What Is a Life? 18 Years of Mine, Say Hi!


Life goes on uninterrupted. It demands your attention and gives nothing but scraps of painful treats in return.

I got no reasons for living, I don’t have enough to die. A stand-still place, my life. A complicated creature that found it fun to visit me, to weave a candy in my face and say: “Come with me!”

Too many want you to be perfect, to have only them as friends even though they treat you worse than a chewed gun stuck on a shoe. My friends…I barely know what that word means or how it’s supposed to be connected to me. They, just like life does it, demand utter devotion and attention but in return, they are not friends, but enemies….or perhaps… that’s all you’ve always been to them even though you tried to consider them friends? What’s the point of even knowing their names, their past, their present, their every second when they simply do not care?

I know how it feels to have your friends stomp on your heart, if they were your friends at all. I also know how your supposed boyfriend(s) could make it yell in happiness and moan in sadness when they squish it to pieces, after it’s been already turned into crumbs.

I know the feelings, the thoughts, the tight smile when your closest people view you as nothing more than something that shouldn’t have enough opacity to appear in their paths. Why would they want something they see as worthless? Why would they choose to like you and feast upon your goods when it’s so easy to drag you down, to make you feel fat, dumb, bad, a failure, an accident, a thing they can barely stand looking at?

I’m afraid to love even if now I’m doing exactly that. I’m afraid to feel even though my whole left side aches, screams, twists, kicks and demands a bandage, or perhaps death. The pain it’s piling up and then sends surges into your very veins, your very lungs, your very ends, till you feel nothing no more, yet everything at once? Do you feel that?

There have been points in my life when I felt as if suicide could be my only escape. I only considered the idea but never tried it. I knew that, even with all their faults, there’d be people that’d miss me, that’d cry and perhaps, in all that pain, their own candle could run out. I wasn’t about to risk that for years of me trapped in the mud, with them crying a small distance above my head on why I was gone, why I wasn’t there, why I didn’t choose to stay.

I couldn’t do it, Can’t do it still!

With so many things happening in my life, I feel that it had no purpose nor do I believe I’ll find one soon enough. It’s as if my existence is an altar of sacrifices, compromises, promises and empty words. As if I have no purpose, no reason to get friends, to chat, to laugh, to smile, to sleep, to die, to survive. Nothing but emptiness.

I’ve wiped my board way too many times. I choose to trust a future that never cared about the bright side, that never really bought anything but more empty promises, more pain, more weight to a patched heart. But I went on somehow, I dragged my feet along!

If you’d ask me what hurts the most I could simply tell you: “All and everything yet nothing that should have you concerned.”

I hold no hurt to measure, no pain to count on petals, no love to feel anymore and, at the same time, I hold them all

It’s as if my whole core knows love as a drop of hurt mixed with a mustard-colored care that does nothing more than be there... for when someone says: “I love you!”….That way, I got something to say in return.

I can barely feel love. I’m forgetting what love is. I’m unable to remember or to grieve.

And yet I’m still alive and try to maintain that status. I  didn’t feel allowed to even let my irises see the sun in the morning or at noon, depending when I wake up. Or perhaps, when I go down since I can hardly sleep sooner than 9 AM. Last year of highschool, last bit of rocky oceans, last push…still wide awake, still hungry, still empty, still feeling asleep.

It’s funny how many times I asked myself  “Why couldn’t everything just work out for once?” whenever one of my relationships ended. Got 3 so far…I think, I hope. They died out, because of me, because of them, because we weren’t them and they weren’t us and our thoughts were all that never flew across. Or maybe it was something else…

One relationship did work out…Not in a relationship way. Were friends, were okay, we are exactly what we are meant to be: good friends. And that’s more than okay with me. :)

And yet, when I do manage to cry as my eyes tend to usually be quite dry, I feel as if I’m silently screaming and kicking and shouting and yelling and fighting…but I do not know what for.

They plague me, silent soldiers of the night, ghosts of the day. They tear my string-held-heart open and run across my lips.

Tears…

Yet they bring no comfort. They deny me such and if they do allow me, it’s usually at the worst of times….I need them on the ready, ready to come down as curtains from my own two cried eyes.

And yet…they cry inside more often than they do outside. They rain inside me as if tiger claws burn my jaw, my eyes, my lips, my temples, my hands, my feet, my back, my tummy, my chest, my everything. And yet, they deny me time.

I always loved to help others. I always loved to be there for those others…I always disliked doing too much for those others when, in the end, those others did nothing to me than being the worst they can be. I’m not someone to kiss people’s bums, I’m not there to make them happy by being their bully toy, I’m not the blame donkey nor I am an antique temple of endless patience.

I’m me, and that’s who I shall always be!

  • The woman of no masks yet plenty.
  • The daughter with no secrets but many many empty promises stored in a jar from mom and a disgusting creature of a dad.
  • The niece of 2 perhaps awesome people even if one, most of the times, prefers to bring me down.
  • The niece of 2 people that got two children and have been my parents, just as the others have.
  • The cousin of two children (one 2, the other less than that), which rarely sees their faces because she’s bad with handling kids.
  • The friend that’s always there for plenty till the time comes for them to be for me even a fraction of what I tried to be for them. Then, they don’t exist.
  • The lover of so many that they’d been only 3, one nice and friendly and my safe refuge, one with a cruel heart yet sweet appearances…and another one who I am yet to know what I’m supposed to be for after so long time alone

Who knows…

  • The day where my smile felt wide enough to tear my face apart and scream to the world: I found happiness, I found my soul and another found mine,
  • The last day I existed in your eyes. Perhaps I was long gone from your heart. Too early, too late?
  • The day I’m somewhat alright, somehow fine. Tears cause headaches but that’s fine.

And the cycle repeats, every time…

Life is far from perfect. There’s no such thing as roads, turns, valleys, mountains, sadness, happiness…no stand-alone events. Instead, it’s full of dangers, of fake rewards and cruel punishments, no matter your input.

It’s something that I never felt graced by. In Life’s eyes I was a sinner of no-known crime…And so far I survived somehow, someway.

The hourglass is threatening to turn, but in which way?

I couldn’t end without addressing a personal message to someone who I can always call, even at 3 AM and yawn with till sleep gets the best of us: 

Thank you, you that you know who’s that You! I wouldn’t dare to crack a shy smile today if it weren’t for you. So much to be sorry for and just as much to feel gratitude towards. You are my chained martyr that always rains soft whispers from above.

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Open up your blinders

 

Smile!

Open up your blinders

And let light fall into your soul

Open up your blinders

And soak into the warm

Of the world.
 

Be free of darkness

Into your shaded room

And admit your faults

That you hide behind the moon.

 

Think of roses and pretty

And leaves and warmth

And dump the crazy routines

For a whiter sun.

 

Think of the times of happy times

Think of the smiles

And shining eyes

That the days when you had your curtains open,

Had.

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What Are We Doing To The Animals? (Part 2)

6:30 PM

I was working on my history essay when my grandma called to me to look outside for one of our cats as he has the tendency to wander on the street. Eventually, I did find him inside, all cozy and sleeping soundly in a basket but on the street I found something I daily wish I wouldn’t see. In a pole (something that looks like this: http://img16.mercador.ro/images_mercadorro/12769253_1_644x461_teren-intravilan-dumbraveni-suceava.jpg and is used for for wiring), there were a small kitty and a bigger one, obviously  just abandoned.

I actually heard them from my yard, as the cement pole is just down on the street and I was calling for my  own cat and the little kitty answered so I went to see, fearful that maybe one of mine was hit by a car or that someone actually abandoned some, which turned out to be the case.

It’s heart-breaking to see them, so small and defenceless in this cold and hostile environment (there are cars, mean people and dogs passing by all the time). Who would feed them? I love animals and so does some of my family so we might be able to give them some food but shelter is impossible to offer them as we already have more than plenty, almost all picked from the street (or kids of those that came from the same place).

The saddest thing is not even that someone left those two, even though it saddens me deeply, but that this is a common occurrence in my country. People just throw them away and they get run down by cars (most of the times, I found, by the wish of the drives), die of hunger etc. Nobody picks them up to take them home and seldom would you find a person that brings food to stray animals,  like my mom does.

The only time when they are picked up from the street is when they are flat with the ground or hunted by dog catchers which simply hunt them down with tranquilizer guns, wait in their car till they collapse in cries and then pick them up, shove them in a car and send them to their death, often by a bullet to the head or a head smashed to the wall. If they, by a miracle, end up in one of the few shelters this country has, they are executed after 30 days (or less) as nobody adopts them…nor helps feeding them.

In most cases, instead of castrating the animals, Romanians simply throw them away. Yes, there are a few people out there that actually care for animals but they are very few and in this disgusting, stupid and pathetic country’s mentality, they are gems lost in the dark.

I wrote about animals before, but since this just happened (a few minutes ago) and it’s something of common occurrence and something that I am against happening, I decided to post about it. I guess I should be thankful that they didn’t left them directly in front of my gate or that they didn’t slip them through my fence, both which happened too many times to count…

Yes, Romania, this is one of the reasons why I truly hate you. It isn’t your fault as a country, if we’re speaking about the terrain, but it is a fault of most of the people that live inside you, most of the Romanians.

______________________

All the opinions presented here are strictly mine and reflect the reality. I am not generalizing but it does drive me nuts when so many people have no heart. Sure, there are hard times but this thing has happened since forever and it needs to stop!

English: Look out for the animals Straight ahe...

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Oh, So This Is Your Friend’s Blouse? No Worries, I Just Destroyed It and I’ll Give It To My Cousin Now…

English: "Graceful Blouse" circa 1894

English: “Graceful Blouse” circa 1894 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I don’t get it. I just don’t. How could someone use, change, throw away, pass on or ruin your things and then they play the victim? I am the only one who went through this?

 

It’s no big deal. Just a blouse that you had the audacity to do whatever you wanted with without asking. But it the past there were pairs of expensive glasses and other things.  This is what’s bugging me and no, I am not ranting or crying about. It simply baffles me!

 

Just a few moments ago I went to the kitchen and spotted something that looked like a blouse/fancy top that one of my friends gave me, in a bag. Asking, she said that it was a big blouse that she found thrown around the house (mind you, it was on the heater in the bathroom last I saw it) and that it wouldn’t fit me or her. That’s why she decided to give it to one of her friends to redo it at the very edges (it used to have ruffles on the sides and nice dropped shoulders and stuff, nothing you can fix back up) and then give it to her cousin.

 

Of course, I wasn’t asked…

 

About those glasses… Yep, expensive stuff that I couldn’t wear because they didn’t fit my eyesight anymore/was broken but easily fixable. All in all, I wanted to reuse them but when I asked, those were gone too…in the trash bin, for many years. I wouldn’t go diggings tons of trash to find them but you’d think that was lesson enough for her not to fumble with my stuff again. What if my friend simply borrowed and not given that top to me? It was pretty unique so I couldn’t obviously replace nor have the money to do so.

 

But no, we’re all at fault and we should leave and stuff. I should go to X Town where my Mom lives and stuff. She says the same things over and over…maybe that’s why I always forget them.

 

*sigh* I am still angry about it as I can only imagine what she’ll throw next: Jewelry, My Computer, My bed, My School Stuff? Ugh! …And I really liked that blouse!

 

I am more baffled than angry that she thinks it’s normal to do those things. Just throwing money and respect out of the window. Ok, I get it that older people tend to lose themselves a bit, (my great-granny thought I was beating her when I wasn’t even home, for example, and of course, I’ve never done such thing) but this is too much of an ‘What the Frank is going on here?’ moment.

 

I’m absolutely sure that’s not something that only happened to me but it’s still something I’ve only seen in comedies. Tell me, what happened to you?