Nostalgia Maria

This morning, as I was taking a long hot shower only proper to a cold, rainy and gloomy November morning, I decided to listen to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. My favourites are Summer and Winter so, as I was cleansing myself, the superb tunes and notes followed along the way. (I know!, call me a posh bitch for listening to classical music at seven thirty in the morning).

As I listened to the music, it hit me: it’s due to my father that I know all these pieces. He showed them to me when I was little and, even more, I watched him listen to them and to many others. Then, as I was taking the hair that fell during the shower out of the drain, it hit me again: it’s due to my mother that I am so tidy and know bits and secrets about organizing a house and keeping it clean.

You see, for the past couple of months, well, since I moved back home, actually, I’ve had this internal battle regarding my parents: why they are how they are, why they are not how they are not, why they say what they say and why they do what they do. As a curly hair girl wants straight hair and as a straight hair girl wants curly hair, I wanted the opposite of what I had.

I imagined how fun it would have been to have outgoing, adventurous parents, I imagined how much confidence I would have had if my mother had praised me more as a kid and I imagined how artistic I would have been if my father had supported me more in that direction. If I had seen or heard of a hippie parent, I would have wanted such a parent. If I had heard of a family of aristocrats, I would have wanted that. If I had heard of a family of six or of a family with many cousins and aunts and uncles, I would have wanted that. Anything, please, anything, but not what I have.

The struggle grew stronger and stronger as I realized that I cannot change my parents: not their behaviors, not their ideas, not their pasts or their families. I loved them and was very annoyed by them at the same time. My internal struggle was real: I was blaming myself for not liking them, I was blaming myself for caring so much about their opinions, I was blaming them for their thoughts and actions and I was blaming them for not understanding me as I felt I needed to be understood. I felt alone and abandoned, I felt unloved and unappreciated. The funny thing is that they never abandoned me, they never not loved me and they never under appreciated me whatsoever.

So, what was going on? Well, using the mirror technique, a method that states that the thing or behavior you are most annoyed or irritated by in someone else is the same thing you cannot stand in yourself, I managed to shed some light on the case. Yes, I was my biggest critic, not my mother. Yes, I was as anxious and easily irritable like my father. And yes, I did not like those aspects in myself, as I didn’t like them in my parents. Moreover, I abandoned myself, I under appreciated myself and I sure as hell didn’t love who or what I was.

Having discovered this, my journey continued. I realized that some of the things I like most in myself are because of them: I like that I am scrappy, independent and self sufficient due to my mother. Yes, her sometimes Spartan methods may not have been the best solution for my hypersensitive soul, but the end result is that I know how to read and follow some instructions, I know my way around the house and I can cook a pretty decent meal. Thinking of my dad, yes, he is annoying at times and I feel that he doesn’t completely understand my spiritual side, but he is always, I mean, always ready to help me, he is my biggest supporter. The parts that I most like about myself are those related to culture and general knowledge, books, movies, actors and music: he was my Jedi and I was the Padawan, he was the master and I was the apprentice.

When I first heard of the idea that souls choose their parents even before conception, I said to myself that the idea is a big pile of bullshit. If that were true, why don’t we all choose healthy, wealthy, open minded, outgoing, intellectual, easy going people as our parents? Well, because maybe the soul knows better than the mind. Maybe our souls know the lessons we have to learn and who has to teach them to us. Who knows how I would have turned out if I had what my mind considers the ideal parents? Maybe it all would have been just fine or maybe not. The point that I’m trying to make is that we should all start appreciating what we have and stop focusing on what we don’t have. Start seeing the good in people and situations and stop living in the made up life our minds, society, movies, books and TV shows tend to induce upon ourselves. I know the grass tends to be greener in the scenario we make in our minds, but that’s all that it is: a scenario. You have to actually live it to see if it’s good.

So, instead of living in scenarios and what-ifs, let’s be the main character in the show that is our life. Instead of dreaming of a royal flush we might get in the next round, let’s play that full house we already have. Instead of wishing for a better mother or father or partner or child, a better friend or roommate or sister or brother, let’s see the good in the close ones we already have. “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light.” Let’s turn on the light, the switch is right there, it only needs one press.

So, yes, I have ideal parents because they are my parents, they are real flesh and blood human beings, not scenarios or prototypes in my head. And, as the song goes: You can’t always get what you want/ But if you try sometime you’ll find/ You get what you need.” I needed them to become what I am today. And, as days go by, I’m beginning to really like who I am and starting to be really proud of myself.

Every time I write a post, something, like a line from a movie, a song or a line someone said, had triggered an idea in me. So I start with the title and build up on that. Doesn’t matter if it’s a movie title or a verse from a song, the title always comes first. As a creature of habit, it’s very hard for me to break this cycle. Because, this time, I have no title, no inspiration, no verse or title or line. It’s just an idea I had while walking to the bus station. So, I’m gonna name this post Untitled, just because.

Maybe it’s a good metaphor for my need not to be categorized, labeled or, even more, not to label myself. Because, for the past weeks, as I’ve told you before, I’ve been labeling myself: stupid, handicapped, selfish, idiotic, useless, dependent, pointless, purposeless and hopeless.

The feedback on my last post was amazing, many friends and close ones messaged telling me how amazing and brave and strong I am and how I don’t complain and whine. I felt like an impostor. Because, in my mind, I do whine and complain and wish I did things differently, I blame myself, hate myself and discredit myself.

The book I’m reading at the moment comes just to show me how important thoughts are. And mine haven’t been good. I didn’t do my physical exercises, I looked at myself in the mirror and said bad words to myself, I woke up wishing I didn’t and I felt like there is no point in hoping or wishing or evolving. I got caught up in this whirlpool of feeling good for feeling bad, feeling special for feeling sick, feeling like a martyr for just showing up.

So, how have I worked on myself? The honest truth is that I haven’t and I have to openly admit that. I have eaten absurd amounts of sugar, I have said an absurd amount of discredits to myself and I have hated every moment over the past month. So what am I doing?

I’m slowly killing myself while waiting for a miracle from above. I’m giving all the responsibilities of healing to an external force, whether that is a divine one, a medical cure or some good thoughts from my close ones. Would you help a person who is willingly doing harm to him or herself? ‘Cause I wouldn’t.

Coming back to the idea that triggered this post, I thought to myself that our bodies do so many stuff without an explicit order from our mind: we breathe, we hear, we see, we smell, our hearts beat, our kidneys filter water, our livers detox, our stomachs digest, our skin protects us and our brains coordinate it all. And here I am feeling floopy because, for a time in my life, just one of the many functions we take for granted wants to take a break. Even more, I’ve talked with several close friends and, believe it or not, we’re going through the same frustrations, even if the causes are different.

So, maybe we’re just growing up. But growing up is not just about adding years to our portfolio, it’s also owning up to your mistakes, being responsible for your behavior, taking action and, most importantly, forgiving yourself. It’s not about hoping for a better future, it’s about making the best of the present time.

Thank you for you care and your amazing words of support, I am owning up to them and I want to prove you right. Because if I don’t give myself any chances, why would you or the Universe do so? I love you all.

Over the last week I’ve been feeling like shit. Since last Friday, I found myself crying in the shower, in the park or while watching a reel about a blind dog or a paralyzed cat on Instagram.

I wanted to write this post for some time, but it’s such a hurtful subject and the pain is so big, that I was too afraid to do it. But, maybe as fresh air and clean water heal an open wound, maybe as a scar can form only if the skin is left exposed and dry, maybe as talking about your weakness only makes you stronger, so will talking about my fears.

Since Mr. Cane appeared in my life, I have a constant fear of getting out of the house. I’m afraid of falling, of being hit by a car or a bus, of being mugged, raped or kidnapped, I’m afraid of bus stations that are too crowded or kids that are too energetic, I’m afraid of stairs, cracks in the pavement or cobblestone, I’m afraid of the rain, the snow, the wind or darkness. I’m afraid of having to go to the bathroom and not being able to make it on time, I’m afraid of standing too long in the shower and tiring my legs, I’m afraid of going out past my bedtime and I’m afraid of traveling or going to unfamiliar places.

When I first heard Miley’s song, safe to say I cried my heart out. Because, even if I wasn’t the most outgoing girl or the wild child of my group of friends, I rarely said no to anything. True, I wasn’t the biggest clubber, but a good movie at the cinema, a long walk after a day of studying, a day or two or three at a music festival, a concert, a city break or a night spent in the airport only to save some cash, for that, I was game.

In high school I was begging my parents to let me stay out more and more each time, darkness and nigh used to fascinate me. I remember a school trip from primary school when, because of a car accident on the route coming back home, our bus was stuck in traffic for a couple of hours and when we arrived home it was dark. We felt so alive and it was such an exciting idea, to be out of the house when it was dark. Now, I try to think of reasons to come back home as quickly and as early as possible.

I used to love driving my car and never said no to facing unfamiliar grounds for the thrill of the trip. I used to be brave and I used to trust my body. It never failed me: at the gym, on my walks, dancing, jumping, running, driving, my body did it all. True, I wasn’t the most athletic or the fittest, but I was active. Fuck, I miss that.

Funnily enough, now I’m reading a book about matter’s wisdom and how cells are so incredibly smart, given the right environment. Most days, I believe it and can feel it for myself. But, damn, those days when I’m not feeling it, those days make me kneel and cry for help and beg for a miracle.

Maybe a contributing factor is my new job. Even though I quite enjoy it, I’m learning a lot and feel that I can be very good at it, given time and practice, remote working is a little bit alienating. I talk with my coworkers on audio calls and we see each other at the weekly Friday meeting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to work in comfy clothes and never have to worry that you won’t be home when a courier brings a package, but some days I miss real life interaction with people, not just through a screen. I now understand how easy it is to transform yourself in the main character from The Whale. Having everything delivered to your door, working on your laptop and basically never having to leave the perimeter of your house, the danger of becoming alienated is very close and present.

Now, for the much required dose of optimism, let’s talk about another movie, a movie that impacted me more joyfully than The Whale. The scenario is written by Diablo Cody and the main character is played by Charlize Theron. Tully depicts the story of a woman, wife and mother of two, waiting for the third child, who is a little bit overwhelmed by day to day life. After giving birth, she decides to hire a night nanny, a woman paid to look over the baby during the night and only disrupt the mother’s sleep if and when the baby is hungry.

We then see how Marlo, Charlize Theron’s character, bonds with this cool, young and hip nanny and how she reminisces her youth and her freedom. We see how helpful the nanny is: she bakes muffins, cleans the house, packs the children’s lunches for school, takes Marlo to New York for a couple of drinks and a walk down memory lane.

Then, at the end of the movie, when Marlo gets into a car accident while driving back home, we discover the truth: Tully, the so called night nanny, was just Marlo’s imagination running wild. When her husband is asked at the hospital what is Marlo’s maiden name and he says Tully, it all makes sense: Marlo’s younger version came to the rescue. Marlo baked the muffins, she made roast chicken, she packed the lunches and she cleaned the house, all while waking up several times a night to nurse the baby.

So, my wish and my hope and my prayers are that, somewhere deep inside, my cells remember how they used to be young and adventurous and confident. I picture young Maria coming in and taking me out: for a stroll, for a coffee, for a drink, for a drive or for a city break. I hope that the Maria who went solo to Berlin and Amsterdam and Pau just to see the Pyrénées, the Maria who walked twenty thousand steps a day, the Maria who drove with such confidence, danced with such goofiness and hiked with such eager is there, just waiting to help.

Now, I know, the ball is in my court. It’s fine to cry from time to time, it’s fine to be vulnerable and state your fears, but once you’ve done it, be done with it. Because a life lived in fear is no life at all. So what? I’ve fallen before and then I’ve gotten up, I’ve cried before and then I’ve laughed, I’ve died before and then I’ve kept on living, I’ve felt old and then remembered I still am young.

When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can’t replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you’re too in love to let it go
But if you never try you’ll never know
Just what you’re worth
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down your face
And I
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down your face
And I
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

As I was trembling of excitement while buying the Coldplay tickets for next year’s Bucharest concert for two of my best friends and yours truly, it all made sense.

You see, last year I tried to buy tickets for the same tour, but in Amsterdam and I did not succeed. Even though I imagined myself at the concert, even though I felt it in my guts that it was something I was ment to experiment, it didn’t happen. Last year in August I wouldn’t have imagined that they would ever come to Romania, so I put my dream on hold.

Months passed, Insta stories and videos from their concerts kept showing up and my dream grew and grew and grew. Then, my small episode of depression hit, as I was jobless, pointless and purposeless. What was there to dream about? What was there to look forward to? Another morning, another walk in the park, another TV series and another early bedtime.

As I read Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, I was desperate to find a strong enough purpose and a beautiful enough meaning for my existence. Comparing my life with those living through the Holocaust was only making it seem even smaller and pettier, if that’s possible. The purpose of taking more steps today than the day before seemed so insignificant that it made me even more depressed.

Then, out of nowhere, in the past week, I got a job interview, I spoke in French with a frenchman to asses my language level and got a B2, I got the job and will start at the beginning of August and, most of all, I GOT THOSE GODDAM TICKETS!

So, yes, manifestations works, only not when we want them or believe we are ready for them, but when the Universe knows that we are ready to handle them. This is just another proof that the house you want, the vacation you dream about, the partner you envision or the miraculous healing you so passionately picture when you close your eyes is just waiting for you to be ready. Keep dreaming because everything you can imagine is real.

So, my future self dedicates the beautiful lyrics of the song Fix You to my present self. I have a purpose now, a strong, magnificent and heart warming purpose to be better, to feel better, to act better, to dream better and to wait better.

The future is only as good as you dream it. And the dreams are only as good as your imagination. So, be free, have the faith of a child and the patience of a wise old man and, most of all, be a dreamer.

No news is good news, right? That’s how the saying goes. Well, tell that to Paul Bäumer. No wait, you can’t, because he died and nobody noticed. As sad as the ending of All Quiet on the Western Front is, in some cases, it’s painfully true. As the main character, a boy you grow to love and root for, a naive teenager who tought fighting in the Great War would make him a hero, dies and the war journals don’t even bother to mention it, I realized that Erich Maria Remarque was right. Sometimes shit happens and nobody sees it, sometimes you hurt so bad, but it goes unnoticed, sometimes life is just a mess and crumbles on your shoulders, but Earth still turns and the sun still sets.

So, maybe this was my summer break, maybe it was a lack of inspiration, maybe depression hit me and I didn’t even notice it, or maybe it was just a necessary break. The annoying part is that social media really got to me. Scrolling mindlessly on Instagram and seeing all the happy faces of people younger than me living their so called best lives on the Amalfi Coast was more than painful. Why couldn’t I be there? Why am I scrolling and not “being scrolled”? Why am I envying and not being envied?

This activated my self hate, my self punishment and my guilt. You see, last year I did the stupid thing of letting my ego get the best of me. I put myself in the situation that I am now, I am responsible for my state of health. And it hurts so fucking bad. Yes, I evolved and stopped blaming other. Yes, I evolved and realized how strong I can be if given the circumstances. But I also realized how stupidly stubborn I can be.

I figured out that it would be much more difficult to punish myself like this if it weren’t for social media and the constant influx of picture perfect moments. So, what to do? How to free myself from these cuffs?

Then, I said to myself that Jennifer Aniston was cheated on and she’s not the only one. Then I sat there imagining how annoying it must be to go for three days on the Amalfi Coast and spend two days filming content for suckers like me. Just picture a table full of food and the influencers at the table filming it and stopping the civilians from eating until they get the perfect shot, just imagine having to carry numerous outfits just for those perfect shots for the perfect campaign for the product nobody’s gonna truly benefit from.

So, yes, maybe I am temporarily stuck in this city and maybe, at the moment, my actions are a bit limited, but the people I envied are stuck in this vicious cycle of consumerism and influencing. I’m not saying that they don’t enjoy it or are not passionate about the domain, but they are just hamsters in a wheel. So, why should I envy them? For the stuff, for the press trips, for the clothes or vacations? No, just let them be. They are, just like us, normal people trying to make a living. You don’t judge a lawyer for being ruthless in court, you don’t judge a architect for the expensive project and you don’t judge an accountant for doing the taxes. So why judge the people of Instagram?

On a happier, more cheerful note, one month ago, on the 20th of June, I finally had the courage to free myself once and for all from dentistry. Never have I ever thought it would be so easy, of course, as soon as I made my mind and came to peace with the idea. I am regret free and stress free. This decision was a long time coming and I am so proud of myself for the courage it took for me to take this step.

So, yes, maybe I am stuck, but most of all I am stuck in my head. Maybe I wish that I could wish all my health issues away. Maybe some days I dream that, when I wake up the next day I figure it was just a two year nightmare. But then I think that without these events, I would have been stuck in a job that I hated, always wondering what if. Well, I don’t have to wonder no more. Let the games begin!

Who would you like to talk to soon?

I wanted to write this post on the 1st of June, but inspiration avoided me. I wanted it to be an ode to my childhood and to the two women who made it as good and as fairytale like as it was: my two grandmothers.

At first, when I saw the question, I thought of my maternal grandmother. Maybe because her passing is more recent, maybe because, as she lived in the same city as my parents and I, she was more present in my life, maybe because I miss her more or maybe because I loved her a bit more. Then, as I remembered all the times I felt truly safe and loved as I child, I discovered that my memories were divided between my two grandmothers.

What prompted me to write this post today? Well, as I was sitting on a bench in the park, I saw a little girl riding her bicycle. At first, I didn’t think anything special about the event, she seemed to be just another little girl riding on just another ordinary bike in just another ordinary park on just another ordinary morning.

Then, all of the sudden, I heard a woman cheering and cheering, then I saw her applauding and clapping her hands off like there’s no tomorrow. She was her grandmother. Over the course of ten minutes I heard her say “Bravo!!!” and “Good job!” more times than I’ve said it to myself in a lifetime.

I started crying. Partially because I realized I would never get that sort of praise ever again, partially because I missed my grandmothers and partially because I realized, maybe for the first time, what an important role they had in my life.

As that little girl riding the bike was acclaimed like she had just discovered a universal cure to all known diseases, so was I. Everything I did, from peeling a potato to graduating college, from tying my shoelaces to getting my driver’s license, I was, in their eyes, the best.

Both my grandmothers made sure I was loved, fed and happy. There was nothing, and when I say nothing I mean nothing, I ever wanted that they didn’t do for me. From tiny clothes for my Barbie dolls to sweets I craved, from telling me the same bedtime story over and over again to playing with me for hours, when they were present, I was the star of the show, the apple of their eyes, their reason for being alive.

If I were to talk to them soon, first, I would hug them so tight they would become a part of me. Then, I would apologize for all the times I acted like a spoiled brat, for all the times I could have called them, but was too busy or forgot, for not being able to realize in the moment how precious they are and for never telling them a straightforward “I love you”.

Although I can sometimes feel their presence and can imagine what they would say in different circumstances, it would be so incredibly fucking awesome to be able to spend a few hours or just a few minutes with them. I know that they are watching over me and helping me in whatever form they can because they are my guardian angels, but, damn, do I miss them.

As the story goes, we never fully appreciate something or someone until they are gone. I was lucky enough to receive the love of two extraordinary women, lucky enough to have them as examples and supporters and lucky enough to be taken care of in such an amazing way. And, let’s face it, lucky enough to eat all that good food. Thank you and, if it’s possible, come visit me in my dreams so we could talk soon. I love you!