatred, here I am with my eyes weeping, not necessarily because I will leave soon, but for the fact that I’ve never foreknown how much it will mean to me.

     An excessively idealist child who grew up in the province (who is still an immature idealist), believing that the world is a dough waiting to be kneaded by no other than herself, that people are always outspoken and, in a blink of an eye, they will take you in their arms if they catch you smiling at them, that you learn valuable things at school, that each person waits his/her turn in line and so on. Well, Bucharest has destroyed all illusions and for that I will be eternally grateful.

     This capital, where dirt entwines with history, disgust with the absolute and smiles with anger, where masks underneath faces wear... masks, where respect is reduced to the stage of garbage or is raised close to heavenly glory, this capital where all oxymorons spin in a wild dance made me love its charm. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

Book review #3

     Maybe it is irrelevant to say that the title - "All the light we cannot see" - can only urge you to take time for at least one sleepless night in honor of this book. Or well, at least from a viewpoint of a person who believes in the power of words and check for each one’s eurhythmy, and I tell you, this title is a ballroom lit by huge chandeliers and with freshly polished marble (The described ballroom is pretty simplistic, there are sentences which outline castles, abysses and upside down Heavens... simply because I am obsessed with words)

     After reading the first chapters, I was surprised, but I quickly grabbed the Doerr roller coaster: emotions, images and metaphors, streets, smells and shells. All my admiration, Mr. Doerr. So.,. One of the greatest atrocities of all times: the Second World War. Two extremely profound stories: a blind girl and an orphan boy from belligerent countries. Their passions come to life between the lines and you realize you are chained. The book seemed to be (beside astonishingly well written and tremendously moving) about „those little things”, about who people are and about their desire to keep living, which, amid the horrors, fears, chaos, is the only light they see.

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Once upon a time

     There are certain times when you get the feeling you are Aladdin and the minutes are the magic carpet: you just fly, reveling in the inflections of time, which you scarcely perceive and you just take all the sensations in, turning into abiding pillars of your soul each one of them. No matter how many would tell stories, fairy tales about "always", this "always" just sounds like a deceitful absolute truth, and reality will eventually force it to abdicate, thus the throne remains vacant and will be inevitably occupied by "sometimes".

     The resonance of this word is bitter, you perceive it like a lemon squeezed into your mouth, the taste suddenly spreads and your tongue explodes - pain seems vibrant in every muscle, bitterbitterbitter, the brain shrinks. Gums erupt; lava is the goddamned lemon’s lifeblood. Damn.

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Book review #2

     This review is quite „delicate” for me to write because.. well, let's say that Nietzsche himself is a touchy subject. More about that another time. So Yalom's "When Nietzsche Wept" caught my attention from the beginning and I was not expecting that. To be honest, I did not foresee anything that happened in this book so ingeniously writing, thing that comes as no surprise since the author is a well-known psychiatrist with early ambition of being a writer. The perfect combination, I might say.

     Venice, XIXth century. Josef Brauer, Freud’s master, and Lou Salome, Nietzsche's hell. The two meet and Lou asks the doctor to heal her friend, convincing him with her seductive personality that Nietzsche will become the greatest philosopher of the XXth century. You cannot refuse such an offer.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Modus vivendi

     Finding myself too often in the circumstances of an argue with my own conscience, of endlessly lectures of two different people (one and the same?) dwelling in me, I tried to find – laborious process - a golden mean. While reading "Memoirs of a dutiful daughter", I had the revelation of discovery: a modus vivendi, a nicely childish one. No other than curiosity – portrayed, brightly and proudly - at my feet. I can not help but smile; so far, I have not found any other way to make existence bearable.
     I talk from my own perspective: the only comfort – now and forever – shall remain the awareness that I know nothing or, in any case, I know far too little. It could not be more obvious what ensues: curiosity to learn more, to be ceaselessly searching for more rational meanings than the old ones. Only this shall be my guide, my purpose and, ultimately, my executioner. None but this idea haunts me: to wake up feeling like there is nothing to find, as everything is so profoundly limited so it is diminished to an atomic level, and not to sense any muscles vibration or desire to get down from the white sheets. Ghost of a dystopian future.

Monday, August 1, 2016

Book review #1

     Usually, when the levels of neurons’ development is low and the connections between them is rather deficient, the appreciation for certain things is not considerable either and, to give a concrete example, I shall depict myself two years ago: a child without patience, always on the run, unable to appreciate the true value of things. I have always been the kind of person who thinks that people can change because we are in constant motion, in a never-ending bustle. Introspection revealed to me that some aspects have changed so now I am truly capable of choosing a book from the library shelves, fully read and immeasurably appreciate it.

     To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee's novel, adapted to movie and with numerous awards, made me question my mental integrity from two years ago when I got bored while reading it. Second time is always lucky when it comes to books and, more importantly, if a book is as good as the mentioned one, your perception on life, on the world, on literature is changed, and in many cases even improved.

On chaos

     I often think about it and this question troubles me deeply: "Is everything chaos or order?” I said it would not hurt a debate with a sharp mind so the left side of my brain was the apologist of the chaos and the right side claimed that the final answer would be order. Below, some of the arguments.

     If you were to seek and to point out one thing that emanates order under any circumstances, you would certainly fail.

     That's just because the human mind is far too limited to see the perfection of the universe and we always stop at our inner struggles, rising them to heights way too high for us to solve them. Often, we become acrophobic.
Maira Gall